'May I leave you to amuse yourself for the rest of today, Miss Morrison? Depending upon the outcome of a number of important telephone calls, it is just possible that I may be in a position to offer a solution to the problem of your brother's future when you join me for dinner this evening.'
CHAPTER FIVE
After doing scant justice to a light lunch of salad and fish Petra wandered upstairs to her bedroom feeling restless, her thoughts an emotional stew of hope and doubt, faith, and despair of even the influential Stelios Heracles managing to extricate Gavin from the clutches of aggressive Greek policemen.
For almost half an hour she sat gazing out of the window, seeing nothing, then when her own fearful, agitated company became unbearable she jumped to her feet, determined to seek out human contact rather than endure further hours of fraught solitude!
Her footsteps echoed eerily when she stepped into the brooding silence of the great hall. Nervously, keeping her eyes averted from the sightless visors of suits of armour with mailed fists clenched around a fearsome assortment of weapons, she headed towards a door she hoped might lead into a kitchen filled with friendly, chattering servants. But the large whitewashed room she discovered at the end of a passageway was deserted, its iron range bare, tables cleared, heavy black cooking pots hung neatly around the walls. The scent of geraniums wafted from pots placed so that their fragrance could be carried on the breeze drifting through a half open window, but there was no welcoming aroma of coffee, no cheerful voice to greet her as she wandered forlornly around the deserted kitchen.
Siesta time. Of course! Belatedly, she remembered the ritual of shops closing down shutters; streets emptying, fields and vineyards left baking in solitude for as long as it took the sun to shed the worst of its noonday heat.
She half turned on her heel, about to retreat to her room, when the rattling of tin and a faint smell of paraffin attracted her attention. Curiously she walked across to a door giving outside access, then hurried to assist when she saw Sophia struggling to lift a large tin can.
'Let me help you with that, Sophia!'
The surprised old servant straightened, almost dropping the can on to her toes.
'Indeed you must not, thespinis!' she disapproved. 'The smell of paraffin clings to hands and clothes even after thorough washing. I would not wish the kyrios to be angered by the knowledge that his guest had been allowed to carry out the duties of a servant.'
'Then he should ensure that there is a man ready to be called upon to help you with messy jobs and heavy lifting!' Petra countered, her tone sharp with annoyance at the way Greek males were apt to turn a blind eye upon degrading tasks carried out by their womenfolk while at the same time taking care to ensure that their donkeys were never overladen.
Sophia threw back her head with a gesture of scorn, her dark eyes rolling. 'Preparing charcoal is far too exacting an art to be left to men,' she snorted. 'The whole business is a ritual that has to be taken seriously if meat is to be grilled to perfection! But you must excuse me, thespinis, for neglecting my duties,' hurriedly she wiped her hands on her apron. 'If you will give me a few minutes to wash my hands I'll attend to whichever request has brought you in search of a servant. Really, you should not be here, if there is anything you need all you have to do is ring…'
'All I need is company, Sophia.' Firmly, Petra hooked a hand under the handle of the can and removed its weight from Sophia's gnarled fingers. 'Finish what you're doing, if you must, then afterwards perhaps you and I could share a pot of coffee?'
An anticipatory gleam brightened Sophia's eyes, acting upon Petra's instincts like a warning signal. Too late, she remembered the old woman's tendency towards matchmaking, her intense curiosity about the guest she had obviously decided would make an ideal wife for her beloved employer.
Teasing remarks, made specifically by her father to arouse the indignation of her passionately Greek mother, echoed from the past to bring a pensive smile to her lips. 'If ever you should be unfortunate enough to become engaged to a Greek, you will find yourself being subjected to intense suspicion, an interrogation of your background which will be held by everyone of about two thousand members of your fiancé's family!' he had grinned. 'You will be poked and prodded, vetted and inquisitioned until the fears of every single one of them have been allayed. Marriage to a Greek means taking on not only a partner, but also an entire family of in-laws who will continue to view you with suspicion until the birth of your first child, at least!'
Sophia's voice intruded. 'I would enjoy that very much, thespinis.' Eagerly she resumed her task of igniting paraffin-soaked charcoal piled in the middle of a metal trough by tossing a lighted match as close as possible to the highly inflammable fuel. Then immediately it flared, she placed a chimney made out of a large tin can with both ends removed on top of the crackling charcoal and began fanning the flames with a piece of stiff cardboard until the roaring died down, the smoke had dispersed, and a few well aimed stabs with a poker produced a uniform layer of smouldering charcoal over the base of the trough.
'There, that will do nicely!' Flushed with heat and exertion, Sophia straightened, well satisfied with the results of her labours. 'I will leave it now to digest until it is time to begin grilling kebabs for dinner.'
With the air of a hostess anxious to extend hospitality to an unexpected guest, she then ushered Petra into the kitchen and insisted that she remained seated at a scrubbed-white wooden table while she bustled around the kitchen setting out cups and a plateful of honey cakes as she waited for water in an imbrika to boil.
Amused by her air of great expectancy, Petra sat silently watching the brewing ritual, and was unprepared for the offensive that was launched even before the dregs of thick, sweet coffee had had time to settle.
'Because I was never in a position to marry,'
Sophia confided, 'the kyrios is as dear to me as the son I never had.' Puzzling spots of colour appeared high in her cheeks as she continued abruptly: 'And as he, too, has always treated me more as a member of his family than as a servant, I feel entitled to worry about his future happiness— hope that I will see him married with a family of infants before I go to the little cypress trees.'
Petra frowned, recognising an expression her grandfather had occasionally used when referring to the chilling eventuality of death. Tall, ancient trees named after the island upon which they had once been worshipped were planted in borders around churches and cemeteries, towering green and stately long after the stone they were meant to protect had begun to crumble, thriving, thrusting symbols of life after death.
Aware of the superstitious melancholy veining the character of the islanders, Petra attempted to lighten the conversation by sidetracking gently:
'Why were you unable to marry, Sophia?'
'Because our dowry system demands that a girl must supply a house in exchange for a new name and a wedding ring,' the woman admitted simply. 'During my teens, all leisure hours were spent embroidering tableclothes, pillowcases, and doilies with intricate needlework, slowly counting stitch after stitch, taking weeks, often months, to complete items intended to provide proof of skill and industry to a prospective husband. But,' she shrugged, her lined face wrinkling into an expression of regret, 'after seven years of storing items into an overflowing chest, I was forced to acknowledge that my role in life was that of a permanent spinster. Girls without property are at a disadvantage in the marriage market. No house—no husband!'
Suddenly she leant across the table, her pensive look displaced by a hard, compelling stare.
'Which brings me back to the subject I was about to raise. Do you possess a dowry, thespinis—some exchangeable asset that might tempt a handsome, eligible bachelor to contemplate matrimony?'
Petra's cheeks flamed. A rebuke sprang to her lips, an angry indictment of the persistent old matchmaker whose remarks had reduced her to the level of a piece of livestock being sized up and haggled over in some cattle market. Even though she recognised anxiety in Sophia's eyes
, a hint of misgiving betrayed by skin wrinkling around lips pursed with uncertainty, she found herself scolding coldly:
'Mercifully, circumstances have changed dramatically since your young days, Sophia! Marriage no longer means a contractual exchange of goods and legal relationships, but is a mutual declaration of love, a public vow made by lovers to become as one, to help one another through adversity, to be sympathetic to' each other's ailments, to share happiness in health, to instil into their children the same high ideals and unmercenary code of behaviour followed by themselves! The very idea of marital status being exchanged for property is abhorrent to me!' she concluded with the vehemence of a scholar whose only equivalent to a bottom drawer was a wall lined with framed diplomas and a briefcase overflowing with glowing testimonials.
'I have offended you, thespinis! I am so sorry, I did not intend…' Sophia's voice trembled into silence as she stared across the table at the suddenly animated girl upon whom anger had reacted in the manner of a kiss upon the lips of a sleeping beauty.
All the worry and strain caused by Gavin's arrest, all the guilt she felt about the lies she had been forced to tell, all the fear and unease imposed upon her by the dark, brooding looks and cryptic remarks passed by the man used to living in the shadow of Olympus, the mythical residence of ancient Greek gods that was off limits to all mortals, was contained in the glare Petra directed towards the worried old servant. But when she saw Sophia cower, her anger evaporated. Ashamed of her uncharacteristic burst of anger, she strove to make amends by forcing brightness into her tone as she urged.
'Oh, let's change the subject, Sophia!' She cast around in her mind for some thought to lighten Sophia's burden of misery, then seized upon a glimmer of inspiration. 'I've had an idea! How would you like to read my fortune?'
As if by magic Sophia's face brightened. 'If that is your wish, thespinis!'
'It is.' Feeling greatly relieved, Petra pushed her empty coffee cup across the table.
'No, no!' Smiling broadly, Sophia pushed it back towards her. 'To have your fortune told you must turn your coffee cup upside down. Put the saucer over the top of the cup, then swiftly turn both cup and saucer over. That's it! The cup must be completely drained, so you must tilt it on to the side of the saucer and let it stand for a while.'
But when Petra attempted to follow her instructions the cup held fast, apparently reluctant to part company with the saucer.
'Good! Good…!' Sophia clapped, obviously overwhelmed with excitement. 'When the cup sticks to the saucer it is a sign that the lover you desire is in love with you!'
When Petra tugged hard and handed her the cup she finally managed to dislodge from the saucer, Sophia drooled almost reverently over the remaining maze of thick sediment.
'I see church bells,' she intoned, 'almost at the rim of the cup—which means that a wedding is imminent!'
Petra suppressed an impatient sigh at this further evidence of Sophia's one-track mind. Yet in spite of her scepticism, her heart sank when she saw the old woman frown.
'There is a trail of bitterness leading straight to the door of the church.' Vigorously she shook the cup as if trying to dislodge the unwelcome omen, then continued peering intently. 'Ah, but there is sweetness to be found, elika, if you are prepared to sift the dregs in search of it! See for yourself!' She turned the cup to enable Petra to follow the direction of her pointing finger. 'Can you make out a halo of shining Greek gold encircling the fierce-looking profile of a man with a lionesque mane of hair?'
To have lingered another minute would have meant having to inflict upon the stubborn old woman a further scolding. So in a bid to avoid hurting her feelings, Petra jumped to her feet and made towards the door, casting across her shoulder a look designed to project tolerant amusement.
'Thank you, Sophia, but I think I've heard enough! I suspect it may be wrong to attempt to pry into the future. The chain of destiny is too heavy to allow frail mortals such as myself to handle more than one link at a time!'
Feeling even less inclined towards solitude now that Sophia had managed to unsettle her further, Petra almost ran across the great hall of antiquity to strain open one half of the heavy double doors that had withstood centuries of assault upon the castle fortress. Intending to take a stroll, she tripped down the flight of stone steps into an atmosphere that was pure magic, the unspoilt beauty of cypress-coated peaks; birds flitting among trees spreading a blanket of green around turrets and towers transformed by strong sunlight in the sort of setting that would not have looked out of place in a book of fairytales—a place where Prince Charmings on white chargers brought golden-haired princesses to live happily ever after…
Slowly she wandered down the drive, sniffing intoxicating mountain air laden with the scent of rosemary and thyme and a citrus tang rising from lemon and orange groves. At the end of the driveway she turned right on to the rough, winding road that led down to the village, then a few yards on she rounded a bend, to find the road completely blocked by a flock of meandering sheep.
Startled by her abrupt appearance, they scattered, their frantic baaing attracting the attention of an old shepherd who had momentarily deserted his flock in order to carry out the self-imposed duty of topping up the lamp of a wayside shrine with fresh olive oil. When he scrambled back on to the road to calm his flock with a few gruff grunts and an assortment of unintelligible noises she saw that he was wearing vraka, the traditional baggy trousers favoured by some of the older peasants, and a well-worn army surplus jacket worn over a thick-knit jumper to provide the warmth necessary before dawn when the sun's rays did not reach the mountain's higher pastures. A white kerchief twisted into a bandeau to protect his brow from the heat; craggy, weatherbeaten features; bushy eyebrows and moustache, and a rough, unshaven chin gave him the look of a fierce mountain tribesman. But his voice when he greeted her was low-pitched and courteous.
'Yia sou, thespinis!' he nodded, placing both hands on top of his shepherd's crook to lean, obviously delighted at the prospect of a pleasant chat breaking the monotony of his day.
'Hello,' she responded with equal enthusiasm. 'Your animals look healthy and well fed.' She smiled down at the sheep that had returned to surround the shepherd, jostling for position around his knees. 'But how overburdened with fleece on such a hot day!'
'Not for much longer, thespinis,' his teeth flashed white against nut brown skin. 'At this very moment shearers are waiting to deprive each shaggy animal of the flokati rug it is wearing on its back! Sheep are wonderful creatures,' he boasted fondly. 'We islanders could barely survive without their milk that provides light, creamy butter, yoghurt, and our famous feta cheese which you must often have eaten with salad. As well as the rugs that are so popular with tourists, their fleece is spun into woollen yarn, and as for the meat itself !' he raised bunched fingertips to his lips and threw a kiss to the four winds. 'Nothing tastes more delicious than lamb slowly roasted over an outdoor spit—especially the head, which is the tastiest delicacy of all!'
In spite of sunrays basting through her blouse, Petra shuddered as once more she came face to face with the contradictory Greek nature that saw nothing wrong in rearing an animal and then eating its head; in falling in love with youth and beauty and then choosing to marry a pile of stones; in being kind and hospitable to strangers and at the same time ruthlessly determined to achieve personal aims.
'I must go,' she decided, clenching suddenly icy fingers, 'the air is growing cooler.'
'The first cool breath of evening,' the shepherd nodded, then, just as she was turning away, he confirmed her previous misgivings by thrusting a hand inside his jacket to ease a small wire cage from its dark, stuffy resting place. 'I wonder, thespinis, if you would care to give a home to this orphaned canary?'
She stared with horror at the limp puff of yellow feathers lying on the floor of the cage which a thick coat and jumper had rendered an airless tomb.
'Oh, the poor thing!' she choked. 'It looks half dead…!'
'It will
soon recover,' he assured her. 'In any case, it would surely have suffered more had I not rescued it from being released into the wild where there is no hope of escape from winged predators. It was the pet of an old lady whose husband objected to its incessant singing. In the early hours of the morning it wakened him; in the afternoon it disturbed his siesta, and in the early evening when he tried to relax on his porch he found the bird's continuous trilling an aggravation. Take it, please, thespinis! I know you will treat it well—its name, by the way, is Pini.'
Clutching her precious burden to her breast, Petra ran back along the road, then panted up the driveway. In her haste to reach the kitchen to ask Sophia's advice she took a short cut through the grounds, then sped round the corner of the castle, cannoning straight into Stelios Heracles, who was striding from the direction of the stables.
'What the devil…!' His hands shot out to steady her as she rocked on her heels, winded by the unexpected collision. 'Are you all right?' he questioned sharply. 'What is that thing you are clutching like a talisman against all evil?'
'It's a bird,' she gulped, 'a canary that's dying from too much heat and a lack of air! I must try to revive it,' she wobbled, her wide eyes flooding with tears, 'but I'm not sure how…'
Swiftly, with a competence that earned him a tremulous smile of gratitude, he opened the door of the cage and cupped the still ball of feathers in the palm of his hand.
'That cage is far too small,' he snapped as she ran by his side attempting to keep pace with his striding progress towards the door leading into the kitchen.
'Fetch a small glass of water, someone!' he called out to a roomful of milling servants. Then, hooking a foot beneath a chair, he dragged it outside into the open air and sat down, massaging the bird's breast with a finger as he lifted it up to his mouth and began blowing steady, gentle breaths of air into its gaping beak.
Castle of the Lion Page 6
