Beyond the Olive Grove: An absolutely gripping and heartbreaking WW2 historical novel

by Kate Hewitt

  “Yes. Very well.” Helena hesitated. “And you?”

  Andreas nodded rather brusquely. “Fine. We’re… fine.”

  Ava watched this exchange with a growing fascination. Surely she wasn’t imagining the undercurrent, the tension between the two of them? She didn’t know what Andreas and Helena felt for each other, but surely it wasn’t dislike or even indifference. It was something else entirely. Something that made it easy for her to believe they’d once been in love, had thought to marry.

  They’d all lapsed into yet another silence, simply staring at each other, and finally Andreas roused himself. “I should go,” he said, jangling his keys, and ducking his head in farewell at the pair of them, he left.

  Ava closed the door slowly, then turned to Helena, who seemed in as much of a daze as Andreas had been. “Well,” she said with a touch of mischief, “that was interesting.”

  Helena glanced at her rather sharply. “What do you mean?”

  Ava shrugged, not wanting to press. She already knew that Helena was sensitive about her relationship, or lack of it, with Andreas. And she knew how prickly she was when anyone asked her about Simon.

  Simon. Why hadn’t he called her back? Maybe he really just didn’t care any more. Maybe her rambling message had annoyed him. She thought of calling him again, but something in her resisted. She didn’t want to pester him, and yet she was desperate for some kind of contact. For as she’d just seen with Helena and Andreas, time didn’t heal all wounds. It didn’t even make you forget.

  If anything, it made you realize all the more what you might be missing.

  The next day the sky was a bright, hard blue, and a fresh breeze blew off the mountains; it was perfect for sightseeing. Ava drove down the road towards the motorway with the windows down and the wind blowing through her and Kalista’s hair.

  Kalista had been quiet since Ava had picked her up, twisting a strand of hair around one finger as she glanced at the passing scenery. Ava decided to let the girl have her peace. She was lost in her own musings, remembering how just six weeks ago she’d been driving through these darkened hills, feeling close to despair as the fog rolled ominously in. She felt different now, she knew, content in a way she had not experienced in a long time, and yet restless too, ready for change. Finally ready to move on.

  But to what?

  She glanced over at Kalista. “Have you seen the Acropolis before?”

  Kalista hunched one shoulder. “School trip.” Her tone did not invite further inquiry.

  “Your father said we could do a bit of shopping afterwards,” Ava tried again. “Are there any shops you’d like to visit?”

  Kalista brightened visibly and rattled off the names of several shops Ava had never heard of. “Good,” she said, her voice light and teasing. “I like when a girl knows what she wants.”

  After parking the car, they walked up Theorias, the road that circled the Acropolis, and then made the final ascent on steep, stone-cut steps to the top of the rock. Ava gazed out at Athens spread like a map before them, amazed at all the buildings and cars, the signs of busy urban life. She hadn’t left Iousidous except to go to Lamia since she’d arrived.

  Kalista, she saw, was gazing almost hungrily at the city below them, utterly uninterested in the ancient sites around them, scattered on the hill.

  “It’s an exciting place, isn’t it?” Ava said quietly, and Kalista glanced at her with something like suspicion before she nodded.

  “Papa hates it.”

  “He’s a country person at heart, I suppose.”

  Kalista shook her head. “It’s more than that. He thinks if I spend time in Athens, I won’t want to live with him, do what he does.” She made a face.

  Ava was impressed by how perceptive Kalista was; weren’t most teenagers completely self-absorbed? Kalista had certainly given that impression before. “Are you interested in taking over the business one day?” she asked cautiously.

  Kalista hunched her shoulders and dug her hands into her pockets. “I don’t know what I want,” she said. “I just want to live my life and see things.” She gave Ava a surly, resentful look. “I’m only fifteen.”

  “True enough,” Ava replied lightly. She felt sorry for Kalista; clearly this teenaged girl carried the weight of other people’s choices on her shoulders. Andreas needed to see Kalista for who she was now, not who she might become given time and opportunity, or who her mother, or Helena, had been. Yet Ava knew how hard it was to see and accept people for who they really were.

  Hadn’t she burdened Simon with her own expectations? She’d expected him to grieve the same way she had grieved, and when he hadn’t, she’d turned away from him. Yet if only he’d said something…

  Sighing, she checked her phone again, even though she hadn’t heard it ring. No missed calls. No messages.

  “I think it’s time for lunch with your aunt,” Ava said. “And then shopping!”

  Kalista’s Aunt Iolanthe was not the wild child Ava had been half-expecting. She worked in a bank, dressed sedately, and hugged Kalista to her as soon as they arrived in the restaurant in Athens’s business district.

  “It’s been too long,” Iolanthe said as she kissed Kalista’s cheeks. She turned to Ava. “Thank you for bringing her to me.”

  The rest of the day passed happily enough. Iolanthe and Kalista spoke mostly in Greek during lunch, with apologies to Ava, who waved them away. She could see that they were both hungry for a proper talk, and not the kind of halting chitchat they’d have to make in order to include her. After their dishes were cleared away, she excused herself, saying she’d like to have a stroll around while Iolanthe and Kalista had dessert.

  Outside, Ava walked past Athens’s disconcerting mix of old and new: crumbling stone and frosted glass. She checked her phone several times, and each time the blank screen mocked her. Maybe he hadn’t got the message. Maybe it had been automatically deleted because she’d gone over the time limit. Maybe—

  With a sigh of impatience for her own dithering, Ava quickly thumbed through her contacts for Simon’s. She’d call him again. Forget pride, forget being stubborn. She just wanted to call him. Hear him.

  Yet the call switched straight through to voicemail; Simon’s phone had to be turned off.

  “Damn it,” Ava said, well and truly frustrated, and yes, a little hurt. Was his phone turned off because he was trying to avoid her calls? A paranoid thought, but one at this point she couldn’t help but think, considering his silence.

  After lunch with Iolanthe, Ava took Kalista to the promised shops; the girl spent several happy hours trying various outfits on before settling on a pair of skinny jeans and a colorful top that Ava thought Andreas would accept. At least she hoped he would.

  Twilight was settling over the mountains as they drove home, and Kalista glanced shyly at Ava. “Thank you for taking me,” she said, the words hesitant yet heartfelt. “I had a good time.”

  Ava smiled back at her. “So did I,” she said, and meant it. “Thanks for asking me.”

  “Do you think you’re going to stay in Greece?” Kalista asked, and Ava tensed. The question felt loaded, although from Kalista’s tone she couldn’t tell if her continued presence in Iousidous would be welcome or not. “I don’t know,” she said after a moment. “I think I need to return to England at some point. I need to go home.” Because it was still home, and always would be. “This has been more of…” Ava paused. “An extended break, I suppose.”

  “Oh.” Ava couldn’t tell whether Kalista sounded disappointed or not. The girl twisted a strand of hair around her finger. “I thought maybe you and my dad…” She stopped, blushing, and looked out the window.

  Ava flushed and shook her head. “No, nothing like that. We’ve just been friends, Kalista.” Friends and one very awkward kiss. “I’m married,” she added for good measure, and the words felt right. “But I hope your father finds someone again,” she added, and Kalista nodded.

  “So do I,” she said, ducking her hea
d.

  Perhaps if Andreas married again, Ava mused, he might relax a little bit with his daughter. It could be a positive situation for everybody… perhaps even Helena.

  Later that night, after dropping Kalista off, Ava rang Eleni again to check on Parthenope’s condition. There was no change; she was conscious and had tried to speak, but nothing was intelligible. Eleni sounded both worried and weary, and Ava’s heart ached for her. Not knowing was sometimes worse than knowing, she thought.

  She finished the call and sat there, alone in the living room, mobile phone in hand, and wondered what Simon was doing. It was eight o’clock at night back in England; was he relaxing with one of his nerdy IT magazines, his spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose, that wrinkly frown appearing between his brows as he concentrated? He’d have made himself a cup of tea and forgotten to drink it, and then when he discovered it, he’d make himself drink it cold so as not to waste it.

  Just the thought of him there, lying in bed by himself in the house they’d chosen together, sent such a wave of longing and homesickness through her that Ava nearly doubled over from it. At that moment, more than anything, she wanted nothing more than to return to England. To Simon.

  And what if she did? What if she just packed her bags and left? Showed up at her own front door, told Simon she was back if he’d have her?

  She couldn’t do that, Ava knew, at least not yet. Eleni needed her, and she was still accompanying Helena on her last interview. Her life in Greece was not yet at an ending point, even if part of her felt as if it were.

  25

  November 1942

  Sophia knew something was going to happen soon. She felt it the way you felt snow in the air, a sharp awareness, a tense expectation. None of the SOE agents or guerrillas had said anything, but there had been more activity at the little camp in the foothills of Mount Oeta. Andartes came into the camp and then melted back into the night; more villagers had left her food to bring to them. Then she’d found a note under her pillow, of all places, telling her to stay away from the camp until she was called for again. She had no idea who had left it there, only that she was being watched even more closely than she’d realized.

  She found she missed her daily visits to provide the SOE agents with food; she knew, stupid girl that she was, what she missed most was Alex. Every time she’d arrived at the camp, he’d greeted her, taking the basket from her and letting his hand linger just a little on her arm. His smile had always been so warm, his eyes so friendly, and even though she’d known it was foolish, she’d sought him out, had sat next to him by the fire and had lingered longer into the night.

  And now, in a day or two perhaps, it would all be over. They would blow up the bridge; Alex would leave. Perhaps he would die. The knot of anxiety in her middle tightened and grew, so it made it impossible to eat or sometimes even to swallow. She felt as if she carried a stone in her stomach.

  She felt it in the village as well, the expectation, the tension. People hurried past in the street, and no one dallied by the fountain in the square. Even her father, so stolid and silent, seemed to feel it. To Sophia’s surprise he grabbed her by the arm one morning before he headed out into the fields, half pulled her towards him.

  “Stay safe,” he muttered, and with a cold ripple of shock Sophia realized he knew. He must have always known she was involved with the andartes.

  And then it began.

  She didn’t have time to scream; the hand closed over her mouth before she was even awake, and strong hands held her arms down so she didn’t flail as she instinctively tried to. In the darkness of her bedroom she smelled the faint aroma of Karelia cigarettes.

  “Quiet,” Perseus murmured into her ear. “And listen. The hour has come; it is now. You must rise from this bed without a sound. Dress warmly and meet me outside as quickly as you can.”

  Sophia managed to jerk her head in a nod of acceptance, and Perseus released her. He melted from the room and in the bed next to her Angelika sighed and turned over. Sophia let out a shuddering breath that was halfway to a sob. What use could she be now? When would this end?

  Quickly, on trembling legs, she swung out of bed and dressed. It was late November now, and the air was sharp with cold; her breath came in frosty puffs. Sophia dressed in as many layers as she could, wrapping two shawls around her before she plunged her feet into her old leather boots and tied a scarf over her hair. She looked as stout as a grandmother in all of her bundled layers, but it hardly mattered now.

  Perseus stood by the old iron washtub in the yard outside the house, calmly smoking a cigarette. The moonlight silvered his scar, so it looked like a sickle carving the side of his cheek. Sophia resisted the urge to shiver, and not just from the biting cold.

  “What is happening?”

  Perseus dropped his cigarette and stubbed it out with one booted foot. “We move,” he said brusquely. “To a camp closer to the target.”

  “The bridge.”

  “Hush.” He nodded at her bulky attire. “You dressed well.”

  “Why do you need me now? And how long will I be gone?”

  “So many questions, Sophia.” Perseus’s mocking smile gleamed in the darkness. “Remember what I told you about questions? Better not to ask. Not to know. If all goes as we wish, you will be back in your bed tomorrow night.”

  Sophia swallowed, felt the acid taste of fear in her mouth. So the attack was to be tonight, or perhaps tomorrow night. It was time again to be brave. She lifted her chin. “All right,” she said. “Lead on.”

  They didn’t speak on the three-kilometer journey back to the camp; the only sound was the crunch of their boots on the snow that was now hardened into an icy crust. A new snow started falling soon after they set out, a needling, wet kind of sleet that stung Sophia’s skin and soaked her layers of wool.

  The camp, when they arrived, was bustling with people, bristling with guns and andartes. Everything had been packed up and was now shouldered by a couple of mules. Men Sophia had never seen before strode around, blustering to their comrades and clapping each other on the shoulder. There was a feeling of intensity, of energy, that both scared and excited her; it was so different from anything she’d known or felt.

  Then she saw Alex coming towards her, smiling as always, and she felt a wave of something so strong, her knees nearly buckled.

  “What is happening?” she asked and he took her hands in his.

  “You’re freezing. And wet.”

  In answer she pointed to the sky, the needling sleet still falling fast. “Tell me what is happening, Alex.”

  “We’re moving out, to a place nearer—well, you know where nearer.”

  She nodded, gulping. “Then it will happen soon?”

  Alex held a finger to his lips, his eyes gleaming, and nodded.

  Sophia swallowed, words spilling from her. “But it is guarded on both sides. Soldiers…” So many soldiers, ones who would shoot to kill.

  Alex touched the bare expanse of her wrist between coat and glove, shocking her with the intimacy of the touch. His fingers were surprisingly warm against her skin.

  “There has always been danger, Sophia.”

  “Yes.” Sophia swallowed; her throat felt tight. “I know.”

  Someone shouted an order, and the andartes and British soldiers began moving, the mules shuffling behind. Still trying to quell her fear, Sophia began to move along with them, Alex at her side.

  The march up the mountain to the assembly point was arduous. The snow began to fall heavily, cloaking everything, even the men and the mules, in white. At the front of the line a dark-bearded man was singing cheerfully, rousing his men with jokes and songs, as if they were on a holiday.

  Sophia shook her head, glancing at Alex. “That man—singing—”

  “Yes, he’s good at keeping our spirits up, isn’t he?” Alex answered with a smile. “That’s General Zervas.”

  “It is?” She eyed the man with his smiling eyes and bushy beard with wary respect. This
was the man she had, in essence, been working for. “And what of—the other? Velouchiotis?” Even though she had thankfully not seen him since they’d moved from his camp, she could still picture his cold eyes and the indifferent order he’d given: execute them.

  Alex’s smile turned grim. “He’s been delayed. Apparently there was trouble in a nearby village, and one of his men was accused of thievery.”

  Sophia shivered. She knew how Aris Velouchiotis dealt with trouble. And yet soon he would be here, and the different factions of the Greek Resistance would work together to blow up this bridge. That, at least, was the aim. Sophia still could not see how everyone would get along; the two Resistance factions had always been enemies. Perhaps they would end up blowing themselves up as well as the bridge. Perhaps she would never see Alex again.

  Of course you won’t see Alex again, you stupid girl, no matter what happens.

  They lapsed into silence, too worried and weary to talk any more. The night seemed endless, the snow never stopping. Sophia’s whole body ached.

  Finally they arrived at their resting place: a derelict sawmill nearly hidden by the trees. Sophia glanced at it dubiously while all around her men unloaded packs and stripped the mules of their supplies. Sophia glanced at the growing pile of what she knew must be explosives, and swallowed dryly.

  “Come.” Baba Niko tapped her on the shoulder. “The men must eat.”

  Nodding, Sophia followed him and began to unpack the food supplies while Baba Niko set about making a campfire. The men would need hot food to sustain them tonight.

  The camp descended into a grim, focused silence as they ate the simple stew Sophia and Baba Niko had prepared, then stretched out and prepared to get a few hours’ sleep before they moved again. Sophia huddled against the side of the sawmill, wondering what would happen next and feeling frozen to the bone.

  As the sky lightened to a leaden gray, the snow still falling, Alex found her. “We are moving to a closer point,” he told her. He looked different now, Sophia saw; he looked like a soldier. A rifle was slung across his chest and a knife was strapped to his thigh. His features had become harder somehow, and the friendly gleam in his eyes was gone.