by Anne Weale
CHAPTER THREE
Cathy was visibly stunned. "Oh, you can't be serious. He's Greek."
"Well, what of it? Nicholas is half Greek."
"But he doesn't live here. He isn't Greek in his ways."
"Isn't he? He told me he was. He said, 'I've been brought up as an Englishman, but I'm still Greek in my bones'."
"What nonsense - of course he isn't," Cathy contradicted flatly. "He's not a bit like real Greeks."
"What's wrong with real Greeks?" asked Lucia.
This seemed to stump Cathy for some moments. At length, she said, "Well, they're not like us, are they? They've got some most peculiar habits. When I was waiting for you, some of the men in the foyer were playing with strings of brown beads."
"Oh, those were komboloia," Lucia told her. "Didn't you know about their 'worry' beads? They click them to soothe their nerves."
"There you are, then," Cathy said scathingly. "Englishmen don't need beads to soothe them."
"No - but they smoke cigarettes, and jingle loose change, and bite their nails," her sister pointed out.
"I think playing with beads is effeminate," Cathy said, with scorn. Then, illogically, she went on, "And I don't like the way they leer at people. I've never been ogled at the Maybury the way I was downstairs just now. It was horrid. I felt most embarrassed."
"Well, Yannis says it's one of the customs of the country, so we shall just have to brace ourselves," said Lucia. "Actually, I think Englishmen leer just as much-only they're more furtive about it."
This frivolous response was so unlike her staid sister that it made Cathy blink.
"Can I ring for your breakfast? I want to practise my Greek," said Lucia. She went to the telephone on the table between the twin beds, and asked the switchboard for Room Service.
"Kalimera. Boro na paro to proyevma sto thomatidmoo parakolo?"
This made Cathy even more amazed. "What on earth does all that mean? I didn't know you knew any Greek."
"Only very basic Greek," said Lucia. "If Nicholas asks you to marry him, he will probably expect you to learn to speak it really well. If he has a house at Marina, he must spend a good deal of time here."
Cathy looked alarmed. "I couldn't learn Greek. They don't even use our alphabet."
"Some of the letters are the same. It doesn't take long to master the others. With Nicholas to help you, you should pick it up in no time. The most difficult part is getting the pronunciation right."
Evidently she had expressed her request to Room Service correctly because, a few minutes later, a waiter arrived with Cathy's breakfast tray.
Lucia tipped him. "Efharisto."
"Parakalo." As he bowed, the man gave the two girls a smiling look of admiration.
"Even the waiters leer," Cathy said disapprovingly, when he had gone.
Lucia grinned, and said mischievously, "I think the first thing you ought to learn is 'Ftani pya. Fiyete!'"
"What does that mean?"
Lucia assumed an expression of chilly hauteur. "That will do - go away!" she translated. Then she laughed, and went to the bathroom to collect her toilet things, and repack them.
Piraeus, the port of Athens, was about six miles from the centre of the capital. On the way there, by taxi, Yannis told the girls that it took four hours to reach Marina, which was not one of the islands served by the fast hydrofoil boats.
The island steamers embarked from the quays at Karaiskakis Square, and carried freight as well as passengers. To Cathy, the busy seaport scene was of little interest. But, for Lucia, everything she saw was enriched by her knowledge of the past.
She knew that, originally, the port of Athens had been at Phaleron, along the coast. Then a far-sighted Athenian politician called Themistocles had realized that, instead of strengthening the city's land defences, it would be better to establish a strong navy, and to build a fortified port at Piraeus.
In the face of strenuous opposition, he had managed to carry out his schemes and, a few years later, at Salamis, the Greek fleet of three hundred and fifty warships had routed a Persian Armada of more than a thousand ships.
In the fifth century, when Athens had been at the height of her glory and supremacy, the main harbour at Piraeus had been surrounded by a series of magnificent colonnades where the captains of ships could display cargoes brought back from far lands to the city's merchants.
But the splendid port with its four hundred limestone ship-sheds, and naval arsenal, had been partly destroyed by the Spartans, and completely laid waste by the Romans. They had rebuilt some of it for their own use, but after the collapse of the Roman Empire, Piraeus had ceased to exist, except as an insignificant seaside village.
Lord Byron had gone there to bathe. Lord Elgin had anchored his ship there while he was carrying off priceless classical marbles from the Acropolis.
Then, from about 1835, the port had been gradually redeveloped until, today, it was once again the busiest harbour in the Levant, and one of the world's great sea- markets.
Not long after the steamer had cast off Cathy began to turn pale.
"I feel ghastly," she muttered to Lucia.
On such a lovely day, with only a light wind blowing it was hard to believe that anyone could be sea-sick. But obviously Cathy wasn't putting it on. Her face was grey-white, and she looked really ill.
Yannis said, "I will take her below. The sickness is not so bad when one is lying down. No, no, you stay here, Lucia." And he put his arm round Cathy's waist, and shepherded her away.
"I must go to her, Yannis. She can't be left alone feeling like that," said Lucia anxiously, when he returned.
"She is not alone. There is a stewardess to look after her. There is nothing you can do for her, Lucia, and I want you to see the Temple of Poseidon when we pass it," he said. "Also you must have some lunch." He indicated the wicker hamper he had brought on board with him. "We will have a picnic here on deck. That is, if you are not also indisposed?"
"No, I'm feeling fine," she assured him. "It never occurred to me that either of us might be ill, or I would have bought some of those anti-seasick tablets."
"It is unusual for someone to be ill on a day such as this," said Yannis. "In summer, when the meltemi is blowing, it is sometimes very rough among the islands. Myself, I am never sick, not even in a storm. But there are people for whom all sea journeys are an ordeal. Let us hope Cathy is not one of them. She is tired from last night, and excited. Perhaps that is why, today, she feels ill. It may not be so another time." He opened the lunch basket.
Lucia, who liked the gentle roll of the steamer and the salt breeze ruffling her hair, felt rather guilty about enjoying a picnic lunch with him while her sister was prostrate below.
But later, when the ship passed Cape Sounion, she was glad she had not missed seeing it. On the summit of the steep headland stood twelve gleaming-white Doric columns, all that remained of Poseidon's temple, built twenty-four centuries ago.
Several times during the crossing, she went below to. find out how Cathy was. Fortunately, after a wretched hour at the beginning of the voyage, her sister fell asleep. She was still sleeping when, late in the afternoon, the outline of Marina came into view.
As the island drew nearer and nearer, Lucia's misgivings returned, and a knot of tension began to tighten inside her. She had not forgotten what she had said to Nicholas on the telephone, and she felt sure he would not have forgotten it either. At the first opportunity, he would delight in baiting her about it.
At first sight, Marina seemed to consist of a ridge of mountains, ringed by sheer limestone cliffs. But this was only the forbidding, northern aspect of the island. As the ferry steamed down the west coast, the cliffs gave place to rocky promontories protecting small, empty beaches. Behind them, the lower slopes of the hills were terraced for cultivation, and scattered villages could be seen.
The island's only town, also its port, was a huddle of whitewashed houses encircling a sheltered harbour at the southern end. The entire population o
f the place seemed to be waiting on the quay when the steamer put in. As Marina was not the end of its run, and it was only stopping there for half an hour, there was a rush to get the freight unloaded.
Supported by Lucia on one side, and Yannis on the other, Cathy tottered ashore. In spite of her long sleep, she still looked very wan. The noise and hurly-burly of the waterfront made her press her hands over her ears, and shrink closer to her sister.
Knowing what chagrin it would cause her to have to meet the other members of the house party with her yellow suit all creased, and her make-up awry, Lucia felt very sorry for her.
"You'll feel much better when you've had a bath and changed," she whispered encouragingly, as Yannis led them through the bustle.
"Ah, the jeep is over there," he said, indicating a Land Rover parked out of the way of the confusion.
For an instant, Lucia thought that the man standing by the jeep must be another of Nicholas's Greek relations. He was wearing a pink cotton shirt and sun-bleached blue jeans, and he looked as strong and tough as the men unloading the cargo.
Then he moved towards them, and took off his dark sun-glasses. It was Nicholas himself.
"Hello... how are you? Welcome to Marina. I'm sorry I couldn't come to meet you in Athens, but Yannis will have explained, no doubt."
Before either of the girls could speak, Yannis said, "Miss Cathy has not been well, Nico. She has been seasick."
"What - today?" Nicholas's eyebrows shot up. Then, observing Cathy's pale face, "Oh, poor child-how very unfortunate. What about you, Lucia?"
"I'm all right, thanks. But I think Cathy needs to rest for a while before she will feel herself again," she answered, hoping he would take the hint.
"Yes, certainly she must rest. We don't dine until nine. She'll feel much better by then. Are you coining up with us, Yannis?"
"No, I must return to the hotel, and see that everything goes as it should. I may come up later," said the younger man. He swung the girls' suitcases on to the front seat of the Rover. "Goodbye, Miss Cathy. Goodbye, Lucia. If I do not see you again today, we will meet tomorrow." And with a clap on the shoulder for Nicholas, and one of his ardent looks for Lucia, he left them.
Nicholas helped Cathy into the back of the Rover. "It's rather a rough ride to the house, I'm afraid. But it isn't far. Once we're there, you can relax. The others are all on the beach, and won't be back for some time yet."
Once they had left the town, the road became a rutted, stony cart track. Nicholas drove slowly and carefully, but even so they were bounced about a good deal, and Cathy looked as if she felt like bursting into tears.
After jolting uphill for some time, they came to a fork in the way. In one direction, the track continued upwards. In the other, it began to decline. Nicholas took the downward fork.
"We're nearly there now," he told them, over his shoulder.
Soon the sea came into view again. From this height, it looked even more blue than it had from the decks of the steamer. In the near distance were various small islets, some of them hardly more than rocks. In the far distance, Lucia could see the hazy silhouettes of islands comparable to Marina. They looked, somehow, as if they were all at anchor, and as if, should their moorings be loosed, they would float away to the almost imperceptible horizon where blue sea and blue sky merged.
The house, when it came into view, was as dazzlingly white as those in the town. Approaching it from above, they saw first the flat, balustraded roof, set out with tubbed plants and garden furniture.
Then the track turned a steep, hairpin bend which brought them level with the side of the building and its main entrance.
After the bright light out of doors, the interior of the house was cool and shadowy.
"I'll take you straight to your rooms," said Nicholas. And he led them down the long, wide passage which seemed to extend almost the whole length of the house. Near the far end of it, he opened a door, and showed them into a bedroom with white rough-cast walls, and a tiled floor.
"This is your room, Cathy. Yours is next door, Lucia. Which of these cases belongs to Cathy?"
Lucia told him, and he put the case on a chair near the bed. Then he took her through the bathroom which connected with another bedroom, and deposited her suitcase.
"When you've put Cathy to bed, come and have a drink with me," he said. "I'll be on the terrace. It's outside the big room across the hall."
After he had gone, Lucia returned to Cathy's room. She found her sister sitting on the edge of the bed, her eyes brimming with tears.
"My head is splitting. I feel dreadful," she said, in a quavery voice.
She looked so much like a sick child that Lucia sat down beside her, and put an arm around her. "Poor Cathy, it's been beastly for you. Never mind - you'll feel much better presently. Let me help you undress, and then I'll give you some aspirins. You heard what Nicholas said. They have dinner very late in Greece. You don't have to meet the others for hours yet."
By the time she had finished unpacking both cases, Cathy had fallen asleep again. Lucia washed, and changed her clothes. Her Courtelle coat and skirt showed hardly any traces of the journey. But it was refreshing to put on a plain, sleeveless dress of turquoise linen-like fabric. This, being made of another synthetic fibre, was also uncreased after hours in her suitcase.
Aware that she was putting off the moment when, alone, she must face her host, she spent some time brushing her hair. The house was not what she had expected. Although her bedroom was spacious and high-ceilinged, the white walls and bare, polished tiles made it seem like a room in a convent. The bedcover looked as if it had been woven on a hand-loom in a peasant's cottage. The only furniture, apart from the double bed, was a large, carved clothes cupboard, a chest of drawers which also served as a dressing-table, and an armchair covered in dark blue repp. The one ornament in the room was a rather beautiful mosaic ikon on the wall over the head of the bed.
When-unable to postpone the confrontation with Nicholas any longer - she crossed the hall to the big room he had mentioned, she found this also was furnished with functional simplicity. There was no trace of the luxurious, fashionable style of decor she had expected to find.
On the terrace outside, Nicholas was lounging in a garden chair, reading a Greek newspaper.
"Ah, there you are. How is Cathy now?" he asked, getting up, and casting the paper aside.
"She's asleep. If she doesn't feel better by dinner time, perhaps you wouldn't mind if she stayed in bed till tomorrow."
"Not in the least. I've never experienced sea-sickness myself, but I'm told it's a vile sensation. Poor Cathy - what a bad introduction to Marina."
"Yes," said Lucia. "Before we go back, I must get hold of some sea-sick pills, if it's possible to buy them here. If she was ill on a day like this, a choppy crossing would be agony for her."
"I'll go and get something to drink. I shan't be long." He disappeared into the house.
"What - no servants to fetch and carry for him?" thought Lucia. Then she remembered that, in Greece, as in most hot countries, the afternoon hours were idle hours. It was a little after five o'clock. Perhaps the staff were still off duty, and would reappear at six.
He was away about five minutes, and came back with two glasses in one hand, and a large jug of iced orange juice in the other.
"Will this suit you? Or would you prefer something with a kick in it ?"
"No, thank you - that looks delicious."
Nicholas filled both glasses, and handed one of them to her. "Ya sas!" he said, raising his glass to her.
While she was sipping her drink, he asked one or two civil questions about the journey.
"How is the little girl's arm now?" Lucia enquired, remembering the reason why he had been unable to meet them himself.
"Oh, she's as right as a trivet today. She's playing down there on the beach," he said, nodding in the direction of a sloping pathway.
The beach was not visible from the terrace, but now and then the sound of vo
ices and laughter drifted upwards.
"It was one of those accidents which make women shriek and wring their hands, but which aren't as bad as they seem once the bleeding has eased off," Nicholas went on. His dark eyes glinted. "I'm not implying that all women have hysterics in an emergency. I'm sure you would have dealt with it even more competently than I. You must be accustomed to minor injuries."
"Yes - fairly," Lucia agreed.
She had nearly finished her drink now. He picked up the jug, and came over to top up her glass. Looking down at her, he said, "Is that a new dress for the holiday?"
"Yes, it is, as a matter of fact."
"In Greece, when anyone wears something new we say - Wear it in good health."
His scrutiny made her uneasy, but she managed to smile, and reply, "Efharisto, Kyrie."
His eyebrow lifted. "So you've taken the trouble to learn some Greek?"
"My father said one should never visit another country without at least learning how to say Please and Thank you."
"Your father was right," said Nicholas. "But it's surprising how few people do. The British are some of the worst offenders. They expect all foreigners to speak some English, but they rarely bother to learn anyone else's language. Even people who consider themselves well educated can generally only manage some stumbling French."
"I suppose you speak Greek like a Greek?" she said.
"Yes, it was my first language. Until I was seven, I never spoke anything else. I was born on this island. If it hadn't been for the war, I would probably have spent my life here. But in 1947, when things were very bad in Greece my father sent us to England. He was killed in Crete in the summer of 1948. The following year, my mother died in an air crash."
"Oh ... how terrible for you," Lucia said, in a shaken voice.
"It seemed so at the time. I was ten that year, and an English prep school was rather an alien environment," he said unemotionally. "Later, I realized it was the best thing - for her. She would have been wretched in England without my father, but she would have stayed for my benefit."
