South from Sounion

by Anne Weale

  "Who looked after you after she died?"

  "My father's eldest brother and his wife. They didn't approve of my mixed blood, so they spent a great deal of money on a public school education in the hope that it would knock the Greek out of me. Unfortunately - from their point of view - it had rather the reverse effect."

  Lucia said, "If you feel yourself more Greek than English, why don't you live here all the time?"

  His expression became sardonic. "I have expensive tastes. Here on Marina, a man who earns a thousand drachmae a week is a Croesus. For me, it's the price of a pair of shoes - or dinner a deux at the White Tower," he tacked on, with a provoking glance.

  Lucia - who, a few moments ago, had felt an upsurge of compassion for the loneliness and grief he must have felt when, still in short trousers, he was left both orphaned and exiled - had a swift revulsion of feeling.

  Whatever pity he might have deserved at ten, Nicholas at thirty-eight was the most insufferably cynical and self- centred person she had ever encountered.

  However, she did not allow her animadversion to show, but said, quite impassively, "If your father was here for some years, how did he earn his living?"

  "He was a sculptor, so he could work more or less where he pleased. It was—" He broke off, listening. The faint voices from the beach were closer now. "That sounds like the others coming up. I expect they're impatient to have a look at you. When I told them you were a teacher, they seemed to think you might cast rather a blight on us," he informed her, with a gleam of amusement.

  Before they were fully within earshot, the voices died away. Probably the ascent was steep enough to make even young and vigorous people breathless.

  Lucia wondered what they were like, and had little doubt that she would find them as incompatible as they her.

  Nicholas must have divined that she was not exactly eager to meet them. He said, "Don't worry, they won't bite you."

  And, as he spoke, they appeared. Three children. Three panting brown children, with sandy legs and wet hair.

  They were so much out of breath he waited a little before introducing them. Then he said, "These are my sister's offspring, Lucia - Francesca, Stephen and Ariadne. This is Miss Gresham, children."

  The eldest of them, Francesca, was a girl in her early teens. She was wearing a yellow bikini and, already, her figure was lovely. Stephen looked about twelve, and he too was tall and well-knit. The smallest one, Ariadne, still had the round cheeks and fat tummy of infancy.

  "How do you do?" Francesca came forward to shake hands.

  Lucia smiled. "How do you do."

  Then Stephen approached and, after him, little Ariadne.

  The formalities completed, Nicholas said, "I have to go to the village to fetch Aunt Katina. Look after Miss Gresham, will you, kids? Perhaps she'd like to see the beach." He smiled at Lucia. "You don't mind being left to their mercies now, do you? I shan't be more than half an hour." And without waiting for her reply, he disappeared into the house.

  Francesca flopped into his chair. "What a disgusting fraud Nico is! He made you out to be a real old dragon who would keep us in order." She gasped, and turned very red.

  "What's the matter?" Lucia asked, puzzled.

  "You are the one who's a schoolmistress, aren't you?" Francesca enquired, in a chagrined voice.

  "Yes, that's right."

  "Oh, glory - thank goodness for that! I suddenly realized I might have dropped a colossal brick. I mean if you were the other one, he might have been telling the truth," she explained, rather confusedly. "Where is your sister, Miss Gresham?"

  "She wasn't very well on the steamer, so she's lying down for a while."

  "Oh, I see - poor thing. How rotten for her. I expect it's the olive oil. It often upsets English people."

  "No, it wasn't anything she ate. She was sea-sick."

  "Sea-sick? Today?" exclaimed Stephen, looking incredulous. "But the sea's as calm as a millpond."

  "Try not to be a complete ass," his sister said crushingly, glaring at him. "Some people get sick if a boat rolls the least little bit. Don't they, Miss Gresham?"

  "Yes, I'm afraid a few people do," Lucia confirmed.

  Ariadne put in a remark. "I was sick in Harrods," she announced. "It was before I had measles. It went all over the carpet. Mummy said she could have sunk through the floor."

  "I should think so too," said Francesca, "You should have told her while there was time to rush to the loo. You must have known you were going to be sick."

  "No, I didn't," her sister protested. "It just whooshed up out of my tummy." She turned to Lucia and added, not without pride, "If you know where to look, you can still see the mark."

  "Ugh! Horrible child!" said Francesca, pulling a face. "You'll make Miss Gresham sick in a minute. Shall we show you the beach now, Miss Gresham? Why don't you have a swim with us? The water's gorgeously warm."

  "All right, I'll go and change," said Lucia. "And I think you had better call me Lucia," she added, as an afterthought.

  It did not take her long to change into her new dark green swimsuit. Peeping into Cathy's room, she saw that her sister was still asleep.

  The two younger children had already started down the beach path when she reappeared on the terrace.

  "How lovely and brown you are," she said to Francesca, comparing the child's golden limbs with her own winter- pale arms and legs.

  "Oh, you'll soon get a tan," said Francesca. "I was white too when we arrived. The thing is not to get burnt. Have you brought some Ambre Solaire? If not, we've got lashings we can lend you."

  "I have some, thanks," said Lucia. "Are your parents here with you, Francesca?"

  It might have been only her fancy, but it seemed to her that the girl's blue eyes clouded suddenly.

  "No, Daddy's at home in London, and Mummy's in Paris," she said. "There's just us, and Nico, and Aunt Katina."

  "But there are some other guests coming?"

  "No-no, I don't think so. At least, Nico hasn't mentioned it. Of course there's Yannis, and all Mummy's and Nico's hordes of relations. But they only pop in and out. They're not what you'd call guests."

  "I see," said Lucia contemplatively.

  The path turned, and she saw the beach - a crescent of sand lapped by crystalline shallows the colour of aquamarines. Stephen and Ariadne were already wading into the deeper turquoise-blue water.

  "We're not allowed to swim unless there's a grown-up with us," Francesca explained. "Nico's a lamb. He lets us do things which would give Daddy and Mummy blue fits. But he's terribly strict about the sea. If we did break the rule, I think he'd pack us off home. You should see him swim," she added admiringly. "He could win a gold medal easily."

  The sea was not, by adult standards, gorgeously warm. But it was at least five degrees warmer than any Lucia had ever bathed in.

  The children all swam like fishes. Although they would probably have liked to stay in the water, they followed her out without protest when Lucia returned to the sand.

  "I mustn't stay down here too long in case my sister wakes up and wants me," she told them, pulling off her cap. "Do you all have dinner at nine?"

  "Stephen and I do sometimes," said Francesca. "Ariadne never does. She has supper at seven. Tonight, we're all going to bed early."

  Lucia followed them up the path. She had not brought a towel with her, and neither had the children.

  "Shall I give you a heave?" Stephen asked, when they reached a steep stretch near the top.

  "What nice manners they have," she thought, as he grasped her hand, and helped her to scramble up the awkward part.

  When they reached the terrace, Nicholas was back. Sitting with him was an elderly woman, dressed in funereal black.

  Nicholas rose, and his dark eyes swept Lucia's pale limbs and wet-suited figure in a way that made her wish she had on her beach coat.

  He said, reversing the customary order of introduction, "This is my aunt, Lucia. She's lived all her life on the island, and speaks n
o English."

  The two women looked at each other. Lucia found the Greek woman's gaze slightly intimidating. She had fine black eyes, but they did not reveal her thoughts. It was impossible to tell if she welcomed or disapproved of her nephew's foreign visitors.

  When it seemed that she was expected to speak first, Lucia said shyly, "Hero poll, Kyria."

  Immediately, a smile of the utmost cordiality creased the Greek woman's lined olive face. With both hands, she clasped Lucia's right hand. "Kalos irthate, Thespoinis."

  Fortunately, Lucia knew the correct response to this formal expression of welcome. "Kalos sas vrikame," she answered.

  Aunt Katina turned to Nicholas, and said something which Lucia could not follow. First, he nodded and grinned. Then he shook his head, and said something too fast and idiomatic for her to catch even one word.

  "I've explained to Aunt Katina that you only speak a little Greek, so it's no use her rattling away at you," he told Lucia.

  "Oh, I see." She wondered what it was his aunt had said to make him grin and signify assent.

  The Greek woman turned her attention to the children. It was dear from her gestures that she was telling them to go to their rooms and tidy themselves for their evening meal.

  "I must go and change, too," said Lucia.

  Leaving Nicholas on the terrace, she followed the others into the house.

  She had left the bathroom's two doors open and, as she entered her bedroom, Cathy called, "Is that you, Lucia?"

  Lucia walked through to the other bedroom. "How are you feeling? Any better?"

  "Yes - a bit." Cathy was lying with her back to the connecting door. Now she rolled over, and noticed her sister's swimsuit. "Oh, you've been swimming. How long have I been asleep?"

  "Only about an hour and a half. There's still lots of time before dinner."

  Cathy sat up. "Have you met the others? What are they like?"

  "Yes, I've met them - they're charming."

  "Well, tell me about than? Are the women terribly smart?"

  "No ... I wouldn't say smart. They're both very nice- looking," said Lucia, keeping a straight face.

  "How many men are there?"

  "Only one. He seems rather nice, too." She felt it was unfair to go on misleading her sister, and said, "They're children, Cathy. They're Nicholas's nephew and nieces."

  Cathy gaped. "Children? I don't understand. Nico didn't tell me there were going to be children around. Where are the others? The grown-ups? The rest of the house party?"

  "The children are the rest," Lucia explained. "Apart from Nicholas and ourselves, the only other adult here is his Aunt Katina who, I think, runs the house for him."

  "What? Oh, there must be some others. Three kids and an aunt aren't a house party. The rest of them must be out somewhere."

  "Not according to Francesca. I asked her if there was anyone else here, or coming, and she said there wasn't."

  "I call that the limit!" Cathy exclaimed, most indignantly. "He distinctly said it was going to be a house party. I didn't come here to make sand pies with three grubby kids."

  "I thought you came to be with Nicholas," Lucia observed, rather dryly. "Does it matter who else is around?"

  "Well, of course it does. It's much more fun with a crowd of people. I assumed there would be at least ten of us."

  "I doubt if there's room for a large party. There aren't enough bedrooms."

  "That's another thing," Cathy said irritably. "I don't think much of this room. It's so bare - not a bit like his flat. And look at the sheets. They're like sacking!"

  "They're unbleached linen. They wear for ever," said Lucia. She bent to sniff them. "Mm . . . what a lovely fresh scent. They're probably dried on bushes, or stored with herbs in the folds."

  "Well, I like smooth sheets, and a carpet on the floor, and a dressing-table," Cathy said, pouting. She slid out of bed and went to inspect the bathroom.

  While she was having a bath - whatever other refinements it might lack, the house had excellent plumbing, and plenty of hot water on tap -Lucia dressed, and rinsed out her swimsuit. Then, putting it in a plastic bag so that it wouldn't drip on the floor, she went to find somewhere to hang it.

  In the hall, she met Francesca, who showed her the way to a linen line. The house had no garden or boundary, but Lucia saw that a number of shrubs and trees had been added to the natural vegetation of the hillside immediately surrounding it.

  "Come and see our room," Francesca invited, as they returned indoors. "Stephen's sharing with Nico this time, and Ariadne and I have the room next to Aunt Katina's."

  The children's room was similar to Lucia's and Cathy's except that it had bunk beds, and two chests of drawers. Ariadne was already ensconced in the top bunk, and up there with her was Nicholas. He was reading from a paperback while she ate her supper.

  He did not notice Lucia's entrance, and went on reading the story, which she recognized as one of Michael Bond's 'Paddington' adventures. To her surprise, he read well, using voices appropriate to the characters, and holding Ariadne cuddled in the crook of his arm as, long ago, when he was at home, Malcolm Gresham had sat with Lucia at bedtime.

  A few minutes after she entered the room, he came to the end of a chapter, and closed the book.

  "Oh, just one more chapter - please, Nico," the little girl begged him.

  "No, not tonight, chicken." He swung himself down to the floor. "Oh, hello, Lucia. Sorry I didn't see you there." There was no self-consciousness in his manner. "How is Cathy now?"

  "Much better, I think. She's having a bath. Is there anything I can do to help your aunt?"

  "I shouldn't think so. Francesca gives her a hand when she needs one," he answered.

  "Would you read some more to me, Lucia?" Ariadne asked hopefully. "She did say we could call her Lucia," she added, as her uncle shot up his eyebrows.

  Lucia smiled. Ariadne looked very engaging in her blue pyjamas, with her hair brushed and tied in perky bunches. "Yes, I'll read to you."

  "Are you sure you don't mind?" Nicholas asked.

  "Not in the least. I like Paddington."

  "Well, only one chapter," he said firmly, to Ariadne.

  And then, before Lucia could start to climb the wooden bunk ladder, he put his hands on her waist, and lifted her up beside his niece.

  He did it as swiftly and effortlessly as if she were no bigger than the child. Yet Lucia, although she was slender, stood five feet five in her sandals, and weighed a pound under nine stone. Bernard, a much taller man, could never have lifted her so easily.

  "Oh!" she murmured, her cheeks suddenly hot.

  The children laughed at her surprise.

  "Isn't Nico strong?" said Ariadne. "He can lift me right up to the ceiling."

  Nicholas rumpled her hair. "You're just a whipper-snapper. Finish your supper, there's a good girl."

  He went out of the room - but not before he had given Lucia a rather mocking look, as if he knew it was not only surprise which had made her flush.

  Cathy was putting the finishing touches to her make-up when Lucia returned to their quarters.

  "Where have you been all this time?" she asked.

  "I've been reading to the youngest of the children."

  Cathy applied some pale lipstick. "So that's why Nico was so keen to get you to come. I didn't think it was the chaperone aspect which worried him. He obviously wanted you here to keep the kids out of his hair."

  "He appears to be very fond of them," said Lucia. "And the two oldest ones are quite capable of looking after themselves most of the time."

  "How old is the youngest?"

  "She's six."

  "Well, I'm sure he doesn't want her on his hands more than's necessary. He's not the paternal type, thank goodness," said Cathy.

  "Perhaps you don't know him as well as you think," Lucia answered.

  "Well, he's never mentioned them before, so he can't be all that fond of them. I suppose they were foisted on him to give the parents a break, and he
realized that you would be the ideal person to cope with the little horrors."

  When Francesca had said that Nicholas had described her as a dragon, Lucia had taken it as a joke. But now she began to wonder if he had meant it. Perhaps Cathy was right in suggesting that he had not volunteered to have the children at Marina with him, but had been asked to do so. The odd," rather unhappy look on Francesca's face when Lucia had asked about her parents did seem to suggest that there might be a hidden reason for the children being in their uncle's care.

  The possibility that Nicholas had not been sincere in what he had said in the kitchen at Montrose, but had been deliberately gulling her, made Lucia so angry that she quickly returned to her own room, and closed the door.

  It was not the first time she had had vengeful thoughts about Nicholas. Indeed every time she had met him, he had succeeded in rousing some ire in her. But tonight her suspicion and anger were mingled with hurt. And since that moment in the children's room, when he had lifted her on to the bunk, she could no longer deny to herself the cause of the hurt. When his hands had fastened on her waist, she had felt her heart flutter as wildly as a bird in a net. Every nerve in her body had quivered with shock and excitement. Even now, merely thinking about it, she felt hot and cold.

  And the worst of it was that, deep down, she had felt the attraction from the beginning - from the night she had come home to find him kissing her sister.

  At about a quarter to nine, Yannis turned up. Kyria Katina was busy in the kitchen, and Nicholas was introducing the two girls to ouzo, the most popular Greek aperitif.

  "Ah, you are better now, Miss Cathy," said Yannis, as he came into the large room known as the studio. But, although he looked courteously pleased to see her restored to normal, it was to Lucia that he gave his warmest smile. "And you, beautiful Lucia - what do you think of my island? Is it not delightful?"

  "Yes, it seems a lovely place, Yannis." She flashed a swift glance at Nicholas to see his reaction to the younger man's flattering greeting. But he was lighting a cigarette, and she could not see the expression in his eyes.

  "Tomorrow I will show you the hotel," said Yannis, helping himself to the savoury titbits called mezes.