South from Sounion

by Anne Weale

  He brightened. "Is that so? Well, look, if you're free any time, you must call me. I'll be at the Hilton."

  "Naturally," Nicholas murmured dryly.

  Grant detected the slight edge of sarcasm, and gave him a puzzled glance. It was plain that he had no idea he was trespassing on someone else's preserves.

  He smiled down at Cathy. "In that case, I'll say 'au revoir'."

  After he had taken his leave of them, Nicholas said briskly, "Come on, it's time you children were in bed."

  "Already? But we haven't seen Aunt Hestia, or Yannis, or the girls yet," Francesca objected.

  "And we aren't going to look for them now," he responded firmly. "We'll see them tomorrow."

  Back at the house, he asked Lucia if she would see the children to bed while he drove to the village to wait for Kyria Katina's return with her friends.

  Francesca was the only one of them who had managed to bring her candle home alight. "I wonder if it will bring me luck?" she said to Lucia, before she blew it out. "I suppose it's just a silly superstition really, isn't it?"

  Lucia guessed where her thoughts lay. "I don't know," she said gently. "But even if it is, it's rather a nice one. I don't believe in any of the bad luck things - breaking mirrors, and spilling salt. But I don't see any harm in good luck omens. In fact, I think if you believe that everything is going to turn out well, it actually does help it to happen. It's always better to be optimistic rather than pessimistic, you know."

  When the girls were settled for the night, she went along the passage to Nicholas's bedroom which Stephen was sharing with him. The boy was already in bed, reading a book.

  "I'm not a bit tired. I can finish this chapter, can't I?" he asked her hopefully.

  "What! - At this hour of night? Certainly not!" said Lucia, with mock severity.

  "Nico reads half the night," Stephen grumbled.

  "He's finished growing. You haven't. Come on - down you go. He'll be back pretty soon, and if you're not asleep he'll be annoyed."

  "He seems annoyed already," said Stephen, putting the book away.

  "Oh? What makes you think that?" She glanced at the other bed, the one in which Nicholas slept.

  "I dunno exactly," the boy said vaguely. "But he's jolly ratty about something. Dad always shouts when he's angry, but Nico just gets a sort of look. It's nothing we've done. I expect it's the Government... or shares... or something like that. They're what makes Dad really riled." He remembered something, and grinned. "Once, he had a letter from the Income Tax people. It made him so furious he put salt on his cornflakes instead of sugar. We all sat waiting for him to take a spoonful and spit it out, but the funniest thing was that he ate the whole lot without noticing - or he would have, if Mum hadn't stopped him in case he was sick."

  Lucia laughed. "Goodness, he must have been fuming." Absentmindedly - because, at twelve, he was probably past such attentions - she tucked him in. "Goodnight, Stephen."

  " 'Night." With a hippopotamus yawn, he turned on his side and snuggled down. In spite of being "not a bit tired", he was half asleep before she closed the door.

  She found Cathy in the studio. She was lounging on one of the sofas, sipping a glass of ouzo.

  "Now for the catechism, I suppose?" said her sister, pulling a face.

  Lucia sat down. "I must admit I'm extremely curious to know what you're up to now."

  Cathy studied her pearl-lacquered nails. "I thought it might be interesting to see how Nico reacted to some competition."

  "You mean you wanted to make him jealous?"

  "You could put it like that. You don't approve, I suppose?"

  "I don't see why you had to tell lies," said Lucia.

  Cathy made big, artless eyes at her. "Lies? I don't know what you mean."

  "Oh, come off it, Cathy, don't act with me. You met Grant Wallace last night, and arranged to see him again this evening. You didn't get lost - you deliberately gave us the slip."

  "Yes, I did, as a matter of fact," her sister admitted. "But it wasn't until tonight that I decided to introduce him to the rest of you." She smiled, and sipped her drink. "It worked like a charm, didn't it? Nico pretended not to mind, but I could tell he was rattled by the way he squashed Grant's invitations."

  "It seems a peculiar way to treat someone you want to marry."

  "Ah, but then you don't understand men, sweetie," said Cathy wisely. "There's nothing, but nothing, like a sharp twinge of jealousy to bring a man up to scratch."

  "Are you sure? If I were a man, and a girl tried those tactics on me, it would put me right off her."

  Her sister shrugged. "If you were a man, you'd be like Bernard. Nico's very different, thank heavens. Ah, that sounds like the jeep coming now, so I'll disappear. Say goodnight for me, will you?"

  "What's the matter? Are you afraid to face him?"

  "Oh, no," said Cathy confidently. "Going to bed is strategy, my pet. If he's simmering now, by tomorrow he'll be at boiling point."

  But when, shortly afterwards, Nicholas and his aunt came into the studio, and found Lucia there on her own, he did not appear to be under any kind of strain.

  The two women talked for a while, with Nicholas translating for them. Then Kyria Katina said goodnight, and retired.

  Lucia would have gone too, but when she was half way to the door, Nicholas called her back.

  "I'm going for a swim," he said, as she turned towards him. "You don't look particularly tired. Why don't you come with me?"

  "No, thank you, I don't think I will."

  "It's a beautiful night. The sea is warmer at night."

  "Yes, I daresay it is - but I'd rather not."

  "Why? Are you afraid of being alone with me?"

  She flushed. "No, of course not."

  He smiled. "Much too vehement, Lucia. Denials are never convincing if they're too vehement."

  Exasperation welled up inside her and overflowed. "Oh, you and Cathy-I don't understand either of you. You play with people like . . . skittles. What do you want me to say? That I am afraid of you? Very well, I am ... if it gives you some weird satisfaction."

  There was a tense silence which seemed to go on for ever, but probably only lasted for half a minute. Lucia wondered if anyone had heard her raised voice and would come to see what was the matter.

  "Do you mean that?" Nicholas's voice was as quiet as hers had been loud. "Are you really afraid of me? What do you imagine I might do?"

  Her mouth felt dry. "I d-don't know."

  "Yes, you do - you think I'd make love to you, don't you? But that isn't what makes you nervous. What really scares you - if you're honest - is that you know you might enjoy it. For once in your life, your instincts might get out of hand. I might see the real Lucia Gresham, not the stiff- necked girl you pretend to be."

  "How dare you!" she said, her voice shaking. "How dare you speak to me like that! What right have you to tell me what I'm like?"

  "No right at all," he cut in, as she paused for breath. "But I'm getting a little tired of your touch-me-not attitude. I asked you to come for a swim because I thought you would enjoy it. You wanted to come, but you felt it was too big a risk. You couldn't trust me. You couldn't be sure I'd behave myself?"

  The sting in his voice made her flinch, but she stood her ground. "How can you expect me to trust you?" she flashed back at once.

  He walked towards her, his hands in his trouser pockets. It took all her control to stand there until he stopped, an arm's length away.

  "Have I ever given you cause not to trust me?" he asked.

  "Yes, I think you have," she retorted, meeting his eyes.

  "Well, go on . .. when and where?" he pressed.

  Lucia clenched her hands till her nails dug into her palms. "Every time we've ever been alone. Yesterday, in my room, when you k-kissed the back of my neck. Tonight, in the street, when you said you'd enjoyed holding me. Right from the very beginning you've made me distrust you."

  "I see," he said, after a moment. "So you can only tr
ust a man if he appears to be entirely indifferent to the fact that you're a very attractive girl? That's a rather severe proscription, don't you think? - And one which certainly excludes Yannis."

  "Yannis is different. Yannis is ... free."

  Nicholas lifted one eyebrow. "So am I," he said dryly.

  Lucia gaped at him. "But I thought—" she began.

  "Yes? What did you think?"

  There was a muffled wail from somewhere along the corridor.

  Nicholas stiffened. "What the devil...?"

  At the second cry, he brushed past her, and went to investigate.

  CHAPTER SIX

  It was Ariadne who had cried out. When, with Lucia close behind him, Nicholas entered the girls' room, and switched on the light, the child was sitting up in her bunk, having been uncontrollably sick all over the bedclothes. At the sight of the two grown-ups, she burst into tears.

  "I want Mummy," she sobbed. "I want Mummy!"

  "Oh, lord - poor kid. What a mess!" said Nicholas ruefully. "Don't cry, mouse. You couldn't help it." He began to unfasten his cuff links.

  Lucia said briskly, "I'll see to her. I'm more used to this sort of thing."

  Nicholas rolled up one shirt sleeve. "Look out - she's going to be sick again." With surprising presence of mind, he snatched up a plastic beach bucket, and narrowly managed to deal with the child's second spasm.

  Francesca, only half awake, muttered, "What's the matter? What's happening?"

  Lucia bent to reassure her. "Poor Ariadne's been sick," she explained. "You go back to sleep, dear. Your uncle and I will look after her."

  "Ugh! How horrid. She is a pest," said Francesca, with sisterly callousness.

  Having firmly quashed Lucia's insistence that she could cope much better than he could, Nicholas organized matters with an efficiency and total lack of squeamishness which could scarcely have been excelled by a trained children's nurse. Within a very short time Ariadne, in clean pyjamas, was ensconced in his own bed. He made Lucia stay with her while he removed the soiled bedding, and re-made the bunk with clean linen.

  By the time he had finished these tasks, Ariadne had dropped off to sleep again.

  "She doesn't seem to be running a temperature," he said, looking down at the little girl's round, peaceful face. "All the same, she had better stay where she is for the rest of the night. Then, if she should be ill again, I'll be on hand to attend to her."

  Stephen had slept through all this coming and going. He did not wake when his uncle lifted him out of his bed, and carried him next door to sleep in Ariadne's bunk.

  "That boy would sleep through an earthquake," said Nicholas, returning to his own room. He looked at Lucia. "I don't know about you, but after that I could do with some coffee."

  She followed him to the kitchen. "What did you do with the dirty sheets?"

  "Dumped them in a bucket of disinfectant, and put them outside. They can be washed in the morning."

  Lucia sat down at the scrubbed kitchen table while he set about making the coffee. It seemed much more than thirty minutes since they had faced each other in the studio.

  She could not help saying, "You're a very strange man, Nicholas."

  He glanced at her over his shoulder. "Why? Because I know what to do when a child is sick? Nothing strange about that - it's simple horse sense. You have too many preconceived ideas about people, my girl. Nobody's all of a piece."

  "You certainly aren't. You're the most confusing person I've ever met."

  He made no comment on that. "Are you hungry? Would you like some bread and cheese?"

  "No, thank you."

  When the coffee was ready, he brought it to the table. Then he cut himself a hunk of bread, spread it with soft sheep's milk cheese, and sat down to eat it.

  Lucia took a purple Calamata olive from the dish he had set out. She was itching to know what he had meant when, just before Ariadne's cries had interrupted them, he had said he was free. But she had not the courage to ask him point blank.

  By now it was nearly three o'clock, and although she was still not tired, she did feel rather cold and devitalized.

  Nicholas saw her shiver. "You'd better have a small brandy. It will warm you, and help you to sleep after all the excitement." There was a fugitive twinkle in his eyes which made her suspect that he was not referring to Ariadne's tummy upset, but to what had preceded it.

  "Oh, no, really - I don't need brandy. The coffee will warm me."

  "Brandy hits the spot more effectively." He fetched a bottle and glasses, and poured a small measure for her, and a stiffer one for himself. "It's a good thing you're not a Greek girl," he said with an enigmatic smile, as he pushed her glass across the table.

  She gave him an enquiring look.

  "If a Greek girl was found carousing with a man at this hour of the morning, she would have to marry him," he explained.

  Her heart gave a little flutter. "I would hardly call this carousing," she said without expression.

  "Not by English standards - no; But most of the older people here would see it in that light. To save your reputation, we should have to be married forthwith."

  Lucia sipped a little brandy. "Then it's as well I'm not a Greek girl."

  He watched her, his dark eyes unreadable. "Would marrying me be so repugnant to you?"

  "I should think a forced marriage would be repugnant to both parties," she said evasively.

  "That isn't what I asked you."

  Her hands began to tremble. Quickly, she tucked than away on her lap. "I - I would never marry anyone unless I loved them," she said huskily. "If you don't mind I'll finish my coffee in my room." She pushed back her chair, and picked up the cup and saucer, leaving the glass of brandy where it was.

  Nicholas opened the kitchen door for her.

  "Thank you... goodnight," she said, without looking at him. Her hand was so unsteady that the coffee was spilling into the saucer.

  "Goodnight, Lucia." He sounded amused.

  He stayed at the kitchen door until she reached her room.

  On Easter Monday, Nicholas received a telegram from the children's parents. They were in Athens, and would be coming to Marina on the steamer the following day. The two younger children were delighted by this news. Francesca's reaction was guarded.

  Kyria Katina was concerned about where everyone was going to sleep. But Nicholas had already considered this problem.

  "You won't mind spending your last night at the hotel, will you?" he asked, speaking to Cathy and Lucia.

  Cathy brightened. "Our last night?"

  "Yes - on Wednesday we three will be going back to Athens."

  "What about the picnic, Uncle Nico?" Ariadne put in. "You promised us a picnic on the little island."

  "We'll go there tomorrow," he told her. "The steamer won't arrive until four, possibly later, so there'll be plenty of time for a picnic before we meet it."

  But the following morning, just before the picnic party set out, Cathy announced that she had a headache, and would rather not go.

  "Well, I'm afraid I can't disappoint the children," said Nicholas, not very sympathetically. "You'd better take some aspirins, and lie down."

  "Shall I stay with you?" Lucia offered.

  "No, no - you go and enjoy yourself," said her sister, with an injured glance at Nicholas.

  The sea was flat calm that day, and it did not take long for him to row them across the glittering water to the little island. The children helped to pull the scarlet and blue boat on to the beach, and then they ran off to rediscover this favourite haunt, such a perfect setting for games of Explorers and Castaways.

  "I'm going to swim," said Nicholas, when he had unloaded the two large baskets which Kyria Katina had packed with food and drinks.

  Leaving Lucia free to join him or to follow the children, as she chose, he stripped off his shirt and shorts, and strolled into the sea.

  After some indecision, she chose to swim. But when she entered the water, Nicholas was already out o
f sight beyond the rocks at the end of the island. By the time he reappeared, she was dry and dressed. As she saw him stand up in the shallows, his tanned skin glistening in the sun, she wondered if it would be wise to go after the children. But it seemed that Nicholas was not in the mood to tease her today.

  When he came to get his towel, he said only, "Help yourself to the drinks if you're thirsty." Then he gave himself a quick rub down, lit a cigarette, and walked off.

  She did not see him again until noon when he and the children came back, and they all had lunch. The children were ravenous, and fell upon the dolmathes - balls of savoury rice wrapped in vine leaves - as if they had not eaten for days. Kyria Katina had filled two vacuum flasks with avgolemono, a satisfying chicken and rice broth, enriched with eggs and flavoured with lemon. After this, Lucia could eat no more, but the children still had room for fruit, and sticky, honey-drenched paklavas.

  "Hollow legs," said Nicholas, grinning at her, as he passed across a bottle of Fix beer.

  She smiled and nodded and, for a moment, it seemed to her that there was a harmony between them which had never happened before. The feeling stayed with her when, presently, they all lay down to doze for a while.

  She could have lain in the sun all afternoon, but it was not long before the children recovered their energies. Considerately, they crept off to play without disturbing the two grown-ups. Nicholas, when Lucia turned her head to look at him, seemed to have fallen asleep. He was lying on his back with one forearm shading his eyes, and his other arm lax on the sand.

  But after she had been watching him for some minutes, he said, without moving but in a wide-awake voice, "Would you like to see the remains of the temple?"

  "Oh, yes, please. Where is it?"

  He sat up, and stretched. "Near the top of the hill, on the other side. You can't see it from here. Not that there's much to see anyway. If you'd rather stay here and laze ..." He let the sentence rest on a gesture.

  "What about you? Perhaps you would rather be lazy?"

  He stood up, and raked his fingers through his short, black hair. "It's our last day. We may as well make the most of it. Come on." He held out his hand to help her up.