by Anne Weale
Nicholas pointed out the Grande Bretagne on the corner of Venizelos Avenue. Built in the nineteenth century, and known as the G.B., it had long been one of the world's grande luxe hotels.
"I expect your father knew it well. It's a great meeting place for journalists and diplomats," he said to Lucia.
It was curious that he should have mentioned Malcolm Gresham then, at the very moment when she was thinking of her father and how, if only he had lived, they might have sat here together.
"Yes, I expect he did," she said huskily.
If Cathy had had unlimited funds, they would have needed a taxi to carry home all her shopping. Everything she saw, she coveted. When, on the way to Maria's shop, they passed Katramopoulos, the Court jewellers, she lingered so long gazing at costly rings that Lucia became embarrassed. Surely she did not expect Nicholas to buy one for her then and there?
"You do not care for jewels, Lucia?" Maria asked, sensing her impatience to move on.
"Oh, yes, they're magnificent - but rather beyond our means," Lucia answered, with a somewhat strained smile.
At Maria's shop, Nicholas left them and went off on some errand of his own. After the heat and noise of the streets, the interior of the shop was cool and quiet. The floor was laid with slabs of pale Pentelic marble which, in Greece, was cheaper than carpet. Fans stirred the foliage of plants growing in tall white jars.
Lucia sat down on a reproduction of a classical Greek dining couch, while Cathy darted about admiring the clothes and accessories on display. There were no customers in the shop, and Maria asked her assistant to bring cold drinks.
To Lucia's dismay, Cathy was not content with admiring the stock. Ignoring her sister's covert signals, she asked if she might try on some things.
"By all means," Maria assented. "I'll show you the fitting-room."
Lucia's heart sank. She felt certain that Cathy would not be satisfied with merely trying on the lovely clothes and, sure enough, it was not long before the younger girl reappeared in a white and gold evening dress.
"This is fabulous. I must have it," she exclaimed, parading about the showroom.
"But, Cathy, it looks frightfully expensive, and you already have several evening things," Lucia protested. "Besides, you can't afford it. You've already spent most of your money."
"You haven't spent all yours yet. You don't want anything else, do you?"
"I haven't enough for that dress," Lucia said, rather grimly.
"Then I'll borrow some from Nico, and pay him back later. How much is it?" - this to Maria.
The older woman glanced at the ticket attached to the zipper. She mentioned a price which made Cathy clap her hands. "That's marvellous! I'll have it, and wear it tonight."
The fact that she did - just - have enough money to pay for the dress was no comfort to Lucia because it was obvious to her that, out of misguided kindness, Maria had halved, if not quartered, the proper price of it. No dress of such fabric and cut could possibly be-as cheap as she had said it was. She had not only sacrificed any profit, she was probably losing money on it.
The others had gone to the fitting-room, and she was alone in the shop, struggling with her chagrin, when Nicholas returned.
"You forgot to buy a memento for yourself, so I've found one for you." He took a small box from his pocket, opened it, and showed her what it contained.
It was a medallion on a fine gold chain. The face of the disc was made of azure enamel, rippled like the surface of the sea. Inlaid upon this shimmering ground was an intricate design in gold.
"Like it?" Nicholas asked.
"It's ... beautiful," she said awkwardly.
"Put it on." He lifted it out of the box, and unfastened the clasp.
"No ... please... I - I can't possibly, accept it."
His eyebrows lifted. "Why not?"
She bit her lip. "I just can't, that's all."
"My dear girl, it's only a trinket," he said, with a gleam of amusement. "There are no 'strings' attached to it."
If he had not mocked her, if she had not been upset about Cathy's dress, she would never have answered as she did. The words were no sooner spoken than she regretted them.
"I should have thought you would realize that I wouldn't accept any present from you," she said coldly.
There was a moment of fraught silence. Lucia wanted to apologize, but her mouth and throat seemed paralysed. What Nicholas felt, she could not tell. His eyes were completely expressionless.
Cathy came back, too elated to sense the tension. But she noticed the blue and gold medallion still dangling from Nicholas's fingers.
"Oh, Nico, how pretty! For me?" she enquired delightedly, reaching out to take it.
His dark face reanimated. "Naturally," he said smoothly, smiling down at her. "It matches your eyes."
Cathy had never looked lovelier than she did that night, in her new dress. In a different way, Maria was equally ravishing. She wore black, with a necklace of glowing crimson stones, and a chinchilla wrap.
Nicholas, when he saw them, bowed his admiration. "Mine eyes dazzle," he said gallantly, looking from one to the other.
Maria moved aside so that he could see Lucia, who had come down last and was behind them. But, although he smiled, and said, "Charming", there was no warmth or interest in his eyes. His appraisal was as brief as it could be short of discourtesy.
She knew then that never again would he look at her with that disturbing glint which had caused her so much unrest. Today, she had finally convinced him that she truly did detest and distrust him. From now on, the barrier between them would be of his making, not hers. That it was better so did not make, it any less painful. She had not realized how much his indifference would hurt. In spite of her own becoming dress, and careful make-up, she felt suddenly plain and insipid - a girl no one would look at twice.
The Vlachos taverna was high up on the steeps of the Acropolis, with a splendid view across Athens to the church- crowned summit of the hill called Lykabettus and, further away, Mount Hymettus.
As soon as the party had settled themselves round a table on the terrace, they witnessed the unique spectacle which Nicholas had promised them - the reason why the ancient Greeks had called the city "violet-crowned".
As the sun set in a blaze of vermilion and gold, the distant slopes of Hymettus were bathed in a strange amethyst light. While it lasted, it was so breathtaking that even Mrs. Wallace kept silent.
She was seated next to Lucia, and presently, while they were eating taramosalata, a soft pate made of smoked cod's roe, she said, "Do you know, I don't believe I've ever seen a lovelier girl than your little sister, Miss Gresham. My son simply can't take his eyes off her, and I don't wonder at it. She's a real beauty, and such a sweet person, too."
Lucia smiled, and glanced along the table to where Cathy and Grant were laughing together.
"I think she likes Grant, don't you?" Mrs. Wallace murmured in her ear.
There was a meaning in her tone which made Lucia stiffen.
"Oh, I know all the wisecracks about American mothers and their sons," Mrs. Wallace went on, as if reading Lucia's mind, "But I've never been overly possessive with my three boys. I've seen the harm it can do. So far, I've been very lucky. My daughters-in-law are sweet girls, and I love them dearly. When Grant falls in love, I shall be the first to congratulate him."
"Isn't he rather young to settle down yet?" Lucia suggested cautiously.
"He's twenty-four," said his mother. "He's very mature for his age, and of course he has excellent prospects. I wouldn't say he's too young for marriage." She helped herself to some aubergine salad. "Tell me about your family, Miss Gresham. Cathy did mention that your parents had passed away. I guess that makes you feel a special responsibility toward her. Are you two quite alone in the world now? Or do you have many other relatives?"
Lucia answered her questions with a growing sense of consternation. It had not occurred to her that Grant might have fallen headlong in love with Cathy. And if it
had, she would have expected his parents to be strenuously opposed to such a precipitate passion, especially with a girl of different nationality.
Instead, Mrs. Wallace seemed to feel that Cathy and her son were ideally matched, and that their engagement was practically a fait accompli - which indeed was what anyone would think, judging by the starry-eyed way Cathy was gazing into the young American's eyes.'
From the head of the table, Nicholas was also observing her sister's behaviour. He was doing it discreetly so that neither Mrs. Hobart, on his right, or Grant's sister, on his left, was aware that he was only half attending to their conversation with him. But, every few minutes, he shot a swift glance at Cathy and, when he did, there was something about the set of his mouth which made Lucia wonder uneasily if, before the evening was over, there would be a scene.
He was after all partly Greek and, as she knew from experience, he could, when roused, be startlingly violent Cathy had never seen that side of him. She had no idea how his eyes could blaze when he was angry. She had never felt the painful strength of those lean brown hands. But she might, if she went on ignoring him and playing up to poor, unsuspecting Grant.
It was three o'clock in the morning when Lucia collapsed into bed after the most gruelling evening of her life. But even though she felt exhausted, she could not sleep. She tried to make her mind a blank, but it was full of confused impressions ... the Parthenon, golden in the floodlights, high above the haze of coloured neon which was Athens by night... the scent of honeysuckle and sweet basil, of French perfume and cigars... the mandolin-clanging of bouzoukias and the throbbing of dumbeks ...
There had not, after all, been a crisis, as she had dreaded. From the Wallaces' point of view, the night had been a memorably gay and enjoyable one. After dinner, Nicholas had taken them to several bouzoukias, two of them well- known tourist places, but the last one a genuine workman's taverna where they had been lucky enough to see some of the regulars giving a spontaneous show of folk dancing.
Afterwards because, by Athenian hours, it was still early, they had gone to Zonar's for coffee and ouzo, and wound up the evening dancing at the Galaxy Roof Terrace of the Hilton.
Civility had obliged Nicholas to ask Lucia for one dance, though no doubt he would have preferred not to do so. But he had not talked to her. They had circled the floor in uncomfortable silence. She had looked fixedly over his shoulder, and he had probably been watching Cathy and Grant who were locked in a cheek-to-cheek embrace elsewhere on the floor.
*
When she woke up the next morning, Maria was standing by the bed, holding a breakfast tray.
"Oh, good heavens, have I overslept? I'm so sorry. What time is it?" Lucia asked, struggling into a sitting position.
"Don't worry. It's not so late, considering the hour we went to bed," Maria said, smiling, and setting the tray on the table beside the bed. "If I may, I will have my coffee with you. I have not been up long myself."
Lucia reached for her watch. "Goodness, it's nearly eleven. Is my sister still in bed?"
"No, she and Nico are more energetic than we are. They have gone out," said Maria. "I don't know where Nico has gone-only that he will return for lunch. Your sister is with the American boy. I did not see him myself, but Elli tells me that he called about an hour ago. I expect he has taken Cathy to see the Agora. They were talking about it last night."
"Oh, were they?" said Lucia, frowning. "I didn't hear."
"No, you were dancing then, I think." Maria sat down on the chair by the open window. She was wearing a green silk caftan, and her long hair was loose, held back by combs above her ears. "Do you mind if I smoke a cigarette? I do not eat in the morning."
"Not at all. Do you mind if I clean my teeth before I have breakfast?"
After she had done this, and brushed her hair, Lucia felt more alert. She climbed back into bed, plumped the pillows, and slowly sipped the glass of fresh orange juice which Maria had brought for her.
For a while, neither of them spoke. Then Maria said suddenly, "I wish I could go back to Marina. It's foolish of me, I suppose. There are other islands more beautiful... Corfu ... Mykonos ... Rhodes. But, for me, they are not like Marina. I do not love them."
"Is it a long time since you were last at Marina?" Lucia asked.
Maria shrugged. "Twenty years." She saw her guest looking puzzled. "Oh, you do not know about me? Nico hasn't told you?"
Lucia shook her head.
"In England, there would be nothing to tell," Maria said, gazing out of the window. "It would all be forgotten ... an old scandal, no longer important. But at Marina such things are never forgotten - not in a hundred years. They do not speak of me, you know. To them, I am already dead."
She paused, and gave a faint sigh. "I don't mind that... I understand their feelings. What I did was wrong. But I don't regret it. I have never regretted one moment of it."
"What did you do?" Lucia asked.
Maria put out her cigarette, and clasped her thin, elegant hands. "When I was seventeen, my parents arranged a marriage for me," she began. "It was a good match because my father was poor, and could offer only a small dowry. I didn't love the man, but I didn't know about love then. My fiancé was good and kind, and I thought I was very fortunate."
She rose to refill her cup from the pot of French coffee. "About six weeks before our wedding, a boat came to the island. It belonged to a Frenchman ... a writer. He spoke some Greek. Everyone liked him. He decided to stay for a time. He wasn't young - he was forty then. He wasn't handsome. His name was Raoul Vallet. We met in the street one morning, and we looked at each other, and it happened. One does not love at first sight, but there was something between us ... it is hard to explain."
"I think I know what you mean," Lucia said quietly, It was what I felt the first time I looked at Nicholas, she thought.
"Ours was a very strange love affair," Maria went on. "We were never alone together. We scarcely spoke to each other. But, each day, the feeling between us grew stronger. I knew he wanted me, and I wanted him. It frightened me, yet I was happy, too. Oh, I was so confused - you can't imagine!"
Lucia said nothing.
"Four days before my wedding, I knew I could not marry Stephanos," Maria went on, after some moments. "That night, I crept from our house, and went to Raoul on his boat. I asked him to take me away with him."
She lit another cigarette, and her hand shook slightly as she held the match to its tip. "We had five years together - five years of heaven. He never married me. He already had a wife in Paris, but they hadn't lived together for years. He died very suddenly - a heart attack." She smiled, but there were tears in her eyes. "So you see I am a wicked woman. Nico is the only one who loves me in spite of my sins. He's a great comfort to me, and he brings me all the news from Marina."
After a little, Lucia said, "So you were only twenty-three when Raoul died? Have you never—" She stopped, afraid that what she had been about to ask would be impertinent.
"Have I never wanted to marry and become respectable?" Maria finished for her. "Oh, yes, I've wanted it very much. Unfortunately, I've never fallen in love again. I've been offered marriage... several times. Not here, in Athens, but in other countries. Sometimes I think it was stupid of me not to grasp those opportunities. When I'm lonely and tired, when I look at myself and see another line on my face, then I would marry anyone who would give me affection and companionship. But such moods pass. I'm not often depressed. And who knows? If I wait, and hope, perhaps one day there will be someone ..."
The wistfulness left her face, and her black eyes twinkled. "To you, I am middle-aged - much too old to dream of a lover."
"Oh, no-I think you're beautiful," Lucia told her impulsively.
Maria smiled. "Thank you, my dear. But now let's talk about you. You are unhappy, I think - yes? This visit to Greece has been a difficult time for you?"
This caught Lucia unprepared. How much did Maria know? Obviously, since they were very close, Nicholas would have co
nfided his feelings to her. But did she guess what Lucia felt? And what must she think of Cathy's behaviour last night?
"Sometimes, when one is deeply troubled, it is a relief to talk about it," Maria said gently. "You needn't fear that I will betray your confidence. I am very good at keeping secrets."
She looked so sympathetic, so understanding, that for an instant Lucia was tempted to tell her everything. But, on the very brink of confession, something held her back.
"Oh, please, don't be embarrassed. I didn't mean to press you," said Maria, seeing her discomfiture. "I shouldn't have spoken. It is not my business. Ah! Here is Demetrios" - this as her cat strolled into the room, and leapt on her lap.
From then on, they talked of cats, and clothes, and other things, until Maria rose, saying it was time she dressed and did her hair. But as she was leaving the room, she suddenly turned.
"Lucia, even if it is not my business, there is something I feel I must say to you. Nico is like a brother to me. I wish for his happiness as much as for my own. Will you let me speak?"
Lucia hesitated. "Very well."
Maria sat down on the bed. "Nico is not a boy. Naturally, there have been women in his life. But now, for the first time, it is serious with him. He hasn't told me this, but, knowing him as I do, I can sense it. For reasons which I don't understand, the girl he wants is pretending that she does not care for him. Forgive me for saying this so bluntly - she is being a fool."
Lucia pleated the edge of the sheet. "If he wants her, why doesn't he tell her? Why doesn't he propose to her?"
"Oh, my dear, you don't know much about men if you can ask that!" Maria replied dryly. "Do you think they are so different from women? That they have no pride? That their feelings can't be hurt as deeply as ours?"
"No, I don't think that. But surely it's up to the man to take the initiative?"
"Certainly - if he has reason to believe his love is returned. But you can't expect any man to offer himself to a girl who behaves as if she doesn't care that for him," said Maria, snapping her fingers. "That is asking too much."
