Dorcas felt suddenly cold there in the warm sunlight. She had come at last upon the truth she had sought for. It was clear in all its terrible import. Markos had never told his wife how he felt about Gino. He had not been repeating the name of one he thought a friend. He had been saying over and over the name of his murderer. Yet this was not something for Gino’s widow to tell the unhappy woman who thought of Gino Nikkaris as her benefactor.
“Thank you for telling me,” Dorcas said gently. “I must go back to the others now. It’s good fortune that I found you.”
Mrs. Dimitriou made no effort to go with her. She stood beside the wall and watched her go. Once Dorcas turned and waved to her, but the woman did not wave back. She followed slowly, and the next time Dorcas turned she saw that Mrs. Dimitriou had stepped into the doorway of a house that faced the square. She was still watching, her shawl drawn over the lower part of her face.
As Dorcas approached the group, Fernanda beckoned to her frantically. “Where on earth have you been? We’re waiting for you. We’ve found enough gas to get us started. So do come along.”
Dorcas got into the car and they drove away amid smiles and waving farewells.
As they turned a corner, Dorcas looked back. Not at the waving crowd, but beyond, to the place where a woman in black stood alone in the doorway. Just as the turning car removed her from sight, a second woman came to stand beside her. Dorcas had no more than a glimpse, but it was enough.
The second woman was Vanda Petrus.
12
Fernanda, having recovered from her sulks, once more sat up in front, while Dorcas and Beth rode in the rear. Dorcas held Beth on her lap and waited until they were out on the road, following the route originally intended. For at least twenty minutes she held back her impulse to blurt out everything. When at last she broke in on something Fernanda was saying, she heard the tension in her own voice.
“I saw Mrs. Dimitriou in the villiage,” she said. “That was why you didn’t want to go there, wasn’t it, Fernanda? You had Vanda take her there, so I would have no opportunity to speak to her.”
Beth stirred in her lap and looked anxiously into her mother’s face. “Mommy?” she said inquiringly. And again—“Mommy?”—as though she questioned her mother’s identity.
“Oh, Dorcas!” Fernanda cried despairingly. “And just when I thought you were improving a little.” She reached over the seat and patted Beth’s cheek. “Don’t worry, darling, it is your mommy. She’s just upset herself a little.”
Dorcas forced herself to speak more quietly. “I saw Mrs. Dimitriou. I talked to her. When we drove out of the village, I looked back and saw Vanda Petrus standing beside her in a doorway.”
“This sort of upset is what I was afraid of,” Fernanda said. “I didn’t want it to happen in front of Beth. You’ll remember, Johnny, that I wanted Dorcas to stay home.”
Dorcas hugged Beth so tightly that the little girl cried out that she was being held too close.
It did no good for Dorcas to tell herself that what Fernanda thought and said did not matter. It mattered terribly, and she was afraid. Fernanda was as much under Gino’s spell now as she had ever been when he was alive. Unless her mistaken loyalty to him could be turned aside, she might very well succeed in her clear intent toward Beth. What had happened today, even the things Fernanda had just said, made it all the more evident that she would have no scruples about the way in which she achieved her ends. Apparently she was ready to deny the truth and use everything that happened as further proof of instability on the part of Beth’s mother.
Because realization of how far Fernanda was willing to go was so frightening, Dorcas tried to put it from her mind for the moment. She forced herself to watch the pine-brushed mountains and deep ravines, the curving road as it spun on ahead of them. She watched the details and tried not to think. Sometimes Johnny slowed for a donkey with a woman sitting sideways on its back, her head and the lower part of her face covered with a scarf, her feet in boots of yellow leather, all in the manner of Rhodes.
On the drive back to Rhodes she turned her thoughts once more upon the quiet memory of Camiros. How lovely the hours there had been. How calming the honey-gold aura of the sleeping town, its silence broken only by the singing of birds and wind in the pine trees, its motionless dreaming disturbed only by lizards that ran among the stones.
“Be happy,” she told herself silently. What if she gave in to Fernanda and stopped opposing her? What did it matter if Constantine hid from his wife? Or if Fernanda sent Mrs. Dimitriou away to Vanda’s village? What did it matter if a priceless marble head had been stolen from a museum and that Dorcas Brandt might hold the key to where it was hidden? None of these things could help her to find peace. To concern herself with them was not to be happy.
Johnny was wrong. If she let herself die a little and cling only to the peace of Camiros, Fernanda would be pleased. She would let her keep Beth, so long as it was on Fernanda’s terms. All the vague threats that hung over her would be lifted. Fernanda was fond of her, really. It was just that she was still devoted to Gino and she put Gino’s child ahead of all else. Fernanda herself did not truly know the difference between what was real and unreal.
When they reached the hotel, Dorcas went straight to her room. She stood in the open doors to the balcony, watching a red-gold sun dip toward the sea. In the street below palm trees cast the same long shadows they had cast last evening, reminding her of what she wanted to forget. She would have turned away, but movement caught her eyes. The watcher was there in the shadow, slouching, with jacket collar pulled up and visor down. Again she had the feeling that she had seen that slumped, indefinable figure before, that he was here because of her.
Abruptly the safe peace of Camiros evaporated. She ran downstairs and out the hotel door, down the steps and into the street. By the time she reached the sidewalk the shadows were quiet with the serenity of the quick Aegean dusk. She had known they would be empty. It was not yet time for those who watched to let her come near them. When they were ready they would move—and then it would be too late.
She walked among the quiet shadows and strangely there was no terror in her. It was better, she found, to act. Johnny’s words were reaching her with a delayed effect. She could not surrender to Fernanda’s unreal world. The peace of Camiros was indeed the peace of a place empty of life, and for that she was not yet ready. She had felt herself coming alive through the touch of Johnny’s hands and she wanted to stay alive. To “be happy” was sometimes to fight for one’s life and one’s responsibility to others. Only then could liking for herself evolve. In the growing darkness the scent of jasmine was warmly sweet with a memory of the sun. But the savoring of such sweetness was not all of life.
Why had she thought the finding of Mrs. Dimitriou and the answer the woman had given her meant nothing because Fernanda had turned her back upon the truth? It was for herself—for Dorcas Brandt, first of all, that this reaffirmation of the truth was necessary. She need never have doubted herself. She would not again give in to Fernanda, who wanted to shake her belief in herself because of doubts that were hers, not Dorcas’s.
As long as the evil Gino had set in motion lived on she would dream of the statue that looked at her with Gino’s eyes and mocked her weeping with Gino’s laughter. She could not be free to be happy until the matter was finished. The seventh tear had not yet been shed. Even though Fernanda, and even Johnny, might set themselves against her, she knew herself now and knew that she was ready to fight back.
When she went upstairs, Fernanda was in the hallway with Vanda Petrus. They must have been talking about her, for they fell suddenly silent when she appeared. Vanda slipped away to the bedroom to stay with Beth.
Fernanda spoke to Dorcas. “Come in here a minute, dear, will you?”
She had nothing to say to Fernanda at this point, but there was no way to refuse.
In her bedroom Fernanda kicked off her shoes and flung herself full length upon the bed.
&n
bsp; “Sit down,” she said. “I want to talk to you.”
Dorcas sat upright in a straight chair, braced for resistance toward whatever was to come.
“What happened today was most unfortunate,” Fernanda said. “It was the thing above all else that I wanted to avoid.”
“I’m sure that’s true,” said Dorcas.
“Don’t be bitter, dear. What did Mrs. Dimitriou tell you?”
Dorcas did not hesitate. She, too, must use whatever weapon came to hand.
“She told me the last words her husband spoke before he died—the name he kept repeating. Gino’s name. Mrs. Dimitriou believed that Markos was speaking of his kind friend.”
Fernanda plumped a pillow behind her and sat up against it. “And what did you think?”
“I thought she was misinterpreting,” Dorcas said quietly.
“That’s exactly what I was afraid of.” Fernanda closed her eyes as though she could not bear to see Dorcas’s expression. “I think I’d better tell you something, dear. Gino never wanted me to, but there are occasions when I must follow my own judgment. It’s time for you to understand what really happened. Dorcas, Gino was driving the car that struck Markos down. He saw the man quite clearly before the impact and he knew how hard he had struck. It was one of the few times in his life that Gino ever lost his head. He knew what you would think. He knew the accusation you might make and the danger he was in. So, foolishly, he drove away.”
“He told you it was an accident?” Dorcas asked.
“It was more than an accident, dear. It was a dreadful, dangerous, unforeseeable coincidence. Gino had to save himself.”
“It was not an accident,” said Dorcas evenly. “It was deliberate. Gino murdered Markos Dimitriou. He left me in an angry, revengeful mood and he meant to do something violent. It wasn’t even a sudden rage by the time it happened. It was intended, premeditated.”
Fernanda opened her eyes and there were tears in them. “That’s exactly what Gino said you would believe. That’s why he told me what really happened. So I would be prepared if you ever tried to make such an accusation. To me, the most tragic thing of all is the way you’ve turned against Gino, Dorcas. We both hoped so much, Gino and I, that you would come out of your—your illness a new woman. That you would be the loving wife Gino wanted you to be. In fact, it seemed to us that this was going to happen when you first came home. But I knew when he died that he meant nothing to you. For Beth’s sake I’ve been silent, and I’ve tried to help you. But what am I to do if you slip back into your old emotional state? That’s why I regret what happened today. Because it has opened old wounds, aroused delusions you should have recovered from.”
Dorcas stood up. “Tell me just one thing. What would your position be if you knew without any doubt that Gino had run Markos Dimitriou down deliberately?”
Fernanda’s large person seemed to stiffen there on the bed. “What you are saying isn’t true, of course. But if it had been, I would have stood by Gino, no matter what happened. Because if it had been true, then he would have needed me more than ever and I would never have let him down.”
What was there to say in the face of a devotion so stubborn and misguided? Dorcas left her and returned to her own room. It did not really matter in the book of Fernanda’s devotion whether Gino was guilty or not, or of what crimes he might be guilty. She would oppose any move to throw suspicion upon his name or interfere with what he might have wished to happen. What must be done must be kept from Fernanda lest she take sides, even though innocently, with those who watched.
That evening the three of them went downtown to dinner. It was a strange meal, with Fernanda and Dorcas curiously polite and on guard with each other. Johnny, who did not know what had passed between them, was puzzled by this evidence of a rift, though he asked no questions.
More than once during the meal Dorcas tried to show him in small ways that she had accepted his words, that she had begun to understand. She was no longer seeking for the lifeless happiness of escape. She was ready to build toward something real, with all the risks and dangers being truly alive might imply.
After dinner Fernanda suggested a short walk along Mandraki before they returned to the hotel. The moment they went outside they were aware that something was going on up at the castle. Lights were changing against the walls and recorded voices were shouting down from the castle in Greek.
At once Fernanda’s interest stirred. “It’s the Sound and Light spectacle they’re putting on. This is something I must see. Let’s go up there.”
Dorcas had done enough sight-seeing and she shook her head. “If you and Johnny want to go I’ll stay here outside the walls. There’s a bench under the trees where I can wait.”
“Go on ahead, Fernanda,” Johnny said. “I’ll look for you in a little while.”
Fernanda was not pleased, but she disappeared through the gate into the castle grounds, and Dorcas and Johnny sat on the bench, heedless of the display above them.
“You’re looking better tonight,” Johnny said. “You look like a girl who’s made up her mind about something.”
She turned to him eagerly. “I have! I’m beginning to understand a little of what you tried to tell me today at Camiros. I mustn’t let my own belief in myself be shaken so easily. That’s part of what you mean, isn’t it?”
“So you’re no longer an affrighted gazelle?” Johnny said, and there was tenderness in his voice. “I like it better this way.”
“This afternoon,” she went on, “I found out for certain the thing I needed to learn. Mrs. Dimitriou told me quite innocently that her husband had repeated Gino’s name over and over before he died. She thought he was speaking of his friend. But I know better. Markos was trying to tell his wife the name of the man who deliberately ran him down in that car. Fernanda doesn’t believe this. She says Gino told her it was an accident. Gino was always able to make her believe anything he wished.”
Johnny’s arm came about her and once more she knew how very much alive she was. There was belief in his touch. But even if he doubted, she would hold to her own conviction now and let the rebirth of confidence heal her.
“You’ve had a pretty bad time, but it’s over now,” Johnny said. He turned her face toward him in the darkness and kissed her mouth. It was not a gentle kiss, and she sensed a comforting anger in him at the things that had been done to her.
“Now that you know the worst of all this, it will fade out if you’ll let it,” he said. “You’ve found the answer, you know the truth. Can you set a full stop to the whole thing now?”
He did not wholly understand. How could he? But it did not matter.
“There’s more to be done first,” she said. “The thing isn’t finished. The thing Gino started is still going on. I don’t know what it is, but I know it’s evil. And there isn’t anybody to oppose it but me.”
He asked no questions. “We’ll go to Philerimos tomorrow,” he promised, and she knew he had taken his place beside her, whether he believed or not.
“Thank you, Johnny, she told him. The words were simple but he would understand what lay beneath them.
On the hill above the castle flared into a new combination of light and the clash of a pretended siege grew louder.
“Maybe I’d better go look for Fernanda,” he said. “She’s a bit peeved with me, I think.”
Dorcas nodded. “You go after her. I’ll wait for you here, Johnny.”
She watched as he walked toward the gate, his figure square-set and strong, silhouetted against flaring lights. “I’ll wait for you, Johnny,” she repeated softly. Nothing like Johnny Orion had ever happened to her before. A warm happiness released the last tension. Johnny would never hurry, or harass, or crowd her. She would learn courage from him, learn to be alive again as she had not been for so many years.
How long she sat there in alternate shadow and light she did not know. When at length she moved and drew her coat around her, feeling the chill of a breeze from the sea, she saw that
she was no longer alone. Others had gathered about this open space beside the wall. There were groups here and there watching the final climax of light and sound. The ramparts glowed an angry red, and the underlying voices beat out the mock danger, the alarm.
In spite of the tumult, the footstep behind her was so near that Dorcas heard it. She would have turned, but there was no time. Out of the darkness a hand reached to touch her. It cupped her chin lightly, quickly, the fingers drawing in a swift caress along the line of her jaw, down the side of her neck. And was gone.
Only one person had ever touched her like that. Only one!
The thing was like one of her dreadful dreams. The cry she tried to utter choked in her throat, frozen there. For an instant terror held her so acutely that she could not move at all. Then she stumbled to her feet and turned about wildly. There were only strangers watching the burning of the castle, strangers whose eyes were not upon her. Yet he had been here, he had touched her. She knew that in the full agony of terror.
13
Mindlessly, Dorcas began to run toward the castle gate. High above, red lights faded and a calm golden glow enveloped everything. The music lifted and voices shouted in final triumph. Yet she heard nothing except the cry of desperation in her own mind.
Fernanda and Johnny came through the gate just as she reached it. She ran to him and he put both arms about her to still her trembling with his own steady strength. He said nothing, but held her quietly, while Fernanda tried to ask questions.
Dorcas managed to speak the words at last. “It was Gino! He touched me! He put his hand out and touched me in the darkness. I know it was Gino!”
“I’ve seen her go into spells like this before,” Fernanda said. “We’ve got to get her to the hotel at once.”
Dorcas whirled on her. “Don’t talk to me like that! This is what you’ve been hiding from me. This is what you’ve known all along—that Gino is alive. He touched me—I know he touched me!”
Seven Tears for Apollo Page 19
