Once she asked the same question she had asked in the car. “What will you do if Gino does come here?”
“You must not forget Stavros,” Madame Xenia said calmly. “Stavros is a very prejudiced man. He does not like one drop of Italian blood.”
In a battle it would be well to have Stavros on the same side, Dorcas thought, but while strength and brawn might be a match for the unsuspecting, Gino would come here alert for a trap. His clever, devious turns of mind could be counted on to get him out of any difficulty, to foil and circumvent any plan that might turn against him. He had spent his life developing this talent. And he was never afraid of the daring move that confounded his adversaries. Dorcas doubted that Madame Xenia and Stavros could deflect Gino from anything he meant to do.
When the doorbell rang, she started uncontrollably and would have risen, but Madame Xenia reached across the table to stop her.
“It is Gino,” she said. “You will not go to him. You will wait and be silent. Stavros?” she added softly, and the man’s doughty figure appeared in a doorway at the rear of the room.
He was no longer in uniform and workman’s clothes suited him best. His mustachios looked fiercer than ever and his blue eyes were alight with an eagerness for whatever was to come.
From the vestibule came the sound of a man’s voice and Madame Xenia nodded again and raised an eyebrow in warning toward Stavros, who stepped back out of sight. But it was not Gino who pushed past the maid and came without ceremony into the room. It was Johnny Orion.
That he was angry was evident. He stood with his feet braced apart, as if alert for attack, and the bandage about his head contributed to a combative air Dorcas had never seen in him before. He looked wonderful to her. He shouldn’t be here, but it was marvelous that he had come.
Madame Xenia recovered from her disappointment and made a hospitable gesture that Johnny ignored. All his attention was for Dorcas.
“Have you found Beth?” he demanded.
Dorcas stood up. “She’s not here. Madame Katalonos says she has gone for a walk with Vanda. Johnny, Vanda is Gino’s sister!”
“I know,” Johnny said. “I made Fernanda tell me what she could and then I headed for the Katalonos house. The maid there said you’d all gone to Lindos. With the marble head. She made quite a point of that.”
Madame Xenia tried to break in. “You are the American young man who works for Miss Farrar—” she began, but Johnny went right on speaking to Dorcas.
“You shouldn’t have left the hotel alone. You said you’d give me an hour. Anyway, when I found out what had happened, I got Fernanda and brought her along in the car.”
“Miss Farrar is here now?” Madame Xenia cried, startled.
Johnny seemed to see her for the first time. “She’s out in the car where I left her.”
At once Madame Xenia rushed to the door. Whether to make Fernanda welcome or to drive her away was not clear.
Dorcas went to Johnny and he put both hands on her arms. “Steady on,” he told her as he had before, and as before she found herself drawing strength from his strength.
“I think we must go to the police now,” she told him urgently. “I shouldn’t have kept you from going before.”
This time it was Johnny who balked. “The other time I thought we had something to go to them with. Now I know we haven’t. Unless you’re anxious to have Madame Xenia’s chauffeur arrested. Since Madame has the marble head, I suppose it was her man who struck me down. But that’s a side road now. It’s Gino that matters.”
“Madame Xenia says he will come here,” Dorcas said.
“She’s probably right.” Johnny sounded grim. “Apparently orders were left at the Katalonos house to tell anyone who inquired that you and Madame and the marble head were off to Lindos. When Fernanda tipped Gino off—as I know she did by phone—he would have made the same first step I did, and tried the house. So he would know.”
“Then he may be here in Lindos already?”
“Probably not. He might have more trouble about transportation than I did. But I think he’ll come if he wants the head. So we’ll have a little showdown waiting for him.”
Madame Xenia returned, bringing Miss Farrar with her. For once Fernanda was not her usual self. She had come out without tying up her hair and she looked blown and untidy and not a little wary. She did not speak to Dorcas, but plumped herself into a chair as though she had been running and was out of breath.
Madame Xenia gave her attention to Johnny. “How is your wound?” she inquired. “It does not hurt too much, I hope?”
“It hurts enough,” Johnny said. “Your man didn’t do me any good.”
“Stavros regrets,” Madame Xenia said, and glanced again toward the back of the room.
At the sound of his name Stavros appeared at once. His mistress made a sign and he bore down upon Johnny Astonishingly, a grin stretched his wide mouth, and he held out both hands, speaking earnestly in Greek as he came.
“Stavros wishes no hard feelings,” Madame Xenia translated. “He is sorry that what he had to do was necessary.”
“I don’t agree that it was necessary,” Johnny said, but he allowed his hand to be grasped in the two large ones Stavros extended. “At least I’m glad that we’re operating on the same side.”
At any other time, Dorcas thought, the scene might have been ludicrous. But Stavros somehow managed to give an impression of great and dignified good will, with an underlying quality of grim intent that boded no good for Gino.
When the man had returned to his post at the rear of the room, Madame poured a cup of tea for Fernanda and pressed it upon her. Fernanda took it and drank it as though she needed the strongly steeped brew.
“I know you’re all waiting for Gino,” she said. “I know you’re plotting something against him. But he’s not guilty of anything real. That he left the States isn’t a crime. Men have slipped out of sight under cover of someone else’s death before this. Not one of you understands what it is that Gino wants from life.”
Dorcas could find nothing to say, but Madame Xenia leaned forward. “You will tell me, please, Miss Farrar, what it is this man—this Gino Nikkaris—wishes so much to have.”
Fernanda answered simply. “He wants his wife and child with him again, of course. I hope that will come about very soon.”
Dorcas made a choked sound that was covered by Madame Xenia’s quick words. “You are telling me that Gino Nikkaris does not seek to possess the marble head from the museum?” She left her chair and went to the sofa, folding back the blanket so that the head was revealed.
Fernanda stared at it uneasily. “He has been interested in the piece, of course,” she said. “Why wouldn’t he be when his partner took it from the museum? But Gino had nothing to do with that theft. He wants only to see the head returned to the place it was taken from. Why should he want it himself? It would only get him into serious trouble.”
All three of them stared at Fernanda, and there was a blank silence. The sound of running feet on the walk outside broke the hush in the room, and a moment later Beth burst through the door. She ran eagerly to her mother and Dorcas caught her up in joyful relief. Over the top of the child’s dark head she saw Vanda standing in the doorway. The woman stayed where she was, staring bitterly at Xenia Katalonos.
16
Madame Xenia spoke first. “I will not have that woman in my house! No one tells me until today that this is the nurse of Mrs. Brandt’s child.”
There was a moment’s silence, broken only by Beth, whose whole interest was upon her mother.
“Vanda took me to the beach to see Daddy’s boat,” she announced. “She’s going to take me for a ride in it soon.”
Johnny and Dorcas exchanged looks and his eyes warned her to be quiet.
Constantine’s wife was not through. She rose to her most majestic height and confronted Vanda. “Has your brother told you that my Constantine is dead? That he is dead because Gino sent him aboard a plane in his place—an
d that plane crashed!”
That the blow went home without warning, without time for protection was clear. Vanda’s careful mask was down and naked shock showed in her eyes. But the woman had long schooled herself to the concealment of pain and her guard was back in place almost at once. She answered in a low voice, and only by a faint tremor did she reveal what she must be enduring.
“If this thing is true,” she said, “then the death of Constantine Katalonos is of your making, madame, not Gino’s.” It was a declaration of hatred, a choosing of sides, a further dedication of loyalty to Gino.
In that moment Dorcas found herself admiring and respecting Vanda Petrus. Her loyalty was mistaken, perhaps, but she was a woman who could stand up to a blow with great courage. There were women like this, who seemed doomed through all their lives. Tragedy struck them down not once, but many times. Vanda was such a one, but now she stood up to this further revelation of her fate with outward impassivity.
Fernanda brushed straggling hair from her forehead and made an effort to regain control of a situation that seemed to have escaped her grasp for some time. She picked up her handbag and rose.
“There’s just too much emotion flying around here,” she said. “I think we all ought to calm ourselves. Vanda, you’d better stay at the inn for tonight, since you’re not welcome here. Johnny, if you’ll drive us there—”
“He will drive this woman nowhere,” Madame Xenia said flatly. “I will not have her in my house, but there is a place in the servants’ quarters behind the garden where she will stay with safety. Stavros!”
He advanced upon Vanda, and his intent was clear. He did not touch her, but after a look she went with him, eyes down.
“It will be only for a short time,” Madame Xenia said to the others. “We cannot have this woman running to Gino. She would interfere with my plan.”
“What is your plan?” Johnny asked.
“We will do nothing,” Madame Xenia said. “We will wait. Gino will come and he will take the marble head. He cannot escape by boat until it is dark. And Stavros will be in the way.”
The combative look was alive in Johnny’s eyes. He had listened to Madame Xenia with interest and Dorcas saw his faint nod of approval. If Gino were caught with the head, away from this house, Madame Xenia could probably sidestep her own serious involvement.
But Fernanda was incensed. “What nonsense! It’s not that hunk of marble Gino will come for. It’s Dorcas he wants to see and talk to. Dorcas and Beth.”
“All the more reason we need to do something about getting them away from here,” Johnny said. “And you, too, Fernanda.”
“You needn’t think you can lock me up,” Fernanda said. “If that—that goon touches me, Madame Katalonos, I’ll go straight to the American consul. I’ll—”
“Hush a minute,” Johnny said. “You’re the one who’s getting emotional and excited. Nobody’s going to lock you up.”
Fernanda subsided slightly. “Why don’t I just take the car and drive back to Rhodes? Dorcas and Beth can come with me and—”
“And you can meet Gino on the way?” Johnny put in. “You’ll have to think of a better scheme than that.”
Fernanda rose and walked to the window that opened upon the tremendous view, turning her back on them all. She looked hot and flustered and not at all like herself.
“You understand,” said Madame Xenia to Johnny, “this is not a thing we wish to give to the police.” She gestured toward the marble head. “It is a very delicate matter, this, and better if we take care of it away from my house. But we cannot invite Miss Farrar to remain and tell Gino what we wish to do.”
Fernanda turned around. “What utter piffle! Gino can take care of himself. And he doesn’t want that head. After all, I’ve come to Lindos to go up there—” She waved a dramatic hand at the high rock where Athena had once had her temple. “So that’s where I’ll go. And Dorcas and Beth can come with me if they like. If Gino comes to Lindos, he won’t be doing any sight-seeing.”
Dorcas looked hopefully at Johnny. Fernanda’s suggestion offered a plan of action at least. Every moment she remained in this house she felt increasingly uneasy. It was time to be up and away—almost anywhere. The top of that high, distant rock offered a likely enough haven. It was the last place Gino would expect them to be at a time like this.
Again Johnny nodded. “It sounds as good an idea as any. So let’s get going. I’ll take you over and see about the donkeys.”
Madame Xenia, too, was in accord this time, and they wasted not a moment more. Johnny drove them to the square and made the arrangements. When Fernanda, Dorcas, and Beth were mounted on the little beasts, and Fernanda had started ahead with a driver leading the way, Johnny held Dorcas’s donkey back, his hand on the bridle.
“Here’s the car key,” he said. “Don’t let Fernanda have it. I’ll leave the car in the square so you can get back easily, but don’t let her know it’s there till the time comes. For now there’s no way to go but up, and once you’re on top you can find ways to keep her there as long as possible. By the time you come down, things should be settled. Take care. And keep your eyes open, in case she gets tricky.”
The key was cold in her fingers. Fernanda was not looking around, and Dorcas slipped it into her purse. Then she bent toward Johnny.
“You’re the one who needs to take care. He won’t walk into a trap with his eyes open. He’ll come expecting trouble.”
“Don’t worry,” Johnny said, his grin reassuring. “I’m in partnership with Stavros now.”
He slapped the flank of her donkey and it trotted along to catch up with the others. She sat sideways in the saddle, as Greek women did, and looked back at Johnny. Just before they turned a corner down into village streets he waved, and she saw him walk off in the direction of Madame Xenia’s house. She wished she could feel easy about him, but she could not. Gino had seen him kiss her. And where Gino hated there was danger.
The donkeys jogged through cobblestoned streets so narrow that two beasts might pass but never a car. Fernanda headed their line and Beth rode in the middle, happily astride and unafraid. Two-story houses, crowding on every hand, cut off any view of the rock. Turns were sharp and irregular and Dorcas lost all sense of direction. Then, without warning, they were free of the village and out upon a dirt and gravel road that zigzagged upward along a hillside.
Above them the rock of Lindos loomed massively, its sides sheer and seemingly impassable. Close at hand the dark-gray stone seemed stark and forbidding. The soaring grace lent by distance was gone.
Their donkeys were sure of foot and unhurried, setting their own pace. As they turned up the next level of the road, Dorcas could look down upon the white village spread below. Its flat gray roofs were covered with clay as insulation against the sun. Here and there a touch of color showed, but for the most part the scene was black and white until the eye reached the blue harbor. There waves broke in creamy ruffles around a beach of white sand. Several boats were visible, pulled up on the beach. Within wading distance a flat-bottomed caïque was anchored—Gino’s boat, perhaps, ready to leave at any moment? Fernanda, too, was looking down at the cove, and Dorcas wondered if she noted the boat and knew its purpose there.
Fernanda glanced back, her good humor apparently restored. “Do try to remember everything you can, Dorcas. I can’t make notes jiggling along on a donkey.”
She would remember, Dorcas thought. She was unlikely to forget any detail of this day.
The rising zigzag carried them to the foot of the rock and here they were helped to dismount and motioned up the hill. This was as far as the donkeys climbed.
For a long moment Dorcas stood staring up at the high gray mass above. Scattered cypress trees grew where there was earth to hold their roots—black exclamation points against gray rock. In the high, stony places she could see the black mouths of caves. There was a humming of cicadas all around, and behind them a donkey brayed, impatient for the homeward trip. It seemed a desolat
e and lonely place, but surely the last place to which Gino was likely to come.
With Fernanda leading the way, they climbed over the rough earth of the entryway and stepped into a wide space where pines and cypress grew sparsely. The northern face of the rock wall rose straight ahead and a long flight of stone stairs cut diagonally up beside it.
As they neared the wall, Fernanda stopped. “Look!” she said, pointing.
Dorcas felt the impact of recognition. Cut into living rock was the portion of a ship in relief. Markos had told her of this long ago. “A ship so very beautiful!” he had said. “A ship carved into the rock by men of old.”
It was a trireme, an ancient galley of Greece, with three banks of oars and a high curving prow like a Viking ship. The outline was still clear, for all the weathering of centuries, and a stone bench had been built where the body of the ship would have been. With the sight came renewal for Dorcas.
As a child Markos had belonged to Lindos. “It is the best of all,” he had told her father. “I cannot say it with words—we will go there and I will show you how it is at Lindos.”
“We’d better start up,” Fernanda said. “We don’t want to be coming down those steps in the dark.”
Already the sun was sliding down the sky, Dorcas saw. Johnny had said to keep Fernanda up here as long as possible, but the time of day was moving against them. If Gino must come, then she prayed he would do it quickly and be gone before they returned. At least as long as they moved upward they put distance between themselves and Gino, and so had an element of safety.
The narrow stone staircase led steeply upward and at the top was a medieval tower with an arched doorway—a tower whose top was just even with the heights, so that it was invisible from a distance, lost against the gray rock. The steps were without a rail and as they climbed slowly, Dorcas looked up to see a set of still narrower steps running above them at a higher level—ruined steps which these had replaced.
This had been a Byzantine fortress once, guarding the way to Athena’s temple. The knights had turned it into a castle and the ramparts, the battlements were clearly visible now, the heraldic symbols still to be seen.
Seven Tears for Apollo Page 24
