Summer in Greece

by Patricia Wilson

  He nodded, his hand taking hold of hers.

  Apart from an irregular row of tamarisk trees and a couple of varnished council benches, the beach was empty and the port completely quiet. Only the sound of wavelets lapping the shoreline interrupted the silence. Their eyes had adjusted to the dark. She looked up towards the horizon, but avoided staring at the lighthouse that pulsed, two flashes every six seconds. She didn’t want to lose her night-vision. They saw no other sign of an emerging clutch and turned back. Then he stopped, pulled her against him, her camera hard between their chests. A cockerel, sensing the approach of dawn, crowed somewhere behind the village.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she whispered, moving her camera around to the side. He pulled her back into his arms and she felt his body harden against her.

  ‘I’m so glad you’re here,’ he whispered. ‘I feel as though I’ve been waiting for you all my life. Does that sound crazy?’

  She smiled, staring into the darkness, positively fizzing with happiness. Being wanted was so uplifting, and at the same time empowering.

  Movement near their feet caught her attention. ‘Harry, the ground’s boiling. Look,’ she whispered urgently, breaking away from his embrace.

  They both stared as a creature, resembling a tiny piecrust with flippers, broke through the sand. Flapping fins that seemed a little oversized, it trundled and bumped towards the waterline like a clockwork toy. Seconds later, dozens of miniature turtles scrabbled up through the sand, setting their sights on the Aegean waterline.

  ‘Oh, isn’t that the most magical thing you’ve ever seen?’ Shelly stared at the scene. ‘Excuse me. I have to video this,’ she whispered while ramping up her camera’s setting and turning the program to video. ‘Let’s get behind them, in case any head for the street.’ Seeing the event through the camera made it even more exciting because later, she could share the moment with the special people in her life.

  *

  Back at her room, she curled her body around Harry’s. Although content, she could not sleep. Too much had happened in the last twenty-four hours. She lay in the dark, eyes wide open, remembering DJ at the airport, Harry at the port, the turtles on the beach, then Gran Gertie came to mind. This was how she must have felt sitting on the old chest against the harbour wall; simply overwhelmed by it all.

  After breakfast, Shelly went out with several of the dive team, including Harry and his eldest son, Elias, in the sea research boat.

  ‘What are we doing today?’ Shelly asked as they rounded the lighthouse.

  ‘We’ll detect and mark the wreck,’ Harry replied.

  She stood next to him and studied the SONAR screen. Soon, the echo-sounder displayed a steady depth of a hundred and seventeen metres. ‘It’s very consistent now, what are we picking up?’

  ‘The sandy bottom. We should be about . . . ah, yes! Here we are now, a reading of eighty-six metres. We’re over HMHS Britannic right at this moment.’

  Shelly’s heart skipped. ‘How thrilling!’ She imagined a frightened, eighteen-year-old Gertie in her drenched nurse’s uniform with the torn apron, and Corporal Perkins’s head resting in her lap as they bobbed about in the overcrowded lifeboat.

  ‘We’ll drop a line to read the strength of the current at various depths,’ Harry was saying as Shelly pulled herself back to now. ‘When that’s established, we’ll drop an anchor line to the actual wreck and mark it with a buoy to warn passing shipping we have divers down. The Kea Channel’s a busy enough shipping lane. We must work with the local fishermen too. It’s their main fishing territory and they’ve had to abandon it for less prolific fisheries while we prepare for tomorrow. We’ll employ as many of them as we can while the dive’s on.’

  ‘What can they do to help?’

  ‘Supply us with over-priced fish to start with.’

  Shelly laughed. ‘Public relations, hey? It’s odd to think my great-grandmother almost drowned, and was pulled back into a lifeboat right here, over a hundred years ago. And the ship she worked on is below us right now.’

  He read the excitement in her eyes. ‘For the decompression stops on the divers’ return, we’re going to anchor a shot line with several large buoys that will hold vertically in the strong current.’

  ‘This is back-up for the diving bell?’ He nodded. She went on. ‘The boat’s extraordinarily well equipped, is it yours?’

  Harry made a ‘tsk’ and raised his chin, the Greek expression for ‘No’. ‘It belongs to Oxford University. A couple of their graduates are on the team. Familiarise yourself with everything aboard, Elias gets impatient when things aren’t going his way.’

  Shelly nodded. ‘Will do.’ Her body was almost levitating with happiness. ‘I’ll be meticulous. Certified safety officer, remember.’

  He nodded, eyes dark, narrowed, hot.

  ‘You’re so bad, Harry. Don’t look at me like that. I need to concentrate.’

  ‘Me too.’ He grinned, leaned in and kissed her neck. ‘But you make it hard.’

  ‘Get a room, you two,’ Elias muttered, scowling at them as he approached the console. ‘We need to be single-minded today. Can’t afford mistakes, right?’

  *

  Harry was busy with one of the technicians, so Shelly started working through her safety checklist.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Elias demanded. ‘Please, I’ve asked you not to touch the equipment!’

  She blinked at him, shocked by his aggression. ‘I’m just checking battery life on the sea-scooters.’

  ‘They were checked yesterday.’

  ‘Well, I'm sorry to tell you, this one’s almost empty.’

  ‘What?’ Elias stormed over.

  Harry was alerted by his son’s raised voice. ‘Must be faulty. Well done, Shelly.’

  She held her breath and counted five. ‘Can’t have too much checking when people’s lives are at stake. Also, one of the rebreather batteries has a fully-charged tag, but appears to be almost flat this morning.’

  ‘This is serious.’ Harry glanced at Elias this time. ‘Could you go over everything?’

  ‘Of course! Don’t I always, Papa?’

  Shelly put in, ‘There’s possibly a simple explanation. Shall I check the cylinders?’

  ‘Yes, let’s double check everything,’ Harry answered.

  Shelly considered a change of subject. ‘Can I ask, what’s the dive for?’

  ‘Ah, it’s quite straightforward. Eco-science research, concerning pollution; and due to the latest equipment, they’re allowed to go inside and investigate the cause of the sinking for the first time.’

  ‘After so long! That’s exciting. Look, I know there’s a meeting with the team this evening, but I’d like an idea of the dive procedure in advance, if possible, Harry. They’ve been here for a week already, going through the process. I want to make sure I’m up to the plate, so to speak.’

  Harry turned to his son. ‘Elias, go through tomorrow with Shelly, will you?’

  ‘Me? I’ve got enough to do. Where’s Petros, still in bed?’

  ‘Really,’ Shelly said in a calming voice. ‘If it’s inconvenient, there’s no need. I’ll be at the meeting tonight anyway, and I did read the entire Standard Operating Procedure online, all seventy pages of it. Sorry I asked, it was thoughtless of me considering the pressure you’re under.’

  Elias glared at her. ‘Why don’t you just concentrate on your own job, and also – as you’ve got your SSO certificate, you can also assist the meet’s safety procedure officer, Brian Blake, make sure he’s on the ball tomorrow. OK? Is that important enough for you?’

  ‘Elias, that’s out of order!’ Harry said.

  ‘Well, you should take care of your own girlfriends, Papa!’

  ‘Enough!’ Harry shouted.

  Shelly understood. Elias feared he was losing his father to a woman and, to be loyal to his mother, he had to object.

  ‘Look, I’m assisting you, Elias. Just tell me what you want me to do. I’m not here to score points or start a fig
ht between you and your father, all right? I’m sorry I seem to have offended you in some way.’

  Petulant little bastard.

  CHAPTER 40

  GERTIE

  Returning to Syros, 1917.

  LIKE ANY EIGHTEEN-YEAR-OLD, my heart roared for romance, and I longed for love. How I had longed for Manno in those dark hours on Lemnos.

  I had written to him so many times, but he never answered. Nevertheless, his silence did nothing to dampen my ardour. This tormenting desire grew stronger each night! My love for Manno never wavered, but passion kept it company now and I knew I would not be able to resist the fisherman’s amorous advances. In fact, I ached for them. My longing to lay in his arms became almost unbearable. After all, once I got back to England they might throw me into jail, or worse.

  When I left Josephine to saunter along the quayside, enjoying the tranquillity and the safety of solid ground, I was not thinking of the beauty of Syros or my reputation. Feverish with desire for Manno, I wandered along with my daydreams, and turned to look out to sea. There he was, drifting across the flat water in the bay as if in a dream. He had turned off the engine and stood in the centre of the boat, facing the front, his arms held out from his sides. With an extraordinarily long pair of oars, he rowed forward.

  I couldn’t help myself! Bobbing up and down on my toes, I displayed my excitement by waving my hands above my head. I wanted him to know how I felt. Desire shimmered through my body. I would give myself to him and he would make love to me. I would allow it because there may not be another chance. If I had to spend the rest of my life in prison . . . or worse, at least let me have this day. Surely fate had thrown us together for a reason?

  His sturdy wooden boat approached the quayside. My breath burned, my lips longing to press against his. I stood dangerously near the edge of the quay and waved. As soon as he could, my beautiful Manno leapt ashore, shouted a few words to his father, and hurried me away to the quietness of the backstreets.

  ‘You came back to me!’ he said incredulously. ‘I love you, koukla mou!’

  ‘I only have a few hours, Manno,’ I whispered. ‘Kiss me!’

  He rose up above me, one hand behind my head, pressing me towards his mouth, his other hand against my derrière, pushing my hips against his. Oh, the thrills that raced through me. I wanted him so badly.

  ‘Please, Manno, I think I’m falling in love with you,’ I whispered.

  ‘Come to my house?’ he said in an urgent, questioning voice. ‘We will be alone there.’ Without waiting for an answer, he took my hand and pulled me up narrow, cobbled streets and steep steps. We arrived at a stone building with pale-blue louvre shutters and an arched door. He pushed it open, then dropped a hefty plank across the receivers on the inside. No one could enter. He started to pull the ties of my white apron, and I reciprocated, untying the kerchief around his neck. By the time we arrived at the huge, wall-to-wall bed, we were both almost naked.

  ‘Panagia mou! I love you. I want to marry you!’ Manno’s face was close to mine. He slipped his hand inside my chemise and stroked my bare skin. Oh, the thrill! I had dreamt of this moment so many times.

  ‘I’ve never done this before, Manno.’

  ‘God and all the saints!’ he cried in a fit of passion.

  I pulled off my black stockings and dropped my white, broderie anglaise combinations. The garment fell around my feet and for a moment, standing before him completely naked, I felt lost and embarrassed in the heat of a blush.

  ‘I worship you with all my heart and soul,’ he whispered. Staring at my body, he muttered something in Greek as he crossed himself, then he kissed me fervently and pulled me against him. In that moment, I knew he had done all this before with other women. To be honest, I was glad, being more than a little nervous about the size of his . . . erm . . . love.

  ‘Be gentle with me, Manno. Truly, it’s my very first time,’ I whispered, too tender, too trustful, too much a woman to resist the handsome man who charmed me into longing for him. And I did, I wanted him so badly, nothing – not even the pain of losing my virginity – would stop me. His kisses were tentative at first, but my response left no question and as he understood that, he groaned into my mouth.

  ‘You say what you like, agapi, you tell me if you want me to stop and I stop, yes?’

  I was so shy, blushing and blinking like the virgin I was.

  And so our first lovemaking began, united for the first time on an inconspicuous Tuesday morning in the deep shade of a little stone house in Syros. Both thrilled and afraid, and aching with longing, we made love all through the day. I could not get enough of him, nor him me. The experience was new to me of course, and I wasn’t sure what I was doing; but Manno appeared more experienced. Crazy for more sensations, feasting on each other, deliriously happy, singing silently with Aphrodite’s pleasures, until we were both desperate to go further than we had dared venture before.

  Inevitably, at the point of no return, he growled into my ear and thrust passionately and desperately onward. I experienced a painful, stinging, but Manno’s reaction was to cry my name so loudly I feared all of Syros heard.

  ‘You are mine, agapi! Mine, my love!’

  His words were overwhelming, primitive, yet loving; like balm to my discomfort. By late afternoon, we made love for the third and last time, I know I called out, but with no notion of what words. My body exploded with extraordinary violence after what started with a gentle feeling of perfect love. Waves of pleasure had built up to a fire and ice fit of uncontrollable passion. Closer, harder, stronger waves enveloped me until, God knows, I really do believe I lost consciousness in my euphoria. Then I was in his arms, tears of joy on my face, him rocking me, panting as he stroked my hair and muttered thanks to God and endearments to me in Greek and English.

  ‘I have fallen in love with you,’ I whispered.

  ‘Stay, agapi mou! Stay, my love! Don’t go back to the ship, stay and marry me and live here, on my island!’

  I looked around, taking in my surroundings properly, for the first time after our bold and heated intrusion. The cottage was much the same as Yiayá’s on the island of Kea.

  He mistook my interest in the cottage for disapproval. ‘No, not here exactly,’ he said. ‘I will build you a house. A fine house with many rooms, on the side of the hill. I hear from my cousin in England you like to have many rooms. I have land, much land, all over the island my family have plenty land, agapi. You tell me what you want, yes, I build it. I am a very fine builder. Stay, and we will marry, agapi!’

  I blushed deeply. I had given myself to him, and he had begged me to marry him. There was justice in the situation. ‘I can’t. There is a war, I must help the sick and the wounded. It’s my destiny, I swore an oath that I would do it for my brother and sister.’

  ‘You are an angel. Where are they, your brother and sister? I will talk to them.’ He lifted my chin and kissed me softly.

  ‘No, you don’t understand. They both died.’

  ‘Ah, is OK then. They don’t know what you are doing. You will be my wife.’

  ‘Manno! What a terrible thing to say! Anyway, I hear talk that Greece is joining the conflict any day now, so I am sure I will be back in your country soon, Manno, but if not, swear you will come to find me in Dover.’ Perhaps I would be locked in some English prison, my punishment for costing the British government thousands of pounds, perhaps even millions. We were at war, and I had caused the loss of their best ship and destroyed the lives of so many of our young men.

  ‘I will come for you,’ Manno cried dramatically. ‘If I must sail my boat all the way to England, I give you my word: I will come to get you. Now tell me you love me. You are mine, do you understand, mine!’

  As I climbed off the bed to dress, I saw a little blood on the sheet. ‘Oh, Manno! I must wash that off before it dries, please, bring me some water.’

  ‘No, agapi, no. It must stay. My father will be proud, he will hang the sheet out for all to see. In th
e kafenio they will say, see, Manno’s wife was an English virgin! He is a lucky man!’

  My face turned scarlet as the stain. I couldn’t speak. What an awful idea! He must have read the horror on my face. ‘Do not worry,’ he said. ‘It is something to be proud of. In the eyes of my family, it means we are married already.’

  I had to get away, back on the ship. Return to my role as a nurse before I came face to face with Manno’s father and died of embarrassment.

  ‘Wait, wait!’ Manno cried as I started to climb from the bed. ‘Such an important occasion.’ He opened a chest in the corner of the room and flung heaps of linen to one side, then he came to a wooden box which he placed on the table. Then he pulled a chair under the oil lamp that hung from the ceiling and, still naked, stood on it.

  Oh, my!

  I took the opportunity to admire his physique. He could have modelled for Michelangelo, except for that artist’s understatement of David’s manly attributes. Such a majestically round bottom, and his abdomen – solid ridges like Mrs Cooper’s washboard. How I wished I had my sketchbook. He thrust his fingertips into the tray under the oil lamp and was clearly searching for something. Then he caught my look, peered down at his own body and grinned. ‘You want me to come back to bed?’

  ‘No!’ I cried, blushing and looking away.

  ‘Ah, I found it,’ he said, finally producing a little gold key. ‘My mother, she hide it here.’

  Conscious of the time, I started to dress quickly while I watched him. Then I removed the plank that kept the door closed. He unlocked the little box and rummaged around. I heard him make a little, ‘Ah, perfect!’ while I was pulling my shoes on. He reached for my hand and pulled me up. ‘Close your eyes,’ he said, I did, and felt him slide something cold and lumpy onto my ring finger. Before I could see what it was, the door burst open, knocking me sideways. Manno backed up. A rotund woman in heavy black skirts and scarf, brandishing a besom, set about walloping poor naked Manno. She screeched at the top of her voice while pointing to the jewellery box on the table. Unnoticed, I slipped out and ran down to the port as fast as I could, not slowing until I was up the ramp and safely on the ship.