Nights of Rain and Stars

by Maeve Binchy

  They took the little boat and rowed out of the harbor. The old man who cast them off kept explaining that if the weather was bad anywhere they must just go ashore and tie the boat up. Too many people had come to harm.

  The sea was calm outside the arms of the harbor and they went up the coast, identifying places as they passed. That was the hospital where Vonni had stayed for so long, that was the bathing place where Elsa had been with the children. That must be the wayside shrine where the bus had stopped the morning they all came back for the funeral. It seemed so long ago now, so very long ago.

  Near halfway there, they found a big wooden platform about a hundred yards from shore. The kind of place that people might swim out to. Thomas could tie their little boat to one of the posts. It was ideal for their picnic.

  Elsa climbed out of the boat and laid the cloth between them. She spread the taramosalata and hummus on the pita bread, arranged the figs and watermelon on a plate. Then she poured a glass of wine and held it out to Thomas.

  “You know, you really are quite dazzingly beautiful,” he said.

  “Thank you, that’s very kind of you, but it’s not important,” she said in a matter-of-fact voice. She wasn’t putting him down. She was just stating the truth.

  “All right, it’s not that important, but it’s true,” he said and spoke of it no more.

  Kalatriada didn’t have a real harbor, so they tied up to a jetty and walked up the steep road to the little village.

  Ireni, at the hotel, remembered them from the last visit. She took their hands in hers and greeted them warmly. She seemed to think it in no way unusual that this happy, handsome couple asked for two rooms.

  “We only have one room, but it has two beds,” she said.

  “I think we could survive that, don’t you, Elsa?”

  “Certainly,” she agreed.

  Ireni might not have traveled far from her home village, but she was wise in the ways of the world. She knew that you must never be surprised by anything.

  “Did he say anything at all about this girl he’s bringing with him?” Harold Fine asked for the third time.

  “Only what I told you—that he and she and two others were friends on the island and they are traveling back together.”

  “Huh,” said David’s father.

  “I don’t think it’s a romance,” David’s mother said.

  “He never brought a girl home before, Miriam.”

  “I know, but I still don’t think so. She’s Irish, for one thing.”

  “Why would that stop him? Hasn’t he been living out in the farthest wildernesses of Greece for the summer?”

  “She’s only staying one night, Harold.”

  “That’s what they say now,” David’s father said darkly.

  “And what in the name of God is she stopping off in the British Midlands for?” Sean Ryan asked Barbara.

  “There wasn’t much time to explain, but apparently it’s someone she met whose father is dying, and so Fiona is going to spend a night with the family to ease the situation,” Barbara said.

  “Another lame duck,” Fiona’s father grumbled.

  “Just Fiona being kind,” Barbara said.

  “Look where being kind got her before,” he muttered.

  “But that’s all over now, Mr. Ryan.” Barbara sometimes felt that life was all about being relentlessly cheerful, both on and off the wards. “She’ll be home tomorrow at six o’ clock and without Shane. Isn’t that all we ever wanted?”

  “And she really doesn’t want any of us to come to the airport?” Maureen Ryan was puzzled.

  “Yes, she says she hates emotional scenes in front of strangers. Her plane lands at four, she’ll be here before six.”

  “I wonder, Barbara, if you were free could you . . . ,” Fiona’s mother began.

  “Be here when she arrives . . . ,” Fiona’s father finished for her.

  “To ease the situation?” Barbara asked.

  “To stop me saying the wrong thing,” Sean Ryan said bluntly.

  “Sure, I’ll get them to change my shift,” Barbara said.

  “It’s just that words were said when she was leaving,” Maureen explained.

  “Oh, words are always said, believe me.” Barbara wondered if she should hand in her notice and apply officially to run the world. It seemed to be what she was doing in her spare time.

  “And do you think she should stay here or spend the night with you?”

  “Do you know, Mrs. Ryan, I think it would be great if we could all have a lovely welcome-home supper here, and then she came off with me . . . That way the girls wouldn’t have to leave Fiona’s old room where they are settled now, and there would be no danger of more words being said.”

  As Barbara ran for the bus, she wondered whether she should take over the United Nations this month or wait for a little bit longer.

  “Dimitri?”

  “Yes?”

  “Did you post that letter?” Shane asked.

  “It was posted. Yes.”

  “Well, why hasn’t that stupid old man replied?”

  “I have no idea.” Dimitri shrugged.

  “Maybe he can’t read anyway, mad old fellow wearing laced-up boots in the middle of summer.”

  Dimitri turned to leave. Shane put his hand on Dimitri’s sleeve. “Please don’t go . . . I’m . . . Well . . . I’m a bit frightened and lonely here, to be frank.”

  Dimitri looked at him. He remembered the way Shane’s face had contorted when he had held that girl’s hair and was about to beat her against the walls of the cell. “We’re all frightened and lonely from time to time, Shane,” he said, shaking off the hand and locking the cell behind him.

  Dimitri’s telephone rang. It was Andreas. He had got the number from his brother in the police station. “It’s about the young Irishman.”

  “Oh yes?” Dimitri sighed.

  “He wrote to me for news of Fiona, he said he was very sorry and could I explain that he didn’t mean to hurt her.”

  “He meant to hurt her,” Dimitri said.

  “Yes, you know this and I know this, but he wanted me to tell her different. I wanted to send him a message that I can’t tell her, she has gone. Back to her country.”

  “Good,” said Dimitri.

  “So will you pass him that message?”

  “Could you send a letter, a fax, an e-mail? Something? He’s not going to believe me.”

  “I’m not good at writing in English.”

  “Is there someone there who could do it for you?”

  “Yes, yes, there is, thank you. I know who to ask.”

  It was their second night in Kalatriada, and unlike the time that they had been here with David and Fiona, it was a clear, starry night.

  Ireni set a little table for Thomas and Elsa out in the open air where they could see the square and the people walking up and down. She had put two little sprays of bougainvillea in a white china vase as a decoration on their table.

  Thomas took Elsa’s hand and stroked it. “I feel very happy here, calm somehow, as if the storms have died down.”

  “I feel the same,” Elsa said.

  “Which is of course ridiculous,” Thomas said. “The storms haven’t really gone away at all. They’re round the corner for both of us, to be dealt with sooner or later.”

  “But maybe we feel calm because we think we can deal with them now,” Elsa suggested.

  “How do you mean?”

  “Well, you are going back to Bill. The only question is when. And I’m not going back to Germany; the only question is where.”

  “You’ve a quick, bright mind Elsa. You can sum things up very well.”

  “Not all that quick, this is something I should have seen a long time ago.”

  “We’ll waste no time on regrets though, will we?” he inquired.

  “No, I agree, regrets are useless. Destructive even.”

  “Will you have coffee?” he asked.

  “I’m a little nervous, actu
ally, Thomas.”

  “So am I, and I don’t think coffee ever calmed anyone down. Shall we go, do you think?”

  She held his hand as they walked up the wooden stairs.

  Ireni smiled at them and seemed to understand that this was an important night.

  In the bedroom they both felt awkward. Elsa pointed out the mountain peaks, naming this one and that. “It’s a beautiful place to be,” she said in a small voice.

  He went toward her, held her to him, and kissed her neck gently. She gave a little shiver. Thomas drew away.

  “Was that gross or something?” he asked, hurt and frightened.

  “No, it was exciting and lovely. Come here to me,” she said.

  At first she stroked his face, and then kissed him, holding him close. Her hands went up and down his back, and gently he opened her blouse.

  “Elsa, I don’t know . . . I hope . . . ,” he began.

  “I don’t know either, and I also hope,” she murmured. “But remember, no looking back, no regrets, no comparisons.”

  “You’re beautiful, Elsa.”

  “Hold me,” she asked him. “Please love me, Thomas. Love me in this beautiful island and let’s not think about anything beyond tonight.”

  Vonni sat down with Andreas and wrote to Shane.

  I am replying to your letter about Fiona Ryan. She left this island two days ago on her way back to Ireland where she hopes to resume her nursing career. I could not therefore give her your message of apology but I presume you know how to contact her in Dublin. I hope that you will cooperate with the authorities in Athens in the matter of your detention. They view all drug infringements very seriously.

  Yours faithfully, Andreas

  She translated it for Andreas.

  “Is it a little cold, do you think?” he wondered.

  “It’s very cold,” Vonni agreed. “Would you prefer to have paid his bail and invited him to stay here for six months?”

  “No, I know all that. It’s just he is in jail and he did apologize.”

  “Andreas, you have a soft heart over everything . . . everything except your son.”

  “I have a soft heart for him too now, Vonni, but alas it’s too late. No, don’t tell me you have a feeling, I don’t believe in feelings anymore.”

  “Right. No more on the subject. I swear. Will we mail this letter or ask Georgi to fax it, do you think?”

  “You want it sent as it is, even though you agree it’s cold?” he asked.

  “My opinion, and of course I could be wrong, is that there’s always a time in life for coldness and this is one of those times.”

  “You wrong, Vonni? Never!” He smiled. “Let’s fax it and put the poor fool out of his misery.”

  “I’ll drop it in to the police station on my way home,” she said.

  “Where’s home tonight? Is it your apartment or your henhouse?” Andreas asked.

  “Now you are worse than Thomas! Making fun of my domestic arrangements no less! But since you are so curious . . . Tonight I will sleep in the little guest room. Thomas and Elsa have gone to Kalatriada together. I will have the place to myself.”

  “They have gone back there together.” He stroked his cheek. “Imagine.”

  “I know. Imagine,” she said.

  “And when will they come back?” Andreas asked.

  “Thomas left a note; he said if it all went well it might be a few days.”

  “Let’s hope it goes well for them,” Andreas said.

  “You are a dear man,” Vonni said.

  “You never said that before.”

  “No, but over the years I said a lot of rubbish. You always had the wisdom to know what I meant and what I didn’t mean. I do mean that you are a dear and good person. I hope you know that.”

  “I do, Vonni, and I’m happy you think of me like that,” he said.

  David sat and talked to his father along the lines that he and Fiona had rehearsed. Nothing about the illness that was ending his life but a lot about the office and the upcoming award.

  “I didn’t think you’d care about that kind of thing,” Harold Fine said.

  “But they are honoring you, Father. Why should I not care and be very proud?”

  His father nodded and smiled. “Well I’ll tell you frankly, son, it wouldn’t have been the same if you weren’t here to take part in it. What’s the point of these things if your own flesh and blood isn’t there to share it?”

  In the next room Fiona talked with David’s mother. “Mrs. Fine, you are kind to put me up for the night. I so appreciate it.”

  “Well, of course any friend of David’s is most welcome.”

  “He told me all about your lovely home, but he didn’t do it justice, it’s gorgeous.”

  Miriam Fine was pleased and confused. “And you live in Dublin, David tells me?”

  “Yes, I’ve been away for many weeks now, I’m so looking forward to seeing them all again.” Fiona’s smile never faltered.

  “And it was a nice place, this island you were all visiting?”

  “Oh, it was lovely, Mrs. Fine, they were very simple, very kind people. I’d love to go back there again, and I know I will.”

  “And what exactly were you doing there?”

  “Having a career break,” Fiona said blithely. She and David had agreed there was no need to mention Shane, miscarriages, drug arrests. Anything that would disturb the even lives of the Fine family.

  “And you’re a nurse in Dublin?” Miriam Fine was beginning to breathe more easily. This was not a girl with designs on her only son.

  “I spent six months on an oncology ward before I went away, and let me assure you, these are the days to be living in, Mrs. Fine.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “They can do so much to help people nowadays, you’d be amazed. Let me tell you . . .”

  And to her amazement Miriam Fine found herself sitting down and talking to this girl with an Irish accent who was extraordinarily helpful on many different levels. She could not have asked for a better visitor to her home.

  At the desk of the Hotel Anna Beach there were several faxes for Elsa. They were increasingly urgent, asking her to pick up her e-mail. But Elsa was nowhere to be found.

  The desk clerk spotted Vonni in the foyer craft shop.

  “I wonder if you could advise me about these messages. The German woman hasn’t come in for a while.”

  Vonni looked at them with interest. “I can’t read German—what do they say?”

  “Some man in Germany saying she can’t play games like this, can’t leave him. That sort of thing.”

  “I see.” Vonni was pleased.

  “Do you think we should fax him back saying she isn’t around?” The clerk was anxious that the Anna Beach should not be blamed for inefficiency.

  “No, I’d leave it really. Better not get involved. If he calls, of course, you could say that you heard she has gone away.”

  “And has she?”

  “For a few days, yes, she won’t want to be disturbed.”

  Dublin

  My dear Vonni,

  I swore to you that I’d write when I was home for twenty-four hours. So here goes. The journey was fine, plane full of tourists, holidaymakers. David and I felt very superior because we knew the real Greece, not just beaches and discos. We took the train up to David’s place. He is seriously rich, by the way. His family has this huge house full of lovely antiques and valuable ornaments. His mother is very innocent and fussy and obviously gave in to her husband all her life. Mr. Fine looks very badly, he only has a few months to live. Very few. He was quite frightened but actually he was able to talk to me about hospice care. He didn’t really know what they did and didn’t want to ask. David and I cried at East Midlands Airport. People thought we were lovers saying good-bye.

  Barbara was at home when I got there, to take the edge off things. Dad was walking on eggshells trying not to say anything that would offend. Mam was like some kind of TV commercial, going on
about gravy and home cooking, you’d think I’d been in some gulag or other, rather than an island full of wonderful smells and tastes. I still yearn for the smell of charcoal at the Midnight Café or the roast lamb and pine nuts up in Andreas’s. Do give him my love. I’ll write when I start my job and when Barbara and I get our new flat. At the moment I’m sleeping on her sofa and going round to see Mam and Dad every second day. They’re fine actually and hardly ever mention their bloody silver wedding at all. My two sisters have turned into horrors. I thought it best not to dwell on things like the miscarriage and Shane being in jail. Well, more than not dwelling on them, I didn’t really mention them at all.

  I can never thank you enough, Vonni, particularly for that day in Athens. I have a hope, a dream that you find your husband and son again. You deserve to.

  Love, Fiona

  East Midlands

  Dear Vonni,

  Oh, I miss you and Aghia Anna every hour of every day. How good it would be to wake up to that bright sky and spend a day without care until the stars came out. I suppose there are stars here, it’s been overcast so I can’t see them.

  My father looks awful. Fiona was wonderful with him, by the way. Talking to him as if she had known him all her life and telling him how great the drugs were to take the edges off pain. Even my mother loved her; having bristled at the thought that I was bringing a Gentile girl home, she was quite sorry to realize that we actually were just friends.

  They made her promise to come back nearer to the end and I know she will. We cried at the airport. It symbolized the end of everything—summer, Greece, friendship, hope. Am I glad I came back? Well I simply had to come back. I feel weak at the thought that I might not have done so if it hadn’t been for you. You were so clear-sighted and strong in making me see what was happening. The awful thing is that I keep getting praised by uncles and aunts and friends for my great “intuition” in knowing that something was wrong. Some intuition, Vonni! It was you. But as we agreed, I don’t tell them that.

  The days are dreary, and I will soon be starting to work in the office. I have to concentrate because my father wants to talk about it each evening. The man who was running the show naturally hates me and resents my return. He keeps wanting to know when I start. I so want to tell him how I feel about it all. But of course I can’t. The award ceremony is next week. More fuss and preparation than for a moon landing. I’ll write and tell you about it. Can you write to me? I long to know about Maria’s driving, about the people in the Midnight, about whether Thomas and Elsa stayed or went, or even got together, which is what I thought might happen.