Secrets of Santorini

by Patricia Wilson

  ‘What if my hypothetical artefact was destined for a private collection?’

  ‘Then it’s unlikely to see the light of day in our lifetime.’

  My heart sank. ‘Surely you can catch the looters?’

  ‘But they’re not the real problem. Ultimately, it’s the collectors with their obsession for artefacts that pay big bucks – and I’m talking millions. They’re the ones driving the market. The looters can be forgiven. They are usually very poor, desperate for money, often for life or death reasons.’

  I thought about Tommy and his operation. We sat in silence for a minute, staring over the caldera.

  ‘Harry, I think there’s somebody in Crete, dealing.’ There, I’d said it.

  He nodded. ‘I’m sure there’s more than one. You’re hoping I can help you get this hypothetical artefact back?’

  I nod. ‘I can’t tell you everything. It’s difficult.’

  ‘Then tell me as much as you can.’

  I poured us both a glass of red, and then fetched my sketchbook from the house. Harry watched me open it on a detailed drawing that showed the Goddess of the Marches fresco.

  ‘You see this necklace the queen’s wearing?’ He nodded. ‘The actual necklace was found here, at our site. It went to Crete, almost thirty years ago. I want to – have to – get it back. Has too much time passed? Do you think it’s impossible?’

  Harry bunched his fist and held it over his mouth, the true scale of the discovery hitting home. After a long silence, he asked, ‘Do you know the name of the person it went to?’

  ‘I do, but I’m sure he was only trying to help someone in a desperate situation. He saved that person’s life. I couldn’t give his name if I thought he would get into trouble. I believe he simply passed it on without profit.’

  ‘I see why it’s difficult for you, but without a name, what can I do? The trail is dead.’

  I stared at my feet for a long time. Who was more important to me – Tommy or Splotskey? Well, Tommy, of course, but without Splotskey, Tommy would be dead. How could I repay the doctor for saving Tommy’s life by giving him up to the authorities?

  ‘I can’t tell you.’

  He shook his head. ‘Then there’s nothing I can do.’

  ‘I was thinking . . . Couldn’t we chip something, and then sell it to a dealer?’

  ‘Ah, you’re fond of crime fiction, are you?’ He laughed.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘These days, it’s the first thing dealers scan for, a chip. They’re always one step ahead.’

  ‘While I was in Ireland recently, someone came here to the site looking for me. They mentioned this Crete person’s name. But the Crete person disappeared many years ago, I know, because I tried to find him myself. I believe the dragonfly necklace is in a private collection in Crete. I can’t explain why, it’s just a gut feeling.’

  ‘Without a name, what can I do? Is there anything else you can tell me?’

  ‘I have to get it back, Harry. All this deceit . . . My family . . . they . . . oh!’ And then it was all too much and I was unable to speak for a moment. He fidgeted uncomfortably. ‘You see, it was me. Me. I took the dragonfly necklace to Crete. I’d just discovered I was pregnant and my husband was dying in hospital because we couldn’t afford the surgery that would save his life. I was desperate beyond measure. It was wrong of me and I’ve never forgiven myself, but Tommy’s life depended on it. What am I going to do? I have to get it back. Right the wrong.’

  He took the napkin I’d put under his glass and passed it to me. ‘Dry your eyes and tell me everything, and I promise I’ll do all I can to protect you and your family.’

  I told Harry the whole sorry story. My life was in his hands now, and there was relief in that.

  CHAPTER 30

  IRINI

  Crete, present day.

  MR MAVRO CAME into the hospital room. ‘Can I have a word with you in the corridor?’ he said quietly.

  We followed him out.

  ‘I understand this is a very difficult time for you all. Bridget is due her medication. I can reduce it and see what happens, but she may feel some considerable pain.’ He looked at each of us in turn. ‘It may be more than she can tolerate.’

  ‘You mean it might kill her?’ The ache in my throat made me whisper.

  He nodded. ‘We don’t know if she’ll be able to see you, but there is a good chance she can hear you. Her kidneys are shutting down, and her lungs are becoming too stiff to function on their own. I’m sorry we can’t do more for your mother, Irini. Her death is inevitable, but there’s a slight chance she may regain consciousness for a moment or two. I can perform a simple procedure that may allow her to say a few words.’

  I stare through the hospital window, afraid of making the wrong decision. ‘I don’t want my mother to suffer, not just so I can tell her I love her, but this is a decision I can’t make alone.’ My heart was twisting and breaking as I peered into my father’s pleading eyes.

  Quinlan looked as sad as a person could.

  ‘I’ll leave you to think about it,’ the doctor said, returning to my mother.

  We stood in silence, holding hands in a circle until Dad spoke. ‘There are things I need to say.’ His lips trembled as he pulled his hands from ours and touched his eyes. I wondered if he would be able to say anything at all. He walked over to the window and turned his back on us. His shoulders jerked as he tried to control his tears.

  Quinlan slipped his arm around me. ‘I know you can’t bear to think of causing your mother pain, but perhaps you should put yourself in her situation. What would you want if you were dying and your family were around you? How much pain could you tolerate in order to see, hear, or speak to your daughter one last time? Or would you rather slip away peacefully?’

  At first there was no doubt in my mind – I would walk through fire to say goodbye to my child and my husband. But then I wondered if I was being naive and selfish. I had never experienced unbearable pain, nor could I imagine it. The worst I had ever suffered was a really bad toothache! Even my head injury in the crash was hardly debilitating. I wanted to change everything, and not being able to made me feel hopeless and helpless.

  I nodded at Quinlan, then went to my father’s side. He ignored me and continued to stare out the window, so I stepped in front of him and leaned into his chest. After a moment, he took me into his arms and we cried together. Deep, unrestricted sobs. His hug became tighter, until he was rocking me.

  ‘Oh, Daddy . . .’

  ‘Bridget,’ he whispered. ‘My Bridget . . . I can’t bear to lose her, Irini.’

  CHAPTER 31

  BRIDGET

  Crete, one year ago.

  I WENT TO CRETE with Harry Edwards. At the hospital, we discovered Splotskey had died in a car accident. The current head of cardiology had worked under Splotskey as an intern thirty years ago. He told us Splotskey had driven over a cliff on the coast road, outside Heraklion. His blood alcohol was four times above the legal limit.

  ‘Four times! Gosh,’ I said. ‘Seems like a lot.’

  ‘Not really. Greece’s limit is half our UK limit – not sure about Ireland,’ Harry said. ‘But still, I’ll look into it. So that leaves us with the guy that tried to contact you. The phone number is pay-as-you-go, so even if we had the resources, we couldn’t trace it.’

  ‘Why don’t I call him?’

  ‘Because we might be dealing with a dangerous person who has a lot to lose. If he’s trying to wipe out a trail, he’d then have your number and that could put you at considerable risk.’

  ‘But sooner or later he’s going to know I’m back in Santorini. I’m at risk already.’ The thought made me nervous. ‘The sooner he’s caught, the sooner I’ll be safe. You said there are Minoan artefacts coming onto the market, and you suspected they came from Crete.’

  He nodded. ‘Customs found a crate heading for Turkey. Mostly souvenirs imported to Crete from China, but among them were three smal
l Minoan bronzes. The Chinese have a huge distribution network in Greece; you’ll find their shops on almost every island, selling cheap clothes and bric-a-brac. Perfect for smuggling artefacts.’

  ‘Can’t you find out which archaeology site they came from?’

  He shook his head. ‘Firstly, they were cleaned up and polished, so there were no soil samples to work with, and we simply don’t have the manpower to watch every archaeology dig on the island. Even if we did, they probably came from an undisclosed site.’

  ‘An undisclosed site?’

  ‘A building company excavating the foundations for a house or hotel. Or perhaps a guy owning a digger-for-hire, prepping for a swimming pool, came across them. Those people are always on the lookout for antiquities. They simply hold up the build a few days and pull as much stuff out of the ground as possible.’

  I winced, thinking of all the lost provenance.

  Harry continued: ‘The government pays well for artefacts handed in, but the black market pays ten times more. If it’s a big find, the looter opens a hotel or some such business in his wife’s or mother’s name to account for his family’s sudden affluence, and everyone’s happy. Anyway, it’s a fact that nobody wants their house-build held up for seven years while you lot go in and excavate, so they tell the builder to keep quiet about the find.’

  ‘You’re on a losing battle,’ I said, feeling hopeless.

  ‘Isn’t that the truth? But we plod on.’

  *

  I was so content to be in Santorini, I didn’t want to return to Ireland. I didn’t want to go back. That was how it felt, to take a step back – into the unhappiness that had been Sitric Road. Sometimes, after a blissful day at the site, I would wake in the night, startled, confused, reaching out to see if Tommy was beside me, fearing my return to Santorini had only been a dream.

  Drenched in night-sweat, I would take a bottle of water from the fridge and then sit outside. The cool air was all I needed. Depending on the phase of the moon, the star-spangled sky or moonlit view added to my reverie.

  I still fretted about Irini. Although she was a grown woman now, I thought about her every day. I had imaginary conversations with her, saved magazine articles that might interest her, planned meals for the day she would come over. I marked every festival on the calendar, so that whenever she turned up, I would have interesting places for her to visit. The behaviour of an obsessive mother, perhaps, but I didn’t care.

  I had gone back to working with Aaron at the site and loved every moment, but this in turn left me feeling guilty to have left Tommy in Dublin.

  ‘I miss Irini and Tommy, Aaron. I long to share my contentment with them. But I don’t want to go back to Dublin. All we do is fight when I’m there.’

  ‘Why don’t you Skype them, say once a month? Make it a regular time and date. I’m sure Irini will have a laptop or a smart phone.’

  ‘That’s a great idea!’

  So it began. On the first Sunday of every month I called them at three o’clock. It eased my guilt, and after the awkwardness of the first few calls, the plan suited us all.

  Irini announced her engagement once Jason moved to another school. She introduced me to him one Sunday afternoon on Skype. A boring-looking young man with nice manners. I was convinced it wouldn’t last, but hoped I was wrong. I had always imagined her with someone more exciting, more challenging. She kept me up to date with her wedding plans and I promised I would come back for the occasion.

  Tommy was the same as always. Clearly, he felt as uncomfortable talking on Skype as he did on the telephone. There was nothing I could do about it. I was just pleased to be able to see them both.

  The man who was looking for me did not come back. Afraid at first, I went to bed with a can of oven cleaner under my pillow. A stupid plan, perhaps – I could have blinded myself if the lid had come off in the night. But as time went on, my fear took a backseat.

  The odd thing was, without Tommy or Irini to worry about, my nightmares stopped. I still had the occasional dream about Thira and Atlantis, but they were always pleasant, and in a way, comforting. I still likened myself to Thira, and Irini to Oia, and more often than not, I would wake up smiling.

  The dragonfly necklace continued to worry me. Not the thought that it was hidden away by some doting collector, but that it was not being maintained in a fitting manner. To think of some aged aristocrat wearing it for a private dinner, the dragonfly necklace draped over skin splashed with astringent, then plastered in Estée Lauder foundation. Oh, and the horror of horrors, what if the necklace was then sprayed in a cloud of Chanel!

  Then I had more debilitating what ifs. What if the wearer, being a little tipsy, had left it on a dressing table, only to be snatched by a drug-desperate thief? A villain with no notion of its value, a coke-brained, diamond-hunting desperado, who would snatch everything and toss what seemed worthless into the sea, or down a street drain. This thought made me actually want to vomit.

  What if the owner died when the dragonfly necklace was left on the dressing table, and it ended up in some junk shop, car boot sale, or, God forbid, was melted down for the silver!

  I had to find it.

  *

  After meeting Harry in Crete, I returned to Santorini. The weeks turned into months, and the months flew by. Almost a year later, on the run-up to Irini’s wedding, she Skyped to tell me she had secured a place for Tommy in the local residential home.

  ‘I’m really sorry, Mam, I just can’t cope any longer. He’s not safe to leave on his own.’ She went on to tell me he had run a bath and forgotten about it. ‘The overflow was blocked, the bath ran over and it almost brought the living room ceiling down. Then he set the chip pan on fire because he fell asleep in front of the TV.’ I could hear in her voice how difficult she was finding this decision.

  ‘He’s a danger to himself, and I’m worried about him every time I set out for work.’

  ‘Irini, you’ve done the best you can. We’re both grateful. Don’t worry about it.’

  ‘But I do. He hates the home, and now he’s sulking. He hardly speaks when I go visit.’

  ‘That’s your father for you. It’s not your fault. If anything, it’s mine.’ I took a breath. ‘Would you like me to come over for a week or two?’

  ‘To be honest, I could do with a couple of weeks on my own. It’s been difficult, but Dad’s all right now; he’s taken care of twenty-four-seven. Anyway, it’s not long to the wedding and you’ll be over then. I’ll book the guest room at the home, shall I? One week or two?’

  ‘Two. I want to help as much as I can. What will you do with the house? Sell it?’

  ‘No, I’ll rent it out for a bit of extra income. I’m financially wiped out after moving Dad, and all the wedding deposits.’

  ‘I wish I’d been there when you made your dress. I bet it’s lovely. Will I get to see it before the wedding?’

  ‘We’ll see – if you behave yourself.’ She laughed and I was uplifted by her happiness.

  ‘I’m so pleased for you. I hope you’re as happy as me and Tommy.’

  ‘Oh, gawd! That sounds like a curse,’ she said good-humouredly.

  ‘We were very happy, Irini. You can’t begin to imagine.’

  ‘Until I came along?’

  I sensed the conversation going the wrong way. ‘No, don’t say such things. We were happy beyond measure then. Anyway, where are you going for your honeymoon?’ Please say Santorini!

  ‘Italy. A two-destination package: Venice and Rome.’

  ‘That sounds wonderful! I’m thrilled for you, darling.’

  I closed my laptop and cried.

  *

  At the site, the day was like any other, with a tinge of excitement in the air. We found more artefacts on the next level down and handed them straight over to the new museum. Some cooking implements had been uncovered, and all the time that ongoing suspense: just below the next brush stroke . . . just under the next centimetre of dirt . . . might lay the greatest arte
fact – a brooch, an earring, or a marble sculpture. Was this a lump of stone, or the top of an amazing statue of Zeus, Athena, or Poseidon? Was that light seam in the ground an old rodent tunnel, or a decomposed weapon?

  The daily thrill of the dig was interrupted by one of the students.

  ‘Bridget, there’s a call for you in the shop!’ she yelled.

  Me? The shop? I’d never given the number out.

  I hurried across the site. ‘Hello, Bridget McGuire,’ I said.

  ‘Ah, hello, Mrs McGuire.’ A woman’s voice, nervous. ‘I’m not sure if I have the right person. Um, sorry, but are you the head archaeologist?’

  ‘I am. What can I do for you?’

  ‘Um, it’s difficult. Can we meet? It’s important.’

  ‘Sure. Come to the site any time – we’re open until four o’clock.’

  ‘No, I can’t do that . . . I meant meet in Crete.’

  ‘Crete! I’m not sure. Can you tell me what this is about?’

  There was a long pause in which my skin started to tingle. Crete?

  ‘Does 1990 B1 mean anything to you?’ she whispered.

  Oh! ‘Don’t tell me . . . Oh my God, not the dragonfly necklace?’

  ‘Dragonfly necklace?’ I heard a sharp intake of breath. ‘Oh dear, is that yours too?’

  ‘Wait, I’ll come over right away. Who are you? Give me a number.’

  ‘I don’t want any trouble. I’ve had enough, really. I’m afraid. It’s been terrible. I just want to give them back.’

  ‘I swear on my daughter’s life this won’t go any further. You have no idea what this means to me. Where shall I meet you?’

  She didn’t answer straight away. ‘I’m afraid,’ she repeated.

  ‘Look, have you got a pen? Take my mobile number and call me so I have yours. I’ll be there first thing in the morning, on the first FastCat from Santorini. Please, meet me in the ticket-office café in the port. I’ll be wearing all white, trousers and shirt. We can talk in the Ladies toilet if you are afraid. Please be there. Please!’