One August Night

by Victoria Hislop

  Full of disgust, she followed the guard to Andreas’s cell. When she walked in, he was on his knees, praying. For a few minutes he continued as if unaware that she was there.

  Finally he opened his eyes and stood up. It was obvious just from looking at him that he was even more consumed by religious conviction now than the last time she had been there. There was a strange expression in his eyes, as if he was looking at something that she could not see. She was reminded of an image of the shepherds enraptured by the sight of the Christ Child.

  Like the priest he had described, Andreas himself now had eyes that seemed to penetrate, to look beyond. They were luminous.

  He told her he had come to the end of the Bible now and wanted to talk about certain passages. She pretended to listen intently, mostly because she did not want to hurt his feelings, but for the first time she was glad to hear the sound of the guard in the corridor and the scraping of the bolt.

  Chapter Eighteen

  MANOLIS WAS NOW supervising a team of his own in the shipyard. He and Giannis worked side by side in the office during the morning and then joined up with their respective teams on practical work in the afternoon. Manolis’s gift was to create a sense of loyalty among those he recruited. He found that this halved the time in which a job could be completed, and the guarantee of a bonus further increased the speed of work. They had bookings for repairs that would keep them busy until the end of the following year.

  ‘We’ll be able to buy our own ship one day,’ joked Giannis.

  ‘I think I’ll stick to working on other people’s,’ said Manolis.

  Manolis loved the process of making an old ship new again. What could be more satisfying than bringing a shabby boat back to its former glory? Occasionally he wished he could do it with his own life.

  Stavros was only working part-time now. In the afternoons he did all the maintenance that was needed in the pension, repairing bathrooms and one by one giving the bedrooms a fresh coat of paint. The guest house was always full and all the tenants paid on time, so he and Agathi had more than enough income for a comfortable life.

  Their happiness had been untarnished since the day of their ‘wedding’, and Manolis had never known two people more contented in each other’s company.

  One day, as he and Stavros were walking together to start their morning’s work, Stavros grabbed his arm.

  ‘Look, Manolis! Look!’ Stavros had frozen, his lips pale.

  They were passing the ferry terminal and people were being disgorged onto the pavement in front of them.

  ‘It’s her!’ he said in a whisper. ‘Theé mou! Oh my God! I am sure that’s her.’

  Manolis looked for a woman he recognised. It was many years since his encounter with Stavros’s wife, and from the back it would not have been easy to identify her in any case. Stavros, however, was insistent.

  ‘In a green coat! Look!’

  He shrank back. Manolis saw who he meant. If the woman turned now she would see them. She had bright blonde hair just as he remembered it, but more than that he could not really see.

  Stavros pulled Manolis back and across the road into a kafeneío. Manolis ordered two coffees and they sat for ten minutes to drink them while Stavros calmed down.

  ‘I know it was her,’ he said, trembling. ‘I know.’

  Manolis could not persuade him otherwise.

  ‘Even if it is her, which I admit it could be, she doesn’t know where you live, Stavros. When she left last time, I left her in no doubt that she was in the wrong place. She doesn’t even know what name you use. So the chances of her finding you again are—’

  ‘They aren’t slim, Manolis. She found me once. She’ll find me again.’

  ‘Well I’ve still got her gun in my drawer,’ said Manolis, trying to cheer his friend.

  Nothing would convince Stavros that he and Agathi were not in danger, and for the next few weeks he was racked with insomnia. He contacted his parents to ask if his wife was still in Thessaloniki, and to his horror they confirmed that she had left her parents’ apartment some weeks before. They would not say where she was.

  Agathi tried constantly to put his mind at rest, and Manolis was present on many occasions when she tried in vain to comfort him.

  ‘I’ll look after you, agápi mou,’ she reassured him. ‘Nothing is going to come between us.’

  ‘But you don’t know her!’ Stavros said. ‘You didn’t even see her that night when she came.’

  It was true that Agathi had no idea what the woman was capable of. Only Manolis had any notion of it.

  Fear changed Stavros. He was no longer the relaxed and contented man that Agathi had helped him to be. Instead he was constantly nervous and frequently glanced over his shoulder. He would not go out after dark and his eyes were hollow with lack of sleep.

  One evening a year or so later, Manolis came in from work and picked up a pile of letters that lay on the hall floor. He leafed through them. He always hoped for a letter from Antonis, and it had been a while. He enjoyed his friend’s correspondence and Antonis was supposed to be confirming the date of his next visit.

  But there was nothing for him. There were some letters for other long-term tenants and one for Agathi. Hers was an airmail envelope with multiple brightly coloured stamps showing exotic flowers. It was from Australia.

  He slid it under her door and left the others on the table in the hall.

  That night, Elli and her husband Philippos joined Agathi, Stavros and Manolis for dinner. The young couple had some important news. Elli was expecting a baby.

  The mood of the evening was jovial and they toasted the blushing young woman and her unborn child. Stavros, as he had been since the sighting of the woman at the ferry terminal, was a little subdued.

  The pale blue envelope with its bright stamps was propped up against a vase in the centre of the table. Manolis was intrigued to know why it merited pride of place at the meal, but his curiosity was soon satisfied.

  ‘I’ve had a nice letter!’ Agathi said cheerily, holding it aloft. ‘My second cousin in Melbourne has written to me.’

  ‘Uncle Pavlos?’ asked Elli.

  ‘Yes, agápi mou,’ Agathi replied. ‘You remember him? But you were so young when he left!’

  ‘It’s only ten years ago, Theía,’ said Elli.

  Agathi was full of excitement and wanted everyone’s attention back.

  ‘So,’ she said, explaining to the men in the room, ‘I have lots of cousins. A few of them went to the US, but Pavlos went on one of those assisted passages to Australia. To be honest, I thought we would never hear from him again. Things weren’t so good here then, but even so, it seemed a bit rash to go to the other side of the world.’

  ‘So how has he found it over there?’ asked Manolis.

  ‘Paradise!’ Agathi said, beaming. ‘Paradise.’

  She looked around at the faces of her audience.

  ‘All these years go by without hearing anything, and then—’

  ‘Theía! Tell us!’

  ‘Listen. I’ll read some of it.’

  Kyría Agathi drew in a breath and her breasts swelled over a daringly décolleté blouse. Everything, even the reading of a letter, was a performance. Manolis loved this about her.

  ‘“I now have three tavernas in Melbourne and two kafeneía, and I am planning to open two more next year. They’re all completely traditional and full seven days a week. All my customers are Greek. We have musicians and singers every Friday and Saturday night in every taverna.” But now comes the really important part.’

  There was an inaudible drum-roll. Manolis leaned forward, the most enthusiastic member of her audience.

  ‘“And now I am opening a bouzoúkia. It will be the biggest in Melbourne. It’s my most ambitious venture yet, but I know it is going to be a success.”’

  ‘That all sounds very exciting,’ said Manolis.

  ‘I haven’t finished, Manolis,’ said Agathi, waving her hand in mock irritation at his interruption.
‘“I want you, Agathi, to come here and sing! And I want you to be here for the opening night. If you say yes, I will send money for your passage. You will see how sweet life is. Australia is like Greece but without any of the bad things. It’s warm and sunny and you don’t even need to speak English! There is a whole community of us here, and most of us don’t have a word.”’

  She finished reading and looked up at the faces around her to take in their reactions. Elli surprised her by being the first to speak.

  ‘Well I think you should go, Theía,’ she said decisively. ‘Especially if he’s going to pay for the journey.’

  Manolis glanced across at Stavros and for the first time in several days saw him smile. It was clear that he was already familiar with the contents of the letter.

  ‘What do you think, Stavros?’ Elli asked.

  Manolis was watching his friend’s face.

  ‘I think we should go,’ he said.

  ‘You could probably get one of those assisted passages too, couldn’t you?’ offered Philippos.

  Manolis knew Stavros well enough to know what he was thinking. Not only would a new life in Australia be an exciting opportunity, but being on the other side of the world would also remove the fear of being found by his wife.

  Elli was looking tired, so she and Philippos got ready to leave.

  ‘Thank you for dinner, Theía,’ she said.

  ‘And thank you for the wonderful news about the baby, agápi mou.’

  ‘I mean it, I think you should go,’ she said quietly to her aunt. ‘You know you don’t have to worry about me.’

  ‘Yes . . . but the baby! Will you manage?’

  ‘Of course I will,’ she said sweetly, glancing up at her husband. ‘I have Philippos now.’

  ‘And who knows?’ chipped in Philippos. ‘Maybe one day we’ll join you. I am sure there’s a market for a zacharoplasteío over there.’

  ‘Well it’s only an invitation to go and sing . . .’ protested Agathi.

  ‘You know it’s more than that, Theía,’ said Elli, touching her aunt’s hand.

  They all knew she was right. There was every chance that they would not return.

  Once Elli and Philippos had gone, Stavros poured them all another drink.

  ‘Stay for a bit, Manolis,’ he said.

  They sat around the debris of dishes on the kitchen table. Stavros was unusually eager to speak.

  ‘I really think we should go,’ he said. ‘Imagine it, Agathi. We wouldn’t need to rent out rooms any more. There’s no gold rush now, but there are other kinds of treasure out there. And a new life . . .’

  Agathi looked at him with fondness. She too liked the idea of escaping from the threat of another appearance by his wife.

  ‘What do you think, Manolis?’ she asked.

  ‘It sounds a wonderful opportunity. I think you should take it.’

  A life-changing decision was often more easily made than a trivial one. Agathi had spent longer selecting pastries for their supper that evening than it took her to mull over her cousin’s invitation. Her mind was made up before they all went to bed.

  Manolis did not sleep well that night. He felt an almost immeasurable sadness. He could not imagine life without the two people who had become as precious as family.

  As the day began to break, he got out of bed and drew back the curtains. He wanted to watch the sun rise. It was only then that he realised something: the melancholy that he had felt the previous night was not because he was bidding farewell to his friends. It was to Greece that he would be saying goodbye. Almost without realising it, he had made the decision to leave with them.

  Australia would be a new start for him too. Everyone said it was the land of opportunity, and who had ever met a Greek who had returned? Apart from anything, he would not be sorry to leave a place living under a military dictatorship. It was a couple of years since a group of army colonels had seized power and, though Manolis’s day-to-day life had not been affected, everyone knew that political detainees were being locked up and tortured. His friend Mihalis, like many on the left, had already gone to live in France to escape such persecution.

  There was another more personal reason to go. Finally he might be free. After all, Stavros was not the only person with someone to escape. Manolis too was still followed by a shadow from his past.

  Within a few days, Agathi was making progress with all the necessary arrangements. She sent a telegram to her cousin, and money was wired into her bank account. Pavlos was obviously a rich man. He sent enough for Stavros’s ticket too, and his secretary had looked into the schedules of any boat leaving for Australia. There was one sailing in three weeks’ time.

  Agathi began carefully packing her ornaments and folding her clothes in a trunk. Elli and Philippos had asked for her dining table and chairs, and the rest of the furniture was being left.

  The lease on the pension was easily dealt with. The regime was actively encouraging tourism and a hotel owner on the main street, looking to expand, eagerly grabbed the opportunity for a new property. A growing number of tourists and travelling salesmen needed somewhere to stay the night before taking an early-morning ferry to the islands, and the location was ideal.

  Every day, Agathi became a little more tearful at the thought of leaving. She was particularly sentimental about Manolis, who had not said a word to anyone about his plan. He wanted to surprise her and Stavros on the day.

  ‘Where will you live?’ she asked him, her lashes damp.

  ‘I’ve found somewhere, Agathi,’ he said, hugging her. ‘Don’t you worry.’

  ‘And will you keep an eye on Elli for me? If she needs anything, will you be able to help her?’

  ‘Of course I will,’ said Manolis reassuringly. ‘But I think Philippos is a safe pair of hands.’

  Stavros had already had his last day in the shipyard a while back, and a few days before departure, Manolis told his paréa that he was leaving too. Giannis took the news very badly. He was devastated to be losing the best person he had ever worked with and one of his most loyal friends.

  ‘You can always come back if it doesn’t work out,’ he said, turning away to hide unmanly tears.

  That night they all went out and drank and drank until they could scarcely stand. It was the only way for such men to say goodbye. The paréa made promises to come and visit, and Manolis swore that he would be back to see them before they knew it. All these things were said with enough sincerity to make the parting bearable. Only time would tell if they would be as good as their word.

  Manolis had a few loose ends to tie up, some bills to pay at the tailor and one or two kafetzídes to bid farewell. Then there was the complex matter of a passport. Time went quickly. He had planned to let Antonis know that he was leaving but never found the moment to write a letter. He would surprise him with a postcard from Melbourne.

  In a moment of melancholy, he thought of Sofia. They would not even recognise each other if they met in the street. Presumably she was growing up without knowing that he existed. Even the smallest possibility that he was her father made this thought unbearable, and it was one that he had to dismiss. Perhaps he would write to Maria and her husband from Melbourne, even send some money next Easter. He imagined that most twelve-year-old girls loved a new pair of shoes.

  The day before the boat was due to sail, Agathi came up to see Manolis in his room. The tenants all had another week before they had to vacate.

  ‘Can I come in?’ she asked.

  She had something in her hand and was holding it out to him.

  ‘I thought you might like this,’ she said. ‘Do you remember? We had a photographer at our wedding.’

  It was a picture taken on the day of their celebration, with the two men on either side of Agathi. Almost a decade had passed, but they had all aged well.

  ‘That’s so nice,’ he said. ‘Thank you. I’ll put it next to my parents for now.’

  ‘Who will cook for you, Manolis? Who will wash your shirts?’

/>   Agathi was getting sentimental again. Her tears were never far away.

  ‘I wish you had met a nice woman,’ she tutted. ‘Then I wouldn’t be worrying about you so much. I can’t understand it myself, when you’re the most handsome man in Piraeus. The girls here must be blind.’

  In the past two or three years, Manolis had enjoyed plenty of mild flirtations, evenings of dancing, the occasional night in a different bed. But that had been all.

  ‘Ah, Agathi. If only there were two of you,’ he said, knowing how much she loved her ego to be stroked.

  She blushed.

  ‘Manolis,’ she said. ‘You don’t know how much I’ll miss you.’

  He hugged her and she left. Today she was packing her precious record collection. Some were on vinyl but the majority were made of shellac and were rather brittle, so all four hundred must be individually wrapped.

  That night, the five of them had a farewell dinner in a nearby taverna. Agathi’s apartment was virtually cleared out now.

  They tried to be merry and made toasts for the future, but their smiles were forced and the underlying mood was one of deep melancholy and loss.

  Elli was in on Manolis’s plan and almost spoiled the surprise he was planning to spring on Agathi by embracing him too hard at the end of the evening and wishing him farewell. Agathi did not notice, but Stavros was puzzled.

  The following day, at five in the morning, the couple emerged from their apartment, having spent their last night there. The shipping company had already collected their belongings and taken away eight large trunks. Agathi was assured that they would see them in six weeks’ time, when the boxes were offloaded from the same ship on which she and Stavros would be travelling. She needed a lot of persuasion from Stavros that this would actually happen.

  ‘Even if it doesn’t, mátia mou, we can buy you some more blouses in Australia,’ he said in his most reassuring voice.

  ‘But what about my ladies?’ she asked, very agitated. ‘They’re so fragile, some of them!’

  ‘I saw you wrapping them, agápi mou,’ he said affectionately. ‘They’re in so many layers of tissue that they’ll probably have a more comfortable journey than we will.’