Those Who Are Loved

by Victoria Hislop

  She was still drying the crockery when she heard the sound of a key in the lock. It was Giorgos.

  He gave Themis a peck on the cheek and they both greeted Anna, who had come in just behind her father.

  ‘How was your d-d-day?’ he asked Themis.

  ‘It was fine,’ she said. ‘Nothing out of the ordinary.’

  ‘And y-y-yours, Anna?’

  ‘I have so much studying,’ she moaned.

  ‘You’ll manage,’ smiled Themis. ‘You’re a clever girl.’

  ‘Will you help me, Babá?’ she asked. ‘It’s to do with interpreting blood samples. It’s all figures.’

  Anna was now at Nursing School and her father happily sat down to help her out.

  ‘Of c-c-course, agápi mou,’ he smiled, and sat down next to her.

  Themis put a dish in the oven for their evening meal and wandered across to the dresser. She picked up the various photographs and dusted the frames. Then she removed the image of Angelos from the wall and gave the glass a cursory wipe, afterwards doing the same with Nikos’. Before replacing the latter on the hook she looked into his eyes and kissed his forehead. How ashamed Nikos would have been of such a father.

  The disturbing visit and the forthcoming memorial service perhaps prompted Themis that evening to unlock the slim drawer in her bedside cabinet. She wanted to remind herself of the sweet face of the sleeping Nikos and to touch his lock of hair. While the drawer was open, she also ran her fingers across the embroidered heart, the thread still so silky after all these years. Tasos Makris had missed out on so much, she almost pitied him. Locking the drawer again, she replaced the key on the shelf and went back into the kitchen to serve dinner. Father and daughter were still at the table, contentedly poring over numbers.

  A week later, the three-year memorial took place. Angelos could not make it.

  The cemetery was tidy and the graves well swept. Avenues of the dead stretched away in every direction. Next to many, oil lamps flickered and several women were on their hands and knees cleaning and polishing. When she passed the area most recently used for burials, Themis noticed the diminutive grave of a child with still-fresh flowers on the mound of earth. A marble slab was yet to be laid. Next to this was the tomb of an army general and a plaque next to his bust read: ‘Serving his country on Mount Grammos, 1949’. Adjacent to that was a couple who had died within months of each other, aged ninety-eight and ninety-nine respectively. As she did on every visit, Themis paused to reflect. Whoever you were, if you lived in this part of Athens this was likely to be where you would spend eternity. Your actions and beliefs, the cause of your death, the length of your life, made no difference to your destination. The Second Cemetery in Rizoupoli held the bones of every kind of person. As it was for the living, the dead did not always choose their neighbours.

  Giorgos’ ancestors had been wealthy enough to purchase a burial space and Nikos’ name was now etched into the marble slab, which also covered the bones of Giorgos’ parents and grandparents. The black-and-white photographs of the older generation had faded, but Nikos’ colour image was still fresh. It was the same photograph as on the wall of the apartment, and his youth and good looks stirred anyone who passed. Nikos’ face would forever be unblemished.

  As family and friends gathered by the grave, the words of the priest floated in the air around them, but their focus was on the recently engraved plaque. Themis had long ago decided not to adorn her son’s grave with a poem or a promise that he would not be forgotten. It was unnecessary. ‘Our beloved son who died for his beliefs, 17 November 1973’ said it all. A butterfly was fluttering about close by and landed on the flowers that Themis had laid. She did not believe in God but she paid attention to such signs and left the graveside knowing that Nikos was at peace.

  That night, she stepped out of her mourning clothes and put them in the laundry basket. The following day she would wash them and put them away. It was time to cast aside her penthos. She found the blouse that Giorgos had given her at the back of her cupboard and stood in front of the mirror doing up the buttons. Shedding her dark clothes would make no difference. Her grief for Nikos would always live within her.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  1985

  POLITICS HAD SEE-SAWED in recent years between left and right, and Themis had been happy when the country got its first ever socialist government in 1981. Andreas Papandreou, the Prime Minister, began to face up to resentments that had lingered for almost forty years and officially recognised the courage of those who had resisted the Nazis during the occupation.

  He also gave communists who had fled the country at the end of the civil war permission to return and lifted the threat of persecution.

  The day she heard, Themis thought of Panos and Aliki and those with whom she had fought. Only with such people could she celebrate this moment. She reflected on the news with a mixture of joy and sadness. It was too late for so many.

  More than with politics these days, she was preoccupied with the lives of her children. There were so many events and milestones.

  Anna had long since qualified as a nurse and was soon to be married, Andreas had a good job in the biggest bank in Greece, and Spiros, who was in his final year at university, was hoping to follow his father into the tax office.

  At the end of October, news arrived from further afield. Two letters arrived on the same day. One had a German and the other a US postmark.

  After their grandmother’s death, Margarita had continued writing occasionally to Themis. She shared the letters only with Thanasis as neither Giorgos nor the children were very interested in them, having never met her.

  This time, Margarita’s letter did not come from divided Berlin. In recent years, her occasional missives had become little more than veiled descriptions of austerity and dissatisfaction, but this time there was a different tone. Margarita had married for the second time and her new husband was the manager of a large State-owned printing company. She had moved to Leipzig to be with him.

  He has some grown-up children who often come to visit with their children so life is busy at weekends.

  We had just a few guests at the wedding and I enclose a photograph with me and Heinrich, our best man, Wilhelm, and two of the grandchildren, who were flower girls. We had a lovely day and went on a short holiday to a lake near Dresden afterwards. It feels like a new start and I must confess it’s nice to have moved away from Berlin. I can’t say much but it really was a very depressing place to live.

  Leipzig is the city where a famous composer called Felix Mendelssohn was born and the buildings are beautiful. Even the village where we live outside the city has a fine square and everyone takes great pride in keeping the place clean and tidy.

  My German is now good enough for me to work in the reception at the factory! I am there a few afternoons a week and it will give me rights to a pension and other benefits, which the government here is very generous with. My husband will retire in five years’ time and I will stop working at the same time so that we can enjoy our retirement together.

  Themis still pictured her sister as a dark-haired beauty in her twenties. Now her eyebrows knitted together, as she tried to recognise the Margarita she remembered in the face of the silver-haired sixty-year-old. Her features were recognisable, though in a thinner face and she seemed to have shrunk to half the size. She looked more Eastern European than Greek now but was still beautiful, if in a different way.

  Margarita had never openly complained about Berlin but Themis had always read between the lines and it was always obvious that her first marriage had not been a happy one. In the previous letter she had mentioned that her divorce had come through and her former husband had immediately married his mistress, who promptly gave birth to their child.

  For the first time in decades, Margarita sounded content.

  ‘Happy, finally,’ said Thanasis sparingly.

  Themis nodded in agreement, silently reflecting on the irony that it was her sister, rather than herse
lf, who had ended up living in a communist state.

  The letter from the US was equally unexpected. It was not on the usual airmail paper but instead was heavy, with the address on the envelope almost obscured by the number of stamps that had been needed to send it. As was traditional with Angelos’ letters, they would wait until they were all eating together before opening it. It was Spiros who now opened his big brother’s ‘missile’, as he called it.

  ‘It’s a parcel!’ he exclaimed. ‘It’s not a letter!’

  He carefully made a slice through the tape that sealed the package and pulled out an elaborate concertina of card. It was dove grey with an ornate arrangement of silver ribbon and shiny rosettes. Very gingerly he handed it over to his mother.

  ‘It doesn’t look as though it needs me to read it,’ he said.

  ‘It’s an invitation,’ beamed Themis.

  With great difficulty (because her English was minimal), she began to read out the announcement of a forthcoming wedding.

  Mr and Mrs Charles Stanhope

  are proud to announce the marriage

  of their daughter Virginia Lara Autumn

  to Mr Angelos Stavreed

  She stopped reading.

  ‘Stavreed?’

  ‘I think he’s changed his name to a version that’s easier to pronounce. In America anyway,’ said Spiros.

  ‘But that’s not our name!’ exclaimed Giorgos indignantly.

  ‘Virginia? Who’s Virginia?’ queried Anna.

  Themis shrugged.

  ‘You can carry on reading it,’ she said, passing it to her son. ‘I can’t manage this swirly writing.’

  Spiros continued, paraphrasing.

  ‘They’re getting married at All Saints’ Church, Bel Air and afterwards there is a reception in the Sunorama Hotel in Beverly Hills.’

  ‘. . . But wasn’t he engaged to Corabel?’

  ‘He’s never mentioned Virginia before,’ said Anna. ‘What happened to Corabel?’

  ‘And are we invited?’

  ‘Of course you’re invited, Mána,’ Spiros reassured her.

  All their names, including Thanasis’, were squeezed in a row across the top.

  ‘Where is Beverly Hills?’ Themis asked.

  ‘In Los Angeles,’ answered Thanasis knowledgeably. ‘On the west coast of America. It’s a very, very long way away.’

  ‘Uncle Thanasis knows all about Los Angeles,’ teased Spiros. ‘It’s where all the film stars live!’

  Thanasis smiled, unashamed of his favourite hobby. He revelled in the knowledge of American stars that came with watching television.

  ‘And when is it?’ Themis enquired.

  ‘September.’

  ‘September? Then we’ve missed it!’ she said with exasperation. ‘It’s already happened!’

  ‘Don’t worry, Mána, it’s for next September!’

  ‘You mean in a year’s time?’ Themis shook her head.

  A son who had changed his name, getting married on the other side of the world, in almost eleven months’ time? She was bemused.

  ‘Well, we have p-p-plenty of time to think about it,’ said Giorgos with a wry smile.

  ‘Was there a letter with it?’ asked Themis, hoping for more explanation.

  Spiros shook the package, but nothing else fell out.

  ‘You’d think he would have written to tell us what he was planning . . .’

  Themis was hurt that her son’s marriage should be announced to them so bluntly.

  A few weeks on, another letter arrived from Angelos.

  I hope you will come for our big day! It will be very unlike a Greek wedding but I am sure you will have a great time. Virginia’s family are Catholic so I have had to convert. But on the whole we believe in the same things so I don’t think you will find it too alien.

  Themis did not mind in the least about the religious aspect of the wedding. She minded much more that he was getting married so far away, to someone they had never heard of until the invitation had arrived and that his name had already been Americanised. It seemed a crime to deny his Greek roots in that way.

  The following September, with their children’s encouragement but not their agreement to attend, Themis and Giorgos both boarded an aeroplane for the first time. Acquiring passports and visas had been trying enough, and after nearly two days of travel and several changes of plane, they arrived exhausted in Los Angeles.

  They were greeted by a smiling Angelos in his gleaming new red Cadillac. He was excited that they had come and impatient to show them his new life.

  Themis’ first observation was that he had put on even more weight than she had expected, but she covered her disapproval. ‘You look well, agápi mou,’ she said.

  ‘When will we m-m-meet Virginia?’ asked Giorgos.

  ‘Today,’ answered Angelos, brightly. Themis noticed that he now spoke Greek with an American accent. Despite her curiosity, she did not pluck up courage to ask what had happened to Corabel.

  When they got to his home, a pretty house with a lawn out front, Virginia was waiting to greet them. They realised that they had already been living together for some time. Giorgos disapproved, but Themis felt that she was in no position to do so and greeted the perfectly coiffured blonde with warmth.

  It may have been the jet lag, but their enthusiasm for almost everything except the climate was lacking.

  The wedding was in three days’ time, and they spent a few hours each day with their son, mostly meeting various members of Virginia’s family and eating meals that they could not finish.

  ‘It’s n-n-not as if the food tastes of anything!’ Giorgos complained to Themis. ‘So why d-d-do they give you so much it spills off the plate?’

  It struck them both as a waste, but also the reason that so many people seemed almost obese.

  The night before the wedding, there was a formal dinner. Themis had brought some of the linen that she had been given by her own grandmother. It seemed appropriate to pass it on. The tablecloth and pillowcases were finely embroidered with delicate lace edging but she could see immediately Virginia opened the parcel that it was not to her taste.

  ‘It’s so . . . quaint,’ she said.

  Angelos looked mildly embarrassed. The expression on his fiancée’s face said more about her feelings for the gift than the words that Angelos used to translate. Themis understood that the well-meant gift would be put in the back of the cupboard as soon as she and Giorgos had left. This was clearly the implication of ‘quaint’.

  Virginia’s mother, sisters and aunts all wore bright colours to the wedding and Themis felt dowdy in her pastel-blue dress and jacket, even though she had had it specially made by a Kolonaki dressmaker. The man-made fabrics people wore in America were as unfamiliar to her as the ubiquity of blond hair. The food, the whiskey and the music were similarly alien, as was the language. Both Themis and Giorgos tried to speak a little English, but the Californian accent made it almost impossible to understand what people replied and, although the Stanhope family did their best to make them feel at home, Themis and Giorgos felt out of place from beginning to end.

  Themis kept wondering how Nikos would have viewed the gathering and wished he was there with them. Although the boys would not resemble each other so much now (Angelos would probably be twice Nikos’ size and his hair was clipped shorter than ever) it would still be evident that they were brothers.

  It became clear to Themis during conversations that Angelos had written Nikos out of his own history. Virginia and her parents knew only of his three living siblings.

  Apparently Nikos did not fit the image that Angelos wanted to cultivate, and when she listened to the political opinions expressed by the Stanhopes she realised why. They were staunch supporters of Ronald Reagan (‘Uncle Thanasis would definitely approve of him,’ quipped Angelos, ‘a Hollywood actor turned Republican president!’).

  Themis and Giorgos stayed on in Los Angeles for three days after the wedding but were relieved when the time came to
leave and even happier when they eventually arrived back in Patissia. They faced a barrage of questions from their children. Was it the land of plenty that they imagined? Was everyone glamorous? Did people drive round in huge cars? On three-laned highways? The answer to all their questions was a simple ‘yes’. America had seemed like another planet. Even Thanasis was curious to know what the United States looked like in ‘real life’, but what he really wanted to know was whether his father, Pavlos, had turned up.

  ‘I don’t think Angelos invited him,’ said Themis. ‘He hasn’t met him since he moved there so . . .’

  The next letter from Angelos announced that Virginia was pregnant with their first child and in the following half-decade, every letter was accompanied by the announcement of a pregnancy or a photograph of a new baby or a toddler taking first steps or attending playgroups or on swings or in the swimming pools of flashy hotels. They were not framed and placed on the dresser. Themis was still annoyed by Angelos’ lack of loyalty to his brother’s memory. Perhaps one day if she met Nancy or Summer or Barbara, she would change her mind, but for now they seemed no more than distant relations. When they received a note one day saying that another baby had arrived, they were shocked by the name. Nikos.

  ‘Why now?’ asked Themis quietly to Giorgos, as her eyes ran over the lines. ‘I hope this boy knows what he has to live up to.’

  She was mildly affronted by Angelos resurrecting his brother in this way.

  ‘I am sure he h-h-has his reasons,’ said Giorgos, putting his arms round her. ‘It’s nice that he wants to r-r-remember him.’

  Themis had her own theory. She suspected that the birth of a son had brought out the more traditional side of Angelos. She could think of no other reason for him to revert to a Greek name for this child.

  Themis was not upset for long. She contemplated this baby thousands of miles away in a cot. Perhaps he had very curly hair.

  Anna, Andreas and Spiros all married over the following years too and Themis soon found herself with five grandchildren who all lived in the city of Athens. She was a model grandmother and everyone relied on her for childcare. Given that they had all stayed in the same neighbourhood and within ten minutes’ walk of each other, this was never hard to arrange. The old table was full again and hungry children jostled to fit. Only Uncle Thanasis had an ‘official’ seat. Even when the stairs became an enormous effort, he came down each day. Everyone loved to see him in spite of his crookedness, and the smallest children liked the fact that his food had to be cut up for him just as it did for them.