When I arrived at Greg’s room that afternoon, although I was prepared for his injuries, I hadn’t expected him to look so frail. The bouncing joker full of bravado had been reduced to a pale and shrunken figure, propped up on his bed frame, his eyes still ringed with dark bruises and evident stitches on his scalp, where some hair had been shaved away. One arm was in plaster and I could see bandages across his chest, partially covered by pale-blue pyjamas.
‘You made it here at last, then,’ he whispered. His voice had but a vestige of its old cockiness, but still retained a hint of humour.
‘Couldn’t put it off any longer, buddy,’ I said. ‘I’ve been missing you. Sorry I haven’t brought you any grapes. Thought you’d be sick of them by now anyway.’
‘Can’t stand the sight of them.’ His eyes rolled towards the fruit basket on his bedside cabinet, piled with peaches and dripping with grapes. ‘Pam thinks they’re good for me.’
‘She must have been worried sick about you.’
‘Nah, pissed off, more like.’ He paused to catch his breath. ‘Gave me a right telling-off. Said I should never have gone racing up there. Should have left it to the professionals.’
‘If we’d left it to the professionals, Amber and the baby might not have survived. I owe you a big thank you for that.’ I paused for a second, mentally twiddling my thumbs, then said, ‘Look, mate, I’m really sorry I pushed you that day. Never thought you’d end up in such a mess. Sorry about that.’
Even in his poorly state, he managed a half smile, then he said, ‘Water under the bridge, old man. Anyway, how are they both doing? The little chap must have grown a lot by now.’
I was quiet for a moment, but then thought there was no point in being less than open with Greg. We had both suffered so much, shared so much, so I said, ‘I expect he has. But the fact is, I haven’t seen either of them since we were brought here in the air ambulance.’
‘But that’s… how long… two weeks? You’ve not seen Amber or the baby in all that time?’
‘She doesn’t want to see me or speak to me. She’s totally pissed off with me. She blames me for everything.’ I couldn’t help giving a deep sigh. ‘It’s such a bloody mess. I think I’ve lost both of them for good.’
‘She blames you for the fire? But that wasn’t anything to do with you.’
‘I know, but she feels I contributed to the whole situation that led up to it. And I have to admit I hadn’t been completely honest with her about our plans for the site.’
He was silent. I could see him thinking as he gazed out of the window, then he spoke, without turning back to look at me, ‘Well, we both know who’s behind it all, don’t we?’
I nodded. ‘Did you know he popped in for a visit?’
Greg looked alert. ‘What? Here?’
‘I saw him hanging around near my ward, yesterday. And I understand he came up here to see how you were doing as well. I don’t know if he looked in on you, but I think he spoke to Pam.’
‘He’s been checking out both of us, you mean?’
‘Looks that way. But what are we going to do about it? You’re laid-up and I’m barely able to walk. We’re both pathetic specimens. Neither of us is in any condition to pay him back for what he’s done. And if we go down the legal route, neither of us is likely to come out of it whiter than white.’
Greg managed a tiny croaking laugh in response, but couldn’t speak.
‘I damn well wish I’d dealt with him when I had the chance that night. All I did was try to thump him and chuck his car keys away.’
He managed another scratchy laugh. ‘Bet that really hurt his feelings.’
‘I know, it sounds stupid now, doesn’t it? Bloody stupid. I wish I’d had the chance to slash his tyres at the same time as well.’
He gave another snort. ‘It needs more than that, mate.’
‘Like what?’
He managed a smirk, his bruised face lopsided. ‘Well, Lavinia’s back with her Russian, so we could call the heavies in.’
‘Seriously? No, you’re joking, aren’t you?’
‘Afraid so. If it’s going to work, it’s got to be subtle and it’s got to be kept well away from the two of us.’
‘Brilliant. Then we don’t stand a chance.’
‘I’ll keep thinking.’ He grimaced. ‘At least I will if this bloody head of mine stops killing me.’
Chapter Seventy-Seven
20 June 1944
It is so hot that year, the year they finally leave Greece. The sun is merciless. The rays were scorching when they were crammed into the open boats, but Rebekka thinks that being at sea was more bearable than standing beside the railway lines on burning hot stones.
While the barges were being towed on the water, a slight breeze drifted across the waves and the sea spray was cool, dampening the clothes they had been wearing since they left home. But here in Haidari, in Athens, the intense heat radiates in searing waves from the concrete and gravel. It feels a little like the baker’s ovens in Corfu Town, where from an early age Mama sent her to buy loaves of crusty bread, so fragrant she could smell them as she approached the shuttered green doorway near the harbour. And now there is no friendly baker’s wife to greet her with floury kisses and no scent of freshly baked bread, there are just harsh shoves from brutal soldiers and the sour odours of sweat and fear.
Rebekka tugs at her father’s sleeve and points. ‘Papa, is that our train?’ Ahead of them they can see a line of cattle trucks headed by a large steaming engine.
‘I fear it might be, my child. But at least the cars are spacious. There will be plenty of room for us all to sit down comfortably.’
‘But there are some proper train carriages further along down there, with windows and curtains. Why aren’t they all like that?’
Papa frowns. ‘Those carriages are only for the Germans. You don’t want to go in one of those.’
And then Rebekka notices, ahead of them in the crowd, that a very pretty girl is being roughly dragged away from her family by two soldiers. She screams, her mother cries out and tries to hold her daughter back, but is struck on the side of her head by a pistol. Blood trickles down her cheek. The girl is manhandled down the track to the compartment and hauled inside. Several more girls and young women soon follow, all protesting loudly, although surely that carriage is more comfortable than the one Rebekka’s family is being herded into. Mama puts her arm protectively around her daughter, saying, ‘Lower your head, child. Hold your bundle close to your chest. With luck, they will think you are too young.’
More and more people are pushed into the boxcar. There is barely room to stand, let alone sit. Then the hefty doors are hauled shut and the bolts are slammed into position. The only fresh air comes from four narrow windows at the very top of the cattle car. If someone faints or expires, there might be a little more room, but not much. Rebekka tries to count how many are crammed into the carriage with her, but being so short, she can’t see everyone’s head. She guesses a hundred, or maybe less, all tightly packed in together.
All around her she can hear cries. There are the harsh orders of the Germans, hitting weary people as they climb into the cars, the feeble wails of hungry, dirty babies and the weeping of women. And above all these distressing sounds she hears the screams of those who have lost their shoes or have been barefoot ever since they left their homes, as the skin of their naked feet is burnt by the caustic quicklime that powders the carriage floors.
Chapter Seventy-Eight
August 2008
Amber
My days at the Mill fell into a comforting pattern of sleeping, bathing, feeding Theo, changing him and then resting again. I joined Inge and Marian for meals when I felt like it, but sometimes they brought me a tray in my room, or I sat alone on the balcony in the warm afternoon sun, just thinking about all that had happened and how my life would be in the future.
After a couple of weeks, I felt strong enough to help for a couple of hours or so in the shop most days, while Theo s
lept, and when Inge and Marian went into the town to hold their vigil and direct the tourists to the fort. The beach was busy and the days were so hot that the shop was generally quiet until the visitors began leaving late in the afternoon. When there were few customers, I found it quite relaxing to be folding caftans and bedspreads, stacking pottery and dusting shelves, sometimes with Theo sleeping in a basket by my side. The occasional tourist would drift in to buy an olive wood bowl or a scarf as a souvenir of their holiday, but mostly I just sat and watched the bodies baking on the sand, the windsurfers skimming the waves and the children cavorting in the sea.
One particularly quiet day, I was sitting as usual at the desk on the lower terrace, where Inge always positioned herself when she was minding the shop. I was gazing, chin resting on my hand, at the cafe across the road, where James and I had sipped cold drinks two years previously, when we had first noticed the beach shop. And as I looked around, from beach to cafe and back again, I suddenly became aware of being watched myself, in that skin-prickling way that sometimes happens. I let my eyes drift from group to group, from table to table, and then I saw him, at least I thought it was him, sitting at a shaded table right at the back of the cafe’s terrace, too far away for me to be quite certain at first, but sure enough when I focused on that bearded face.
A night or two later, Inge and Marian invited me to have supper with them once Theo was settled and when I joined them, I saw anxious faces and felt that I must have interrupted a private conversation.
‘Is everything all right?’ I asked. ‘I don’t mind taking a tray upstairs if you’d like to be on your own.’
‘It’s nothing,’ Marian said. ‘Just business, that’s all.’ She gave a weary shake of her head and sighed.
‘Anything I can help with?’
She gave Inge a despairing look, which conveyed far more than she had in words, then said, ‘Just our old friend making a nuisance of himself once more, that’s all.’
‘More than a nuisance,’ Inge said, frowning. ‘He’s been pestering Marian at the mountain shop again. He just won’t take no for an answer.’
‘By that, I take it you mean Dimitri?’
Marian nodded, then took a bottle of wine from the fridge and held it out towards me. I shook my head as I wasn’t drinking while I was breastfeeding. ‘Well, I’m going to,’ she said. ‘I need it after the day I’ve had.’ She poured herself a large glass and diluted a little with water for Inge.
‘I meant to say,’ I said, ‘but I’m pretty sure I saw him sitting over in the cafe the other day, staring at the shop. So what exactly has happened now?’
‘He’s been storing some construction machinery in a disused barn a little further up the track,’ Marian said, ‘and today he left a digger right on the junction, completely blocking the path to my storeroom.’
‘Didn’t you ask him to move it?’
‘I would’ve done, if he’d been there.’ She looked furious, frowning. ‘I swear he did it on purpose. And I had some heavy pieces of furniture to shift today for an order, so it made life extremely difficult for my delivery guys. They couldn’t back their vehicle right up to our barn, so they had to carry everything much further than they should have done. They weren’t at all pleased with me.’
‘Have you had problems like this before?’
She shrugged and looked at Inge, with that look that often passed between them, and said, ‘Similar. It’s usually something that I can’t quite pin on him or blame him for.’ Gulping some of her wine, she then said, ‘And when I finally saw him coming back and asked him to move the digger, he couldn’t have cared less. He just said a driver was meant to have collected it during the day, and if it was that inconvenient then maybe I shouldn’t use the barn anymore, and I should reconsider his offer to take it off my hands.’
‘What a damn cheek.’
‘I know. He’s got a nerve. He keeps going out of his way to make life awkward for us. There’s been a constant stream of little problems that are irritating and inconvenient. Last week I found one of the recently delivered stone fonts was badly cracked, though I’m quite certain it was perfect when it was unloaded. And there were also several cigarette butts on the ground behind the shop the other day, as if someone had been hiding out there, spying on me.’
‘But he hasn’t done anything worse than this, has he? I mean, he hasn’t actually threatened you?’ I sat down at the table and began picking at the olives and tzatziki Marian had set out in small terracotta bowls. The olives were from the local groves, small and black, slightly bitter.
‘Not so far,’ she said, pushing a basket of fresh bread towards me. ‘Why do you ask that?’
And then I knew that it was time to tell them both the whole story, insofar as I knew it and could understand it myself. I took a deep breath and then began. ‘When James finally managed to find me in the cellar after Theo was born, he told me Dimitri had started the fire. He said he’d seen Dimitri lurking when he first reached the village that night. He blamed him for the fire. He said he believed Greg had given Dimitri free rein to obtain possession of the land by any means possible, and that was how he’d decided to do it.’ My story was a highly simplified version of events, but I couldn’t bear to say anything about James saying he wished he’d killed Dimitri, rather than Greg.
Both women were open-mouthed. Inge’s face was even whiter than usual as she said, ‘That awful man deliberately caused the fire that could have killed both you and your child? He knew that your time was near and that you were helpless. Surely he knew you always stayed the night at Mountain Thyme?’
Hearing her actually state this fact, in these stark words, even though I’d been aware of it myself for nearly three weeks now, pierced my stomach again and made me feel sick. I nodded. ‘I’m only telling you what James told me. But there’s no way Dimitri couldn’t have known I’d be there that night. I was barely leaving the place by that stage – it was so hot and I was so tired and huge. I slept at Mountain Thyme every single night. He was bound to know that. And he must have known James often stayed overnight at Greg’s house as well.’
I took a couple of deep breaths to banish the sickness, then said, ‘I can understand that he might not have realised the fire would spread so fast, so I’m not saying he actually intended to kill me, but the fact is, he had no regard for my safety and he didn’t lift a finger to help me when the fire engulfed the whole village. He didn’t warn me or try to save me.’ My eyes filled with tears. ‘Greg may have been complicit in this whole mess, but at least he came to my aid in the end. He saved me and Theo and now I don’t even know whether he’s made a full recovery or will be marked for life because of his injuries.’
Marian came around the table and hugged me. ‘You’re safe now. Both of you are safe here.’
‘And this man, this monster,’ said Inge, ‘what was his motive? What did he have to gain from such a terrible disaster?’
I shook my head as I replied, ‘I guess he might have stood to gain financially, once the land was developed. Maybe he thought he could scare us away and then buy our property cheaply, but I don’t really know.’
‘It’s such a callous way of clearing undeveloped land,’ Inge said. ‘Every year it happens. They know they aren’t allowed to build on virgin sites, so they go out there and burn them. It may seem logical, but it’s devastating and they can’t control it, once it starts.’
Marian was pouring herself more wine and stood there thinking. Then she suddenly said, ‘It’s all about greed and resentment with him. He cannot stomach the fact that we own this shop as well as our shop in the mountains. It must have been the same for him with your place. I think he likes us to do all the hard work, establishing the business, then he wants to take it off our hands, as he puts it.’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ I said. ‘Before, he was always so helpful to us, working on the renovation, managing the whole project. I really liked him. I’ve only ever seen him being considerate and utterly charming. Th
e man James says started the fire is not the man I’ve known for the last couple of years.’
‘But he’s like that to get what he wants,’ Marian said. ‘He soon drops the act if it doesn’t get him anywhere.’
‘This so-called charming man,’ Inge said in a quiet, tired voice, ‘believes I am not the rightful owner of this shop and this house. My dear Georgiou and Agata left their entire estate to me in their will, but he has disputed this. He says they had no right to give me what he calls “family property”. He has been pestering me and arguing his case for years.’
‘I had no idea. I knew Marian had her doubts about him, but I never knew that he was the one questioning your inheritance and making your life so difficult as well. Can’t anything be done about him?’
Inge sighed. ‘I’ve taken advice from a local lawyer and been told the will is legitimate, but Dimitri Barberis has continued to contest it.’
‘He just won’t give up,’ Marian said. ‘He wants to wear us down until we can’t go on any longer.’ She shook her head in anger and poured herself more wine. ‘Sometimes I think we should pretend to agree with him, give him a false sense of security and wait till we’ve got him on his own, then… boof!’ She punched the air, spilling her drink over the table in the process.
I couldn’t help but laugh and through my spluttering managed to say, ‘Then what, once you’d bloodied his nose, you think he’d give in?’
‘Or if I could get him out in a boat, and then whoosh, over the side!’ Marian was laughing too.
‘No, take him for a walk up one of those steep mountain paths,’ I said. ‘Then just the gentlest little push, rolling down the hill.’
Inge was gazing at each of us in turn, a tolerant smile on her face, as if we were two naughty children planning mischief. ‘But we must fight fair, girls. He is far too clever to put himself in a vulnerable position. Let us wait and see.’
Burning Island: Absolutely heartbreaking World War 2 historical fiction Page 27