The Double Image

by Helen Macinnes

  Again, Bannerman had to light his cigarette. They stood for another full minute behind a pillar of the nearest colonnade. There was no sign of Adam; he made good use of every available shadow, seemingly. Craig wondered if Maritta had not her own watchers posted along this waterfront. And inside the café?

  “Take it easy,” said Bannerman softly, and kept talking. “You know, that was a clever dodge with the fake passports.” He passed over his own mistake in letting it work; he ought to have gone over to the anchorage himself, just to make sure who had arrived. “Hindsight is easy,” was all he said. “It’s clear now that the man sleeping below was the non-Alex. The real Alex handled the passport identification on deck while his stupefied friend didn’t even know what was going on.”

  “Which makes his record just about perfect for the whole trip.”

  “They slipped something into his cocktail. Elias’ man thought he was drunk.” Bannerman grinned cheerfully. “So keep your glass in your hand, tonight. Useful tip when drinking with Alex.”

  At this moment, Craig was wondering if he would even meet Alex. Maritta might be merely taking an evening stroll. That’s the way she looked from here. Casual, untroubled, innocent. Abruptly, she swung around towards the café. Hair slightly ruffled from the sea breeze, hands deep in the pockets of her belted fleece coat—a pale green that came to life as she stepped into the circle of light—she walked slowly through the rows of outside tables. She smiled to one group of acquaintances, waved to another, managed somehow to be drawn into neither. She paused at the wide entrance to the room, hesitated whether she’d go inside or sit under the colonnades at her usual table. She decided that it was perhaps turning chillier than she had expected and stepped over the threshold.

  “Damn,” said Bannerman softly. “It would have been so easy to watch her if she had sat outside.”

  “Too easy. Come on let’s go.” She could be meeting Alex, right now, thought Craig worriedly.

  “There’s Adam,” Bannerman said as they approached the café. Adam had decided on an inside table, too, tonight. The Frenchman with the bedroom eyes was drifting in, looking around with his usual lazy appraisal, even if he had managed to bring along two of the English girls with him. “Technique,” Bannerman said with admiration. “If he has to leave them quickly, two are company and they won’t feel so lonely.” He raised his voice as they reached the first row of tables. “The trouble about these Karagöz plays is that you never can find them. You hear plenty about them—”

  Craig had paused, almost imperceptibly, as he noticed the lonely American seated at one table, a man in his thirties, well dressed in a light tweed jacket, who was watching the people stroll by. He glanced at Craig but didn’t recognise him in the broken light. It was Ed Wilshot.

  Craig walked on, saying, “They are pure folk art, of course, as raw as it can come. You may be able to find them in the smaller places—perhaps they’d have to be toned down for Athens.”

  “Until the avant-garde discovers them,” Bannerman said, looking at Ed Wilshot as he passed. His face was impassive.

  “And that will really muck them up.” Better keep Maritta in view, he decided.

  They halted at the doorway, accustoming their eyes to the bright lights inside. Craig was saying, “What do you think, Tim? Outside or in here?”

  “Chilly out there. It looks as if there’s going to be a change in weather. Let’s find a table inside.” They entered casually.

  19

  It was a square room with the usual massive arch framing the shelves of bottles on its back wall. The twenty tables, plastic-topped, had clusters of rush-bottomed chairs. It was simple, clean and fairly crowded. Adam was seated near the door, talking with two local men. The Frenchman and his two excellent excuses were at a table against one wall. And Maritta was there. By herself. She was staring at Craig unbelievingly.

  He pretended to catch sight of her then, and waved as he started towards her. His hand almost froze in mid-air. At the next table to Maritta’s tucked into a corner behind the arch, reading a paper while he enjoyed a lonely apéritif, was Robert Bradley.

  “Hey!” Craig said to Bannerman, who seemed to be heading for the opposite wall, “I’m going in this direction.” He nodded with a grin towards Maritta. She had recovered enough to smile back. She was even primping, getting ready to welcome him; she had taken out her compact and lipstick from her deep pocket, and was studying the need for repairs in a small mirror.

  Bannerman was looking at her too, a bright smile spreading over his handsome dark face. “That’s an idea!”

  “I didn’t ask you,” Craig said, leading the way.

  “I’m still accepting,” Bannerman told him, following him with a laugh.

  It sounded natural enough. As natural as the sudden falling of the lipstick, which landed with a light clatter near Robert Bradley’s feet. He bent to pick it up, rose to return it into Maritta’s cupped hand, smiled politely at her thanks, and sat down again, adjusting his tie as he picked up his newspaper.

  Bannerman’s trained eye was admiring. That was one of the neatest exchanges he had seen in a long time—a double exchange. First Bradley had substituted a fake lipstick for Maritta’s; secondly, as he had placed it in her palm, he had found something there to pick up. Bradley hadn’t enjoyed receiving in addition to giving. For a moment, his face was tight, the nostrils slightly dilated. The hand that had made the exchange was now slipping casually into his pocket. Then he was adjusting his tie again. Bradley really was a cool—Bradley? Alex. We’ve got Alex, Bannerman thought, and gave Maritta his very best smile.

  She was a cool operator, too. She had taken off the cap of the lipstick she had received from Bradley, to show it was apparently authentic. Quickly she coloured her lips, closed the lipstick, and dropped both it and her compact back into her coat’s deep pocket. She tilted her head and looked at Craig.

  Craig was concentrating on Maritta, not even noticing Bradley. That lipstick is a stronger pink than she usually wears, he noted as he grinned like a happy idiot. “I’ve been searching for you everywhere, just about giving up hope. What took you so long to get into town?”

  This approach startled her again. “Why—” She looked at him blankly, recovered. “And how did you get here from Delos? Swim?” There was challenge in her voice and eyes.

  “But I didn’t go! You didn’t expect me to, did you, when you never turned up?” Craig looked incredulous. “Didn’t you know I’d get your message?”

  The brilliant green eyes flickered nervously at Bradley’s back. “But I didn’t send any—”

  “Maritta,” Craig said gently, “don’t tell me you didn’t want to see me. Without benefit of the usual rabble.” He looked with a grin at Bannerman.

  Bannerman said, putting out his hand, “This oaf doesn’t seem to want to introduce me. So I’ll do it myself. Tim Bannerman.”

  She shook hands, smiled, but only said, “Why don’t you sit down, Mr. Bannerman?”

  No name given, Craig noted. And just what had been exchanged between Maritta and Bradley? The lipstick, probably; and anything else? It had been too quick for him. But Bannerman was in such good spirits that he must have noticed something important. Craig looked at Bradley’s back, and decided to make this a really merry party. “Hallo, Bradley!” he said. “I thought I saw Ed Wilshot hanging around outside. But come and meet the prettiest girl on Mykonos.”

  Bradley had turned around, resigned. He mustered a correct smile. He rose again, the always perfect gentleman.

  “Mr. Robert Bradley, Miss Maritta Maas Craig—” clapped Bannerman’s back—“and Mr. Timothy Bannerman the Fourth.” Craig pulled around an extra chair. Just the life of the party, he told himself; but he was, in fact, enjoying himself immensely. “Join us, Bradley. It must be gloomy waiting for a boat all by yourself. Have you had dinner, yet? Well, join us again. I wish you’d take Bannerman off my hands, though. Maritta and I were planning to—”

  “We were not!” Maritta sai
d sharply, and looked at Bradley.

  “Sorry, sorry,” Craig said very quietly, “I didn’t know we had to keep it a secret.” Then he smiled brightly all around and signalled to the waiter. The mention of Wilshot’s name, he noticed, was keeping Bradley nicely in place: it might be difficult to explain to Wilshot why he had been given wrong directions where to sit. At any rate, Bradley wasn’t leaving to meet his friend outside. Or perhaps he was more interested in Maritta’s connection with Craig. The more she protested, the more coldly he looked at her. Do these people have to make reports on each other? Craig wondered. Maritta was certainly ill at ease. She had even forgotten to challenge him with shouldering her servant off the dock.

  But once the drinks arrived, and Bradley’s attention was held by Bannerman’s easy flow of talk, she made an effort and recovered herself. And she didn’t disappoint Craig. “What was that story I heard,” she asked coldly, “about a man falling into the water?”

  “He did. It was some idiot who was standing on the edge of the quay. There was a jam of people. What did he expect, anyway?”

  “And you stumbled against him?”

  “Look Maritta, he tried to pull me in,” Craig said with a hint of protest in his voice. “I nearly took a high dive, myself.”

  She studied him. “So you didn’t go to Delos... Veronica will be quite upset.”

  “No one is going to miss me one bit. There was a mob scene on that jetty. Everything just got out of hand. Not my idea of a romantic picnic. Besides, I told you I had lost interest. Can’t you get it through your pretty blonde head that I only accepted the invitation because of you?”

  “I thought your chief interest was in old ruins.”

  “In daylight. By myself. When I can keep my mind on my work.” He glanced at the other two men. Bannerman was at his best in this kind of confrontation; he was talking amusingly constantly, holding Bradley’s attention in spite of his wary coldness. It was thawing a little, as if Bradley had completed the job of sizing Bannerman up and had decided that he would prefer to talk with him rather than seem to have any contact with Maritta. He ignored her completely, a man who had no interest in her whatsoever. And for once Maritta did not seem to mind such neglect. Craig said very quietly, “Maritta—what about having dinner with me?”

  “I’m sorry. I have to get back to the house. I only slipped away for an hour to—to get some medicine in town. I had nothing stronger than aspirin.”

  “Oh, yes, I forgot. Tony or Veronica, or someone, told me your guest broke his leg. Is it serious?”

  She hadn’t been listening. A new idea had entered that quick little mind. She smiled brightly. “You know, John, I might stay and have dinner with you. The house is really so unbearable—like a hospital. Why do men with a small hurt always think they are dying? It’s nothing serious, really. And I couldn’t find anything stronger than aspirin in town, anyway.”

  “Then that’s fine. Let’s start moving out.”

  “Where shall we have dinner? The best food is at either the Leto or the Triton. The Triton is nearer. Why don’t we go there?”

  And since when did a slender figure think about the importance of good food? The Triton—with three exits, one of them right next door to the Ludwig house. It would be a simple way, with a few more excuses like washing her hands, tidying up, to make sure of delivering that lipstick. Craig smiled. “That’s an idea.” He glanced at Bannerman, wondering if he had heard. Craig did some quick calculations of his own. He rose, helping her pull the coat around her shoulders—she had kept it with her, all this time, instead of throwing it over a spare chair. “Goodbye,” he said to Bradley. “Have a good trip.”

  “Give my best to Sue and George.”

  Craig’s eyes noticed the small addition to Bradley’s dress: the striped tie was now held by a clip of gold. He wasn’t wearing any tie clip when I first met him today, Craig thought, I’m sure he wasn’t, I’m positive. “I’ll do that,” he said, shaking hands.

  Bradley’s bow to Maritta was no more than politeness demanded. That might even be relief in his eyes, as if he were glad to be rid of her. She was equally distant. Her smile for Bannerman was enchanting.

  Craig caught her arm and started leading her towards the bar at the back of the room.

  “Why—” she asked, halting, looking at him.

  “I’ve got to call the Triton and arrange a table for two. And why don’t you call home and tell them you won’t be back until—” he smiled down at her—“well, let’s say midnight. Then they won’t start worrying about you.”

  “Midnight?”

  “Unless you could manage to spend the night in town.” He held her eyes with his.

  “Just a minute, my friend, not so fast!” Bannerman was beside them, his voice clear and carrying. “Where do I join you later in the evening?”

  “You don’t,” Craig said with a grin, “you old—” he dropped his voice as if his description of Bannerman wasn’t for any lady’s ears—“tie clip.”

  Bannerman heard it, barely, but enough. He laughed. “Okay, okay.” To Maritta he said, “What about going swimming tomorrow? I’ll meet you at the taxi stand at eleven.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Craig said, took Maritta’s arm and led her to the telephone that sat proudly at the end of the bar.

  “What did you call him?” she wanted to know, smiling. “Oh, just a term of endearment among sailors.”

  She didn’t know her Dr. Johnson, but she got the idea. “I think he’s charming,” she said. She was so much back to normal, so much enjoying herself, that she did not even notice Adam was strolling to the door or that the Frenchman was leaving his two pretty girls. Bannerman had rejoined Bradley with a joking remark, while Bradley ordered something to eat with a look of distaste for the limited menu. Maritta glanced back at their table. “And I think that other man is horrid. He never even spoke to me. I don’t think he really likes women, do you? Perhaps you ought to warn your nice friend. How long have you known Mr. Bannerman?”

  “Long enough not to trust him near you. He has been visiting Athens for several months—he’s a writer. Now, ladies first.” He handed her the telephone. “Make it nice and vague. I don’t want your friends chasing into the Triton with a shotgun. Tell them they haven’t a thing to worry about. You are spending the night with a friend. Right?”

  She smiled. “Perhaps,” she said. And then as she waited for an answer to her call, she laughed softly and said, “Perhaps that would be wise.”

  She did keep it vague. She did not mention the Triton. She did not even mention John Craig. No worry, she told them, everything was splendid; everything was well. They asked her one question. Her answer was a decided “Yes!” A touch of triumph was in it, too. She ended quickly, “I’ll manage. Don’t worry. I won’t be late.”

  She replaced the receiver. “I have to be back by ten tomorrow,” she said, not blinking one eyelash, to explain that last quick sentence. “Now, it’s your turn—” She followed the direction of his eyes. Sauntering into the café were Tony and Mimi. “What—” She hurried towards them. “What on earth happened?”

  “We came back with the launch,” Mimi said. “Oh, how nice and warm it is in here!”

  Tony was looking around in his vague English way, nodding to various groups, noticing Bannerman and Bradley. “Everything went wrong,” he told Maritta. “They swarmed ashore on Delos, all having the time of their little lives. We kept the launch waiting, tried to coax them back on board. They wouldn’t go. It was, I suppose, absolutely hilarious. I’ll see the joke tomorrow.”

  “How many stayed?”

  “Hundreds.”

  Mimi laughed and said, “I counted eighteen. They’ll freeze to death.”

  “Unless they bundle,” Craig said with a grin. No one got the joke.

  “There would have been no beds left for us,” Mimi said, shaking her head. “They ran faster than we did.”

  “Yes,” said Tony to Craig, “we were properly up a pear tree
. So Veronica and Mimi and I decided we’d—”

  “Veronica?” Maritta’s voice was sharp. “Where is she?”

  “Oh, we left her looking for the man who drives the taxi. I told her it was no use. Either he’s in bed or he is at the fishermen’s pub down the street dancing a mad bouzoukia.”

  “Is she going to the house?” Maritta was tense.

  “I should think that was the idea. She said she was going to pack.”

  But Maritta was already half-way to the door.

  “I couldn’t stop Veronica from coming back,” Mimi said very quietly as she and Craig followed. “I did not want to, of course. Tony and I were glad of the excuse. I think we are needed here tonight.”

  “When did she decide?”

  “Just as we reached Delos. She did not speak all the way across. All at once, she made up her mind—like that!” Mimi snapped her fingers. “And then Tony managed to start everyone landing. He would make a very good agent provocateur.” She laughed for Tony, slid her arm through Craig’s. “Now it is our turn, I think,” she said as they all came out into the colonnade.

  Maritta was standing in the middle of the street, looking towards the main square where the two taxis were parked during the day. “I can’t see her,” she called over her shoulder to Craig. She was frightened, really frightened. “And there is no taxi.”

  “Then she is walking,” Craig said more calmly than he felt. “Forget it, Maritta. Let’s have dinner.”

  “But she can’t go—” Maritta bit the phrase short. She was close to complete panic.

  “We can easily catch up with her, if that is what you want.”

  Maritta made an effort and tried to look normal. “It makes everything so awkward. Don’t you see, I can’t possibly stay in town if she is alone at the house? It wouldn’t be—convenable.” She looked up at him so disappointedly. “It just ruins everything, doesn’t it?” She set off at a very brisk pace.