by Hilary Green
‘No! Why would I? As far as I knew then she was still living in Athens. It wasn’t until a week or two after we’d moved in that I decided to go up to Ayios Epiktetos, the village where Ariadne used to live, to see if it was still as I remembered it. I didn’t think anyone would recognize me, after all those years, but I hadn’t been there long before an old guy came shuffling up to me and said, “You’re Lieutenant Allenby, aren’t you? The one who used to visit the old school master.” He told me that Ariadne’s father was dead and her mother had gone away and then he said, “She was here, though, the other day. The daughter who went to live in Athens.”’
He turns again to Ariadne and they smile at each other with great tenderness.
Stephen goes on, ‘I knew then that I had to see her, but the old chap had no idea where she was staying. He only knew that it wasn’t in the village. I went and found Ferhan but she refused point blank to tell me where Ariadne was. I begged and pleaded but it was no good. All I could do was comb each village in turn, asking for her and hoping to spot an old acquaintance. It was the proverbial needle in a haystack but it became a kind of obsession. It wasn’t even that I had any idea of leaving your mother and you at that point. I just wanted to explain – and make sure she was all right. At least, that’s what I told myself.’
‘Did you know my mother was drinking, then?’
‘Yes. I soon realized that bottles were disappearing from the stock and not being accounted for. I tried to persuade her to stop. We had terrible rows about it.’ He makes a small, hopeless gesture. ‘That was the beginning of the end. I know I was to blame. I should have stayed with her, kept an eye on her. But whenever I did, we only fought.’ He looks at me and I see tears in his eyes. ‘I’m sorry, my darling. I let you both down – just as I let Ariadne down all those years ago.’
‘Dearest,’ Ariadne puts in gently, ‘you didn’t let me down. You had no choice in what happened. Neither did I. It was fate. But fate was kind to us in the end.’
I look at their faces, both suffused with love, and feel a lump in my throat. ‘So you’ve been together all these years.’
My father nods. ‘Yes. We have had more than twenty years of happiness. Was it very selfish of me? I had already made the decision that I couldn’t live with your mother any more. It’s true I gave up the chance of seeing you, but that was because I was genuinely persuaded that it would be better for you. Can you forgive me?’
I gaze at him. I don’t know what I feel. ‘I don’t know. I don’t think it’s a question of forgiveness. We all try to do what seems best, don’t we? But in the end it’s like Ariadne says. It’s fate. But I’m glad – I’m so glad I’ve found you again.’
And suddenly we are both in tears. He puts his arm round my shoulders and kisses me on both cheeks. ‘Oh, my little girl! Thank you. Thank you!’
A champagne cork pops and Evangelos says, ‘I think it’s time we all had a drink.’
When the glasses have been filled and passed round, Stephen raises his. ‘To those unseen powers – call it fate or the gods or what you will – that have seen fit to bring us together again. And to you, my darling wife, and to you, my two children. Bless you!’
I sip the wine. It tastes better than any I have drunk since my illness. Stephen turns to me. ‘I’ve talked so long about my own life and I haven’t asked you anything about yours. I can see you’re not married but is there someone – someone you care for?’
For a moment I am uncertain whether to confide in him or not. Finally I say, ‘Yes, there is. But I’m afraid you may not approve of him. I met him last Easter, when I went to Kyrenia. His name is Karim. He’s an archaeologist … a Turkish Cypriot. I’m afraid after everything that’s happened you will think of him as “the enemy”. But I know he truly loves Cyprus and is as distressed as you must be by the political situation.’
Ariadne moves to sit on my other side and takes my hand. ‘My dear, I’m the last person in the world to blame anyone for falling in love with someone who seems to be on the wrong side. We love where we must, not where it’s easy or suitable.’
‘The old Greeks knew that,’ Stephen says wryly. ‘That’s why they gave Eros that bow and arrows.’ He stands up and empties the last of the champagne into my glass. ‘Angel, I think we need another bottle.’
‘I have one here ready,’ Evangelos replies. ‘And then I think we should eat. My chef will be tearing his hair out if we don’t go to the table soon.’
In the dining room I am introduced at last to Evangelos’s wife, Ismene, whose dark beauty seems the perfect complement to his fairness, and their two sons. The meal is a delicious fusion of traditional Greek and classic modern cuisine and I surprise myself by eating most of what I am offered, though I refuse Angel’s attempts to refill my glass. Over the meal I tell them how I pieced together my father’s story and they beg me to describe the villages and landmarks that must once have been a familiar part of their lives and which are now inaccessible to them. We compare notes, briefly, about teaching and I ask, ‘Are you still writing for the papers?’
Stephen shakes his head. ‘When Ariadne’s uncle died he left her the hotel. So for the last ten years running it has kept both of us fully occupied. I certainly never wanted to go back to being a foreign correspondent.’
By the time we return to the sitting room for coffee, I am almost at the end of my strength. Ismene excuses herself, saying she has to put the boys to bed, and Evangelos goes down to check that all is well in the restaurant. Stephen leads me to the sofa and takes my hands in his.
‘Now, my dear, we must talk about the subject we have all been avoiding all evening. Your health. I know you have arranged for Evangelos to be tested as a potential donor. I want you to arrange for me to be tested too.’
‘You?’ In the welter of new discoveries and emotions, it has never crossed my mind. ‘Oh no! No, I couldn’t ask you to do that.’
‘Cressida, I owe you that much at the very least.’
I force myself to meet his eyes. ‘There’s one more thing I haven’t told you. I’m pregnant.’
I feel Ariadne’s arm around my shoulders. ‘Oh, my dear child!’
‘Is it Karim’s?’ Stephen asks.
‘Yes, but he doesn’t know – yet. I haven’t told him. You see, if I decide to have the baby there can’t be any question of a transplant until after it’s born and if – if the leukaemia gets worse they won’t be able to treat it with the drugs I had before. I don’t think it would be fair to ask him to make that kind of choice.’
‘So what will you do? Are you going to have the child?’
‘Yes.’ I find that somehow I have taken the decision without being aware of it. ‘Yes, it wouldn’t be right to take away his life, or her life, just to save my own.’
Stephen grips my hands tighter. ‘My brave girl!’
‘And the child is all right? It hasn’t been harmed by the drugs?’ Ariadne asks.
‘I’ve had a scan and as far as they can see everything’s all right. Later I can have an amniocentesis. That should confirm it, or otherwise.’
‘What does your doctor say?’
‘The hospital has been wonderful. My consultant has referred me to a gynaecologist who has an excellent reputation. If the baby’s OK it’s just a question of whether I can go the full nine months without the leukaemia becoming acute again.’
‘And after that, you would still need the transplant?’
‘Yes, if …’ I was going to say ‘if I survive that long’ but the words stick in my throat. ‘If I’m going to have any chance of getting better.’
‘Then my offer still stands.’
‘But it means a general anaesthetic. At your age …’
‘At my age what more is there for me to do, other than to pass on life to the next generation? I brought you into the world and then abandoned you – no matter from whatever motives. Now it is time for me to make reparation for that, and how could I do it better? Besides, I am as strong as a horse. There
is no reason why a general anaesthetic should be any more of a risk for me than for Angel.’
I turn to Ariadne. ‘Please, I don’t think he should do this. You can stop him.’
But Ariadne shakes her head. ‘We have talked it over. It is what he wishes and I respect his feelings. Besides, it may be that the tests will prove that he is not compatible. Perhaps Angel will be the one. We must accept what the fates decide.’
By the time I get home I am shaking with fatigue but my mind is clearer than it has been for weeks. I know what I have to do. I go to the telephone and dial Karim’s number.
CHAPTER 20
LONDON, JUNE 1999
The restaurant looks beautiful! Evangelos and Ismene have done a wonderful job with the flowers and the decorations. That’s one of the good things about a midsummer wedding. There are so many flowers to choose from. But everything is wonderful about this wedding. For such a long time we all thought it might never happen at all. Of course, I should have preferred it to be held in my own hotel in Cyprus but that was always out of the question.
Look at them – the happy couple! It’s a fallacy to believe that all brides are happy on their wedding day. I know that only too well. But Cressida looks radiant. What a change a few months can bring about! And Karim? He looks like a man who has suddenly been released from a dark prison into the sunlight. These last months have been harder for him than for any of us, I believe. He wanted to get married straightaway, of course, but Cressida was adamant. I can understand why. Until they were both safe, she would not allow him to commit himself. Not many women in her position would have had the strength of purpose to stick to that. I admire her for it.
It’s so good to see so many of their friends here, and all mixing together as if there had never been any suggestion of a difficulty. Of course, some of them have no idea what a remarkable feat this is. Those three young women, for example, Cressida’s friends from the school. I’ve seen them dancing, first with a Greek, then with a Turk, as if it was the most natural thing in the world – which is as it should be. What would my father have thought of such girls? So independent, living alone, going from one boyfriend to another. I have to admit I find it hard to approve, myself. But they have been such loyal friends to Cressida, given her so much support, that it would be wrong to criticize.
I must go and talk to the Wentworths in a minute. It was kind of them to make the journey specially for the wedding but I know Cressida very much wanted them to be here. I shall have a long chat with them about the old days when I get a chance and ask them to describe all the places I used to know so well as a girl. How good it would be to go back to Ayios Epiktetos, or whatever outlandish Turkish name they have given it now. But perhaps it is better that I can’t. It has so many memories. I should like to stand in the church of St Antiphonitis again. It would be good to go back to the place where Stephen first kissed me, but it would break my heart to see those wonderful frescoes all defaced. Karim says it is protected now but how could they let such a thing happen? And our cave in the hills? No, I don’t want to go there. Those memories are too mixed.
Karim’s parents seem to be enjoying themselves. We were afraid, to begin with, that they would refuse to attend. They are not at all what I expected before we were introduced. She is beautiful and sophisticated; he very urbane, very much a man of the world. He actually asked me to dance a few minutes ago! Of course, I said that in my circumstances it would not be suitable, so we sat and chatted instead. I asked him if he and his wife had been very disappointed when Karim told them he wanted to marry an English girl. He shrugged and smiled.
‘Of course, we always hoped he would fall in love with a nice Muslim girl, hopefully a girl from Cyprus. But the years went by and we began to see that there were fewer and fewer suitable candidates, and he seemed not to care for any of them. We began to be afraid that he would never marry – that perhaps there was, you know, something wrong somewhere. When he brought Cressida to meet us we could see that at last he was in love. And she is everything we could wish for in a daughter, except for the question of religion – beautiful, intelligent, warm-hearted. And courageous. No question about that. She will make him a good wife. And then, of course, there is the child …’
Ah yes! The child. Look at him, fast asleep on Dr Prentiss’s lap. So fair, like a little angel. He reminds me of Evangelos as a baby. And the doctor is so proud of him! You would think it was her own child. But she has good reason. The care she gave Cressida all through that terribly anxious pregnancy was beyond the call of duty. I shall never forget those months, watching, waiting, praying. I couldn’t stay in England all the time. There were things that needed attention back in Cyprus. But Stephen stayed. He refused to leave Cressida even for a few days. That was the one good thing about that period, watching them together, getting to know each other, seeing the love and trust between them grow. He was so proud when that magazine – what is it called? Mslexia – accepted her short stories. That gave her the courage to start working on a novel. ‘A hostage to fortune,’ she said.
Several times we thought she might lose the baby, or that we might lose both of them. Then there was the trauma of the Caesarean and after that the transplant. Poor Cressida, confined to that sterile room, only able to see her baby through the glass, not able to hold him or feed him. And poor Karim. You could see that he felt so helpless, watching her, longing to be able to touch her and comfort her. My heart bled for both of them, even though I had my own grief to deal with. But the child brought us all so much joy. To see him whole and perfect was like a miracle. How appropriate that he should be born at Easter time.
Tomorrow they will be off, all three of them, to Kyrenia for their honeymoon. What a scandal it would have been when I was their age for a honeymoon couple to arrive with a three-month-old baby! Even now it will raise some eyebrows out there, though no one seems to find it at all unusual in this country. I wish I could go with them – but no, of course it would be most inappropriate, even if it were possible. I shall go back to my own side of the island. There are matters of business that need attention there. One day, perhaps, I shall be able to visit my old home again, if I live long enough. And when Cressida and Karim are settled in America they have made me promise to visit them. Something else to look forward to.
Look at Cressida! Who would believe that that pale ghost of a few months ago could turn into such a beautiful creature? Her hair is like spun gold, there is colour in her cheeks and when she smiles … when she smiles my breath catches in my chest because she is so much like her father. If only Stephen could be here to see this. But I must not mourn, not today. At least he had the joy of seeing the child and I feel his spirit is rejoicing with us today. When I sat with him in the hospital, while that terrible infection that no antibiotics could touch burned his life away, he told me that he had no regrets and that I must have none either.
‘We were given back the lives that we thought we had lost forever,’ he said, ‘and we had twenty years of a happiness we had never dreamed possible. But it was at a price – a price that was paid by other people. Now it is time to make good my debt. Cressida is flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood. I gave her life once and now I have been blessed to be able to do it again, for her and her child. I am glad that we have had these few months together and I am proud that I have a daughter with such grace and courage. Whatever happened, I could not have expected to live more than a few years longer. Now I am content to think that out of my old bones has sprung a new life – two new lives.’
I shall take his ashes to Cyprus and plant flowers on his grave – scarlet anemones, like those they say grow every year from the blood of Adonis, the young god who was sacrificed and rose again in the spring.
EPILOGUE
THE GODDESS SPEAKS
I am She, the Great Mother, Mistress of all Living Things. I am Artemis, the armed virgin; I am Aphrodite, the bringer of desire; I am Persephone, Queen of the Underworld.
Mine is the energy of Youth, th
e allure of Womanhood, the wisdom of Old Age. In spring I start into life the seed hidden in the ground or in the womb; in summer I bring forth increase from the fecund earth; I preside also over the decay of autumn. I am the creator of life and the bringer of death; and through me alone comes resurrection. The moon waxes and wanes at my behest, the tides rise and fall with the rhythm of my breathing, the sun grows stronger or weakens as I rise from the Underworld or decline towards it.
These women are my daughters. Let them bear witness to my power.
By the Same Author
Operation Kingfisher
Copyright
© Hilary Green
First published in Great Britain 2014
ISBN 978 0 7198 1472 3 (epub)
ISBN 978 0 7198 1473 1 (mobi)
ISBN 978 0 7198 1474 7 (pdf)
ISBN 978 0 7198 1184 5 (print)
Robert Hale Limited
Clerkenwell House
Clerkenwell Green
London EC1R 0HT
www.halebooks.com
The right of Hilary Green to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988