All boys… save two. They never even glanced at the instrument panel.
Her sister-in-law, very aware of the more-than-interest her own pair always evinced, conversely the need to keep their inquisitive fingers in check, darted Georgia an uneasy look. 'I was so thrilled when Mr. Smith told me about this post, Georgia. Now I'm not so sure.'
Georgia, unsure herself, said determinedly: 'It's early yet.'
At the airport, the boys just sat on the seats, legs poked out in front of them because they were adult-size seats and they were small people.
'Would you care for some lemonade?' asked Georgia.
'If you want.'
'I'd sooner you want,' Georgia appealed.
'Then I'd like a cigar,' said Seg.
'He smokes chocolate ones,' tossed Bish.
Relieved, Georgia doubted aloud if the sweet section here would stock chocolate cigars.
'It doesn't matter,' said Seg indifferently, and though she supposed it was better than a scene because he must have a chocolate cigar, Georgia did feel a little like Mr. Smith must have felt when he had called 'Out' and they had got up and gone.
At last she gave up, and left them still sitting there with their legs poked out, staring, it seemed, at nothing, and went and sat with Leone.
'After all,' Leone was reiterating, 'you only have to step on to a plane.'
'Darling?'
'To get away.' Leone looked apprehensively at Bish and Seg.
'I'll do something with them, I've only to find what they're interested in.'
'Do you think they're interested in anything?' Leone still looked concerned. 'My only consolation is Mr. Smith,' she brightened. 'He really is some man. I mean the way he got things done. And, Georgia, he's promised before he leaves for Australia with the boys to send you up to Munich to us.'
'If I last out that long.'
'I agree. That pair—'
'It wasn't the pair I was thinking of,' Georgia said.
When Leone was called to the plane, Georgia insisted that the boys come with her to the spectator platform. They did so as though they were being marched into class, and once at the rail stood looking at anything, Georgia thought, save the departing Trident.
'Well, that's that,' she declared over-brightly as the plane became a distant speck. 'Shall we have the driver pull up on the way back at a sweet shop for cigars?'
'I don't care for them,' said Bish.
'I don't want one any more,' said Seg.
Georgia pointed out a few antiquities on the way back; however, she did not blame the boys for their lack of interest—anything past their own memory, she knew from Adrian and Trevor, was not worth bothering about.
'Also,' said Bish, 'we've been to Athens and Rome and everywhere.'
'Everywhere?'
'Yes.'
'England?' she asked.
'That a town, too.'
'It's not, Bish, and here's something very thrilling.' They had reached Amathus, outside Limassol, and Georgia told the story of Richard the Lionheart. The Crusades should stir any boy, she thought triumphantly.
It didn't.
When they reached the Curium, she took the boys to the suite, intending to leave them there either with their father, or a hotel attendant, while she retired to her own upstairs room that she had shared with Leone. She had not yet worked out her hours of employment with Mr. Smith, or learned what was expected of her, but she did not think the ordinary nursemaid chores of washing, feeding, putting to bed would be included. Not that she minded them—indeed, she would have preferred them; there was more to be gained from a child in the un-griming of knees… though certainly these two would never need un-griming… or the tucking in of blankets, then in any prepared occupation.
Before she could open the suite door to nod the boys in, it opened for her.
'Back,' said Mr. Smith.
'Safely accounted for,' reported Georgia. She paused a moment, then turned to leave.
'Where are you going?' he asked.
She turned back. 'Why—nowhere, if I'm required.'
'You're not required, but if it was to your room you were bound—'
'It was.'
'Then I've arranged for your accommodation on this floor. Oh, no, not in this suite, but across the passage.' He put a finger on her elbow, and it was a cool, impersonal but authoritative finger, and impelled her out again, then to the room opposite. Except that it was not just one room; once more he had taken a suite. Not so large as his own—he had his sons to cater for—but dressing-room, small sitting-room and balcony.
'It's very nice,' she admitted.
'It will do till we move,' he shrugged.
'To where?'
'That,' he said, taking out his pipe, 'is where you will be needed.'
'How do you mean, Mr. Smith?'
He had crossed to the bell pull as soon as he had ushered her in, and now the porter knocked and entered.
'I thought perhaps a pre-dinner drink,' Mr. Smith said to Georgia, 'there are a few things I wish to discuss.'
'What about the children? Can they be left?'
'I've arranged for them to be fed by one of the hotel staff at a time I believe is termed nursery tea.'
That 'to be fed', thought Georgia, sounded rather like the feeding of small animals in a zoo. It irritated her, but she inclined her head.
'Then I'm not expected to attend to that?' she asked.
'You're expected only to give them a foretaste of what they'll get later.'
'How could I know that?'
He gave a gesture of impatience, and nothing more was said until the Cyprus claret he must have asked for was brought in.
'How did the boys behave?' he inquired perfunctorily when the waiter had left.
'Perfectly.'
'You didn't add "of course".'
'Of course,' she conceded with a ghost of a sigh.
Ghost-like, or not, he heard it, and warned, 'It might not always be so.'
The humour of that reached her, the humour of wanting two children to behave imperfectly, and she half-laughed… until she found he was laughing, too. It was the first time they had met like this, and she found herself rather enjoying it.
'Well, we'll see,' he said. 'But meanwhile I want you to choose where you want the boys, all of us, to live in Cyprus. I told you this before. I don't know the island, you do, so our future address for the time until I'm ready to leave for Australia will be in your hands.'
'But you must have a preference,' she insisted.
'I told you, I barely know the island.'
'But your work—'
'I'm fortunate that my work needs no especial location.'
'You're with no representation?'
'No. Nor any firm. I need nothing that will be obtainable more easily from a city than a village, or vice versa. You see, I'm a writer.' He was looking at her keenly.
She nodded. 'But wouldn't somewhere quiet and secluded be much more suitable?'
'I can work just as well in a noisy hotel.'
'Then you're not temperamental?'
'I write about current factual world affairs, not romantic fiction.'
'But reference libraries—'
'I carry my own with me… or should I say on me?' He touched his head.
'You're very fortunate,' Georgia commented.
'No—assiduous.'
'I should have remembered. Your parents got everything in you.'
'Your parents received a child with a good memory.' He topped up her glass.
Cyprus wines were heady. Over the full rich red she looked at him and asked, 'Should I know your writing?'
'Not if you're strictly a fiction reader.'
'I like all reading.'
'I use Smith,' he said sparsely.
'And select current topics?' she pondered.
'The only Smith I've read of that type,' she said presently, 'is the famous Agrippa Smith.'—On a sudden thought she looked up at him. 'Not—'
A pause, then:
'Yes, Miss Paul.'
'But—not Agrippa?'
He did not answer, and now Georgia did not just half-laugh, she went into a happy peal of laughter. 'And you decried Bysshe and Segovia,' she challenged.
'You could say,' he said distastefully, 'it runs in the entire family. I instructed my publisher to use the name Bill… William is my second name… but he grabbed on the other. Need I add that my parents were students, that at my debut their interest was early Rome.'
'No, you needn't add that.'
'Anyway, that's the explanation. I prefer Bill.'
'And get?'
'Grip. Which, at least, is not effeminate.'
'Which, of course, matters.'
He ignored that. 'Should you need to call me by name and find yourself unable to reconcile that need with Bill, Grip will do.'
'I shall call you Mr. Smith,' she decided.
'Very well, Miss Paul. Now, about the residence to be. You need not restrict yourself—I'm a fairly lucrative writer.'
'Best-seller?'
'I keep up a steady income which I consider is better. You may prefer the city, the hills, the beach—it doesn't matter, it's not a large island, and there's always transport.'
As she sat silent, wondering where, he came in a little abruptly with:
'Already, I should say, you've selected a place from your last visit, for you were here, your sister informed me, the entire summer some years ago.' He paused. 'No doubt now you would be searching for a reminder of that summer.'
Reminder of summer. John had said that, he had warned her about it, he had not wanted her to come to Cyprus because of it. Reminder of summer—that lovely, lovely summer when she had known Justin.
She became conscious that Agrippa Smith was smiling blandly across at her. Putting down her glass so abruptly that she spilled a little, she said, 'I'll think about it, let you know.'
'Do,' he invited, then he got up.
'I don't always eat downstairs,' he said as he left. 'If I'm working I have a tray. I'm working at present. You may join me or eat orthodox—take your choice.'
'I will go downstairs,' Georgia chose.
She lingered over the meal, imagining Mr. Smith, Agrippa Smith, upstairs, eating, probably, in anything but a leisurely manner, taking the meal in the same decisive way as he took life, and that was something that had to be done, and so accordingly was done. He would have a very regulated mind.
So different from Justin… (why, years after, was she thinking of Justin? Was it because Cyprus had been his—their place?)… who had been impulsive and always prone to change his mind.
She smiled over the times they had started off to the beach but finished instead in the mountains. She had liked that, it had been fun not to know one's final destination. And yet, she thought, there was one destination I did want to know; one I even believed I knew. I was wrong.
Where to select a villa? she thought next. Charming Kyrenia with its mountain backdrop, its blue water frontage right to Turkey, its English air? Paphos also with water aspects, only less sophisticated, more addicted to pelicans and donkeys? Smart Nicosia? Central Limassol?
The more she thought of it, the greater a village appealed. There were numerous charming country hamlets full of quaint whitewashed cottages, in the case of Lefkara, the lace town, blue-washed; there was Pissouri, surely the top of the world, or so you believed once you had climbed there; there were old stone castles, remnants of another era, on the southwest coast. It would be rather fun discovering the one. Also, she might even awaken some enthusiasm in the boys.
She decided she could eke out her coffee no longer, and, getting up, she wandered out to the front of the Curium Palace. Curium Palace was the hotel's correct name, and she allowed indulgently that there was something palace-like in its architecture, its white and gold decor, its proud row of flagpoles up which the suitable national flag was hoisted whenever some VIP arrived; on international occasions every flag.
Cyprus summer nights were breathtaking, she recalled with a quickening of her heart; there was a magical lightness in them you did not seem to experience elsewhere in this Mediterranean; even the stars threw fluted shadows on the ground, the moon cast a solid wedding-band-gold beam. A little intoxicated with it all, breathing in that herby carob-pod air she so well remembered, Georgia sauntered down to the harbour.
The open-air restaurants were fast filling up for the night, the white-clad waiters darting across from their kitchens on the street side with unbelievable loads on their trays, which they manipulated cleverly through busy traffic. Kebabs, which were skewered meat, enticed the hungry, long bottles of beer and wine gathered in the thirsty. There was either laughter, chatter, or an occasional snatch of song, but always the basic soft wash of the Mediterranean against the stone wall.
'I presume you would have taken coffee.' Someone joined her in the stroll. 'So I won't offer it. But will you join me in some Aphrodite? Ah'… with a small laugh… 'easily seen you're not a newcomer, you know what to expect.'
'Yes,' she agreed with Mr. Smith, for it was Agrippa Smith who had joined her.
'Is that yes, I will drink wine with you, or yes, I know what Aphrodite is?'
She decided that it would be rather nice to sit by the waterfront, become part of that festive setting as you sipped the deliciously fruity white island wine, so answered, 'Yes. To both.'
'That's what I like,' he commended, 'a girl who knows her mind.'
He found a seat at the Mimosa collection of tables, and soon glasses and a long cool bottle waited in front of them.
'Are you similarly single-minded in the matter of our future accommodation?' he asked, lifting the bottle and pouring her a glass.
'You haven't given me much time,' she reminded him, 'I only learned your wishes some hours ago.'
'But surely something at once clamoured within you? Some favourite spot? Some place with an association?'
'No.'
'Yet you were here before on Cyprus?'
'Yes.'
'And have no association?'
She felt her cheeks reddening; although he had selected a seat away from the gay lights she felt sure the colour must show up like a flag, for she was very fair.
He gave an amused small laugh, and she realized that he had noticed.
'Then somewhere connected with the association?' he suggested.
'Mr. Smith, you may be assured I'll try to select a place suitable to both you and the children.'
'How practical we are!' he drawled.
She ignored that 'we' this time, but she did question his 'practical'.
'Why not?' she pointed out. 'After all, you did go to some pains to tell me you were a factual writer.'
'You really mean never a romantic one. But I also told you, Miss Paul, that I can write anywhere, even a place of memories, your memories—it would have to be yours, for I have none here. So please be guided by your heart, if it pleases you, it's all the same to me.' He topped up her glass. 'How long exactly were you in Cyprus?' he asked rather abruptly.
'My sister-in-law told you,' she reminded him rather shortly.
'So she did. A summer, I think.'
'Yes.'
'I believe they're long summers.'
'Six months, sometimes seven, or even eight.'
'That's sufficient time to get to know a place.' He had taken out a slim gold case and offered her a cigarette. As she shook her head he took and lit one for himself.
'Are you keeping the pipe for the boys' amusement?' she asked idly.
'If the boys are amusable,' he shrugged.
'I thought I'd take them villa-hunting with me.'
'By all means. But first we must find you a car.'
'The agents will drive us to any available places.'
'With your own transport you can delve into unexpected corners. Do you know the Greek for House Vacant?'
'They write up a sign in English: To Be Let. No, I only know good morning, Good night and eho, ehis, ehi… I have, y
ou have, he has.'
'Eho… I have… about as much.' Georgia was to learn later that this was not so. 'Incidentally,' he said lazily, 'the verb to love is very much like my own name. No'… with a grin… 'not the Smith part.'
She found she could recall that, and nodded. 'Agapo, I love, agapas, you love—' she began.
'Agapa, he loves,' he finished.
He also finished the wine, as she refused more, then sat back and regarded her. The regard went on for so long that she knew she was flushing again.
'Are you always like this?' he asked.
'Like what?' she stammered.
'Man-shy.'
'I'm not! I mean—'
'Then it's an act?'
'It's nothing of the sort.'
'Then it's I?'
'Mr. Smith, you may be a factual writer, but you do have a vivid imagination!' she snapped.
'Those flushed cheeks are not my imagination, believe me.'
'What else can you expect,' she said a little angrily, 'when you sit back there just staring at me?'
'Oh, so you noticed that?'
'Of course I noticed, and—and it was embarrassing.'
'Don't tell me we have that rare species, a bashful girl?'
'I'm not used to being stared at,' she complained.
'Then either you are unaware of the men or they were blind, for you're a very beautiful girl. That, incidentally, comes from a factual writer.' He said it all so coolly she could not possibly gather for herself a compliment from it. It was a statement, never an award.
How different from Justin, she recalled, Justin who had paid her the most lavish compliments, his eyes affirming what his lips said, and how she had gathered them to her. She had believed they had meant that—
'I think,' Agrippa Smith's voice broke in, 'that you've more or less withdrawn from the, scene for some time, hence the current blush. What was it, Miss Paul? The usual reason for withdrawal?'
'What do you mean?'
He looked at her a little impatiently, impatient at her apparent obtuseness. 'A jilt?' he suggested.
'No.' She said it so promptly she knew it must sound the opposite. But it hadn't been a jilt, she hadn't been jilted, she had just been an inexperienced young girl, who had seen more in something than had been intended. But she could never tell this man that.
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