by Miss Read
Our fellow guests seemed a respectable collection of folk. In the main, they were middle-aged, and enjoying themselves in much the same way as Amy and I were. There were one or two families with older children, but no babies to be seen. I assumed that there were a number of reasons for this lack of youth.
The hotel was expensive, and to take two or three children there for a fortnight or so would be beyond most families' purses. The natural bathing facilities were not ideal for youngsters. The coast was rocky, the beaches small and often shelving abruptly. The flight from England was fairly lengthy, and it was easy to see why there were very few small children about.
It suited me. I like children well enough, otherwise I should not be teaching, but enough is enough, and part of the pleasure of this particular holiday was the company of adults only.
We looked forward to a short time in the bar after dinner, talking to other guests and sometimes watching the Greek waiters who had been persuaded to dance. We loved the gravity of these local dances as, arms resting on each others' shoulders, the young men swooped in unison, legs swinging backwards and forwards, their dark faces solemn with concentration, until, at last, they would finish with a neat acrobatic leap to face the other way, and their smiles would acknowledge our applause.
One of the middle-aged couples who had made the journey with us, often came to sit with us in the bar. Their stone house was near our own, and we often found ourselves walking to dinner together through the scented darkness.
She was small and neat, with prematurely white silky hair, worn in soft curls. Blue-eyed and fair-skinned she must have been enchanting as a girl, and even now, in middle-age, her elegance was outstanding. She dressed in white or blue, accentuating the colour of her hair and eyes, and wore a brooch and bracelet of sapphires and pearls which even I coveted.
Her husband looked much younger, with a shock of crisp dark hair, a slim bronzed figure, and a ready flow of conversation. We found them very good company.
'The Clarks,' Amy said to me one evening, as we dressed for dinner, 'remind me of the advertisement for pep pills. You know: "Where do they get their energy?" They seem so wonderfully in tune too. I must say, it turns the knife in the wound at times,' she added, with a tight smile.
'Well, they're not likely to parade any secret clashes before other people staying here,' I pointed out reasonably.
'True enough,' agreed Amy. 'Half the fun of hotel life is speculating about one's neighbours. What do you think of the two who bill and coo at the table on our left?'
'Embarrassing,' I said emphatically. 'Must have been married for years, and still stroking hands while they wait for their soup. Talk about washing one's clean linen in public!'
'They may have been married for years,' said Amy, in what I have come to recognise as her worldly-woman voice, 'but was it to each other?'
'Miaow!' I intoned.
Amy laughed.
'You trail the innocence of Fairacre wherever you go,' she teased. 'And not a bad thing either.'
It was the morning after this conversation that I found myself dozing alone, frying nicely, under some trees near the pool. Amy was writing cards on the verandah, and was to join me later.
I heard footsteps approach, and opened my eyes to see Mrs Clark smiling at me.
'Can I share the shade?'
'Of course.' I shifted along obligingly, and Mrs Clark spread a rug and cushion, and arranged herself elegantly upon them.
'John's in the pool, but it does mess up one's hair so, that I thought I'd miss my dip today. How is your arm?'
I assured her that I was mending fast.
'It's all this lovely fresh air and sunshine,' she said. 'It's a heavenly climate. My husband would like to live here.'
'I can understand it.'
'So can I. He has more reason than most to like the Greek way of life. His grandmother was a Greek. She lived a few miles south of Athens, and John spent a number of holidays with her as a schoolboy.'
'Lucky fellow!'
'I suppose so.' She sounded sad, and I wondered what lay behind this disclosure.
'We visited her, as often as we could manage it, right up to her death about five or six years ago. A wonderful old lady. She had been a widow for years. In fact, I never met John's grandfather. He died when John was still at Marlborough.'
She sat up and anointed one slim leg with sun tan lotion. Her expression was serious, as she worked away. I began to suspect, with some misgiving, that once again I was destined to hear someone's troubles.
'You see,' she went on, 'John retires from the Army next year, and he is set on coming here to live. He's even started house-hunting.'
'And what do you feel about it?'
She turned a defiant blue gaze upon me.
'I'm dead against it. I'm moving heaven and earth to try to get him to change his mind, and I intend to succeed. It's a dream he has lived with for years – first it was to live in Athens. Then in one or other of the Greek islands, and now it's definitely whittled down to Crete. I've never seen him so ruthless.'
I thought of Amy who had used almost exactly the same words about James.
'Perhaps something will occur to make him change his mind,' I suggested.
'Never! He's thought of this kind of life wherever he's been, and I feel that he's been through so much that it is right in a way for him to have what he wants, now that he will have the leisure to enjoy it. But the thing is, I can't bear the thought of it. We should have to leave everything behind that we love, I tell him.'
She began to attack the other leg with ferocity.
'We live in Surrey. Over the years we saved enough to buy this rather nice house, with a big garden, and we've been lucky enough to live in it for the past seven years. Before that, of course, we were posted here, there, and everywhere, but one expects that. I thought that John had given up the idea of settling out here. He's seemed so happy helping me in the garden, and making improvements to the house. Now I realise that he was looking upon the place as something valuable to sell to finance a home here. And the garden – ,'
She broke off, and bent low, ostensibly to examine her leg.
'Tell me about it,' I said.
'I've made a heavenly rockery. It slopes steeply, and you can get some very good terraces cut into the side of the hill. My gentians are doing so well, and lots of little Alpines. And three years ago I planted an autumn flowering prunus which had lots of blossom last October – so pretty. I simply won't leave it!'
'You could make a garden here I expect. My friend Amy tells me that when she was here last, in April, there were carnations and geraniums, and lilies of all sorts. Think of that!'
'And then there are the grandchildren,' she went on, as though she had not heard me. 'We have two girls, both married, who live quite near us, and we see the grandchildren several times a week. There are three, and a new baby due soon after we return. I'm going to keep house for Irene when she goes into hospital, and look after her husband and Bruce, the first boy.'
'You'll enjoy that, I expect,' I said, hoping to wean her from her unhappiness. I did not succeed.
'But just think of all those little things growing up miles away from us! Think of the fun we're going to miss, seeing them at all the different stages! I keep reminding John of this. And then there's Podge.'
'Podge?'
'Our spaniel. He's nearly twelve and far too old to settle overseas, in a hot climate. Irene has offered to have him, but he would grieve without us, and I should grieve too, I don't deny. No, it can't be done.'
She looked at me, and smiled.
'I really shouldn't be worrying you with my problems, but you have such a sympathetic face, you know.'
This is not the first time I have been told this. I cannot help feeling that my face works independently of my inner thoughts. It certainly seems to make me the repository of all kinds of unsolicited confidences, as I know to my cost.
'I'm quite sure,' she continued, screwing on the stopper of
the lotion bottle, 'that my daughters wouldn't be putting up with this situation. For one thing, of course, they could be financially independent, a thing I've never been.'
'Even if you were,' I said cautiously, 'you wouldn't part from your husband surely?'
'No, I suppose not.' She sounded doubtful. 'There's been no choice, of course. I wasn't brought up to do a job of any kind, and I married fairly young. Now I suppose I am virtually unemployable. I must stay with John, or starve.'
She laughed, rather tremulously, and hastened to skate away from this thin ice. She spoke firmly.
'No, of course, I wouldn't leave him. We really are devoted to each other, and he is a wonderful husband. It's just this terrible problem...'
Her voice trailed away. Sighing, she lay down again, and stretched herself, enjoying the warm air, heavy with the scent of orange blossom.
Far away a gull cried, and water slapped rhythmically against a wooden boat moored by the little stone jetty. It seemed sad to me that such an earthly paradise should be spoilt for this poor woman by the cloud of worries which surrounded her.
One's first thought was how selfish her husband was to insist on disrupting her happy domesticity.
On the other hand he had served his country well presumably, had been uprooted time and time again in the course of his duties, and surely he was entitled to spend his retirement in the place he had always loved.
A pity they were married, I thought idly. Separately, they could have been so happy – she in Surrey, he in Crete. Or would they have been? Obviously, they loved each other. She would not be suffering so if she were not concerned for his happiness.
Ah well! There was a lot to be said for being single. One might miss a great deal, but at least one's fife was singularly uncomplicated.
Side by side, spinster and spouse, we both slipped into slumber, as the sun climbed the Cretan sky.
9 At Knossos
THE night before our trip to Knossos we had a thunderstorm, frightening in its intensity.
Normally, I enjoy a thunderstorm at night when the black sky is cracked with silver shafts, and sheet lightning illumines the downs with an eerie flickering. Nature at her most dramatic can be very exhilarating, but a Mediterranean storm was much more alarming, I discovered, than the Fairacre variety.
The sea had become turbulent by the time we undressed for bed. The usual gentle lapping sound was transmuted to noisy crashes. Our little stone house, so solidly built, seemed to shudder in the onslaught from the sea.
But soon the noise of the waves was lost in the din of the storm. Thunder rumbled and cracked like a whip overhead. The lightning seemed continuous, turning the bay into a grotesquely coloured stage-set, against which the moored boats jostled and dipped like drunken men trying to stay upright.
The rain came down like rods. Everything glistened, roofs, walls, trees and flowers. And everywhere there was the sound of running water. It poured from gutters, rushed down slopes, turning the brick paths to rivers, and washing the carefully garnered soil down to the sea below.
'You can't wonder,' shouted Amy, above the din, from her bed, 'that the Greeks made sacrifices to propitiate the gods when they thought they were responsible for all this racket. I wouldn't mind pouring out a libation myself, to stop the noise.'
'No oil or wine available,' I shouted back, 'unless you care for a saucerful of my suntan oil.'
'We may as well put on the light and read,' said Amy, sitting up. 'Sleep's impossible.'
Propped against our pillows we studied our books. At least, Amy did.
She was zealously preparing for tomorrow's trip by reading a guide to Knossos. Amy's powers of concentration far outstrip my own, and despite the ferocity of the storm outside, she was soon deeply engrossed.
Less dedicated, I turned the pages of one of the magazines we had brought with us, and wondered how Fairacre would react if, salary allowing, I appeared in some of the autumn outfits displayed. What about this rust-coloured woollen two-piece trimmed with red fox? Just the thing for writing on the blackboard. Or this elegant pearl-grey frock banded with chinchilla? The plasticine would settle in that beautifully.
'Do you imagine anyone ever buys these things?' I asked, yawning. 'Or do they all go to Marks and Spencer, and their local outfitter's as we do?'
Amy looked vaguely in my direction. One could see her mind gradually returning from 2000 B.C. to the present time.
'Of course someone wears them,' she replied. 'I've even had some myself when James has been feeling extra generous.'
She drew in her breath sharply. She was once again firmly in the present with all its hurts and its hopes. I cursed myself for disturbing her reading and its temporary comfort.
'Listen,' I said, 'the storm is going away.'
It was true. The rain had become a mere pattering. The thunder was a distant rumbling, the spouting of gutters diminished to a trickle.
Amy smiled and closed her book.
'That silly man,' she said lovingly. 'I wonder what he's doing?'
She slid down under the bedclothes and was asleep in three minutes, leaving me to marvel at the inconsistency of women.
The morning was brilliant. Everything glittered in its freshness after the storm, and the sea air was more than usually exhilarating.
We piled our belongings into the hired mini which was to carry us to Knossos, and a score of other places, during the rest of our stay. It was the cheapest vehicle we could hire, and privately I thought the sum asked was outrageous, but Amy did not turn a hair on being told the terms, and once again I was deeply conscious of her generosity to me.
'Let's lunch in Heraklion,' said Amy, 'and have a look at the museum first. Most of the things are of the Minoan period. I must have another look at the ivory acrobat, and spend more time looking at the jewellery which is simply lovely. Last time, we spent far too long gazing at frescoes, and to my mind, it's the small things which are so fascinating.'
Her enthusiasm was catching, and we drove westward towards Crete's capital in high spirits. The mini coped well with the rough surfaces and the steep gradients, and I felt considerably safer with Amy at the wheel than I had with our first coach driver.
Heraklion teemed with traffic, but Amy found a car park, with her usual competence, not far from the museum, so that all was well.
It was a wonderful building, with the exhibits well arranged, and everything bathed in that pellucid light which blesses the Greek islands. Amy and I started our tour together, but gradually drifted apart, enjoying the exquisite workmanship of almost four thousand years ago, at our own pace. I left her studying the jewellery while I went upstairs.
I could see why she and James had spent so long admiring the frescoes on their earlier visit. There was such pride and gaiety in the processions of men and women on the walls. Sport was depicted everywhere, vaulting, leaping, running, wrestling; and the famous bulls of Crete were shown in all their powerful splendour by the Minoan artists.
We spent two hours there, dazed and awed, by so much magnificence.
'What we need,' said Amy, when we met again, 'is two or three months in this place.'
'But first of all, lunch,' I said.
We crossed the road to some shops and cafes which seemed to have tables set out on the pavement under shady awnings. We were met by three or four garrulous proprietors, each rubbing and clapping his hands, pointing out the superior quality of his own establishment, and the extreme pleasure which he would have in receiving our custom. The noise was deafening, and the constant stream of traffic made it worse.
We were practically tugged into one cafe and settled meekly at the paper-covered table. A large dark hand brushed the remains of someone else's lunch to the ground, and a menu was thrust before us.
'All sorts of salads,' observed Amy, studying it closely, 'or something called "Pork's Livers Roasted" and another one named "Chick's Rice Fried". Unless you fancy "Heart's Beefs Noodled".'
I said I would settle for shrimp salad. We
had soon discovered that the shrimps of Crete are as succulent as prawns, and much the same size. We were fast becoming shrimp addicts.
'Me too,' said Amy, giving our order to the beaming proprietor.
An American couple were deposited suddenly in the two empty chairs opposite us. They looked apologetic, as their captor rushed away to rescue the menu.
'I hope you two ladies don't object to us being thrust upon you,' said the man earnestly. 'We didn't intend to have lunch here, but were kinda captured.'
We said we had been too.
'One comfort,' said Amy, 'the food looks very good.'
'I'm sure glad to hear that,' said the man. 'I can eat most anything, but Mrs Judd here has a highly sensitive stomach, and is a sufferer from gas. Ain't that so, Mother?' he said, bending solicitously towards his wife, who was studying our fellow diners' plates with the deepest suspicion.
Mother, who must have weighed fourteen stone and had a mouth like Mrs Pringle's, with the corners turned down, was understood to say she couldn't relish anything in this joint, and how about pushing on?
Her husband consulted a large square watch on a hairy wrist, and surmised time was on the short side if they wanted to take in Knossos, and get back again for shopping, before meeting the Hyams for a drink at 6 o'clock. He guessed this place was as good as the next, and at least they were at the table, no lining up like that goddam place they went to yesterday, so why not make the best of it?
Mother pouted.
Of course, said her husband swiftly, if Mother was real set on going elsewhere, why, that was fine by him! Just whatever Mother wanted.
At that moment the menu arrived.
'Beefs very good. Porks very Good. Chicks very good. Salads very good,' chanted the waiter, his eyes darting this way and that in quest of yet more clients.
'What you two girls having?' asked Mother grumpily.
'Shrimp salad,' we chorused.
'That'll do me, Abe,' she said, 'the tomaytoes are certainly fine in this country. You got tomaytoes?' she added anxiously.