by Teresa Crane
‘Hello?’ He shut the door behind him. Sudden silence fell. ‘Hello?’
The wind whistled through the chinks in the door; sparks glowed in the chimney. He crossed the room, pushed open a small latched door that opened into a surprisingly spacious lean-to kitchen with a big pine table and a cast—iron cooking range that gave out a wonderfully cosy heat. The room was as untidy as the sitting room, and as empty of life. The big old sink held a couple of dirty plates and a cup and saucer. He heard the wind singing in the chimney of the range. On the table was a wooden board, on it a chunk of cheese and half a loaf of what looked temptingly like home-made bread. He’d eaten nothing since a quick — and awful — sandwich at Liverpool Street station before he’d caught the train. He cut a piece of cheese and bit into it. It was mouthwatering; flavourful and strong. He carved himself another piece, took a chunk of bread to go with it. He guessed they wouldn’t mind his helping himself whilst he waited. For wait he was going to. No way in the world was he leaving this cheerful warmth to go back out into that fearsome weather.
The bread and cheese finished he helped himself to a glass of water, then wandered back into the sitting room, subsided into a deep and comfortable armchair in front of the fire and reached for his cigarettes.
*
Catherine Kotsikas turned the piece of driftwood in her fingers, fascinated by the smooth, waterworn texture, the surreal, twisted shape. She ran a finger along it, for the moment completely absorbed and all but unaware of her surroundings. A sudden gust of wind buffeted her, almost knocking her from her feet. She slipped the piece of wood into her pocket, where it joined a motley collection of stones and shells and looked up. ‘Paddy! Sandy! Here! Come on! Time to go.’ The two dogs, one a huge and shaggy animal with feet like plates and a great feathered tail and the other, much smaller and of equally indeterminate breed, that at the moment looked like nothing so much as a drowned rat having been soaked to the skin in his determined efforts to catch and savage a wave, blithely ignored her. ‘Sandy! Will you come here!’ The woman waited for a moment, hands in pockets, watching the dogs as they dashed back and forth into the cold water. She pulled a face, casting wry eyes to the stormy heavens. ‘Talk to yourself, Cathy, talk to yourself,’ she said aloud, succumbing to a habit she knew tended to engender tolerant mirth amongst friends and raise the eyebrows of strangers. She turned and started to tramp up the sliding shingle slope, her Wellingtons sinking ankle-deep in the smooth stones. ‘OK. Do as you like. I’m going,’ she called to the dogs, above the wind.
The smaller animal lifted his head alertly and watched her for a moment. Then, ears flopping and tail flying like a flag in the wind he scampered after her. Big Paddy, more reluctantly, followed, turning to look back at the crashing breakers before finally making up his mind and trotting docilely to her. Cathy pulled up the hood of her shabby duffel coat and tightened her scarf. The wind at her back whipped the escaping strands of curling brown hair about her face. The little dog danced about her feet, excited by the wild weather, whilst Paddy ambled behind, sniffing every gorse bush and clump of grass. Cathy battled her way to the top of the beach, where the sandy track back to the cottage began. As she topped the rise the wind was fiercest; a moment later as she and the dogs dropped down into the lee of the dunes the sudden quiet was almost eerie, the air comparatively still. From here, for now, she could no longer see the sea, but its restless, rhythmic crash followed her as she struck inland. There was snow in the wind. The cottage would be warm, and empty, and blessedly quiet; and she had done her working stint for the day. Now she could please herself; crumpets in front of the fire, with the wireless and a book. She smiled to herself as she stuffed the straying hair back into her hood and strode on.
Nikos, long legs stretched to the fire, was half asleep when he heard her coming. He jumped awake as the catch on the door rattled and the door opened a little, held against the wind. ‘There you are, Sands - in you go —’ a woman’s voice. ‘I’ll just take old Paddy back to Bert. Shan’t be a sec. Do try not to make too much mess, you little tripe-hound!’ The door slammed shut again.
Nikos leapt from the chair. A scruffy and extremely wet little dog rocketed into the room, shook itself violently, spraying water and sand particles indiscriminately about the place, saw the intruder and immediately showed a set of small, perfect, razor-sharp teeth.
Nervously Nikos backed away. ‘Good dog. Good boy —’
Sandy’s lip curled further in a far from encouraging way, and he growled in his throat.
‘Nice dog,’ Nikos said, not very convinced this was the case. His grandmother had always held extremely strong views on what she saw as the risible habit of allowing dogs the free run of a house. She considered even the most inoffensive of them at best a nuisance and at worst a mess-making and destructive health hazard. Nikos had not realised until this moment how much of that attitude had rubbed off on him. ‘Good boy.’
Sandy, thoroughly enjoying this unexpected opportunity to show his worth as a guard dog, let go a shrill, hair-raising crescendo of barking.
Discretion overcame valour; Nikos backed carefully through the kitchen door, slamming it firmly shut as the small dog, his dander up with a vengeance, launched himself at it, barking like a mad thing. Nikos listened to the claws that scrabbled furiously at the wood and offered up a small prayer of thanks that his father and stepmother did not favour Alsatians as pets.
A moment later he heard her voice. ‘Sandy, for heaven’s sake! What are you up to? I could hear you next door!’ Cathy stopped. A man’s overcoat lay tossed on the sofa. The kitchen door, that she knew she had left open, was fast shut. Sandy, ecstatically overwrought, leapt three feet in the air and dragged his claws down the painted wood. ‘Is there someone there?’ The question was sharp, but by no means frightened. ‘Sandy — come here! This minute!’ There was a small silence. ‘That’s better. Now, do as you’re told and stay!’ She lifted her voice. ‘You can come out. He won’t hurt you unless I tell him to.’
Very gingerly Nikos opened the door. She stood, severe and attentive, damp curling hair tangled about her head, shapeless wet duffel coat steaming in the heat of the fire. The dog, panting, sat by her stockinged feet; her Wellingtons lay discarded by the door. Sandy shifted a little, growling deep in his throat. She nudged him with her foot. ‘Shut up, Sands.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Nikos said, watching the animal warily, his hand still prudently holding the door, ‘the door was on the latch. I hoped you wouldn’t mind?’
Her face had changed. Her eyes, wide and oddly slanted, had lit to a startled smile. ‘Nikos! It is Nikos, isn’t it?’
‘I’m afraid so.’ Nikos was diffident. ‘I’m sorry — I guess you weren’t expecting me —’
‘Nikos!’ she said again. ‘What on earth? Oh, Sandy, do belt up! Nobody believes you, you daft animal!’ The dog had taken the opportunity to shrill into frenzied barking again. ‘It’s a friend.’ She hunkered down to him, hand affectionately on the ruff of his neck. She shook him a little. ‘Enough!’
‘He had me convinced,’ Nikos said.
The dog subsided. flickered a last glance at Nikos. Licked Cathy’s hand.
She stood up, smiling a wide, sudden, open smile. ‘He wouldn’t hurt you. Honestly. He doesn’t know how. But he makes a good show, doesn’t he?’
‘He sure does.’ The words were heartfelt. Still a little warily Nikos stepped into the room. She came to him, took his hands and, very easily, brushed his cheek with her lips. ‘Welcome. Where’s Leon?’
He looked at her blankly.
‘Leon.’ She cocked her head amusedly. ‘Your father. My husband. I assume he came with you?’ Then in sudden uncertainty, ‘He is with you?’
He shook his head. ‘No. I’m sorry. I — don’t know where he is.’
She looked at him for what seemed a very long time. Then she took a breath, slow and quiet. ‘Don’t tell me. He didn’t meet you off the boat?’ The inflection of the words was only barely questionin
g.
Nikos shook his head again.
She sighed once more, exasperatedly, turned to pull a heavy curtain across the door against the fierce draught. ‘Oh, Lord, that man! I knew I should have —’ she stopped, shaking her head.
‘The boat docked late last night, as scheduled,’ Nikos said. ‘There was no sign of Pa. I waited till midmorning this morning and then called the London office —’
‘And Miss Hooper didn’t know where he was?’
‘No. She wasn’t too sure where he might be, or when he’d be back. She couldn’t suggest anything but for me to get my luggage stored in Southampton and make my own way here. So that’s what I did. I’m sorry — since there’s no telephone here I couldn’t warn you. Miss — Hooper did you say her name is? — said she’d tell Pa when he came back from wherever he’s disappeared to…’
She had picked up a long poker and was stirring the fire back into life. She straightened. She was smiling, but like the smile her voice was strained. ‘Leon can be so infuriating. The man never lets anyone know where he is! Oh, Nikos - I’m so sorry — he must have got held up —’
‘Or he forgot.’ Despite his best efforts Nikos himself could hear how forlorn and childish that sounded. He bit his lip.
‘Oh, no! Of course not!’ She shook her head, gently scolding, and reached to touch his arm. ‘Of course not!’ she repeated, quietly. ‘Nikos, you know your father. The words “a law unto himself” were coined for him! And he is a very busy man. It’s terribly difficult to keep up with him. I can’t do it — I’ve given up trying. I sometimes think he can’t keep up with himself.’ She was drifting about the room, half-heartedly, tidying as she went. ‘There’s so much happening — the business expanding — the house in Greece — you know how he is — he’s so full of energy, he gets so utterly involved with whatever it is that he’s engaged in at any one time that I truly believe he sometimes doesn’t know what day of the week it is! He has absolutely no sense of time: he just expects the world to fall into step with him. He does it over and over again. A couple of weeks ago he was supposed to come home for the weekend and he simply didn’t turn up. When he did — three days later — it was in Athens at some meeting or other. Poor Miss Hooper — who’s a brick if there ever was one — didn’t know where he was then, either. We’ve both given up worrying about him I’m afraid.’ She was aware she was overdoing it; but the gleam of misery in the boy’ s eyes had touched her to the quick. Damn Leon and his bloody selfishness! How could he hurt the boy like this, and at such a time? She smiled a little, trying to lighten the atmosphere. ‘I blame it on his war. He seems to have this urgent need to remain incommunicado at all times. You’d think he’d never heard of the telephone. And as for putting pen to paper —’ She glanced about the room, upon which her efforts, such as they were, had made little impact, and gestured vaguely. ‘Oh, dear. I do wish I had known you were coming. I’d have tidied the place up a bit. I’m afraid Sandy and I get a little sloppy here on our own.’
‘Don’t be silly.’ He smiled a slow, shy smile. ‘It’s nice,’ he said, and was quite surprised to discover that he meant it. ‘It’s very different. I like it.’
She could not resist sudden laughter. ‘How very diplomatic of you.’ She looked at him, keenly. ‘You don’t have to pretend, you know. I know it must be a bit of a shock. It’s in the middle of nowhere, it isn’t anything like what you’ve been used to, it’s messy to boot and the weather’s awful. This part of the world is a bit of an acquired taste at the best of times. I’m sorry, I really am. A couple of days in London with Leon to acclimatise yourself and get the lie of the land would have been better.’
He smiled again, and again her heart went out to him in sympathy. ‘I guess.’
‘No guessing about it. I’m actually amazed that you found me at all. This place isn’t exactly on the beaten track.’
The smile widened, still shy but responding to her spontaneous warmth. ‘I’m real proud of myself, actually. A New Yorker on the loose. Trains and buses and instructions from the local shop and here I am — well —’ he pulled a wry face, ‘I suppose I have to include the old guy next door in that.’
‘Oh, clear.’ The simple words were heartfelt. She could not contain her amusement. ‘You’ve met Bert? Honestly — you have to take my word for it — he isn’t as bad as he seems. He takes delight in appearing disagreeable, but he’s a good friend. I’m very fond of him.’
Sandy had decided that his duty was done. He ambled to Nikos, sniffed his trousers, settled himself proprietorially on his foot.
Cathy dumped a pile of sketches on to a small desk, clearing a space on a table by the fire. ‘Do you like crumpets?‘
He looked at her blankly. Her hair was drying, curling untidily as it did so. There was, he noticed, a small streak of silver over her left temple. ‘Crumpets,’ he repeated. ‘I — don’t know. I don’t think I’ve ever had them.’
She picked up a long toasting fork from the hearth and handed it to him. ‘Then now’s a good time to start, don’t you think? You toast, and I’ll butter.’
*
‘You’re very like your mother,’ she said, later, looking at him thoughtfully over the rim of her teacup.
He glanced at her, surprised. His own cup of tea stood barely tasted beside him. Not even two heaped teaspoons of sugar had made the stuff anywhere near palatable.
‘I’ve seen photographs,’ she said gently, in explanation. ‘She was very beautiful.’
‘Yes. She was.’ He was suddenly still, the remarkable eyes veiled. The shouts, the screams. The smell of his father’s blood. The taste of his tears. Abruptly he reached into his pocket. ‘Do you mind if I smoke?’
She shook her head. ‘Of course not. No, thank you,’ she added as he offered her a silver cigarette case, ‘I don’t.’ She cast a not unsympathetic glance at the cooling tea. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t got any coffee. I’ll get some next time I’m in Aldburgh. I can try the village shop, but I don’t hold out much hope.’
‘Oh, please — you mustn’t let me put you out…’ He was awkward again, a gauche child on his best behaviour in a stranger’s house.
‘It’s no trouble.’
He smiled, tiredly. ‘I liked the crumpets.’
‘Well, there you are, then. We’ll make an Englishman of you yet. Next thing you know you’ll be talking about the weather.’ Sobering she leaned to him and touched his arm. ‘Nikos, I truly don’t know how to say this — but I am so very sorry. About your grandmother. I know from Leon how very close to her you were.’
He turned his head sharply from her, looked into the fire. The dull ache of grief was always there, ready to be stirred fiercely to pain.
‘It’s all been a dreadful upheaval for you.’
He shrugged.
‘Do you mind?’
Still he would not meet her eyes. ‘Mind?’ he asked.
‘That your father sent for you.’
The limpid eyes turned to her at last. ‘What else would I do?’ he asked, simply. ‘I had nowhere else to go. After Ghiaghia —’ he stopped, swallowed, ‘— after Grandmother died —’ he struggled for a moment and could not go on. He looked back at the fire, but not before she had seen the glint of tears.
There was a long moment of quiet. Cathy put her cup down and stood up. ‘Well,’ she said, briskly, ‘why don’t I show you your room? You must be exhausted. Try to get some rest before supper. The room’s Adam’s actually — my son’s — like the proverbial bad penny he turns up from time to time so I always keep it ready. There are some clothes of his you can borrow if you’d like — you’re much the same stamp.’ She led the way to a wooden door, that opened on to a steep little stairway. ‘Careful. It’s a bit dark.’
He picked up his bag and followed her up the stairs and into a fair-sized bedroom. The wind buffeted at the window, rattling the panes and the bright curtains moved in the draught. The room was furnished simply; a sturdy old wardrobe, a chest of drawers on which stood a c
ouple of photo frames and a flowered china jug and bowl, a big, comfortable—looking bed covered with a soft, rose-coloured eiderdown. Book shelves, heavily laden, lined one wall and a battered cricket bat was propped in one comer. The curtains were flowered in rose and blue and there was a large rug of the same colours on the polished floor. A fire lay ready laid in the tiny cast-iron grate. His stepmother struck a match and set it to the newspaper. In a moment wood and coal were crackling and scented smoke curled up the chimney. ‘I’m sorry. You must find it all a bit primitive,’ she said.
‘It’s charming.’ He felt suddenly and overwhelmingly weary. Outside, an early darkness was falling.
Cathy laughed a little. ‘Not the word Adam would use, I’m afraid. My son thinks I’m mad not to sell and move somewhere more civilised — by which he means London, of course. Your father, as I’m sure you know, feels much the same, though he indulges me.’ She watched as he put his bag on the bed. ‘Nikos — do you mind? About Leon and me?’ She shrugged a little. ‘I’m sorry. That’s not very diplomatic, is it? But I’m no good at beating about the bush.’
‘Mind? Why should I mind?’ Again he was avoiding her eyes.