by Teresa Crane
He caught her hand.
‘Nikos —’
Very gently he carried her hand to his face, bowed his head to rest his forehead on her loosely clenched knuckles.
‘We must get back,’ she said, quietly, at last.
‘Yes.’
‘They’ll wonder what’s happened to us.‘
His eyes lifted to hers. He let go of her hand. ‘Yes,’ he said again.
They walked back to the cottage, oddly careful to keep their distance, not to catch each other’s eye, both wrapped in a slightly unnerved silence that each would have been hard put to explain.
*
Leon was alone in the kitchen when they got back, sitting at the table reading a two-day-old newspaper. He glanced up as they entered, but said nothing. Nikos shrugged out of the wet jacket, held out a hand. ‘Sorry, Pa. You’re right, of course.’
Leon’s face lit to a smile. He took the hand, shook it fiercely, threw his other arm about his son’s shoulders.
Cathy put the kettle on the stove. ‘Where’s Adam?’
‘Lighting the fire in the other room.’ Arm still around Nikos Leon reached for her, hugged her to him.
She kissed his cheek affectionately. ‘Mind my ribs, you great bear. Now for goodness’ sake, the pair of you, get out of my kitchen while I clear up. I’ll bring you coffee in a minute. I’ve got lunch to cook.’
*
Over the traditional Sunday roast the subject of Christmas came up. ‘Come to London,’ Leon said. ‘We stay in a hotel – all of us —’
‘Oh, Leon, no. Please — not at Christmas. Christmas is a time to be at home —’
‘But it makes so much work for you!’
‘1 don’t mind. You know I don’t. I love it. Christmas should always be celebrated at home. It’s what Christmas is all about. Look — I’ll tell you what — why don’t we spend Christmas here, and then perhaps go to London for New Year?’ She glanced at Adam. ‘Would that suit you?’
Adam shrugged. ‘OK by me.’
‘That’s settled then,’ Cathy said, firmly.
Leon laughed. ‘It looks that way.’ He glanced back at Adam who was looking at his watch. ‘What time train do you want to catch?’
‘I’d thought the four o’clock. I’ve got a date at seven.’
‘You’re meeting Lorraine?’ Cathy asked.
He looked up in surprise. ‘Oh, no. Didn’t I tell you? We split weeks ago.’ He laughed. ‘There’ve been two more since then.’
She shook her head, reaching for his empty plate ‘I can’t keep up with you.’
‘You know what they say; there’s safety in numbers.’
‘Don’t you ever feel like settling down?’
‘Good God no!’ The words were so heartfelt they brought a shout of laughter from Leon. Cathy collected the plates.
‘Let me.’ Nikos came swiftly to his feet. He took the plates from her and carried them to the sink. He had said little during the meal. Cathy had felt his eyes upon her once or twice, but each time she had glanced at him he had looked away. She suspected that, now the high emotions had calmed, he was embarrassed that she had witnessed his tears. She hoped he would not let it spoil the real friendship that had started to grow between them. ‘Thank you,’ she said, smiling.
He ducked his head and flushed a little; still would not meet her eyes. Cathy cut several large pieces of apple pie, handed them around, a little irritated with herself as she realised that now it was she who was avoiding Nikos’ eyes, she who was careful not to touch his hand as she handed him his plate; she who found herself pushing from her mind the memory of those odd and perplexingly disturbing moments on the beach when the link of their cold hands had seemed to verge on more than the simple offering and accepting of comfort. The very thought was ridiculous; the boy had become over-emotional, and now he understandably felt awkward about it. That was all. He’d get over it; and all the easier, she added to herself dryly, if she managed to behave‘ like the extremely sensible and grown-up person that she usually was. She tapped his wrist, to gain his attention. ‘Nikos? Custard or cream?’
She was pleased, later in the afternoon, when Nikos opted to go for the drive with his father when he took Adam to the station. It was good that the two of them should spend some time with each other. And it meant a couple of hours’ peace for her. Apart from the angry words of the morning she had enjoyed the weekend, and despite the tiff about moving to Greece had especially enjoyed having her son’s company for a couple of days. She and Adam had once been very close; she supposed it was inevitable that as he had grown to manhood and moved away the relationship should have changed. Yet at least it did seem that this time he really had wanted simply to see her. He had not, as she had felt so sure he would, asked for money. She felt guilty at the thought. ‘Some mother I am, Sandy.’ She rubbed the dog’s rough ears, laughed at his expectant face. ‘Oh, no. We’re staying right here in the warm. And, yes, I know the house is a shambles, but it can wait, so there. I’ve got a book to read.’
An hour or so later she closed the book, stretched, yawned, grimaced at the dying fire. She looked around her. The room, which rarely at the best of times could be described as tidy, was now in a state of utter disorder. She had made tea before the men had left, and the used cups and saucers still sat on the table. A pile of newspapers had somehow managed to distribute themselves about the room and the bedclothes that Nikos had used were stuffed inelegantly behind the sofa. Sighing she stood up, surveyed the mess, hands on hips. Sandy cocked his head on one side, watching her. ‘You aren’t by any chance my fairy godmother in disguise, are you?’ she asked him, a little gloomily. The dog’s tail thumped, and he looked hopeful. ‘No. I didn’t think you were. So I suppose I’ll just have to do it myself.’ She stacked the dirty cups and headed for the kitchen.
Oddly, once started, she actually discovered some enthusiasm for the task. Though often untidy the little house was rarely this chaotic; bringing some order to it was somehow more satisfying than usual. She made up the fire, turned on the radio and set to. Within less than an hour she had finished downstairs and leaving it looking pleasingly neat and comfortable she decided, virtuously, to take her crusade to the bedrooms. Adam’s room was relatively tidy, and all that needed doing was for the bedclothes to be changed. Her own room was something else again; Leon, she thought, exasperatedly, could cause havoc in a room by simply walking through it. His clothes were everywhere, his suitcase open on the unmade bed, two pairs of shoes lay on the floor where they had dropped and the dressing table harboured brushes, combs, a handkerchief, a cutthroat razor, a handful of small change and Leon’s leather wallet. She picked it up, puzzled. There was no need to open it to tell that it was all but empty. Yet in all the time she had known him she had never known him not to carry money — usually a lot of money - and always in this wallet. It was an expensive leather affair with his initials tooled in gold, about which she had often teased him, as indeed she had about the size of the sum he usually carried with him. Only half in jest he always answered in the same vein; once a peasant always a peasant — money in the bank is good, money in the pocket is better. For every friend it loses you it will make another two. She weighed the wallet in her hand and shrugged amusedly; it certainly looked as if Leon had been buying friends —
The idle thought stopped her in her tracks. And with it came another, a sudden, clear recollection; on Friday night Leon had tossed this same wallet on to this same dressing table. And it had been full. She was certain of it. She stood for a long moment looking down at the thing; then she opened it. Two worn ten-shilling notes were tucked in it; nothing else. Buying friends. The phrase was in her head now and would not be dismissed. She shook her head. ‘Two and two make four,’ she told herself aloud, sternly. ‘Not six, or eight. Stop jumping to silly conclusions.’
From the garden outside came the sound of voices, and laughter. She looked out of the window. Leon and Nikos were coming down the path. As she watched Leon shouted
with laughter and punched his son’s arm in play. Laughing too, Nikos pretended to stagger at the force of it. She smiled as she watched them; they were like a couple of children in a school playground. Then as she turned to go downstairs to greet them her eyes fell on the empty wallet again, and the smile faded.
Full on Friday, empty now. Having left the house only once — to pick Adam up at the station — her husband had certainly bought something; something very expensive.
Remembering, vividly, the conversation about the Greek house — upon which subject Adam had never advanced an opinion before — she wished she could rid herself of the quite possibly scurrilous suspicion that the expensive item that her less than scrupulous husband had bought had been her son.
*
‘Why so quiet, Kati? Is something wrong?’
Cathy glanced up to find her husband’s eyes fixed quizzically upon her. Curled into a chair in front of the fire, a book open and unread on her lap, she had been staring thoughtfully into the flames. ‘No. Nothing’s wrong.’ Even she could hear the lack of conviction in her voice.
He raised bushy, questioning eyebrows. ‘You’re still angry with me for not meeting Nikos from the boat?’ He cradled the glass of brandy he held in his big hand, watching her.
‘No. Of course not. Well — I still think it was pretty awful of you, but since Nikos seems to have forgiven you there’s no point in my keeping on about it, is there?’
‘No. There isn’t. So — what is it?’
She hesitated.
‘Kati?’ He was insistent. ‘There’s something. I can tell.’
She closed the book with a snap and sat up. ‘Yes, there is – well, that is - I don’t know —’
‘Tell me.’
She looked at him for a long moment, then spoke suddenly and quickly. ‘While you were out I went upstairs to tidy the bedroom. I found your wallet. It’s empty.’
He said nothing, but his eyes were wary. He sipped his drink. Then, ‘So?’ he asked.
‘So - on Friday night there was a lot of money in it. Where did it go?’
‘Is it any of your business?’ There was a spark of anger in his face.
She leaned forward. ‘No. Not unless you gave it to Adam.’
The silence this time was long.
‘Did you?’ she asked, bluntly, watching him.
‘And if I did? It’s my money. Why shouldn’t I help your son out of a little difficulty? What’s the matter with you, Kati? Do you begrudge him the money?’
Very containedly she stood and walked to the sideboard, poured herself a small brandy, turned to face him. ‘Would you like to rephrase that?‘ she asked with precarious calm.
He shrugged. ‘What else can I think?’
‘Think? I sometimes wonder if you ever bloody think! Leon — he’s gambling again! Isn’t he?’
Again the shrug.
She fought and won the battle to stop herself from shrieking at him like a fishwife. Nikos had gone to bed only half an hour before, and his room was above the one in which they were talking. ‘Leon, you know how I feel about Adam and his gambling —’
‘You’re too protective. Let the boy — the man — have his fun -’
‘Fun? Is that what you think it is? Leon, gambling isn’t fun to Adam. Any more than it was to his father —’
‘Ah,’ he said. ‘We come back to that.’
‘His father was a compulsive gambler. I’ve told you. It ruined him. It ruined us. I won’t have Adam go the same way!’
‘Kati, why must you always fly to the extreme? Adam has got himself into a spot of bother, that’s all. I offered to help him out. He told me he was through with gambling —’
‘If you believe that you’ll believe anything. Leon, don’t try to pretend naiveté with me! While you encourage him he’ll never be through with gambling. And to go behind my back like that —’
He stood, angrily. ‘Enough. Enough! The transaction was between me and Adam. He’s a grown man. You must allow him his freedom.’
‘Freedom to destroy himself? As his father did?’
‘Don’t be so melodramatic.’
She tilted her head and swallowed the brandy at one gulp, slammed the glass down on the sideboard. ‘It isn’t melodrama.’ Her voice was clipped and flinty with anger. ‘It’s the simple truth. I’ve lied to you, Leon. I’ve lied to everyone. I’ve lied above all to Adam.’
He was watching her, suddenly intently, a dangerous gleam in his dark eyes. ‘Lied? To me? What do you mean?’
She walked past him, stood, arms folded across her breasts, looking down into the fire. ‘My husband didn’t die in an air raid,’ she said at last, very quietly, and turned to face him, to meet his eyes. ‘He killed himself.’
Leon stared at her. She waited. He said nothing.
‘Did you hear me?’
‘I heard you.’ His voice was totally expressionless.
‘Have you nothing to say?’
‘I heard you,’ he said again. ‘I don’t know if I believe you.’
Temper finally overcame reason; in a flash of fury she lifted her hand to slap him. He was quicker than she was. He caught her wrist in a painful grip, shaking his head slowly. ‘Oh, no, my Kati. Not even you. No one strikes me. Now. Explain.’
She stood silent, trembling with anger, until he released her wrist. He turned and poured another brandy, offered it to her. She took it, the anger draining from her. ‘It’s true. Danny did commit suicide. It just so happened that Adam and I were here in Suffolk at the time — it was during the last bad bout of air raids, and we thought it safer for the boy here. It wasn’t hard to conceal from him what had happened. It was wartime. People were dying every day.’
‘Why did he do it?’
She sighed. ‘I’m not sure I ever knew. The gambling had got the better of him and he knew it. He wasn’t strong. He was facing ruin. Perhaps worse.’ She shrugged a little. ‘As I say, he wasn’t a strong man. There was something missing in him. He was handsome, and charming, and feckless as hell. But he was - unbalanced.’ She raised her eyes to his. ‘Now do you see why I’m angry? Now do you see why I don’t want you giving money to my son — to Danny’s son? Especially behind my back?’
‘Yes. I do.’ He stepped to her, put an arm about her shoulders. ‘Kati, I’m sorry.‘
She sighed, tiredly. ‘Promise me you won’t tell him.’
‘I promise.’
‘And promise me you won’t encourage his gambling.’
‘I promise that, too.’
She stood in silence, her forehead pressed against his broad shoulder. ‘Leon?’ Her voice was muffled.
‘Yes?’
She lifted her head. ‘What did you ask for in exchange for the money?’ She studied him, saw the faint lift of colour in his swarthy skin. ‘You did ask for something, didn’t you?’
He did not reply.
She waited for a long time before stepping from the circle of his arm. She sat down again in the armchair, leaned her head tiredly back against the cushion and closed her eyes. ‘Leon, do you think you can buy anything? Do you think everything and everyone is for sale?’
He sat in the chair opposite her, leaning forward, elbows on knees, rolling the glass between the palms of his hand. ‘Frankly? Yes. I do. It’s a lesson that life has taught me.’
‘It’s a very sad one.’
‘Perhaps.’ In the quiet the coals collapsed in the hearth. ‘Kati?’
Cathy opened her eyes.
‘I make you a promise. A solemn promise.’
‘Oh?’
‘I will watch over your son for you as if he were my own. I’ll keep him under my eye and to the best of my ability I’ll keep him out of trouble.’ Born of long practice, Leon knew well how to phrase a promise that would not be so binding as to prevent future manoeuvre.
Cathy did not notice the ambivalence. ‘Thank you,’ she said.
‘Now, will you make me a promise in return?’
She waited, a little w
arily.
‘When the spring comes, and the house is finished, will you come with me to see it?’
He reached a hand to her. After only a moment’s hesitation she took it. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I will.’
Chapter Four
Leon returned to London, taking Nikos with him, a day or so later, and Cathy, not entirely sorry to be left to her own devices, settled back into her quiet life. As the winter turned colder and snow settled across the flat East Anglian Sandlings she worked on the sketches for the book, walked the wild shore with the dogs, and for a couple of weeks, as Christmas approached, slipped tranquilly back into her self-contained ways. Before Leon had left they had arranged that she would join him in the capital for a couple of days in mid-December, to combine a visit to her publishers, Christmas shopping and a trip to the theatre to see the new Agatha Christie play The Mousetrap. Until then Sandlings was hers again and she was content.
The trip to London, embarked on initially as something of a chore, turned out to be hugely enjoyable. Half a dozen finished illustrations duly delivered and gratifyingly received, she spent a day in the West End shopping, returning to the hotel where she was staying with Leon worn out but triumphant to the point of smugness. ‘All done,’ she announced, kicking her shoes off and throwing herself on to the bed. ‘Christmas is in the bag. Literally.’ She gestured to the heap of paper carrier bags she had dumped on the floor. ‘Several bags, in fact.’
Leon came to sit beside her, touched her hair, winding a curl about his finger. ‘Not quite,’ he said, smiling. ‘Tomorrow I want you to run an errand for me.’
She turned on her stomach, groaning. ‘Oh, Leon, no! Don’t be so mean! I refuse — I refuse! — to go near another shop. Not even for you. You’ll have to do your own Christmas shopping, so there!’