Icon of Gold

by Teresa Crane

  She took a long swallow of the spirit. ‘I have an idea.’

  ‘Oh?’

  She touched his chest with her index finger. ‘You get some logs in and make up the fire.’ Up came her thumb, gesturing back towards the kitchen. ‘I’ll rustle up something for supper. We’ll eat in front of the fire, then with a little help from Mahler and a lot of help from this —’ she held up her glass ‘— we’ll decorate the Christmas tree. Leon may be here, or Leon may be there, but at Sandlings, come hell or high bloody water it’s Christmas and we’re damned well going to celebrate accordingly. OK?’ She smiled, too brightly.

  ‘OK,’ he said.

  ‘And then afterwards, if you’d like, we could play chess. Or cards.’ The grin this time was more natural. ‘Or Ludo, if we’ve partaken a little too freely of the cup that cheers, so to speak.’

  ‘I think I should warn you,’ he said, ‘that I play a mean game of Ludo.’

  ‘Good.’ She nodded solemnly. ‘I do like a challenge. The logs are stacked round the back of the house. Supper will be ready in half an hour or so. We’ll break into the Christmas goodies and have a feast.’ She walked to the kitchen door, turned back. ‘Oh — and if we do play Ludo —’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘— bagsy green.’ She disappeared into the kitchen.

  For Nikos the evening was enchantment and torture in about equal parts. Whilst Cathy banged and clattered in the kitchen, singing carols all the while perhaps just a touch too loudly and a touch too defiantly, he carefully unpacked the delicate glass ornaments for the tree from the cardboard box Cathy had deposited on the table. Fragile and delicate as spun sugar they were, his stepmother told him, relics of her own childhood, brought out each year, and inevitably each year suffering a casualty or two until now there were perhaps only a couple of dozen left. ‘At least twice as many survived a world war,’ she said, swinging a sparkling glass icicle from her finger, ‘but Adam’s cackhandedness is something else entirely. Remind me not to let him anywhere near them. They’re impossible to buy nowadays.’ They ate companionably in front of a roaring fire, and played Mahler, scratched but still magnificent, on an ancient wind-up gramophone. The little tree decorated and finished with tiny bows of shining silver ribbon and an ancient fairy doll with a tarnished tinsel wand, they eyed the chess set, shook their heads in unison and opted for the Ludo. The brandy by now was finished, and cheerfully unrepentant Cathy opened another. She seemed to have been overtaken by a mood of absolute and reckless gaiety. She cheated outrageously, urging Nikos to do the same, changed the rules twice and still managed to lose, which she appeared to find intemperately funny. When one of the counters fell to the floor and Sandy with a nonchalant flick of his tongue ate it, they decided to call it a day.

  Cathy stretched, pushed her hand through her hair. ‘You go on up. I’ll clear up down here.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ He ached to touch her, ached to have her arms about him. He stood up, moved away. ‘Why don’t you leave it? We could do it in the morning.’

  She yawned. ‘No. Off you go like a good boy. Busy day tomorrow.’

  ‘Fine.’ He hesitated. ‘Well — goodnight, then.’

  Cathy was collecting the counters and board. She flashed him a quick smile. ‘Good night. Sleep tight.’

  He walked to the door at the foot of the stairs. Opened it. Stopped. Turned back to her. ‘Cathy, I’m really sorry. About Pa, I mean.’

  She stilled for a moment. Shook her head. ‘I told you. It isn’t your fault. I suppose I shouldn’t have expected anything else. Shouldn’t have…’ she trailed off, shrugged.

  He watched her for a long moment. She turned away, busied herself with the battered box.

  Long after he had heard her climb the stairs and go into her own bedroom, long after all sound had ceased and the house, lulled by the distant sound of the sea on shingle, had settled to the darkness and quiet of a country night, long after he had smoked his last cigarette he lay sleepless still. When at last he fell to a fitful doze his dreams were darkly disturbing and on waking it shamed him a little to remember them.

  Chapter Six

  ‘Something tells me,’ Cathy said with mild and disarming honesty the next morning, eyeing her plate of cornflakes doubtfully, ‘that I drank just a tad too much brandy last night.’ She bent over to deposit the soggy remnants in Sandy’s bowl. The dog slurped them up delightedly. Cathy poured herself another cup of tea, and yawned. ‘More toast?’

  Nikos shook his head. ‘No, thanks, I’m fine.’

  She eyed him sympathetically. ‘I’m sorry. This isn’t going to be much of a Christmas for you, is it?’

  ‘Oh, don’t be silly!’ His denial was quick. He smiled. ‘I’m enjoying it already.’

  Cathy smiled, got up and began clearing the table. ‘We’ll soon put a stop to that. Before we go shopping we have to call in next door. That’ll take the grin off your face if nothing else does.’ Seeing his faint wince of protest she laughed outright. ‘Oh, don’t worry — poor Bert isn’t nearly as bad as he tries to make out. He’s a dear old codger underneath.’

  ‘Really?’ Nikos did not hide his scepticism. ‘How far do you have to dig?’

  The cottage next door was just as squalid as he remembered it. He stood awkwardly just inside the door as Cathy badgered and scolded the old man into providing them with a list of things he needed from the town. ‘You are the limit, Bert, honestly you are! I told you days ago I was going into town this morning. You were supposed to have the list ready!’ She sat herself down at the table, cleared a space with a careless sweep of her arm and accepted the stub of pencil and scrap of crumpled paper Bert offered her. ‘Right. fire away.’

  Bert shrugged, shuffled shapelessly back to his sagging armchair. ‘I dunno. Nothin’ you can’t get me at the village shop I s’pose.’

  ‘Some things are cheaper in town,‘ Cathy said, undaunted and unimpressed. ‘Paraffin, for instance. How are you fixed for paraffin? And what about those cough lozenges you said eased your chest last time I bought them? Mrs Hamilton doesn’t keep those…’ It took ten minutes to extract a small list of necessities from the obstinately recalcitrant old man — an exercise that to Cathy’s amusement Nikos later compared to the pulling of teeth. At last Cathy sat back and, laying down the pencil, glanced around the cluttered room. Big, rough-coated Paddy leaned beside her, his nose resting on her knee, eyes blissfully shut as she scratched his head. ‘Honestly, Bert, you are a miserable old humbug!’ she said, cheerfully. ‘It’s Christmas Eve and you’ve not got so much as a sprig of holly about the place.’

  Bert grunted, his small eyes gleaming with something close to relish. ‘Holly? Don’t talk rubbish, girl. You’ll be wantin’ me to go carol singin‘ next! Bloody Christmas. Bloody waste of time more like.’

  ‘Bloody Scrooge you mean. Dickens must have had you in mind, you know that?’

  ‘Dickens who? I don’t know no Dickens.’ The old man cackled, drily. Nikos got the distinct impression that, with variations, this was an oft-played and well-known game to them both.

  Cathy leaned her elbows on the table. ‘I think you might have been too much even for him, you disreputable old bag of bones,’ she said, the amused affection in her smile echoed in the tone of her voice.

  Another cackle. ‘You’re probably right, girl. You’re probably right.’

  She rested her chin on her hands, watching him. ‘Bert?’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘Told you once, told you a dozen times. No.’

  ‘Just for dinner. Just for Christmas dinner. I hate to think of you in here on your own on Christmas day —’

  ‘Christmas day, Michaelmas day, next Tuesday twelve-month, what difference does it make?’ The old man was no longer laughing. His expression was mulishly stubborn. ‘I got me wireless an’ I got me dog. Tha’ss good enough for me the rest of the year, why not on Christmas?’

  ‘You’re an obstinate old idiot.’

  Quite seriously, he nodded. ‘Aye.’


  ‘At least come in for a drink.’

  He jerked his head in the direction of the kitchen. ‘Got me home brew, thanks all the same.’

  ‘I know you have!’ By now Cathy could not but let her exasperation show. ‘I mean — oh, you know what I mean!’

  All at once the narrow shoulders shook and the walnut face wrinkled further to a triumphant grin. ‘Temper, temper, girl,’ he said.

  Cathy threw back her head and laughed. ‘You’re impossible,’ she said, ‘I really ought to give up on you, you know that?’

  Still the triumphant glint of amusement. Another shrug. ‘Please yerself.’ Paddy had left Cathy and ambled over to his master. ‘Giddown,’ the old man said. The dog settled peaceably at his feet, nose on paws. ‘Yer needn’t think yer’ll be gettin’ too much exercise in the next couple of days,’ Bert addressed the dog ‘Our next door lady’ll be too busy enjoyin’ this Christmas of hers to think about you.’

  ‘Not true.’ Cathy stood, tucked the note into her purse. ‘In fact I’ll probably take them both out this afternoon.’ She walked to where he sat, stood looking down at him for a moment. When she spoke her voice was quiet, ‘Bert, please? Won’t you reconsider? Won’t you please just pop in for a while tomorrow?’

  Nikos watched as the old head tilted to look up at her. Suddenly, and to his surprise, he sensed the almost tangible bond of affection between them. A veined and mottled hand, brown as the earth and still remarkably strong-looking reached for Cathy’s for a moment. ‘Leave it, love,’ the old man said. ‘I’m all right. I’ve never thought much to Christmas, an’ that’s the truth.’

  Cathy sighed, shook her head a little. ‘Well you aren’t going to get away with it entirely,’ she said. ‘I’ll pop in at about one with some chicken and a piece of pudding. No neighbour of mine’s going to ignore Christmas altogether, so there!’ She turned, joined Nikos at the door.

  ‘That husband of yours comin’ to join you?’

  The question was unexpected. Cathy hesitated a moment. Then, ‘No,’ she said, lightly, ‘he’s away. On business. But I’ve got the two boys.’

  The old head shook. ‘Some people in’t got the sense they was born with,’ the man said, then, with that small spark of malicious amusement again, ‘but then he’s a foreigner, in’t he? No accountin’ fer foreigners.’ His smile as he looked at Nikos was beatific.

  Cathy went back to him, kissed his leathery cheek lightly and shook a finger at him. ‘You’re a wicked old man who doesn’t deserve a friend in the world, you know that?’

  ‘In’t got one. Not so far as I know.’ He stirred the big, raw-boned dog with his foot. ‘It’s Paddy here. You don’t fool me, girl. Think I don’t know he’s the one you come to see?’

  Outside, walking through the rising wind to the car Nikos shook his head. ‘That’s one very peculiar old man.’

  Cathy laughed. ‘He’s all right. He just enjoys being awkward, that’s all. It’s one of the few pleasures left to him. That and his home brew. By the way —’ they had reached the car; she opened the door and climbed in ‘— if he ever gets round to offering you a glass decline gracefully. It’s lethal stuff.’

  Nikos slid behind the wheel. ‘I still think he could show a bit more — well, gratitude, I suppose.’

  ‘He does. He just shows it in a funny way, that’s all. We both understand.’ Her smile was warm. Her arm was brushing his. For a moment her nearness almost stopped his breath. He wound down the window and stuck his head out to reverse up the narrow, uneven track, a difficult task at the best of times. Wind blustered into the car. In the few minutes the awkward manoeuvre took he had almost regained control of himself. He wound up the window. ‘Wind’s getting up.’

  He heard her laughter, looked at her questioningly. ‘I told you you’d finish up talking about the weather!’ she said, delightedly. ‘It’s an essential part of learning to live with the English. But yes, you’re right, it is. As a matter of fact we’ve already had some quite bad gales this winter. But it’s mostly all right. It’s only when it combines with a high tide that there’s any danger.’

  He had reached the corner and was backing around it on to the wider track. ‘Danger?’

  ‘From flooding. It floods occasionally around here. But it’s not usually much. Who was it used to say, ”Mind my bike?”’ she added, apparently inconsequentially.

  He took his foot from the accelerator and turned to glance at her, blankly.

  ‘Someone on the wireless. A comedian,’ she added, helpfully. ‘Arthur Askey, or someone. Perhaps he used to park his bicycle on an awkward corner as well?’ She pointed.

  He slammed his foot on the brake. The bicycle, inches from the nearside front bumper, rocked a little as the bumper touched the hedge against which it rested. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘This damned track isn’t the easiest thing to back up, I have to say.’

  ‘If it rained you probably wouldn’t be able to manage it at all,’ she said, cheerfully. ‘It’s a quagmire in bad weather. Why not leave the car up here on the wider lane? It’s not far to walk and would make life a lot easier. It’s OK,’ she had her window open and was watching the ditch and the dense hedge her side, ‘you’re round. All you have to worry about now is the odd tractor or horse and cart coming the other way.’ Again that sudden, wide smile, and his heart turned over. ‘Now you know why I ride a bicycle.’

  *

  It took best part of the morning to complete their errands, but by lunchtime they were back at the cottage with, as Cathy pointed out, enough provisions to see them through a fairly lengthy siege. While she delivered the purchases they had bought for Bert, Nikos carted the bags and boxes from the car to the cottage and piled them on the kitchen table. When Cathy came back, while she was busy in the kitchen stacking cupboards and filling the larder he cleared the fire in the sitting room and lit it, listening to her movements in the kitchen, the sound of her voice as she hummed a Christmas carol; and for a moment, sitting back on his heels watching as the small flames curled and licked about the kindling, he was utterly and oddly content. He had never taken such pleasure from anyone’s company. He loved the bright, snug feel of this little house, Cathy’s home, upon which her personality was stamped so strongly. He loved to feel her near, to know that if he turned his head he might see her standing at the kitchen door, or walking towards him with that beguiling smile. Just for this instant all guilt, all anguish faded, and it was enough that he was here with her, that he loved her, that he had at the very least her friendship and affection. Darker thoughts, darker desires for a moment faded, unconsciously — and had he but realised it dangerously — tamped down as the now fiercely burning flames were smothered beneath the logs and coal that they would eventually consume.

  ‘Cheese sandwiches OK for lunch?’ Cathy had appeared at the door.

  ‘Fine.’

  She went back into the kitchen. ‘I was wondering,’ she called, ‘if you’d like a bath while I take the dogs out this afternoon? That would give the water plenty of time to reheat and I can have mine when you go to pick Adam up from the station.’

  He put the guard in front of the fire and joined her. She was buttering bread and the kettle hummed on the stove. ‘That would be great,’ he said.

  ‘1 know it’s a bit of a fiddle,’ she said, ‘but it’s really rather fun when the kitchen’s all warm and cosy like this.’ The bath, as he already knew, was neatly and ingeniously fitted beneath a hinged wooden top which, covered in bright cushions, served a double purpose as a seat when not in use. It was filled through a length of hosepipe from the sink and emptied through a pipe that ran through the wall to a drain in the lean-to lavatory next door; a simple but perfectly workable arrangement that was one of the many things about the cottage that Nikos knew would probably at one time have appalled him, yet now seemed not only acceptable but a positive part of the charm of the place. He accepted his sandwich. ‘You’re sure there’ll be enough water for us both?’

  She patted the huge stove affection
ately. ‘Oh, yes. This old thing heats enough for an army. Enjoy a soak. I’ll stretch my legs and give the dogs a good run.’

  He laughed. ‘Stretch your legs? You’ve been on your feet all morning!’

  She looked at him in genuine surprise. ‘But that was in the town. That was on pavements and in stuffy shops. That’s the very reason why I want to get out on to the beach, don’t you see?’

  He watched as she made tea for herself, coffee for him. ‘You really couldn’t live in a city, could you?’ he asked after a moment.

  ‘No.’ The answer was uncompromising. She leaned across the table and put his cup down beside him. ‘I couldn’t. Not permanently. Not now.’

  Nikos spooned sugar slowly and thoughtfully into the dark liquid, not looking at her. ‘And Greece?’ he asked, quietly. ‘When the house is finished will you be able to live in Greece?’