How Greek Is Your Love

by Marjory McGinn

  Zeffy wasn’t in the front garden either, so I returned to the back, calling him as I went, walking right to the end of the garden this time, where there were a few rows of grapevines, the descendants of what Leonidas’s grandfather had tried to grow in the past, but which weren’t thriving, especially under Angus’s spasmodic care. I had an instinct that something very bad had happened, something I’d expected for a while now.

  Chapter 20

  The reckoning

  I finally found Zeffy under an olive tree near the bottom fence, being sick, a pile of foul-looking vomit on the ground, streaked with blood.

  I thought of what he might have eaten. The lamb he’d hidden? But it wasn’t that old, not for a dog who’d lived rough and eaten out of bins.

  “What’s wrong, Zeffy?” I rubbed one of his ears. He lifted his head a bit off the ground and gave me a desolate look, whimpering. I was afraid for him.

  I raced back inside for Angus. He was just out of the shower.

  “Quickly, come with me. Zeffy doesn’t look well.”

  We rushed back to Zeffy and found him still retching onto the ground. Then I noticed blood oozing from his nose.

  “Bronte, you know what. I think Zeffy’s been poisoned. Someone’s dropped something nasty into the garden, probably rat poison, that’s the usual stuff. Animals bleed to death if they eat this stuff.”

  “Someone’s been here early this morning. Zeffy was barking a lot.”

  “Look, Bronte, the farmers here all keep syringes with some antidote formula inside. They all know how to inject. Myrto may have it. Go see her and tell her what’s happened. I’ll stay with Zeffy.”

  I ran to Myrto’s farm. She was watering some of the olive trees near her house. Angelos was there also. They both looked startled when they saw my panicked face.

  “What is it, Bronte?” said Myrto.

  “Zeffy. We think he’s been poisoned. He looks very sick. He’s vomited a bit. There’s blood. Angus said you might have an antidote.”

  She gave me a despairing look. “I used to keep these things on the farm but not now.” She looked at Angelos.

  “I know some farmers who might keep it but I think it’s best to call the vet. Do you use Dr Mavrofidi down on the coast?” he said.

  I nodded.

  “I will call him. I have his number on my mobile.” He dialled and after a while started talking rapid Greek.

  “He says we must bring the dog straight down. You go back to the garden and I will park my truck in front of your house, okay?”

  When I got back to the house, I found Angus in the same spot, leaning over Zeffy. The dog was panting and whining lightly. What a disaster to have saved him from a life of misery on the streets only to suffer this.

  “Angelos is going to drive me down to the vet.”

  “Do you want me to come with you?”

  “No, it’s fine. You stay here and I’ll see you soon. I’ll call if there’s a problem.”

  Myrto had arrived now, out of breath, and stared down at the dog.

  “Who do you think does this terrible thing?” she asked.

  “Don’t know but we think it was some creep who’s been hanging about the village,” said Angus.

  “Not the malakas on a scooter who pushes Bronte on the road?”

  “We don’t know. Could be.”

  She crossed herself. “Let’s hope he gets a bad fate now; hit by a big truck, or struck with lightning,” she said, dramatically. Then she put her hand up, as if palm-slapping the air, muttering something under her breath. It looked almost scary, like some kind of Greek curse.

  We heard the sound of Angelos’s truck at the front gate and moments later he ran towards us. He picked Zeffy up gently and carried him to the truck, where he’d spread out old olive sacks. He placed him there delicately.

  “Come with me, Bronte. We must be quick.”

  Angelos roared past the village, down the coast road, screeching around the hairpin bends with their small shrines to other souls lost in dodgy driving manoeuvres. But today I didn’t care. I hadn’t even bothered with my seat belt. Angelos parked on the road in front of the vet’s surgery and carried Zeffy inside. It wasn’t a busy day and Dr Blacksnake was waiting for us, dressed in his white medical coat. Angelos lay the dog on the examination table.

  “I remember this dog now. You got him as a stray, yes?” said Dr Blacksnake.

  “I wanted to give him to the dog rescue group but then I decided to keep him. He’s very sweet.”

  “Well, now you see how some people here have no regard for dogs,” said the vet, as he started to examine Zeffy.” Or no regard for their owners either, I thought, which was doubly chilling.

  “I see too many of these poisonings, you know, but it’s lucky you got him here straight away. I am fairly sure that your dog has been given a rat poison in some meat. He has the symptoms. It causes internal bleeding and if not caught in time obviously the animal will bleed to death. I am confident I can reverse this. I am going to do something to induce vomiting and give him some injections and tests, so perhaps it’s better if you both wait outside. I will call you.”

  There was one other person in the waiting room, a man with a tiny fluffed-up dog. It sat on the man’s knee like a ball of wool with eyes. The man stared lovingly at it, as if it were a baby. It was good to see there were Greeks who did value dogs as pets, even in the crisis.

  When the vet came back out, he told us he wanted to keep Zeffy overnight for observation.

  “I think he will be fine. You did the right thing to bring him straight here. But you may see him before you go.”

  I went into the examination room on my own. Zeffy was lying on the table, tired but less critical. He raised his head slowly off the table and licked my hand.

  “Poor wee guy. But don’t worry, I’ll make the evil bastard pay,” I said softly as I turned and left with a heavy heart. I knew absolutely that the creep was behind it.

  “Let’s go for a coffee. I think we need one. There’s a nice place across the road,” said Angelos as we left the surgery.

  The café was right on the beach with a view towards Kalamata. It was a glorious spot, the sea was calm and glassy and several people were swimming. I was glad of the distraction. We sat at a table under the trees and Angelos ordered two cappuccinos.

  “Thank you so much, Angelos, for helping with Zeffy. I appreciate it. It’s been a terrible morning.”

  “Do you know who might have done this, Bronte?”

  I shook my head. Maybe Myrto had already told him but I didn’t want to throw accusations around in case, like Elpida or Myrto, he tried to do something about it and put himself in danger.

  The coffees arrived, with two tall glasses of water and small biscuits. We didn’t talk much at first. Angelos seemed a bit thoughtful. It struck me once more how much he resembled Leo, a younger version, with similar dark hair and eyes. I could see how Leo would have looked some 15 years earlier. Devastatingly handsome. At 42, Leo still looked remarkable, yet there was also a certain gravitas in his face, from the seriousness of his profession, no doubt. It was attractive in its own way, whereas Angelos had the carefree freshness of youth. I understood why Eve had so easily taken to him.

  “Did you enjoy the lunch last Sunday?” I asked.

  His eyes widened with interest. “Very much, even Zeffy’s performance in the pool. Though I’m afraid Leo was not so entertained by it,” he said with a subtle eyeroll, and I guessed that Dr Darcy had probably already ticked him off about Eve. “But Leo does a nice Easter lunch. He’s a great host. In fact, my uncle is a wonderful man. I really esteem him very much. But I do hope the appearance of Phaedra at lunch has not caused a problem between you. That would be a great shame. I know the story and you must forgive my uncle this lapse of good sense, not telling you about Phaedra. He has had much on his mind lately with the crisis. Many people are suffering here, as you know very well. I give you an example if I may. A few weeks ago, Leo told me, one of h
is older patients had killed himself because he could not pay his tax bill. Jumped off the top of his apartment building. Can you imagine? Now the government is getting tougher on tax debts, and people can end up in jail. It brings family shame and some people would rather be dead that be shamed over debts.”

  “I didn’t know any of this. How awful!”

  “But keep this between us. My uncle would not want me to tell you. He doesn’t like to shock people or make them unhappy. I tell you so you can see what pressures he has right now.”

  “Thank you,” I said, wondering if this was the story Leo had not wanted to share with me the night we were at the coastal restaurant. I felt heavy with guilt but I reasoned that if he confided in me more about his life it would make things so much easier.

  “What do you think about my friend Eve?” I asked him in a bid to change the subject but also keen to gauge his opinion. He fidgeted with the spoon on his saucer before answering.

  “Oh, she’s wonderful, isn’t she? Now I must try to read some of her books.”

  Don’t bother. They’re not her books, I thought, acerbically.

  “Can I just say something to you while we’re being so candid with each other?”

  “Sure,” he said, spooning the froth from the cappuccino into his mouth.

  “Leo is worried about you having a friendship with Eve.”

  He laughed, with a touch of dread in his dark eyes. “Yes, he mentioned that to me. He has nothing to worry about. Eve and I had a drink on Easter Sunday and then dinner one night in a beach taverna. It’s very innocent.”

  Already they’d had dinner! That was news. So, not so innocent.

  “And she’s nearly 20 years older than me, although she doesn’t look it.”

  She lied about her age!

  “Yes, she looks great. So … will you see her again, do you think?” I said, trying to affect wistful interest only.

  He beetled his eyebrows together. “I’m sure we will sometime. She goes back to London soon, I think.”

  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. It’s really none of my business.”

  It wasn’t, but here I was, turning into Thekla.

  “Don’t worry, Bronte. I see you’re just trying to look after my good reputation,” he said, with a sardonic smile. “Eve is a good person. She’s good company, interesting. We don’t have too many people like her coming to the village. Apart from you, of course.”

  He was quite the diplomat when he wanted to be. But why did I feel he wasn’t being completely honest. A family failing?

  Chapter 21

  Beastly solutions

  A few days later I opened the front door to find Leonidas holding a bunch of roses.

  “Sorry for what you have endured recently with Zeffy. And for everything else,” he said, with a contrite smile. The ‘else’ could only be Phaedra.

  I ushered him inside, flattered at least by his gesture. Zeffy rushed towards him, putting his paws up on his knees, which he’d never done before.

  “He senses you’re a doctor and he wants to keep on your good side now,” I said.

  Leonidas ruffled Zeffy’s head lightly and brushed a light smudge of dust from the front of his trousers.

  “The dog looks healthy now.”

  “He’s made a great recovery in just a few days, but he’s not eating much yet.”

  “His system is still recovering. He will be fine.”

  I had called Leonidas on the day of the poisoning to let him know. He wanted to drive over that evening to see me but I didn’t want to waste his time over a matter that was less serious than some of the issues he’d had to face lately with his patients. And things were still a bit cool between us.

  When I picked up Zeffy the day after the poisoning, the vet told me the blood test confirmed rat poison but the quick treatment had saved him from any lasting effects. He told me not to leave him alone in the garden and to try to find out who had done this. He was a fierce campaigner for animal rights and said the culprit should be reported before he did it again. He was also surprised Zeffy had survived so long as a street dog without succumbing to a poisoning earlier. That thought had often occurred to me too.

  I took Leonidas onto the balcony and brought out some cool drinks. Angus wasn’t home. He was in Kalamata having one of his usual meet-ups with old drinking buddies, which he convinced me, as usual, was partly to do with research for his book, as Greeks of a certain age still had stories about the Battle of Kalamata, even if they weren’t involved directly. And an ouzo or two to aid the memory.

  “I have spoken again to my detective friend, Nikos. He was pleased to hear Eve had returned safely. Just as well, Bronte, because I don’t believe the investigation into her disappearance had gone very far,” he said with a shrug. “But this time, I told him about Zeffy. I’ve told him about this man Dionysos, too, and where he comes from. He knew who I was talking about. He’s known as someone who hangs about with troublemakers from the EPE party and shows up sometimes at demonstrations in Kalamata. But this man is cunning and he knows how far to push things before he breaks the law, like so many of these people. But one day he may go too far – and that’s what I am afraid of.”

  “If he poisoned Zeffy, he’s already gone too far, in my eyes.”

  “But we have no actual proof, that’s the problem. We must be vigilant. I will also ask some people in Marathousa to keep a watch out for him and to challenge him when he next comes to the village. If he puts a foot out of place, I will call Nikos. He will send a constable out here. So be very careful. Don’t walk to the village any more while he’s still about.”

  He took my hand and squeezed it. “And can we please forget about Phaedra’s visit now that she’s gone back to England.”

  Our chairs were side by side. He leaned towards me and pulled me close, giving me a lingering kiss. I felt great longing for him, but in the end I gently pulled away. Despite the flowers and the sympathetic words, I was still smarting with resentment. Phaedra may have been far away in Brighton, but old lovers can cast a long shadow.

  “I realise she’s gone, but I’m still perplexed over why you kept everything so secret. That’s all.” As well as why Phaedra needed to talk out her sudden dislike of life abroad with Leonidas, of all people. Why now? When next?

  He sat quietly a moment, playing with a gold signet ring on his pinkie finger, his brows furrowing, with confusion perhaps.

  “We have discussed all this. But I understand if you are still angry with me, Bronte. I am still so sorry about the lunch, about Phaedra just turning up like that. It spoilt your day, I fear.”

  “Thekla,” was all I said. He nodded and fiddled more with the ring. Oh yes, he knew her malevolent intentions.

  “And you looked so beautiful. That dress!” he said, trying to move the conversation on, but failing.

  We fell silent for a while, then he asked, “So how can I make it up to you?” His smile had a flicker of pleading about it, as much as someone like Leonidas ever could plead. But it nudged at my conscience. How long could I keep this righteous huff going, especially when I recalled what Angelos had told me about the pressures his uncle had been under?

  “I will be back again on Saturday. Let’s have dinner out. Our favourite taverna. Let us be a little more carefree, yes?” he said, looking up from under the errant curl swinging down over his brow.

  “Yes, if you like,” I told him, but I fizzed inside once more. Had I not been carefree before Phaedra turned up? Had things not been close to perfect?

  I got up and went inside, taking his roses to the kitchen sink and putting them in a vase. I sensed him behind me, watching my slightly rushed movements. He leaned against a kitchen bench, thoughtful, his arms crossed over his chest. Then he flicked his car keys, as if they were worry beads, and after a few more seconds of awkward silence he said he had to return to Kalamata to see a patient. He squeezed my shoulder by way of goodbye and left. I felt mildly relieved when he went, just for the freedom of not h
aving to think any more about the Phaedra situation, and yet wondering how to put it all behind me because the problem was, as a journalist, I always had an instinct for when I wasn’t getting the whole story. And I had that feeling now. What was it about Phaedra that Leonidas couldn’t tell me?

  Angus was in good humour when he returned from his Kalamata jaunt, which cheered me up enormously. He looked slightly tipsy. I was in the kitchen, taking a dish of moussaka, which had taken hours to prepare, out of the oven. A bottle of red wine I’d just opened sat on the kitchen counter.

  Angus sniffed the air appreciatively and helped himself to some wine.

  “You’re supposed to let red wine breathe a bit, Angus.”

  He gave me an impatient look. “Bronte, it’ll start hyperventilating if it breathes any longer.”

  I laughed, as I always did, at his mad outpourings.

  He was quiet a moment, though, quaffing his wine with relish. Then he put the glass down and rubbed his hands together.

  “Well, I think I’ve worked out a cunning little plan to get rid of Thekla.”

  “Really? Tell me then.” Best news I’d heard all day.

  “So, it’s like this. In Kalamata I met up with my village friend Panayiotis. He does work for Thekla in her garden. He can’t stand the old bat but she pays okay and on time. So, he was in the garden the other day, trying to fix her dry-stone wall, which is crumbling in places. He told me that while he was working on it Thekla came out and asked him if he’d seen scorpions in the wall. ‘Not yet but there will be scorpions, there always is in these old walls, and plenty of them, especially with me rebuilding them,’ he told her, to wind her up a bit. She told him to poleaxe any he found, and spray between the rocks to destroy any nests, that kind of thing. Panayiotis said she’s terrified of scorpions.” Angus chortled.