She tried not to be obvious. She wanted to know how much he would push at a time. He caught her peeking. For once he did not smirk or criticise. She was grateful.
"100 kgs per press. I'll attempt two sets of fifty repetitions followed by another three sets of fifty, but with 75 kgs."
"Why?"
"You can't conquer the 100 Tonnes without stamina and a strategy. It has to be a mix of speed as well as weights. Watch. The first two sets involve power. The second three demand speed."
Eleni leaned against a nearby wall. With a smoothness of technique she envied, he executed the first two sets in less than fifteen minutes, including a short break. That was her target total for today and he'd completed it when she was only half-way through her own.
She felt her anger rise. He made her look stupid.
"Your turn now. From what I saw you were pushing 30 kgs before. That is neither here nor there. Try heavier and lighter. What about 15 kgs now with a final set of twenty repetitions of 50 kgs? You have to be intelligent about this."
She hated him. Here he was showing off by advising. She intended to beat him, not have him as her know-all. The hundred pushes at 15 kgs proved his point. Damn the man.
"Well done. My turn again."
Incredulous, she could only stare as he reeled off two more sets of the heavier weights with a speed which shocked her. She noticed his fluidity. He exerted his whole body in a way she didn't. No wonder he was strong. Her anger waned as respect replaced it, and not only for his gym skills.
When he climbed off, his state surprised her. He dripped sweat and was breathing hard. It had looked effortless. It wasn't, which comforted her.
"Your turn. I've set the weight at 50 kgs. Just do twenty. Tomorrow, rest, perhaps swim. You'll need it. The day after repeat this. You should find it easier the day after."
She couldn't complete twenty. Only fifteen. Each leg felt like the tip of a flamethrower. She despaired and gave up.
Meanwhile Stephane ambled through his final set as if it was his first. Her frustration boiled. Uncontained, it would evolve into anger.
"Right. To the bikes for us both. We need to ease the lactic acid out. We can talk over dinner about the improvements I think you can make on the Kampanarió."
With a rare gym-courtesy she loved, he waved her to the static bikes. His easy-going accent blanketed her fury. It died just as the prospect of dinner with him encouraged. Could she get him drunk? It was a possibility. Only after she explained about the Kampanarió.
Nicosia (Cyprus)
Davide escaped the elevator and headed for the bar. As he passed through the big wooden doorway without doors, he heard an accented voice which rang familiar. He looked round and spotted what he feared: a bullet head. It was 'him'. There was no doubt. Stephane. Once the bane of a project on which he worked.
He ducked back out into the lobby, hoping he'd remained unseen. Would Inma be long? The elevator pinged. She emerged from its metallic box.
He felt foolish. He hadn't made much effort for the evening. She had. She shamed him. He felt like the little boy his mother had scolded. This was one of the few combined visual and aural images he retained of her before she died. There was her blend of horror, annoyance, frustration and affection, made acute by his father's total lack of interest in his own or his son's appearance.
"You look sheepish?"
Davide apologised for being 'English scruffy'. He promised to explain.
"My tio Toño would have had a fit."
"Probably. It's not important. The bar?"
"I will explain my sheepishness, as you referred to it. But not here. We aren't going to have a drink in this bar."
"Why not? I thought that's what we'd agreed."
"Because there's an ex-colleague of mine in there, someone I want to avoid."
Davide slid his arm within Inma's and guided her to a taxi. He instructed the driver to take them to as near to Nea Hagia Sophia as practical. At the new Basilica they marvelled. The stone, under artificial lights, glowed. Inma's comment reached him.
"I would love to clad the front of my finca's house in that. It wouldn't be correct, I know. But the effect..."
Her voice drifted off in contemplation. Meanwhile Davide studied the Kampanarió. Progress had stalled, at least to his eye. Four bells sat on the ground nearby. The largest was big. They were probably awaiting installation.
He eyed the walls of the Kampanarió. They weren't stone. It had to be the wood-based CLT he'd read about. Inexpensive, light, strong, fast to mount and fireproof. They looked solid but desultory -- flat, both of surface and texture. The sculpted stone panels, reported the article, were behind schedule. If they came from the same stone as the Basilica, the Kampanarió would impress.
For now, it was a tall, dull tower enlivened only by the novelty of its eleven-sided design. This was, he admitted to himself, different. Inma sidled closer.
"Tell me about your colleague. Why do you want to avoid him? You might not be able to. He might be staying at our hotel if he was in the bar."
"You're right. I didn't think of that. I'll ask when we return. As for him..."
"Yes?"
"We met on a project I worked on in New York. He was an employee of my client. He's an innovative systems designer and builder. He specialises in financial systems. That said, he starts from the position that he knows everything. If you disagree, like I had to, you must work backwards and demonstrate you know better. Which he doesn't like. In fairness, he does accept a valid argument, eventually. He has a light French accent which is delightful. He exploits this like mad, to get his way. The Americans, but not me, fell over themselves doing whatever he wanted."
"What happened?"
"I proved a specific approach, one he favoured, included a logical flaw. As a Frenchman, he hated being called out for faulty logic, and by someone he regarded as English. He froze me out until he verified I was accurate. From then on, he set out to poison my part of the project, making it tougher than it need be for several of us."
"Sounds petty."
"No, I don't think so. Corporate politics plus the flaw was obscure. I was correct. In retrospect, I think I could have liked him outside work. He has an easy charm armed by a curious mind. But there was never the time to socialise. We were all far too busy. He drives himself like a slave. My project involvement finished. Then I was away."
"It's a strange world you occupy. Flitting from assignment to assignment and place to place. Do you feel you have a home?"
"Interesting you should ask. You have your finca outside Yuste. I have tio Toño's apartment in Madrid, now he's gone. That doesn't feel like home. Not yet, at least. I don't think it ever will."
"But you would like a place to call home?"
"Until a year or so ago, perhaps up to when I returned from the fruitless quest for Caterina in Australia, no. Travelling to work with others was fun. Now I wonder if I'm running out of steam."
"I doubt it. Anyhow, shall we find the Greek place to eat you mentioned this afternoon?"
Davide led the way around the Basilica and towards the Famagusta Gate. Down a long thin street, he checked off the numbers of the houses.
"This should be it."
Inma could see no evidence of an eating place. It was the entrance to a normal, single-storey house. Davide pushed at the door. Inside they crossed a hall and descended into a domestic courtyard. A well, covered in flowering plants, dominated the middle. Around it sat tables and chairs, some occupied but most still empty. The sounds of people enjoying themselves did not echo; an upper balcony rimmed the courtyard and an open sky soaked up the noise. They selected a table.
"This is enchanting. How did you find it?"
"Nikos recommended it. Speaking of whom, you did well with your SinCard marketing plans. Nikos lapped each of them up. Apart from the refinements he asked for, I don't think we'll need to stay much longer. You've done your bit."
"Hang on. I wouldn't be so optimistic. There's more to do th
an meets the eye, at least for me. You could leave. Anyhow, let's drop work for the evening."
"Suits me."
"Back to homes. Are you saying you want one? If so, do you know where?"
"I'm not sure. What I am certain of is I want a change, to get away from the travel. I don't want to stop working. But I have no idea what I can do. Purveying SinCards doesn't strike me as being for the long term. Perhaps for you?"
They laughed in unison. Their presence in Nicosia was crazy. Davide opted to divert attention away from himself. He was becoming comfortable with Inma. Yet, there was only so far he'd let anyone penetrate, after the disaster called Caterina or the disconnection with Ana.
"What about you and Lili? Or shouldn't I ask?"
"You're changing the subject."
Inma mock-glared at Davide, though she needed to vent to someone about Lili. Davide was as good an ear as anybody. According to Ana, he obsessed about keeping confidences – 'to the point of my extreme irritation' was how Ana had put it.
"Lili as a work partner is better than my wildest expectations. She saved my business. But Lili as more? That side I have repressed, so far with success. But I 'm not sure if it can continue, which runs the risk of imperilling the business again."
"You're still attracted?"
"Oh, yes. That's not something I can lose with ease, especially when I see or speak to her every day... Though I do find it has diminished. Business does that; it saps my interest."
"She is pretty, if elfin. Has Ana offered any insights?"
It was too late for Davide to take back his mention of Ana. Instinct suggested Inma would use it to skewer him.
Paphos and Lakatamia (Cyprus)
Misery enveloped Evdokia. To quarrel with Georghios was rare but always painful, not least because he never raised his voice. This induced anger and humiliation.
He'd been cross, but not much more, at her late arrival from Nicosia the other day. He'd based his forbearance on the assumption that, once she'd failed to daub her mercury, she would give up for good. When she told him she was going back to Nicosia for a second attempt, and she would continue trying until she succeeded or was caught in the act, his disapproval flared.
In his gentle, pacific voice, he'd commanded her to stop. This was a first. He'd never ordered her to do anything in all their married years. If 'His Abominable Beatitude's' monstrosity had provoked her condemnation, his blatant sexism heralded an equal and opposite reaction on her part. It hurt all the more because they had watched a mini-series about Oriana Fallaci and her lifelong fight against sexism two evenings earlier. Both had recognised what they'd seen on the screen.
Now she was back on a bus to Nicosia. She had a travel bag with her and would stay with her sister in Lakatamia. They weren't close. Alexa despised her cop-out, as she referred to Evdokia's marriage to Georghios and his Church. It had poisoned their relationship for years.
Might Alexa change if Evdokia explained her plan? Should she involve her sister? Alexa would approve with no shadow of doubt. That wasn't the point.
The bus trundled on. She'd left Georghios behind with no note or explanation. She'd ditched her one support. As subdued as was possible, she wept, grateful to be at the back of an almost empty bus.
The trouble was her hatred of Constantinou. She could not forgive him. He was the superior who'd denied her appeals for help after her rape and after she had fallen pregnant. To this day, the recollection of those two rejections pierced deep.
She wanted revenge, any revenge, which would smite his horrid pride into pieces. She'd waited for the opportunity. In truth, she'd thought his elevation to be Abbot had removed revenge from the realms of possibility. Hidden away, he had been untouchable.
His appointment as Archbishop had re-ignited her contempt. It was colder and sharper than before. To her surprise, it hadn't dimmed over the years. It had festered. Now it fed a determination she couldn't snuff out.
This was what underlay the dispute with Georghios. She knew she was to blame. She'd never explained to Georghios what had occurred all those years ago, nor that the illegal abortion was why they couldn't have children. Her dual shames, about her defilement and then inability to be a mother, fanned her bitterness.
Georghios couldn't understand because he didn't know. Neither did Alexa. Evdokia had retained all to herself.
Another wave of guilt and shame swept through her. Her paper tissues were about to run out.
In Nicosia, Alexa waited. Evdokia had phoned ahead. They met at a bus stop on the southern fringe of the city. To her relief, Alexa said nothing. She drove back to her home, a comfortable house appropriate for the successful lawyer her husband was.
"You chose a good week. Thanos is in London for a conference. I've taken a few days off. Let's sit on the terrace in the shade?"
Evdokia followed her sister. She didn't dare look around. The contrast with her tiny impoverished house compared to this relative magnificence was too much. It was always too much, for both her and Georghios. They stayed away unless there was no escape. She wept again.
"What is it?"
Evdokia couldn't bring herself to explain. All she sought were more tissues. At least she could cry here. It wasn't public unlike the bus.
"What is it, Evdokia? What troubles you? Georghios? You've never invited yourself here before."
"I'm sorry. The comparison of our hovel with your comfort hurts. Georghios says he doesn't notice. But he does. That's why we visit so rarely."
"We'd wondered. Don't fuss. We don't take offence. We wanted to do more for you and Georghios. We didn't. We felt sure of rejection, though that is easy to say."
Evdokia dried her face. She re-evaluated her sister. There was no condemnation or condescension. Just simple familiar support.
"It isn't Georghios, though I may have offended him for all time. It's 'His Abominable Beatitude' and his monstrous new Basilica."
"Ah. About the awful Basilica we agree. It looms over everything. Thanos investigated ways to stop it. He concluded there weren't any once Ioannis demolished the Old Palace and rebuilt in its place. Its size is a timeless insult to us all."
Relief permeated Evdokia. Her sister and husband thought the same, if with a different root motivation. She shared with Alexa what she intended. She outlined her plan to penetrate the dome and paint the mercury on the aluminium.
Astonished, Alexa giggled. Then she laughed out loud. "That's beautiful. It's so neat. You have an inventive mind. I love it. What a way to deliver comeuppance to the Church if it had to rebuild. Can I tell Thanos?"
"Better not. But it's not the Church I aim at. It's that fool Constantinou. It's why Georghios and I refer to him as 'His Abominable Beatitude'. Well, I started and Georghios fell in with me."
"A great summary of a man of pride. He is abominable. But... From what you don't say, you have more against him than the Basilica?" Alexa stopped herself. She wished to see if Evdokia would volunteer more. She didn't. "Was he involved when you were pregnant?"
"What?" Evdokia sat up in shock.
Nobody, nobody knew of her shame. The only person she'd told was Constantinou.
"Relax, sister! Forgive me. I probed, when I shouldn't. We all knew something was wrong. None of us wanted to ask. It was only afterwards I put two and two together. By then you permitted no-one..."
Evdokia was speechless. Alexa had known, or guessed, all these years. All along she'd not pried. What should she do?
"Do you want to tell me?"
There was no condemnation or denunciation in Alexa's voice. Evdokia's despair drove her to retell of her rape and the subsequent double rejection by Constantinou, of the abortion, of her social activism and the warnings to leave the island, of her choice of Georghios rather than exile, of her barren state, of an artificial marriage which had blossomed and now of her ruination of all she had forged with Georghios because of her intent to bring down Constantinou and his latest folly.
Nicosia (Cyprus)
The Arch
bishop fretted despite two pieces of good news. The first was the bells should hang in the Kampanarió by the end of the weekend. He looked forward to their hoisting to the top of his tower. The second was the positive feedback from Nikos about the SinCard franchise. Tassos was due to seal the deal.
Eleni's update upset him. The carving of the stone panels for the sides of the Kampanarió continued behind his desired timetable. She could offer no estimate as to when she would resolve all. It all had to do with the automated stone carver machine. She claimed to have her tame computer person hard at work, though she promised no completion date.
What would this do to the schedule for the dedication ceremony? Perhaps he had more time. His conversation with Vasilios had assuaged various fears. He was stronger, though not as much as after his elevation. He'd visited the doctors and undergone batteries of tests. So far, none were conclusive. 'Old age' remained the common diagnosis. There was no cure.
He sighed. It wasn't as he'd hoped. Church dedications were special. Nea Hagia Sophia warranted magnificence. With him at the centre.
He mused. It was probably too late, but should he change its name? During the design 'Nea Hagia Sophia' was appropriate. Under Vasilios and Vasilia's care, the Basilica had evolved beyond its sister in Istanbul.
It was no longer a copy. Though almost identical in shape and structure, its decorative materials had produced a building Justinian himself would adore. It was warmer to look at and more imposing. Where the real Hagia Sophia stood in its privileged position atop the hill overlooking the Golden Horn, it had to compete with the Blue Mosque – and the Bosporus.
Nea Hagia Sophia was in a different class. It loomed far above Nicosia, visible in the same way that Brunelleschi's Duomo sat astride Florence, except more so because of its larger size. The Kampanarió added to this. It enchanted the Archbishop. Reality exceeded his dreams. He was almost in possession of the magnificence he'd imagined. One day, he would congratulate Vasilia. She was the lynchpin.
Resurrection (The Corruption Series Book 4) Page 27