Nikos’ first visit was a flying one, three weeks after Easter. He came for one day, and stayed overnight. The night was a long one, and not without its tears. Watching him leave the next day Cathy was moved almost to despair. How could they go on like this? And yet — how could they not? For a couple of days she was depressed and listless; then the letters began again, and the anticipation of their next meeting — a longer one, this time, he had promised; three perhaps four days — was too great to allow for doubts or fears. She quite deliberately cultivated a day-by-day philosophy, forcing herself to take each moment as it came and to avoid at all costs looking too far ahead. The next glimpse of Nikos with his golden eyes and polished skin was as far as she wanted to see.
*
In the month before she visited Leon in London Nikos came to the house twice more. Their days were circumspect, Nikos going about his father’s business and being careful not to arouse any suspicion that his devotion to his stepmother was anything other than filial. In this he was helped by two things - the fact that the house itself stood alone and not actually within the bounds of the village with its many sharp ears and prying eyes, and the fact of Anna’s growing infatuation. So blinded was she by her own feelings she had little time, when Nikos was around, for anyone else’s; and anyway, much as the girl liked and admired Cathy, in her young eyes her employer was an old woman and long past the painful joys of love. The nights, however, were a different thing. Cathy loved the long, warm evenings when they sat together, alone, on the terrace eating supper, listening to Mozart, or Mahler or the majesty of Beethoven, sometimes talking, sometimes in a silence so intimate that it spoke louder than any words. As the blaze of the sunset first sharpened the mountain skyline to an operatic backdrop of fire and shadow and then, dying, smudged it to faded pastels that paled slowly to darkness their fingers would touch, or their eyes meet, and without a word Nikos would reach to pick up the lamp and draw her behind him down the curving stone stairs to the bedroom below. She grew to know exactly the moment when his need for her overcame his content simply to watch her, to share her company, to listen to the music and to her voice. He loved her, she knew that with utter certainty, but he wanted her too, and made love to her with an ardent young strength that not only left her in no doubt of it but fed her own desire for him as dry bracken feeds a forest fire. And each time he left the pain grew worse and the ensuing guilt more terrible.
*
She returned to a London consumed by Coronation fever. Nothing, it seemed — not even the typical unreliability of the capricious English weather - could quell the enthusiasm of the New Elizabethans for their young queen and her family. The darkness of the desperate years of war was lightening, the gloom of austerity lifting. There was a new air of confidence abroad in the country; taxes were being cut, rationing coming to an end. The proper moment had come at last, it seemed, to draw a line on the bad times and look forward to the good. Two million people braved the rain to cheer the monarch to Westminster Abbey and back, twenty million more, historically, watched the ceremony on television — many sets bought simply for that purpose, intrusive guests that having been invited to a party would remain for a lifetime and influence a generation. To add to the nation’s pride, on the very day of the crowning came the news that Everest, the highest mountain in the world, had at last been conquered and by a British expedition; though, as Adam pointed out a little tartly, quite how such a feat accomplished by a New Zealander and a Himalayan Sherpa, however gallant, reflected full glory on the United Kingdom was a little hard to fathom, coronation or no coronation. Adam too had returned for the festivities from a long spell in the United States. He had lost weight and there was a nervy edge to him that worried Cathy a little. The days were long gone, however, when she could express such concerns and expect him to con- fide in her so she held her peace. In the ten days or so she spent in London she saw little of Nikos — a snatched word or two, a single clandestine lunch in a small restaurant in Soho that somehow served only to make things more rather than less difficult, and — disastrously — a visit to the theatre with Leon to which Nikos, agonisingly for Cathy, escorted a pretty, likeable and animated girl called Patsy with whom he was obviously on warm and easy terms, and whose name she had never before heard him mention: a fact she struggled hard and wholly unsuccessfully not to invest with dire significance.
Two days before she left to return to Greece Leon drove her down to Suffolk, to check on the tenant of Sandlings and to Visit Bert, Paddy and Sandy. The visit was not, for Cathy, a success; she spent the entire journey back to London fighting tears and trying not to remember Sandy’s frantic greeting and urgently happy tongue, nor his struggles when Bert had leashed him to prevent him from running after her as she had left. On the whole it was with little regret that she packed her bags and left a still damp and cool London for the warmth and sunlight of Greece. She did not try to contact Nikos, nor did she make any special effort to bid him goodbye; a perhaps inevitable constraint had fallen between them — Cathy, despite her best efforts, finding it impossible to forget or ignore the shock of seeing him with the girl Patsy and Nikos, knowing it, and having only done it with the best of intentions, equally stiff-necked and sore at her reaction and resultant apparent coolness. They did not quarrel; perhaps it would have been better if they had. Later — much later — Cathy came to believe this to be true. But for now it was almost a relief to escape from him for a while.
And Nikos, sensitive to her every mood, knew it, and brooded.
He followed her within days, without consultation or warning, in the process clashing stormily with his father on the need for yet another trip to Athens. ‘Am I in charge there or not? For Christ’s sake, Pa, stop looking over my shoulder every five minutes! I need to go myself —’
‘Your telephone wire’s been cut?’ Leon suggested caustically. ‘The post no longer works? In the war we used homing pigeons; I should buy you some? You still haven’t explained to me what’s so urgent?’
‘Why should I? You’ve given me a job. Let me do it my own way. Or do it yourself.’ The challenge was open.
His father’s eyes glittered for a moment, then Leon shrugged. ‘Very well. Go. But —’ a stubby finger pointed sharply ‘- I hope something comes of it, boy. Airplane tickets don’t come free.’
*
Cathy was alone on the terrace when he arrived. It was a sleepily warm June evening. Earlier there had been a storm, there were still puddles on the stony ground and on the paving. The air was laden with the scents of rosemary, thyme and the freshly abundant wild flowers of the mountain that had not yet been fully subjected to the punishment of a high summer sun. Cathy was reading, a lamp lit against the fading light, Verdi’s Requiem playing softly in the background. Over the chirruping cicadas and the rasp of the tree frogs she heard the swift footsteps on the stone steps and lifted her head, watching the curve of the stairs. That was his first sight of her, alert but not frightened, the slanting, cat-like eyes wide in the gloom; and wider still when she saw him.
‘Nikos!’ Her voice was a breath. She was alarmed now, that was clear in voice and face. Expecting a stranger she had not feared; seeing him had triggered trepidation in her. She held up a quick hand, as if to ward him off, to hold him where he stood. Already high—strung the thought infuriated him. Two long steps took him to the table. He spread his hands upon it and leaned to her, capturing her mouth fiercely before she could speak. For the briefest moment he felt the familiar flame of response, then, frantically, she pushed him from her. ‘Nikos — what are you doing here?’
‘What do you think?’ Against her whisper his voice sounded unnaturally loud in the quiet. ‘I came to see you. To find out what the hell —’
‘Sssh!’ She flinched from the sound, covered her own mouth with two cupped hands, her eyes flickering in signal beyond him to the house. ‘Yannis is here.’ The words, desperately urgent, were barely audible. And were too late.
‘Nikos?’ The voice came from the shad
ows of the room behind them. ‘That you, boy?’ Yannis appeared, moving silently at the edge of the circle of lamp light.
Nikos straightened. Cathy sat frozen. Yannis strolled to them, hands in pockets, an unlit cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. He held out a hand to Nikos. ‘What are you doing here?’
Nikos relaxed a little, took the proffered hand. ‘I was in Athens. Thought I’d pop over and make sure Cathy was OK.’
‘She’s OK,’ Yannis said, poker-faced.
Cathy’s glance flickered from one lean, lamplit face to another. How much had Yannis seen? Even the words — ‘I came to see you. To find out what the hell —’ were hardly the conventional greeting under the circumstances. Especially spoken as they had been. Yet Yannis’ face, his gleaming dark eyes, betrayed nothing. She pushed her chair back briskly. ‘Yannis and I have eaten. But there’s cold meat, and bread. And cheese if you’d like. I’ll make up a bed in the spare room — help yourself to a glass of wine —’ Thankfully she slipped into the house, stood for a moment by the door, listening.
‘How long are you here for?’ Nikos’ voice, admirably casual.
‘Just a couple of days. I leave tomorrow. Cigarette?’ A pause, whilst Nikos accepted. ‘How’s the old man?’
‘Exhausting as ever.’ The words were genuinely rueful.
Yannis laughed. Cathy took a long breath. A close shave. A very close shave.
And somewhere in the depths of her treacherous heart she did not care. He was here. Nikos had come. What else truly mattered? ‘Dear God,’ she asked the fresh—baked loaf softly and uneasily, as she carved a chunk from it. ‘Are we asking to be found out?‘
*
The two of them had no chance to talk until the following evening, with Yannis safely gone and Anna, reluctantly, sent home at a decent hour. Once certain they were alone Nikos gathered Cathy into his arms and held her against him. She leaned to him in silence, her head resting on his shoulder, her eyes on the distant mountains, red-lit in the evening light. ‘Why did you come?’ she asked at last. ‘And why so angrily?’
‘To see you. And — I don’t know — I was afraid — I had imagined —‘ He stopped.
She lifted her head to kiss the sharp line of his jaw.
His arms tightened painfully about her. ‘Tell me you love me.’
‘I love you.’
‘Again.’
‘Nikos — you’re being silly -’
‘Again!’
‘I love you.’ She was gentle, ‘I love you, I love you, I love you. There. Does that satisfy you?’
‘Nothing will ever satisfy me but having you to myself.’
She closed her eyes and drew a long breath.
He put her a little way from him, holding her by the shoulders, his eyes intent upon hers. ‘Cathy, come away with me. Please. I can’t stand this. I can’t stand the lying, the deceptions. I can’t stand to be away from you.’ His voice harshened and his fingers bit deep. ‘I can’t stand to have you living with Pa.’
‘He’s my husband.‘
He released her so suddenly that she stumbled a little. ‘And I’m your lover. And that’s the way you want it to stay.’ His face had darkened with anger, the pale eyes blazed with it.
‘Nikos! For God’s sake — what are you trying to do? Are you determined to quarrel?’
‘I’m trying to tell you that I love you.’ He was making a physical effort to control himself. ‘I’m trying to tell you that I want you to leave Pa and come away with me. I want you to myself. I want to live with you, care for you —’
‘Oh, Nikos — can’t you see that’s impossible? Where could we go? How would we live?’
‘We’d manage somehow.’
‘And Adam?’
‘It’s nothing to do with Adam.’
‘Of course it is!’ Cathy clenched her hands, fought to keep her voice even. ‘Nikos — darling — you can’t simply ignore other people! Adam is my son. My son. I can’t lose him. I can’t!’
He turned his back on her, felt in his pocket for his cigarette box. She watched as he extracted a cigarette, lit it with a shaking hand. ‘The truth is,’ he said, very quietly, ‘that you don’t really love me.’
‘No!’
He tilted his head. Smoke curled into the warm air. ‘If you did,’ he was stubborn, would not look at her, ‘you wouldn’t care. You’d come away with me and tell the world to go to hell.’
She moved behind him, put her hands on his shoulders and laid her face against his back. ‘Darling, darling Nikos — don’t you see? Life’s more complicated than that. What of your father? Could you really hurt him so much?’
His laughter was harsh. ‘Aren’t you splitting hairs just a little?’
‘It may seem so, but no, I don’t think I am. Think what it would do to him. To his pride. You know him well enough.’
He turned then, very slowly, looked at her searchingly. ‘You still love him.’ It was not a question.
‘I’m very fond of him. How could I not be?’ She hesitated for a moment before adding very quietly, ‘Are you telling me you feel nothing for him? Are you telling me you feel no guilt towards him, no sympathy for him?’
‘Of course not. But —’
‘Oh, Nikos!’ She turned and walked to the low stone parapet, stood looking into the gathering shadows. ‘You think I don’t dream of it? Of our being together? Of course I do! But you know as well as I do that it simply isn’t possible. Apart from anything else you know Leon would never let me go. I’m his. Part of his life, one of his possessions. He never gives up anything he considers to be his. You know it. It isn’t in him.’
The sudden silence was telling.
‘What are we going to do?’ Nikos’ quiet voice, shockingly, was suddenly unsteady. She turned. He looked away, but not before she had seen the too-bright eyes.
The night chorus had started. Somewhere a dog barked.
She walked to him, put her arms about him and held him very tightly.
But she did not answer his question; because she could not.
They sat long into the night; giving up on reality, weaving dreams. They would live at Sandlings, spend their days walking the beaches, flying kites, skimming stones. They would go to America, to the south-eastern shores where the Gulf Stream warmed the waters and life was slow and kind. They would find a farmhouse halfway up a mountain in Italy and live on spaghetti and tomatoes. Or perch on a cliff in Brittany and fish for their supper. At last he relaxed, and she saw him smile again. It was very late when at last he reached for her hand and drew her to her feet. On the way down the stairs he asked, in sudden curiosity, ‘What was Yannis doing here, anyway?’
‘Oh — I don’t know. He’s a law unto himself is Yannis. He comes and goes as he pleases. Stays a day or so, then disappears again.’ She paused on the bottom step, looking up at him. ‘Can you stay for long?’
He shook his head. ‘I’d better get back to Athens for the day after tomorrow at the latest.’
‘You’ve got business there?’
‘No.’ He shrugged and lifted a hand in a way that suddenly and uncomfortably reminded her of his father. ‘You are my business here.’
‘Nikos —’
‘I know, I know. I’ll be careful. I promise. I know you’re right.’
‘When will I see you again?’ The bedroom was cool and dark. The lamplight playing on the rough-plastered walls sketched moving shadow-demons.
‘At the festival.’ He drew her to him, began to unbutton her shirt. ‘Not even I can manufacture an excuse to come back before then. And it’s going to be the worst kind of torture, with everyone here. But at least I’ll be near you. That’s all that counts.’
‘Now,’ she said, softly. ‘You’re here now! That’s all that counts.’
*
The feast of Saint Mary Magdalen, whilst in no way comparable to the Easter festival was nevertheless kept in some style in the Village. Aghia Magdalena was patron saint to the church by the spring, and
her name day was a day to celebrate. There would be processions and services, musicians and fireworks. flowers and ribbons decorated the church and the doors of the village houses. The baking and the sweet-making began a week before. Cathy too was busy, taking more of a hand herself this time in organising the festival, and making sure that the finishing touches were put to the house in good time. A week or so before the feast, during a shopping trip to Athens she spoke to Leon on the telephone.
‘— the agent says the table and chairs you’ve shipped from London will be arriving next week. Mr Gikas here at the office says he’ll get it shipped straight on to me, so that’s all arranged and it should be ready in time. I’ve bought mosquito nets for all the beds. Oh, and some lovely hand-made pottery for the house. Once the furniture arrives then the dining room’s finished. Anna’s very impressed. She tells everyone in the village that we have a room just for eating in. Oh, and I’ve finished painting the kitchen. It really does look nice.’
Leon laughed. ‘It sounds as if you’ve been busy. Do you need any more money?’
‘No, I’m fine.’
‘Just ask Gikas if you need anything.’
‘I will.’
The line crackled and for a moment her husband’s voice broke up. ‘— he’ll be with you a couple of days early, to help.’
‘Sorry? I didn’t hear you?’
‘Nikos. I’ve given him a couple of days off. He’ll be with you early next week. Kati? Are you there? Do you hear me?’
She recovered herself. ‘Yes. Yes, I heard you.’
‘Adam and I will follow on Friday. We’re coming together. We’ll be on the evening boat. Nikos can meet us with the car.’
‘Fine. That’s fine.’ The hand that held the telephone had clenched to a fist. Very carefully she relaxed it.
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