by Anne Weale
Without looking at her, Lucia said, "Do you think she can make him happy? You know him so well. Do you really believe they are suited?"
Maria hesitated. "In this life, nothing is perfect," she said, on a wry note. "Even my happiness with Raoul was not quite perfect, because we could not have children." She paused. "Yes, I believe they are suited. They could be very happy together. But it's up to her to give him a sign ... a word." She smiled. "Knowing Nico, I don't think he will need much encouragement. But all men need a little . . . just a little."
It was some time after she had gone away before Lucia got up. Was Maria right? Would her sister make Nicholas happy? Maria knew him, but what did she know of Cathy? She might be a very wise woman, but apparently she had not divined how Lucia felt about her cousin. If she had, she would never have appealed to her to check Cathy's foolishness.
If only I were sure that they would be happy, thought Lucia, biting her knuckles. But I'm not sure . . . I'm not sure at all.
Shortly before one o'clock, Grant and Cathy returned. Maria offered him a drink and then, when he showed no sign of leaving, was virtually forced to ask him to stay to lunch. He would have remained at the house all afternoon if Nicholas had not said the girls must rest. At this, Grant asked what their plans for the evening were.
"We're going to see the Parthenon by moonlight. Why don't you come with us?" Cathy suggested.
"Yes, why don't you, Wallace?" agreed Nicholas, looking at him without a sign of the leashed exasperation which he must be feeling.
So, after arranging to come back at eight o'clock, Grant at last took his leave, and the others retired to their bedrooms.
When the house was silent, Lucia went softly down to Cathy's room on the floor below. It was very hot, and her sister was sitting at the dressing-table in her bra and briefs, creaming off her make-up.
"Whew! Isn't it stifling? It must be like an oven here in the summer," she said, as Lucia came in and closed the door.
"Yes, I expect it is. Can I borrow some of your nail varnish remover? I've used up my bottle."
"Help yourself." Cathy tossed some tissues into the waste basket, and began to peel off her false eyelashes. "What did you do this morning? Anything interesting?"
"No - 1 didn't wake up until late. Maria brought me breakfast in bed, and we talked for a while."
"I wonder why she isn't married?" Cathy murmured.
"She's really quite glamorous for her age. A bit too bosomy and hippy, but her legs are still good, and I love her clothes."
There was a pause until, abruptly, Lucia said, "Do you still want to marry Nicholas ?"
Her sister now had taken off both lashes and, with a pair of tweezers, was carefully removing shreds of adhesive from them. Without looking up from this task, she said, "Why do you ask?"
"Because, if you do, you must stop flirting with Grant. Nicholas loves you. I heard him say so to his sister at Marina. But he won't tell you if you go on making a fool of him."
Cathy looked at her then. "Well, well... you do surprise me. I thought your mission in life was to prove that he didn't want to marry me?"
"That was some time ago, when I didn't know much about him. Now I know for certain that he does care for you," Lucia answered, in a low voice.
Cathy swung round on the stool. "Then it's a pity he didn't say so before we left that dreary island. Because now it's too late. I'm afraid I shall have to disappoint him."
"What?' Lucia stared at her. "Cathy, you can't mean that? He loves you. He really loves you."
"He'll get over it," Cathy said carelessly. "I hate to admit it, but you were right in the first place. He is too old for me. We had a good time in London, but now he seems different somehow. Perhaps it's because he's in love with me. I liked him better when he wasn't. He was more exciting then. Now he's really quite dull - not half as much fun as Grant."
"Oh, God! You heartless little beast!" Lucia flared, with passionate contempt. "How can you dismiss him like that? He's worth ten of that silly boy."
Cathy rolled her eyes, and gave an exaggerated sigh. "Here we go again! Now it's Grant you're against. The trouble with you is you're jealous. You haven't a man in your life, so you don't want me to have one either. You've never approved of anyone - and you never will. You don't care about me. Sometimes I think you hate me. But you're scared of being left alone ... of being an old dried-up spinster. Oh!" She gave a cry of pain as her sister's palm struck her cheek.
For a moment, they stared at each other, equally shocked. Then, shaking, hardly knowing what she was doing, Lucia stumbled from the room.
She did not go back to her own room. She went downstairs, and left the house. And all that sultry afternoon, while the shops were shut, and the kafenions deserted, she walked and walked the narrow streets of the Plaka. Such few people as were about stared at her pale, set fare. She passed diem by without seeing them. She knew only that she must keep moving, she must not cry ...
"Lucia, we've been worried about you," Maria exclaimed, jumping up, as Lucia pushed open the gate and walked into the courtyard. "Oh, my dear, how hot and tired you look!"
Nicholas's greeting was less kindly. "Where the devil have you been?" he demanded.
Lucia had not expected to find all three of them sitting in the courtyard. She had hoped to slip up to her room without anyone knowing she had been out.
"Don't bark at her, Nico," said Maria.
He ignored her. "Where have you been?" he repeated sharply.
"Only for a walk," Lucia answered.
"A walk - at this time of day? You must be mad. Nobody walks round Athens in the afternoon. You were supposed to be resting, not haring about on your own till you're fit to drop. Look at yourself, girl! You're exhausted."
"Nico is cross because he was worried," Maria intervened soothingly. "Do be quiet, Nico. There's no need to make such a fuss. Lucia is not a little girl who would run across the street without looking. I told you there was no cause for alarm."
"You were anxious. So was Cathy. We all were," he reminded her curtly. Then, to Lucia, "You might have had the consideration to let someone know you were going out."
"I'm sorry," she said dully. "I didn't mean to worry you. I went further than I intended, and lost my bearings. Now, if you don't mind, I'll go up to change."
"Have a cool bath," Maria advised. "I'll send Elli up with a drink for you. Champagne, I think... we'll all have some. There is nothing like champagne for calming the nerves," she added, with a quizzical glance at Nicholas.
In her room, Lucia stared at her reflection in the mirror. Until that moment she had not realized what a sight she presented - her face and neck glistening with perspiration, her dress wilting, her hair all dusty and dishevelled. But at least she was in command of herself again. The blind, burning anger which had made her strike Cathy had died. She no longer wanted to fling herself down and weep. She felt only a profound tiredness.
She had had a bath, and drunk the champagne the maid had brought to her, and was slowly brushing her hair, when there was a tap at the door.
"I must talk to you. Please let me in," Cathy begged in a low, urgent voice.
Lucia laid down the brush. "The door isn't locked."
Cathy sidled into the room as warily as a timid child. She stood near the door, nervously fingering her watch- band.
"Lucia, I'm sorry about what I said," she blurted. "I didn't mean it - truly I didn't."
"It doesn't matter."
"But it does ... I feel terrible about it. When we found you weren't in the house, I was worried sick. I thought I might never see you again."
"Oh, don't be foolish," Lucia said wearily. "What did you imagine I might do? - Fling myself under a bus?"
"I don't know," Cathy hesitated. "I've never seen you so worked up before."
"Well, I think you've behaved despicably," Lucia answered, with cold calm. "But you'll never see things my way, so it's a waste of time talking to you. Just go away, and leave me in peace, will you
?"
"Oh dear, I've made such a mess of things," Cathy said, in a crushed voice. "Don't hate me, Lucia, please don't hate me. I never meant to get in this ghastly muddle. Until I met Grant, I honestly didn't realize love was important."
"Are you trying to convince me that you love him?" Lucia asked sceptically.
"Yes - because I do. I really do."
"The fact that his parents are even better off than Nicholas has nothing to do with it, I suppose?"
"No, nothing - 1 swear it. I'd feel the same if they were poor people. Oh, I know I haven't known him long, but the first time I met him I knew he was different... special. And he feels the same about me. He told me so this morning. We aren't properly engaged yet. We're going to wait till he comes to London in the autumn."
"Does he realize that, until you met him, you were all set to marry for money? Why does he think we've been staying with Nicholas?"
"Oh... I - I said Nico was an old friend of the family," Cathy said, flushing. Her blue eyes widened apprehensively. "You don't mean to tell him the truth, do you? You wouldn't do that to me?"
"I wouldn't - Nicholas might."
"Nico doesn't know about Grant and me. I mean he doesn't know we're in love."
"No, he thinks, as I did, that you're trying to make him jealous. If you go on flirting so blatantly, he may lose his temper and show that, as far as he's concerned, you belong to him. How will you explain that to Grant?"
"But I don't belong to him," Cathy objected. "He would have no right to say that."
"Wouldn't he?" I think he would. You were his girl when we arrived here."
Cathy sank down on the end of the bed. "What am I going to do?" she asked helplessly. "If Nico made a fuss it would ruin everything!"
"Well, perhaps he won't - if you stop goading him. Whatever happens, you must think of his feelings, Cathy. Don't hurt him more than you have to."
Her sister was silent for some minutes. "You couldn't tell him ... explain to him ...?" she began tentatively.
"No, I couldn't," Lucia said shortly. "You're responsible for this situation. It's up to you to deal with it. We shall be going home the day after tomorrow. There isn't much time left. If Nicholas intends to settle the matter before we leave, you'll have to tell him the truth - that you've changed your mind. If I were you, I shouldn't bring Grant into it. You may change your mind about him before the autumn."
Cathy said, "You don't believe I do love him, do you? You don't think I'm capable of love?"
"I don't know. I don't think you've known him long enough to be certain of anything. Now we'd better finish dressing."
They dined at a small sea-food restaurant. Maria had invited a friend to join them. He was a commercial artist called Mikailis - his surname was unpronounceable to non-Greeks - and he was also a natural comedian, with a fund of humorous observations. He made the party seem very gay, and even Grant was convulsed by his hilarious but not unkind anecdotes about American tourists' reactions to the marvels of Greece.
Cathy was very subdued that night, though for a time this was not noticeable because of Mikailis's jokes, and the delicious red mullet which was the place's speciality. However, towards the end of the meal, Grant noticed that Cathy lacked her usual sparkle.
"Is anything wrong, honey?" he asked.
"No, no, of course not," she said hastily, flickering a troubled glance at Nicholas who, at that moment, was talking to his cousin.
Grant leaned closer to her, and murmured something in her ear. Instead of giggling and fanning her lashes, as she had the night before, Cathy shifted uncomfortably. When, unobtrusively, he slipped his arm round her waist, she wriggled and gave him a look which said clearly- "Don't!" Poor Grant was mystified, Lucia saw. But while she was sorry for him, she could not feel much sympathy for her sister's dilemma.
After dinner, they set out to see the Parthenon. The Son et Lumiere performances did not start until May and, normally, the Acropolis was closed to sightseers at sunset. But on four nights each month when the moon was full, it was open from nine until midnight and, according to Nicholas and Maria, these were the best hours to visit it. During the day, it was always overrun with tourists, not to mention photographers, and touts selling postcards, sponges and tawdry souvenirs.
During their time in Athens, Lucia had become accustomed to the sight of the great limestone rock - a natural fortress - towering above the surrounding city. But as, squeezed in Maria's car, they drove up the winding way to the entrance below the Propylaea, she felt a mounting excitement at the thought that, presently, her feet would tread where, in the fifth century before Christ, Pericles had walked... and Socrates, Euripides and Hippocrates. Men whose names would live for ever, men who had changed the world.
To reach the 'upper city', they had first to pass beneath the immense Doric columns of the Propylaea, where the stones were still marked by chariot wheels. Nicholas took them to the little temple of Nike Apteros, where they could see right across the city to the sea, and the islands of the Saronic Gulf. Then they returned to the Propylaea from where the Sacred Way led up to the Parthenon.
As the party included three people who knew the Acropolis well, and three who had never seen it before, it was natural that they should separate into pairs. And it was by accident rather than design that Mikailis fell into step with Grant, and Maria with Cathy - leaving Nicholas to be Lucia's guide.
Long ago, the Sacred Way had been lined with statues. But now the slope to the summit of the plateau was scattered with slabs of rock and broken pillars. Nicholas took Lucia's, arm to steer her among them. It was probably the last time he would ever touch her, she thought.
He said, "By the way, I had a letter from Sofia this morning. You will be glad to know that all is well in that quarter."
She did not miss the slight emphasis. She said, "Yes, I am - very glad."
Apart from pointing out the place where, when the Parthenon was new, Phidias's great ivory and gold statue of the virgin goddess Athena had stood, he did not spoil her wonder by priming her with facts and figures. She already knew about the subtleties of the architecture, but nothing she had read had prepared her for the eternal splendour of the tapering moon-silvered columns.
Yet, in a way, its atmosphere chilled her, for it gave her a crushing sense of insignificance and loneliness. It was a place full of nameless ghosts - people who had once been young and vital, but whom, like Helen, time had turned to dust. Lucia wanted to put out her hand and feel the reassuring warmth of living flesh. But only Nicholas was near, and he was deep in his own thoughts, and as unapproachable as a stranger.
On their last day in Greece, they picnicked under a plane tree somewhere among the foothills of Mount Hymettus.
"I fear it will not be many years before all this is built over," said Maria regretfully, looking at the spring carpet of anemones which surrounded them. "What a pity you must leave tomorrow. If you could have stayed another week, we could have taken you to Delphi. But that must wait until next time..." She yawned, and lay down to doze.
"I'm going for a stroll. Will anyone join me?" asked Nicholas.
"It's too hot to move," said Cathy. She disliked picnics, but was making some effort to hide her boredom, although she could not conceal her nervousness whenever one of the many bees flew near to her.
He glanced at Lucia, and raised an interrogative eyebrow.
She knew he was only being polite, and shook her head. "No, thanks. I'm going to have a nap, too."
"As you please." With a shrugs he walked off.
Maria made an odd, hissing sound.
"What's the matter?" asked Cathy.
"It is nothing... something has bitten me," said Maria, a trifle irritably.
When they returned to her home, Grant was waiting for them in the courtyard. At the sight of him Cathy brightened. Then she recollected her sister's warning, and hastily veiled her eagerness.
Maria chose to stay at home when the other four went out to dinner that night. Lucia, too,
would have preferred a quiet supper at the house, but Cathy and Grant were eager to go out, and Nicholas also seemed in a restless mood.
It was not a convivial dinner party. Nicholas made no effort to be sociable, and to Lucia the food tasted like sawdust. Cathy was outwardly gay but, from time to time, she flickered a troubled glance at Nicholas. No doubt she was afraid that, before the evening was over, he would contrive a tête-à-tête with her.
While they were having coffee, and discussing where to go next, she left the table to go and powder her nose. The two men stood up and watched her walk away, Grant with admiration in his eyes, Nicholas with a look Lucia could not read.
Grant said, "Look, as this is our last night, why don't we split up for the rest of the evening? I'm sure you'd both be as glad of some time alone as we would." He grinned. "The English certainly are experts at hiding their feelings! I would never have guessed about you two if Cathy hadn't told me."
There was a moment of incredulous silence. Then, while Lucia was still aghast, Nicholas said, very quietly, "What did she tell you?"
"That you and Lucia feel the same way about each other as Cathy and I do," answered Grant, slightly puzzled. "Say, you aren't mad at her for telling me, are you? I know it isn't official yet, and she did say not to pass it on. But it was okay for her to tell me, wasn't it ?"
Lucia did not know where to look. But it was not personal embarrassment which made her face burn. Her pain and anger were for Nicholas. If Grant's thunderbolt had shocked her, what must it have done to him? He might not be showing it - she did not dare even to glance at him - but, inwardly, he must be reeling.
It was at this point that Cathy reappeared. Unaware that anything was amiss, she sauntered back to the table, smiling at Grant as he sprang up to draw out her chair.
Nicholas also rose. "I think you're right, Wallace. We should split up. You have no objection, have you, Lucia?"
She looked up at him then, and marvelled at his self- control. Even she, knowing his state of mind, could not see any sign of stress in his expression. But his calm was not reassuring. It alarmed her more than if he had shown some reaction. She had a dreadful feeling that, at any second, his control might snap, and something appalling would happen.