‘But you’ve spares?’ asked Brett.
Brown shook his head. ‘We fitted them at Malta. No, sir. It means sending to England for them. With your permission, I’ll write a note to go by the packet.’
‘And in the meantime?’
‘Sail only, I’m afraid. Of course, with that jury rig of Mr. Alex’s we’re not so bad as we used to be, but it’s no good thinking we’d have a chance of getting away if we were to meet any more of those pirates.’
‘And the packet takes six weeks or so each way,’ said Jenny. ‘Oh poor Miss Vannick, what are we to do?’
‘To begin with,’ said her brother, ‘we must wait till we hear what Alex has to say. But I’m afraid Brown’s right, Phyllida. With steam, and a good lookout, I might consider venturing again into Greek waters with you three ladies, but you must see—’ His look was appealing.
‘I do indeed.’ It was one thing for her to risk herself and her aunt, quite another to take Jenny into such danger. And it was she herself who had urged that he let Jenny stay.
‘Miss Vannick, I am so sorry.’ Jenny was no fool. ‘You mustn’t mind about me, Brett. I think an encounter with pirates would be the most romantic thing.’
‘It’s not, you know,’ said Phyllida. ‘And I thought you were to call me by my name.’
‘Oh, thank you.’ And then, heroically. ‘If it’s only I who prevents you from going, you could leave me behind with Mrs. Biddock.’
‘No.’ Phyllida and Cassandra said it in the same breath. ‘Let’s not worry too much about it for now,’ Phyllida went on. ‘There’s nothing to be done anyway until Alex gets here.’ It frightened her that they had all been assuming he would bring news that Peter was alive.
‘And who, pray, is Alex?’ Jenny had been longing to ask the question.
* * *
The Philip swooped into harbour two days later and Phyllida’s heart beat fast as she watched the dramatic landfall she had seen on Spetsai.
Ten minutes later, she greeted Alex with an eager question. ‘Any news?’
‘Do you think I would look so happy if I had none, kyria? I would have shipped a black sail, I think, rather than raise your hopes for nothing.’
‘You mean?’
‘He’s alive. That’s certain. I talked to a man who actually saw him in the hills.’
‘Oh, thank God.’ Tears trickled unchecked down her cheeks. ‘And thank you, Alex. There was no danger?’
‘There’s always danger. Serving you, who cares?’ He broke off to stare past her. ‘But who is the nereid?’
‘The—? Oh, you mean Mr. Renshaw’s sister. She has just joined us from England.’ Making the inevitable introductions, she watched, without pleasure, as Alex fixed his admiring glance on Jenny.
‘I thought you a water-nymph,’ he told her. ‘The genius of the harbour.’
‘“No spirit, sir”,’ she quoted, and laughed, and coloured. ‘So you’re the hero who rescued them all? I must say’—thoughtfully—‘you look just as a hero should.’
‘Thank you, kyria.’
‘“Kyria”? That’s pretty. What does it mean?’
‘It means “My lady”.’
‘Very pretty too, I must say,’ she went on approvingly, ‘you speak beautiful English.’
‘My brother Petros taught me. Each time I mispronounced a word, I had to pay a forfeit.’
‘A forfeit. How do you mean?’
‘Oh.’ Carelessly. ‘Bring him a Turk’s head. Something like that.’
‘Ugh. Horrid.’ She turned a little away from him, and then, eagerly. ‘But is there news?’
‘Of Petros. Yes.’ He repeated what he had told Phyllida.
‘Oh, I am so glad. But what now?’
‘I’m afraid, once again, there is nothing for it but to wait,’ Alex said. ‘I am only happy that you’—to Phyllida—’will be able to do so in such good company. The word is,’ he explained, ‘that Karaiskakis has gone across the mountains to join the defenders of Athens. Well, it’s the logical thing for him to have done. I am on my way back to Nauplia now. I shall hope to get in touch with Petros and tell him you await him here.’
‘But can’t we come with you?’ Phyllida explained quickly about her chartering of the Helena. ‘It would have to be under sail, I’m afraid, since our engines aren’t working.’
‘Yes, so I’d heard.’ He was well informed. ‘And—I’m sorry, kyria, but this time I bear messages that brook no delay. I should not really have stopped here. I must give the Philip wings to make up for this happy visit. And your poor Helena—’ A rueful glance drew their eyes upward to the mast he had rigged. ‘But I promise you, so soon as there is news, you shall have it, if all Greece suffers for my absence. Or, best of all, I will bring Petros here to you.’
He would not even stay to dine. ‘The sooner I leave you, the sooner I shall return.’ He kissed first Phyllida’s hand, then Jenny’s. Did he hold it a little longer than he had hers, Phyllida wondered, and disliked herself as she did so. But no wonder if he did … Jenny in sprigged muslin for dinner was more enchanting than ever.
‘Isn’t he beautiful?’ Jenny gazed after Alex as he rowed away towards the Philip. ‘The Corsair, and Lara and all the rest of them rolled into one. Much, much better than Lord Byron himself, poor man, from all one hears about him. Oh, Phyllida, I am so glad I came.’
‘Yes.’ Still watching Alex, Phyllida was ashamed not to be able to manage a greater show of enthusiasm. Characteristically, she turned the conversation into a practical channel. ‘The question is,’ she said, ‘what’s to do now. Three months till there’s a hope of our getting spare (what were they called?—dudgeons?) from England, and God knows how long till Alex returns. I love the Helena dearly, but I think I shall hire a house on shore. You’ll persuade your brother that you and he should come and stay with us? Even here, under British rule, I don’t think my aunt and I would feel safe without a man in the house.’
‘What a story!’ Jenny laughed. ‘I may only have known you three days, but you can’t tell me you’re afraid of anything. Of course I’ll help persuade B, but I think you’re much more likely to bring it off.’ And, with a wicked smile. ‘I shall enjoy watching you play the timid maiden.’
‘A trifle ridiculous after my experiences?’ Phyllida just failed to hit the light note she had intended, and turned, with relief, to greet her aunt. ‘The very person. Jenny and I decided to take a house in Zante. It only remains to persuade Brett that we can’t do without him to protect us. How do we set about that?’
‘You might try asking me.’ Brett had followed Cassandra out on to the deck. ‘I’m not completely unapproachable, I believe. Of course we’ll be your guests, Jen and I, if you are so good as to invite us.’
‘Oh, bliss,’ said Jenny. ‘A proper bedroom at last.’ And, later, to Phyllida: ‘You’re a magician, that’s all. To think I should see the day when Brett consents to be indebted to a woman! But he won’t take my jewels.’
‘I should think not indeed.’ And then, to change the subject. ‘I suppose I shall have to see Mr. Biddock about a house.’
‘Let Brett do it for you. He’d like to, I’m sure. And it will spare you that dreadful woman.’
‘And those little boys.’ Phyllida’s first instinct had been to say that, since she was to pay for the house, she would prefer to choose it herself, but she restrained herself, recognising the soundness of Jenny’s advice. She was glad she had when Brett accepted the commission with pleasure. He spent several days on shore with Mr. Biddock, returning in the evening with comic tales of the hovels he had been shown.
‘You see,’ Jenny said to Phyllida, ‘he’s enjoying every minute of it. He looks much better. I was worried about him when I got here.’
‘Yes.’ Phyllida would never tell her now right she had been to worry. ‘I’m grateful to you, Jenny.’ Would Alex, too, prefer a woman who needed to be looked after, to have her decisions made for her? And, yes, she told herself ruefully, he certainly wou
ld. Cassandra, watching with quiet affection, saw her begin to practise a quite un-American submissiveness and felt at once pleased and sorry for her. Nor was she surprised to see her niece embark on a perfect orgy of shopping. When Alex returned, Jenny would not be the only one wearing sprigged muslin.
Thanks to Mrs. Biddock’s unbridled tongue, Phyllida was already famous in Zante as a mad American millionairess, and she was surprised and delighted at the service she received. When Brett came on board, triumphant, one airless Friday night, he forgot his errand at sight of her. ‘Good God, Phyllida!’
‘You like it?’ Her new dresses had been sent aboard that afternoon and she was wearing a cool, dark cotton, gold-edged with a characteristic Greek design. ‘I’m finding it quite hard to get used to skirts, after all this time.’ She let him help her down the companion-way.
‘Like it! You look like Astarte herself. But I am ashamed. Do you know I had entirely forgotten that you were still in mourning.’
‘Oh, poor Papa,’ she looked down at her dark skirts. ‘I’m afraid I sometimes forget myself. One can’t, can one, go on being unhappy for ever?’
‘No indeed. Even broken hearts mend—’ But they were at the saloon door.
‘What news?’ Jenny jumped up to greet them. ‘I know that look of yours, B, as if you’d swallowed the canary. You’ve got us a house?’
‘I think so, if Phyllida approves. I was so amazed at her transformation that I quite forgot to tell her.’
‘Isn’t she lovely?’ Jenny looked fondly at Phyllida. ‘When Alex gets back he’ll tell you you’re Hera—just see if he doesn’t.’ And then, aware that this was, for some reason, not a lucky remark. ‘But, quick, B. Tell us about the house?’
‘I hope you’ll like it.’ He turned to Phyllida. ‘It belonged to an Italian family who have gone back to Venice. I doubt if you will do better. It’s big—and expensive, I’m afraid—you might easily imagine yourself in a Florentine Palazzo.’
‘I mightn’t,’ said Phyllida cheerfully, ‘not having ever seen one, but if you think it will do, Brett, let us by all means take it. As to expense, who cares! I’ve always wanted to live in a palace.’
“Well, you did, didn’t you,’ said Jenny. ‘In Constantinople.’
‘Goodness!’ To her aunt’s delight, Phyllida laughed. ‘So I did. But it was not, somehow, quite the same thing. Shall we all go and see your palace tomorrow, Brett?’
‘I have already arranged it with Mr. Biddock.’
* * *
The Palazzo Baroti stood high on Strani Hill. ‘It’s quite the best part of town.’ Mr. Biddock had been knocked sideways by the sight of Phyllida in flowing skirts of midnight blue cambric and had not left her side during the hot climb up through the town. ‘You’ll have the poet Solomos for one of your neighbours. He’s quite in the first society, here in Zante, even though he is a Greek. He actually writes his poetry in modern Greek.’
‘And why not?’ Phyllida suppressed a sharper retort. She must not alienate her man of business, however much his parrotting of his gossipy wife might annoy her.
They were all entranced by the house, with its arcaded central courtyard and high vine-covered terrace commanding a wide view of the mainland and the Gulf of Corinth.
‘You can see Missolonghi on a clear day,’ Biddock told Phyllida. ‘You like it, Miss Vannick?’
‘Oh yes.’ She turned impulsively to Brett. ‘Thank you so much for finding it. When can we move in, Mr. Biddock?’
‘As soon as I can find you servants. My wife is on the lookout already for a suitable housekeeper for you.’
‘Oh no!’ Phyllida’s reaction was instinctive. At no price would she have anyone recommended by Cissie Biddock. And then, quickly recovering herself. ‘It’s wonderfully kind of Mrs. Biddock—’ She paused, searching vainly for a suitable excuse.
‘But we won’t need servants,’ said Brett. ‘With the crew of the Helena idle on our hands. It would be a real kindness if you’d employ such of them as you need, Miss Vannick.’
‘Men?’ Biddock was scandalised.
‘Why not?’ said Phyllida. ‘If they can look after us on board, they can ashore. Of course we’ll have them, Brett. And an interpreter, perhaps, for the shopping? I can’t make head or tail of the dialogue they speak here on Zante. It sounds more like Italian than Greek to me.’
‘And no wonder,’ said Brett, ‘since the place was occupied by the Venetians for so long. But it’s true; we shall need a dragoman if we’re to be ashore for any length of time. I should have had one in the first place, if I’d had any sense. Can you find us someone, Biddock?’
‘And a cook,’ said Phyllida. ‘I really don’t think your admirable man would be happy here, Brett. Besides, when in Greece…’
‘Eat Greek food?’ He laughed. ‘I hope we don’t all live to regret it.’
Chapter 11
That was an extraordinary, idyllic interlude on Zante. The sun shone; grapes ripened on the vines; Marcos, their Greek interpreter, took them on moonlit autumn evenings to the wine festivals at neighbouring villages. Eating lamb roasted whole over fires flavoured with rosemary, drinking the light new wine and watching the endless, circular dancing of the Romaika, it was hard to realise what was happening in Greece.
But in the daytime, they could often see, from the vine-hung shade of their terrace, a pall of smoke over the mainland that meant Ibrahim and his Turks were at their work of devastation again. The new Commissioner for the Ionian Islands, Sir Frederick Adam, was more kindly disposed towards the Greeks than his eccentric predecessor had been, and pitiful families of refugees were often to be seen camped in the square by the harbour, waiting to be taken to the refuge that had been set apart for them on the island of Kalamos. Brett did his best to protect Phyllida from their tales of outrage. She spoke little of her anxiety for Peter—so little that he sometimes found himself wondering, gloomily, whether it was only for Peter that she was anxious. They had been on Zante nearly three months now. The harvest was all in, and the nights were getting colder. On the mainland, snow picked out the higher mountain peaks against the dark sky of morning or evening. And still there was no word from Alex.
‘Perhaps he can’t write,’ suggested Jenny, only half in jest.
‘Nonsense,’ said Phyllida, rather more sharply than she intended. ‘He went to a Lancasterian school, here on the Ionian islands. He’s as well educated as you or me.’
‘Better than me, I expect,’ said Jenny pacifically. ‘Or than I used to be—’ This with a special smile for Cassandra who had taken her firmly in hand once they had got settled at the Palazzo Baroti. ‘If we’re really going to be here all winter, I might even be able to spell it by spring.’
‘I can’t imagine what those governesses of yours were thinking of,’ said Cassandra.
‘Elegant accomplishments, of course, and the backboard. Now if we only had a harp—’
‘Thank God we haven’t.’ Brett had joined them in the Palazzo’s high-ceilinged saloon. ‘If your playing is anything like your singing—’
‘Darling B, it’s much worse. I can’t tell you how I hated it. And Aunt Matilda listening with that frozen face of hers and wondering how she would ever help me to a husband. I do wish we had quarrelled with those two years ago. It’s Aunt Matilda’s doing now, you know. She never liked either of us above half, and she and Helena were thick as thieves. You should have heard them convincing each other that it would never do for me to be bridesmaid at that wedding of yours. I was far too volatile, they said. Of course I knew what they meant.’
‘What did they mean?’ Was Brett actually prepared to discuss that disastrous wedding day?
‘Why…’ Jenny jumped up and ran to the window to look at her own reflection against the darkening sky outline. ‘That Helena and I are both blondes, and both beautiful. The difference is that I’m seventeen and she’s thirty.’
‘Thirty!’
‘Ha!’ Delighted. ‘I thought that would surprise you. Well, it di
d me. It’s the best kept secret since the South Sea Bubble. But she’s thirty all right. I met an old nurse of hers, once, and she told me. And not much else that was good of her either. That was a lucky escape of yours, B, and no mistake. Of course she was mad to let you go, but then she never did have much sense. I wonder if she caught the other fish…’
‘The other what?’
‘Poor darling B. You never knew, did you, any more than Uncle Paul. Well, of course, you two stayed in the country, most of the time. There was an old, old stick of an Earl dangling after her in town, and she never could make up her mind, poor Helena, between being a Countess for certain or a Duchess perhaps. Of course, when the real Duchess had that boy, there was no question what she’d do, but I’m not sure she did it right. Making you jilt her in church may have cooked your goose with Uncle Paul, but I rather fancy it cooked hers with the Earl. Jilting’s infectious, you know. She hadn’t heard from him for several weeks when I came away, and was turning yellower by the minute.’
‘Jenny!’ Cassandra had been listening to this conversation with mounting disapproval. ‘That’s quite enough. Besides, it’s time you practised your singing.’
‘With that horrible piano!’ Jenny pulled a face, then bent to give Cassandra a quick hug. ‘Never mind, it’s better than the harp. And, darling Aunt Cass, forgive me if I’ve shocked you, but don’t you think, really, it’s best to have things out in the open? Aunt Matilda and Helena were always whispering in corners—I hated it!’
‘Just the same,’ Cassandra turned to Brett as the sound of a one-finger accompaniment and unenthusiastic shakes began to falter out from the room next door. ‘I’m worried about her, Brett. What’s going to happen to her? She ought to be coming out this winter, establishing herself in life!’
‘I know.’ It was almost a groan. ‘You can’t be half as worried about her as I am. Sometimes I almost wish I had sent her back that day, on the packet…’
‘Surely not after what she’s told us tonight.’
‘You’re right, of course. I never saw much of my uncle’s wife. As Jenny said, she preferred the town and spent most of her time there. I never liked town life much—nor my aunt either, I’m afraid. I’m ashamed now that it never occurred to me what it must have been like for Jen. I’ve not been much use to her, poor child, and now, what’s to become of her is more than I like to think of.’
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