Antonis now sauntered over to Andreas, who was oblivious to the nuances of his manner.
‘You live in Plaka, don’t you?’ Andreas said. ‘I want you to deliver this for me. Today.’
He handed over an envelope. Antonis did not need to look at it to know whose name was written on the outside.
‘I’ll take it some time,’ he said with feigned indifference, folding the letter in two and stuffing it into the back pocket of his trousers.
‘I want it delivered today,’ said Andreas sternly. ‘Don’t forget.’
The engine of his truck started up noisily and Andreas hurriedly reversed out of the field, whipping the dry earth into a filthy cloud that lingered in the air and filled Antonis’s lungs with dust.
‘Why should I take your bloody letter?’ Antonis yelled as Andreas disappeared from sight. ‘God damn you!’
He knew this letter would seal his own misery but he also knew he had no choice but to make sure it was safely handed over. Andreas Vandoulakis would soon find out if he had failed in his task and there would be hell to pay. All day long the crisp envelope sat in his pocket. It crackled whenever he sat down and he tortured himself with thoughts of ripping it up, crushing it into a tight ball and hurling it into a ravine, or of watching it burn slowly in the small fire he had made to dispose of some of the debris from his day’s wood-cutting. But the one thing he had not been tempted to do was open it. He could not bear to read it. Not that he needed to. It was perfectly obvious what it would say.
Anna was surprised to find Antonis standing on her doorstep early that evening. He had knocked on the door, hoping not to find her in, but there she was, with that same broad-mouthed smile that was so indiscriminately flashed at whoever crossed her path.
‘I have a letter for you,’ said Antonis before she had time to speak. ‘It’s from Andreas Vandoulakis.’ The words stuck in his throat but he found a perverse satisfaction in disciplining himself to say them without betraying the slightest emotion. Anna’s eyes widened with unconcealed excitement.
‘Thank you,’ she said, taking the now limp and crumpled envelope from him, careful not to meet his gaze. It was as though she had forgotten the fervour of their embrace. Had it meant nothing to her? wondered Antonis. At the time it had seemed like a beginning, but now he could see that the kiss which for him had been so full of expectation and anticipation had for her been merely the grasping of a moment of pleasure.
She shifted from one foot to the other and he could see that she was impatient to open the letter and wanted him gone. Taking a step back, she said goodbye and closed the door. As it banged shut it was as though he had been slapped in the face.
Inside the house, Anna sat down at the low table and with trembling hands opened the envelope. She wanted to savour the moment. What was she going to find? An articulate outpouring of passion? Words that exploded on the page like fireworks? Sentiments as moving as the sight of a shooting star on a clear night? Like any eighteen-year-old girl anticipating such poetry, she was bound to be disappointed by the letter on the table in front of her:
Dear Anna,
I wish to meet you again. Please would you come to lunch with your father on Sunday next. My mother and father look forward to meeting you both.
Yours,
Andreas Vandoulakis
Though the content excited her, taking her one step closer to her escape from Plaka, the formality of the letter chilled her. Anna thought that because Andreas had enjoyed a superior education he might be masterful with words, but there was about as much emotion in this hastily scribbled note as in the dreary books of ancient Greek grammar that she had been happy to leave behind with her school days.
The lunch duly took place, and many thereafter. Anna was always chaperoned by her father in accordance with the strict etiquette observed by people both rich and poor for such situations. On the first half-dozen occasions, father and daughter were collected at midday by a servant in Alexandros Vandoulakis’s car, taken to the grand porticoed town house in Neapoli and returned home again at three-thirty precisely. The pattern was always the same. On arrival they would be shown into an airy reception room where every piece of furniture was covered with throws of intricate, ornately embroidered white lace and a huge dresser gleamed with a display of fine, almost translucent china. Here Eleftheria Vandoulakis would offer them a small plate of sweet preserve and a tiny glass of liqueur, waiting to receive the empty plates and glasses on a tray once they had finished. Then they all processed into the gloomy dining room, where oil paintings of fierce moustachioed ancestors glared down from panelled walls. Even here the formalities continued. Alexandros would appear and, crossing himself, would say, ‘Welcome,’ to which the visitors replied in unison with the words: ‘I am fortunate to be with you.’ It was the same on each occasion, until Anna knew, almost to the minute, what would happen when.
Visit after visit they perched on elaborately carved high-backed chairs at the dark overpolished table, politely accepting every course that was brought to them. Eleftheria did all she could to make her guests feel relaxed; many years earlier she had been through the same ordeal when she was vetted by the previous generation of the Vandoulakis family for her suitability as Alexandros’s wife, and she remembered the unbearable stiffness of it all as though it was yesterday. In spite of the woman’s kind efforts, however, conversation was stilted and both Giorgis and Anna were painfully conscious that they were on trial. It was to be expected. If this was a courtship, and no one had yet defined it as such, there were terms of engagement that needed to be established.
By the time of the seventh meeting, the Vandoulakis family had decamped to the sprawling house on the large estate in Elounda which was where they spent the months between September and April. Anna was now growing impatient. She and Andreas had not been alone together since the dance they had had in May, and, as she moaned one evening to Fotini and her mother, ‘That was hardly being on our own, with the whole village watching us! Why does it all take so long?’
‘Because if it’s the right thing for both of you and for both families there is no need to hurry,’ answered Savina, wisely.
Anna, Maria and Fotini were at the Angelopoulos house, supposedly being instructed on their needlework. In reality they were all there to chew over the ‘Vandoulakis situation’, as it was referred to. By now Anna was feeling like an animal at the local market being sized up for her suitability. Perhaps she should have kept her sights lower after all. She was determined not to let her enthusiasm wane, however. She had turned eighteen, her school days were long past and she had only one ambition: to marry well.
‘I’ll just treat the next few months as a waiting game,’ she said. ‘And anyway, there’s Father to look after in the meantime. ’
It was Maria, naturally, who was really taking care of Giorgis and who knew that she would remain in the home for some while longer, putting aside her own remote dream of becoming a teacher. She bit her tongue, however. It wasn’t a good idea to seek confrontation with Anna at the best of times.
It took until spring of the following year for Alexandros Vandoulakis to satisfy himself that, in spite of the differences in their wealth and social situation, it would not be a mistake if his son made Anna his bride. She was, after all, exceedingly handsome, bright enough and clearly devoted to Andreas. One day, after yet another lunch, the two fathers returned to the reception room alone. Alexandros Vandoulakis was blunt.
‘We are all aware of the inequality of this potential union but we are satisfied that it will not cause repercussions on either side. My wife has persuaded me that Andreas will be happier with your daughter than with any other woman he has ever met, so as long as Anna performs her duties as wife and mother we can find no real objections.’
‘I can’t offer you much of a dowry,’ said Giorgis, stating the obvious.
‘We are perfectly aware of that,’ replied Alexandros. ‘Her dowry would be her promise to be a good wife and to do all she can in help
ing to manage the estate. It’s a significant job and needs a good woman in the wings. I’ll be retiring in a few years and Andreas will have a great deal on his shoulders. ’
‘I am sure she’ll do her best,’ Giorgis said simply. He felt out of his depth. The scale of this family’s power and wealth intimidated him, reflected as it was in the size of everything with which they surrounded themselves: the big dark furniture, the lavish rugs and tapestries and the valuable icons that hung on the walls were all a manifestation of this family’s significance. But it did not matter whether he felt at home here, he told himself. What mattered was whether Anna could really become accustomed to such grandeur. There was no evidence that she felt anything but perfectly at ease in the Vandoulakis home, even though it was, to him, as alien as a foreign country. Anna could sip delicately from a glass, eat daintily and say the right things as though she had been born to do it. He, of course, knew that she was simply acting a role.
‘What is as important as anything is that her basic education has been a good one. Your wife taught her well, Kyrie Petrakis.’
At the mention of Eleni, Giorgis maintained his silence. The Vandoulakis family knew that Anna’s mother had died a few years earlier, but more than that he did not intend them to find out.
When they returned home that afternoon, Maria was waiting for them. It was as if she knew that this meeting had been a crucial one.
‘Well?’ she said. ‘Has he asked you?’
‘Not yet,’ replied Anna. ‘But I know it’s going to happen, I just know it.’
Maria knew that what her sister wanted more than anything in the world was to become Anna Vandoulakis, and she wanted it for her too. It would take her out of Plaka and into the other world she had always fantasised about where she would not have to cook, clean, darn or spin.
‘They’re not under any illusions,’ said Anna. ‘They know what sort of house we live in and they know that I’m not bringing a fortune with me, just a few pieces of jewellery that were Mother’s, that’s all—’
‘So they know about Mother?’ interrupted Maria with incredulity.
‘Only that Father is widowed,’ Anna retorted. ‘And that’s all they’re going to know.’ The conversation was closed, as if it was a box with a sprung lid.
‘So what happens next?’ asked Maria, steering them both away from danger.
‘I wait,’ said Anna. ‘I wait until he asks me. But meanwhile it’s torture and I’m going to die if he doesn’t do it soon.’
‘He will, I’m sure. He obviously loves you. Everyone says so.’
‘Who’s everyone?’ Anna asked sharply.
‘I don’t know really, but according to Fotini everyone on the estate seems to think so.’
‘And what does Fotini know?’
Maria knew that she had said too much. Though there had been few secrets between these girls in days gone by, over the past few months this had changed. Fotini had confided in Maria about her brother’s infatuation with Anna and how it aggravated him to hear all the estate workers talk of nothing but the impending engagement between their master’s son and the girl from the village. Poor Antonis.
Anna bullied Maria until she told her.
‘It’s Antonis. He’s obsessed with you, you must know that. He tells Fotini all the estate gossip and everyone’s saying that Andreas is about to ask you to marry him.’
For a moment Anna basked in the knowledge that she was the focus of discussion and speculation. She loved to know she was the centre of attention and wanted to know more.
‘What else are they saying? Go on, Maria, tell me!’
‘They’re saying he’s marrying beneath him.’
It was not what Anna expected and certainly not what she wanted to hear. She responded with vehemence.
‘What do I care about what they think? Why shouldn’t I marry Andreas Vandoulakis? I certainly wouldn’t have married someone like Antonis Angelopoulos. He doesn’t own more than the shirt he stands up in!’
‘That’s no way to talk about our best friend’s brother - and anyway, the reason he has nothing is that he was away fighting for his country while other people stayed at home and lined their own pockets.’
Maria’s parting shot was one barbed comment too many for Anna’s liking. She hurled herself at her sister, and Maria, as ever when she became embroiled in an argument with the unrestrained Anna, chose not to retaliate. She fled from the house and, being a faster runner than Anna, was soon out of sight in the maze of little streets at the far end of the village.
Maria was a mistress of restraint. Unlike her volatile sister, whose feelings, thoughts and actions were simultaneously played out for all to see, she was thoughtful. Generally she kept her feelings and opinions to herself, observing that outbursts of emotion or careless words were often regretted. In the past few years she had learned to control her feelings better than ever. In this way she kept up the appearance of being contented, largely to protect her father. Sometimes, however, she would allow herself the luxury of a spontaneous outburst, and when it came, it could have the impact of a clap of thunder on a cloudless day.
In spite of the opinions of the estate workers and the residual misgivings of Alexandros Vandoulakis, the engagement took place in April. The pair had been left alone in the gloomy drawing room after dinner, which had been an even stiffer event than usual. The anticipation of the engagement had been such that when the moment finally came and Andreas asked for her hand, Anna felt little emotion. She had played the scene through in her mind so often that when it actually took place it was as though she were an actress on a stage. She felt numb, unreal.
‘Anna,’ said Andreas. ‘I have something to ask you.’
There was nothing romantic, imaginative or even remotely magical about the proposal. It was as functional as the floor-boards they stood on.
‘Will you marry me?’
Anna had reached her goal, winning a bet with herself and cocking a snook at those who might have thought she was not up to marriage into a landed family. These were her first thoughts as she accepted Andreas’s hand and kissed him fully and passionately on the lips for the first time.
As was customary during a period of engagement, gifts were then lavished on Anna by her future in-laws. Beautiful clothes, silk underwear and expensive trinkets were purchased for her so that, although her own father could provide very little, she would not be lacking for anything by the time she finally became a Vandoulakis.
‘It’s as though every day is my saint’s day,’ Anna said to Fotini, who had come to view the latest array of luxury items that had been delivered from Iraklion. The small house in Plaka overflowed with the scent of extravagance, and in this post-occupation period, when a pair of silk stockings was out of reach for all but the wealthiest women, Anna’s trousseau was a spectacle that all the girls queued up to see. The oyster-coloured satin camisoles and nightgowns that sat in boxes between layers of crinkly tissue paper were the stuff of Hollywood movies. When she lifted some of the items out to show her friends, the fabric ran between her fingers like water spilling into a pool. They were beyond even her own wildest dreams.
A week before the wedding itself took place, work began in Plaka on the traditional crown of bread. Leavened seven times, a large circle of dough was decorated with intricate patterns of a hundred flowers and fronds, and in the final stage of its baking was glazed to a golden brown. The unbroken circle symbolised the bride’s intention to stay with her husband from beginning to end. Meanwhile, at the Vandoulakis home, Andreas’s sisters began work on decorating the nuptial quarters at the couple’s future home with silk cloth and wreaths of ivy, pomegranates and laurel leaves.
A lavish party had been thrown to celebrate the engagement, and for the wedding itself in March of the following year, no expense was spared. Before the service, which was to take place in Elounda, the guests arrived at the Vandoulakis home. They were a curious mix. Wealthy people from Elounda, Agios Nikolaos and Neapoli mixed with the es
tate workers and dozens of folk from Plaka. When they caught sight of Anna, the people from her old village gasped. Enough gold coins to fill a bank vault jangled across her chest and heavily jewelled earrings hung from her ears. She glittered in the spring light, and in the rich red of her traditional bridal gown she could have stepped from the Tales of the Arabian Nights.
Giorgis looked at her with pride and some bemusement, marvelling that this was his own daughter. She was almost unrecognisable. He wished at this more than any other moment that Eleni was here to see their firstborn looking so beautiful. He wondered what she would have thought about Anna moving into such an important family. So much of his elder daughter reminded him of his wife, but there was also a part of her that was completely unfamiliar. It seemed an impossibility that he, a humble fisherman, could have anything to do with this vision.
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