‘I knew you must have fallen in the sea, because of your dress and coat … and the bathroom, po po po. I have washed the dress, but the coat must go to a proper cleaner.’
‘Oh, goodness, yes, you mustn’t bother with it. Thanks very much for doing the dress, Miranda. Well, when you see Adoni, will you thank him for bringing these things? And for the message. That was all, that all was well?’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s fine,’ I said heartily. ‘I did wonder. Sir Julian wasn’t feeling well last night, and I was worried.’
She nodded. ‘He will be all right this morning.’
I stared for a moment, then realised that she knew exactly what my careful meiosis meant, and was untroubled by it. The Greek mind again; if a man chose to get drunk now and again, what did it matter except to himself? His women would accept it as they accepted all else. Life here had its shining simplicities.
‘I’m very glad,’ I said, and went out towards the pine woods.
As soon as I was out of sight of the house I left the path, and climbed higher through the woods, where the trees thinned, and a few scattered pines stood on top of the promontory. I spread my rug in the shade, and lay down. The ground was felted with pine needles, and here and there grew soft furry leaves of ground ivy, and the pretty, dull-pink orchids, and lilac irises flecked with white. The Castello was hidden from view by its trees, but from this height I could just see, on the southern headland, the roof of the Villa Rotha. The Forli house was visible below me. In the distance, beyond the sparkling sea, lay the mountains of Epirus. Their snow had almost gone, but further north the Albanian peaks still gleamed white. There, beneath them, would be the rocks where Spiro had gone ashore, and where Max had brought him off under the coastguards’ guns. And there, a coloured cluster under the violet hills of Epirus, was Igoumenitsa, where the ferry ran …
I had brought a book, but couldn’t read, and it was not long before I saw what I had been expecting: Godfrey, coming with an air of purpose along the path round the headland. He didn’t descend into the bay; just stood there, as if looking for someone who might have been on the beach or in the sea. He waited a little while, and I thought at one point that he was going to cross the sand and climb to the Forli house, but he didn’t. He hung around for a few minutes more, then turned and went back.
Some time later my eye was caught by a glimpse of moving white, a glint beyond the treetops that rimmed the sea; and presently a boat stole out under sail from beyond the further headland, cutting a curved path of white through the glittering blue.
I lay, chin on hand, watching her.
She was not unlike a boat that Leo had owned some years back, and on which I had spent a holiday one summer, the year I had left school. She was a powered sloop, perhaps thirty feet overall, Bermuda rigged, with – as far as I could make out – a mast that could be lowered. That this was so seemed probable, since from something Godfrey had said I assumed she was Dutch built, so might presumably be adapted for canal cruising, and negotiating low bridges. In any case I had gathered last night that she was customarily moored not in the bay, but in the boat-house; and even if this was built on the same lavish scale as the Castello, and designed to house several craft, it would have to be a vast place indeed to take the sloop’s forty-odd-foot mast. Her hull was sea-grey, with a white line at the bows. She was a lovely craft, and at any other time I would have lain dreamily admiring her sleek lines and the beauty of her canvas, but today I merely wondered about her speed – seven or eight knots, I supposed – and narrowed my eyes to watch the small black figure at the tiller, which was Godfrey.
The sea raced glittering along the grey hull (grey for camouflage?); the white wake creamed; she turned, beautiful, between me and the sun, and I could see no more of her except as a winged shape heading in a long tack out to sea, and then south, towards Corfu town.
‘Lucy?’ said the telephone.
‘Yes. Hullo. You’re very faint.’
‘Did you get the message from Adoni?’
‘Yes. Just that all was well, so I assumed you’d got away safely. I hope it still is?’
‘So far, a bit discouraging, but I’m still hoping. What about you?’
‘I’m fine, thank you, and all’s well here. Calm and normal, as far as I can see. Don’t worry about this end.’
‘Ah.’ A slight pause. Though I knew there was no one else in the house, I found myself glancing quickly around me. Max’s voice said, distant in my ear: ‘You know this libretto I came over here to discuss with that friend of mine? We’ve been talking over the story all afternoon now, and he’s not very keen on it. Says it’s not plausible. I’m not sure if I’m going to be able to persuade him to do much about it.’
‘I get it,’ I said, ‘but look this line’s all right. My sister’s out, and so is the other party on the line; I saw his boat go out, with him in it, quite a bit ago, and it’s not back yet. I’ve been watching till now. You can say what you like.’
‘Well, I’m not sure how good their English is at the Corfu Exchange,’ said Max, ‘but you’ll have gathered it’s not very good news in any language. We’ve been with the police all afternoon, and they’ve listened civilly enough, but they’re not inclined to take it all that seriously – certainly not to take action against our friend without some solid proof.’
‘If he were to be watched—?’
‘They’re inclined to think it’s not worth it. The general idea is that it’s only another spot of illegal trading, and no one’s prepared to take it seriously enough to spend money on investigating.’
‘Don’t they believe the boy’s story, then?’
He hesitated. ‘I can’t quite make that out. I don’t think they do. They think he may be mistaken, and they’re favouring the idea of an accident.’
‘A nice, trouble-free verdict,’ I said dryly. ‘And was Y’s death an accident, too?’
‘They’re inclined to stick to the first verdict there as well. The trouble is, you see, they’re furious with me over last night’s little effort, which I’ve had to tell them about, and which might have started some trouble. The Greek-Albanian frontier’s always like a train of dynamite with a slow fuse crawling up to it. Oh, they did admit in the end that I could hardly have called the police in on a rendezvous with Milo and his pal, but I did also withhold evidence in the inquiry on Y.Z. after they’d been so helpful to Father and myself over Spiro … I must say I rather see their point, but my name’s mud for the moment, and they’re simply not prepared to take action on my say-so, especially if it means coming in over the heads of the local coppers. You see, there’s no possible motive.’
‘But if it was … “illegal trading”?’
‘That would hardly have led to murder. As we know, it’s barely even taken seriously from this side of the border.’
‘I see.’
‘So they look like accepting accident on both counts. And, of course, damn it, we can’t prove a thing. I simply don’t know what’s going to happen.’
‘Can you bring him back – the boy?’
‘I don’t know that either. As far as the hospital’s concerned it’s all right, but as to whether it’s safe for him … If only one could find even some shred of an idea why it happened, let alone proof that it did … If I didn’t know the boy so well, and if it weren’t for Y’s death, I’d take the same attitude as the police, I can tell you that. You were right last night when you said it was incredible. In the cold light of day the idea’s fantastic – but still my bones tell me it’s true … Ah, well. I’m going to talk to them again later tonight, and there’s still tomorrow. We may get something done yet.’
‘When will you come back?’
‘Tomorrow. I’ll try to manage the earlier time I gave you.’
‘All right. I’m fairly sure I can have that under control. You won’t be met.’
‘Well, that’s one load off my mind.’ I heard him laugh. ‘We managed fine on the way out, but the hospital’s fit
ted a wonderful new cast that won’t go in the boot, so it’s the back seat and a rug – and a damned awkward situation if anyone were hanging about. Will it be hard to arrange?’
‘Dead easy – I think. I’m not sure which is the spider and which is the fly, but I don’t think I’ll even have to try.’
‘Well, for pity’s sake watch your step.’
‘Don’t worry, he’ll get nothing out of me. I may be a darned bad actress on the stage, but off it I’m terrific.’
He laughed again. ‘Who’s telling whom? But that’s not what I meant.’
‘I know. It’s all right, I’ll be careful.’
I heard him take a long breath. ‘I feel better now. I’ll go and tackle this bunch of very nice but all too sensible policemen again. I must go. Bless you. Take care of yourself.’
‘And you,’ I said.
The receiver at the other end was cradled, and through the wire washed the crackling hiss of the miles of sea and air that lay between us. As I put my own receiver down gently, I found that I was staring out of the long glass pane of the door that led to the terrace. It framed an oblong of the empty evening sky, dusk, with one burning planet among a trail of dusty stars. I sat for a few minutes without moving, one hand still on the receiver, not thinking of anything, just watching that bright planet, and feeling in me all tensions stilled at once, as if someone had laid a finger across a thrumming string.
When the telephone rang again, right under my hand, I hardly even jumped. I sat back in the chair and put the receiver to my ear.
‘Yes?’ I said. ‘Oh, hullo, Godfrey. Yes, it’s Lucy. In Corfu, are you? No, I’ve been home a little while. I was wondering when you’d ring …’
14
He’s safe for these three hours.
III. 1.
He called for me next day immediately after lunch. He had suggested that I lunch with him, and certainly he had sounded flatteringly anxious for my company, but since I didn’t imagine he really wanted anything from me but information, and I had no idea how long I could hold him, I pleaded an engagement for lunch, but allowed myself to be suitably eager for a drive in the afternoon.
I even managed to suggest the route. Not that there was much choice in the matter; the road north was barely navigable by a car one cared about, so I could hardly suggest that Godfrey took it. We would have to go south on the road by which Max and Spiro would eventually be driving home, but there was, happily, a road leading off this to Palaiokastritsa, a famous beauty-spot on the western coast which I could be legitimately anxious to visit. It was in fact true that I had looked the place up on the map, but had put off going there because the road seemed mountainous and I had been slightly nervous of tackling it in Phyl’s little car. With me driving (I told Godfrey) it would be nerve-racking, and with Phyl driving it would be suicide … But if Godfrey would drive me, and if he had a car that would manage the gradients …
He had laughed, sounding pleased, and had professed himself delighted to brave any gradients I wished, and yes, he had a car that would manage it quite easily …
He certainly had. It was a black XK 150, blunt-nosed, powerful, and about as accommodating on the narrow roads as a bull seal on his own bit of beach. It nosed its way impatiently along the drive, humming like a hive of killer bees, bucked on to the rutted sweep of the Castello’s private road, and turned to swoop down to the gate where Maria’s cottage stood.
Maria was outside, bending over a rusty tin with a stick, stirring what seemed to be hen food. When she heard the car she straightened up with the tin clutched to her breast, and the hens clucking and chattering round her feet. Godfrey, slowing down for the turn into the main road, raised a hand and called out a greeting, to which she returned a look of pleasure mingled with respect, as warm a look as I had seen on her face in the last week or so. I had noticed the same look, shy but pleased, in Miranda’s face, as she had showed him into the salotto earlier, as if the two women were grateful to Spiro’s employer for his continued kindness to them in their bereavement.
I stole a look at him as the car swerved – rather too fast, and with a blare of its twin horns that sent Maria’s hens up in a squawking cloud – on to the main road. I don’t know quite what I had expected to see this afternoon – some smooth-skinned monster, perhaps, with hoofs, horns, and tail all visible to the eye of knowledge – but he was just the same, an undeniably attractive man, who handled his exciting car with skill and obvious enjoyment.
And this man, I thought, was supposed to have brushed the boy – the beloved son and brother – off the stern of his boat as if he were a jellyfish, and then sailed on, leaving him to drown …
He must have felt me watching him, for he flicked me a glance, and smiled, and I found myself smiling back spontaneously, and quite without guile. In spite of myself, in spite of Max, and Spiro’s story, I could not believe it. The thing was, as I had said to Max, impossible in daylight.
Which was just as well. If I was to spend the next few hours with him, I would have to shut my mind to all that I had learned, to blot out the scene in the cellar, drop Spiro out of existence as if he were indeed dead. And, harder than all, drop Max. There was a curiously strong and secret pleasure, I had found, in speaking of him as ‘Mr Gale’ in the off-hand tones that Godfrey and Phyllida commonly used, as one might of a stranger to whom one is under an obligation, but whom one hardly considers enough to like or dislike. Once, as I had mentioned his name in passing, my eye, downcast, caught the faint mark of a bruise on my arm. The secret thrill of pleasure that ran up my spine startled me a little; I slipped my other hand over the mark to hide it, and found it cupping the flesh as if it were his, and not my own. I looked away, out of the car, and made some random remark about the scenery.
It was a very pretty road. To our left was the sea, blue and smooth, broken only by a tiny white crescent of sail thin as a nail-paring and almost lost in the heat haze. On the right was a high hedge of apple blossom and judas-trees, their feet deep in a vivid bank of meadow flowers, yellow and purple and white. Two little girls, in patched and faded dresses of scarlet, stood barefoot in the dust to watch us go by, one of them holding a bough of oranges as an English child might hold a stick of balloons, the fruit bulging and glowing among the green leaves.
The road straightened, and the XK 150 surged forward with a smooth burst of speed. My spirits lifted. This was going to be easy; in fact there was no reason why I shouldn’t simply relax and enjoy it too. I sat back and chatted on – I hoped naturally – about nothings; the view, the people Phyl had met yesterday in Corfu, the prospect of Leo’s coming with the children for Easter …
We flashed by a fork in the road.
I sat up sharply. ‘That was the turning, wasn’t it? I’m sure the signpost said Palaiokastritsa!’
‘Oh, yes, it was. I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking; I meant to have told you, I’m not taking you there today. It’s a long way, and we’ve hardly time. We’ll go another day if you like, when we don’t have to be back early.’
‘Do we have to be back early?’
The question slipped out before I thought, ingenuous in its dismay. I saw the faint shadow of gratified surprise in his face, and reflected that after my evasions over the telephone he had every right to find provocation in it.
‘I’m afraid so. I’m going out tonight. I don’t say we couldn’t do it, but it’s a shame to go all the way for a short time; it’s a lovely place, and there’s a lot to see. Besides which, it’s a damned waste to go there and not have lunch; there’s a restaurant right on the beach where they keep crayfish alive in pots in the sea, and you choose your own and they take them out fresh to cook.’ A sideways look at me and a teasing smile. ‘I suppose you disapprove, but I can tell you, they’re wonderful. I’ll take you there soon, if you promise not to stand me up for lunch next time.’
‘I didn’t – that would be lovely.’
We flicked through a tiny village, one narrow street of houses and a baked white churc
h with a red roof. The snarl of the engine echoed back in a quick blast from the hot walls, and we were through, nose down through a scatter of goats, children, a scraggy puppy, and a donkey trailing a frayed end of rope. The children stared after us, admiring and unresentful.
‘One thing,’ said Godfrey cheerfully, ‘one doesn’t have to plan one’s outings here according to the weather. The sun’s always on call in this blessed isle, and one day’s as good as another.’
That’s what you think, I said savagely to myself. My hands were tight together in my lap now, as much because of his driving as in a panic-stricken attempt to think of the map. How to get him off this road, head him away from Corfu?
I said aloud: ‘I’ll hold you to that one day, and I’ll eat the crayfish! I can’t feel strongly about fish, I’m afraid! Where are we going then, Pellekas?’ For Pellekas one turned off just at the north end of Corfu – the only other turning before the town.
‘No, the Achilleion.’
‘Oh? That’s a wonderful idea!’
It was a bloody awful idea, as well I knew. To get there one went right through Corfu – not quite to the harbour, but near enough – and, of course, the whole way home we would be using the same road as Max. Well, I’d just have to see that we didn’t head for home around five-thirty, and I could only hope there was plenty of scope for sightseeing to the south of Corfu town. I reached for my handbag and fished in it for the guide I had brought, adding with great enthusiasm: ‘I’d planned to visit it one day, but there was the same objection – Phyl told me it was on top of a hill with the most ghastly zigzag going up to it! Yes, here it is … “The villa of Achilleion, erected for the Empress Elizabeth of Austria … The villa, which is in Italian Renaissance style, was purchased in 1907 by the German Emperor. The gardens are open to visitors (admission one drachma, applied to charitable purposes).”’
‘What? What on earth’s that?’
‘An ancient Baedeker I found on Phyl’s shelves. It was my grandfather’s – date 1909. It’s really rather sweet. Listen to the bit at the beginning about the history of the island … he says “it came into the possession of” the Romans, then “fell to the share of” the Venetians, then “was occupied by” the French: then “was under Turkish, then Russian sway”, but – notice the but – from 1815 to 1863 it “came under the protection of” the British. Rule, Britannia. Those were the days.’