A Dead Man in Athens (14 page)

‘Spiro’s?’

‘Sometimes. It’s a good shop. But Spiro’s not a Vlach. His wife is, but he’s not. You know Spiro’s?’

‘No. I’ve just heard the name. But the person who mentioned it was a Vlach and I wondered if they tended to stick together.’

‘I don’t know that they do especially,’ said Aphrodite doubtfully. ‘Why are you asking?’

‘I was wondering if they supported each other. I was thinking of Chloe. She needs to get away from the harem. Find someone else she can work for.’

‘I’ll mention it around.’

They went on to have dinner and study the moonlight over the Parthenon and such things.

The next morning, though, he was at the workshop bright and early.

‘Hello!’ they said. ‘You again?’

‘I’m just checking on one or two things. For a report I’ve got to write. It’s for the people back in London.’

‘Check away, then.’

Seymour walked over to the flying machines. There were only two of them this morning.

‘Is the other one already out?’

‘No, no, no. It’s over there.’

They pointed to the other side of the runway.

‘It’s gone back home. To where they used to keep it.’

Seymour looked at the machines.

‘You know,’ he said, ‘I can’t tell the difference between them. Which one is the one that Mr Stevens was out in?

’ ‘This one. It’s George’s, but he lets Andreas fly it. And Mr Stevens, of course.’

‘Did Mr Stevens often fly them?’

‘No. He could fly – he’d got his licence. But he said he got his kicks from getting them up there, not from being up there. I’m like that myself. And Maria tells me it had better stay that way. We’re expecting a baby and now is not the time, she says, for me to be doing silly things. Like flying over mountains or fighting in silly wars.’

‘Well, she’s got a point, you know.’

‘She has. But there’s more to it than she thinks. There are not many jobs like this around. How many Bl´eriot machines does Athens need? Six? Five? And if one of them crashes, only four. And if two of them crash – well, it’s back on the motor cars for me. War would actually help, if it makes them get more machines. Though I don’t say this to her.’

‘She’ll be coming in, will she, a bit later?’

‘As usual. With my lunch.’

‘She’ll have to make a decision about the milk. Will you want it now that Stevens is not here?’

‘Not as far as I’m concerned. What’s wrong with goat’s milk? I don’t go for all this fancy stuff.’

‘She was very clever to have found a way of getting it for him,’ said Seymour. ‘How did she come upon that old herdsman? You wouldn’t exactly run into him on the street, would you? Not at four o’clock in the morning.’

‘Someone put her on to him. A shop she goes to.’

‘Not Spiro’s, was it?’

‘It could have been.’

‘Hey, she’s not a Vlach, is she?’

‘Vlach? You must be joking! She’s as Greek as moussaka. Comes from Salonica.’

‘Salonica’s not Greece,’ objected one of the mechanics.

‘It is as far as she is concerned. And Venizelos, too. Otherwise why are we fighting this bloody war?’

The soldiers still hadn’t moved. Or, rather, according to Dr Metaxas, they had moved. They had gone out and then came back again, and now they were camped in a vineyard about halfway between Athens and the mountains, where they were testing the local product to see that it had not fallen off.

Seymour had seen Dr Metaxas as he was crossing the square. He was sitting alone at a table, his drink before him. He looked up as Seymour approached.

‘Hello!’ he said. ‘Are you looking for my Nemesis? She’s not here yet.’

Seymour felt a twinge of discomfort at this reference to Aphrodite. It seemed to take for granted that there was a relationship between them. Well, of course there was. But how far did their assumption go?

He suddenly remembered again what Old Tsakatellis had said, back in London. ‘Greek women,’ he had said, ‘are
different
. You don’t treat them as you do these trollops around here. You treat them with respect!’

Well, that was all right. He had every intention of treating Aphrodite with respect and thought he had done so. But that, he knew deep down, was not quite what Tsakatellis had meant. He had meant that the moment you started going out with a Greek girl, a thicket of family expectations suddenly sprang up around you.

‘What you’ve got to remember,’ Old Tsakatellis had said, ‘is that with a Greek girl, it’s not just her you’re going out with, it’s the whole family.’

He knew what that meant. It was not so very different in the conservative, traditional East End where many of the immigrant families had brought their traditions with them. Go out with an unmarried girl once, and suddenly everyone in the street had an eye on you. Go out twice and the family started getting ideas. Go out three times and that meant either that an understanding had been reached or that the girl was, in East End terms, a trollop.

Was it the same here? He suspected that it was. The thought of Andreas hanging around the table that evening, obviously uncomfortable at seeing his sister sitting alone with a man, suddenly came back to him.

But, hang on a moment. Aphrodite herself had clearly not felt uncomfortable. In fact, she had felt irritated at being dragged away. But, of course, she would, and that didn’t mean that was how the family would see it. Aphrodite was an unusually independent woman, not just for a Greek woman but for any woman. A New Woman, he had thought her. And so she was, going to university, studying to become a doctor and all that.

But was she as New as this? He had an uneasy feeling that when the chips were down she might take to seeing things as an Old Woman would, and an Old Greek Woman at that!

Come, come, now, he told himself. He was making too much of this. Things were hardly at that point yet. A warm friendship, that’s all it was. Aphrodite was a modern girl and she would certainly see it like that.

But would her family? Would she be able to hold out against her whole family? She was unusually independent, yes, but would she be able to manage that?

Seymour knew something about this. He came from immigrant stock himself. He knew about family pressure. That time when he had told them he was going into the police! And about every time he stopped to talk to a girl. The whole street, the whole neighbourhood, reported back and his mother started getting into conversations. It was the same with his sister. A real dog-fight that had turned into! About every week his mother enquired ‘how things were going’. ‘Marvellously,’ his sister replied. ‘And I’m
not
getting married!’ Oh yes, Seymour knew all about family pressure!

But, come, he was making too much of this. His mind was getting as lurid as his mother’s. All that had happened was that he had been out with Aphrodite once or twice. And that first time, the Melaxases had even suggested it!

But what about last night? And that other time they had had dinner together? And . . .?

He had taken her home afterwards and they hadn’t seemed to mind. Aphrodite certainly hadn’t minded.

Well, no, but where exactly did Aphrodite stand on this? He had assumed she felt exactly as he did. But wasn’t he taking too much for granted? Suppose . . .

And how did he feel, anyway? Deep down?

Well, he knew that, at any rate. It was all too early. That was the trouble with families. They jumped to conclusions, put pressure on you prematurely. You had to stave them off. That was what families were all about, finding space for yourself, staving them off.

Too early. He was sure Aphrodite would feel the same.

But he knew that wasn’t it. The question was how her family felt. And might he not have let things go a little too far?

And there was her father, sitting benignly opposite him, sipping his ouzo and looking at him!

Her father: he clutched at that. He was a reasonable man, modern, free-thinking if anything, against monarchism and such, with, surely, a very liberal attitude towards his daughter, wanting her to go to university, to become a doctor.

But that remark of his, which had started this whole train of thought off, that taking for granted that there
was
a relationship, that assumption that Seymour might know more about his daughter’s plans than he did – was he reading too much into this, or was it a hint?

Seymour decided to take the bull by the horns.

‘I hope you don’t think, Dr Metaxas, that I’m seeing too much of your daughter?’

Dr Metaxas waved a hand.

‘Aphrodite does what she wants.’ He sighed. ‘Always has.’

‘I am aware that, coming from England, my ways may not be Greek ways.’

Dr Metaxas waved again: a slight dismissive gesture.

‘She probably thinks that an advantage.’

‘The trouble is that there is also the question of how others see them.’

‘Well . . .’ said Dr Metaxas indulgently.

‘Andreas, I think, is not altogether comfortable.’

‘Andreas is a blockhead.’

Dr Metaxas finished his glass and looked around for the waiter. This time it was Seymour who signalled.

‘Aphrodite will go her own way. Never mind what I think or say or do. I have always encouraged that. But . . .’

‘But?’

Dr Metaxas sipped his new ouzo.

‘But her mother may not be of the same mind.’

He examined his glass.

‘That will be something to look forward to,’ he said: ‘Aphrodite versus her mother. At least it will make a change from Aphrodite versus me. I await the result with interest.’

‘These are difficult times for my family,’ he suddenly said. ‘For my wife especially.’

‘Of course.’

‘Popadopoulos was over, asking questions. She didn’t like that. “It’s his job,” I said. “He doesn’t mean anything by it.” But the drift of his questions was obvious. Someone put poison in Stevens’ flask that morning and the only other person over there was Andreas. I told him that Andreas was the last person who would poison Stevens. He idolized him. Ridiculously. Not only that; he relied on him. He needed his help to go on flying, and that was what he cared about most in the world. Yes, yes, yes, he said: but I knew what he was thinking.

‘She could see it, too, and it drove her almost mad with anxiety. She cares for him desperately. Well, every mother does. But perhaps she is over-protective. She had got herself into a state over his flying, anyway, and then the war came along and made it worse.’ He looked at Seymour. ‘You can have no idea of the effect it had on her.’

‘Perhaps I do,’ said Seymour, ‘a little. Stevens told me about her experiences in the mountains. She’s a Vlach, isn’t she?’

‘
Stevens
told you?’ said Dr Metaxas, surprised.

‘Yes. He’d had it from Andreas.’

Dr Metaxas shrugged. ‘She detested Stevens. She thought he was leading Andreas astray.’

‘To do him justice,’ said Seymour, ‘he understood that. He told me he was determined to see that Andreas came to no harm. He said he would see that he never got across the mountains. I have a hunch that that may have been why he was with him that day – to make sure he stayed this side of the mountains.’

‘Really?’ said Dr Metaxas. ‘Perhaps I will tell her that when she’s calmer.’

‘He asked me to tell her.’

‘I
will
tell her that. Perhaps it will make her think more kindly of him.’

He shrugged. ‘Not that it matters now.’

He emptied his glass.

‘Did you know that I was up in the mountains myself during the war?’ he said. ‘The last war. Her war.’

‘Stevens did mention it.’

‘I met Orhan Eser up there. I had a shock when they called me in to see the Sultan and I found him. I recognized him at once. Of course, he was much younger then. Barely a boy. He was in charge of transport on their side and for a while we had to work together.

‘There had been an engagement. Many wounded. We arranged a time so that we could evacuate them. It took some time because it snowed and the roads were blocked. So I got to know him quite well. We had a lot of talks together. Got on well. We were very alike in some respects. He was all for modernizing, reforming, improving, and so – in those days – was I. I realize now that he was one of what we would call now the Young Turks. That’s why I was surprised to see him there at the Sultan’s. I found him very reasonable, I must say.

‘He helped me get her down. When I ran into him at the Sultan’s, I reminded him about it and said that it had ended up with me marrying her. He seemed very moved and said that it showed there was a God after all.

‘I was going to tell her about it but then I thought I wouldn’t. The memories are still too painful, you know. It’s all still with her. The war has brought it back. I think that’s maybe why she feels so strongly about Andreas – and about Popadopoulos’s questions.’

‘I wouldn’t worry about Andreas if I were you.’

‘Oh, I’m not,’ said Dr Metaxas. ‘It’s her I’m worried about.’

Chapter Twelve

‘Feel like a drink, old man? Before lunch?’ said Farquhar. ‘I do. I’ve been writing to the family. I know it’s only a draft and it will come as from the Old Man. But he only signs it. I do the writing; and it’s not much fun when it’s something like this.’

‘You’ve been writing about Stevens?’

‘To the family, yes. I must say, seeing that photograph in his lodgings brought it home to me. Wife, kids. You wonder about the set-up. Who will look after them? Is there any money? He was out here on a contract: will the Greek Government do anything for them? He had only been here a short time, and the Government doesn’t have money to spare. Of course, I don’t ask about these things in the letter, but you can’t help wondering. What’ll it be, old man? Beer, whisky, sherry? I’m going for a whisky myself this morning. We’ve got some good malts here.’

He led Seymour into the small bar.

‘What with one thing and another, it’s all pretty depressing,’ he said. ‘Stevens, the war.’

‘Has it actually started?’

‘Getting pretty close. We thought we could stave it off. Keep this business about the Sultan going. Everyone seemed to be playing along and we thought that was what they all wanted. Deep down, you know. I mean, war’s a serious thing and we thought they won’t really want it, they’re just playing games. That’s what they do in the Balkans. But then it suddenly blows up and becomes real. And that’s the Balkans, too. You think it’s all hunky-dory and then suddenly it isn’t.’

‘They’re not bothered about the Sultan any longer?’

‘They’ve decided they don’t need an excuse.’

‘So they’re not bothered about the cat, either?’

‘Well, I don’t think they were ever exactly
bothered
about the cat. It was just part of the game.’

‘So I can go home?’

‘Just wrap it up decently, old man, so that we can put it to bed.’

‘Do you still want to know who did it?’

‘Depends who did it, old man.’

‘Someone in the harem.’

‘An inside job, as you chaps say? Splendid! Not the Greeks? Or the Ottomans? Or anyone else? Well, that
is
good news. Not a political job after all. I’ll tell the Old Man. He
will
be pleased.’

‘I can say who did it?’

‘Publish it far and wide, old man. If it’s someone in the harem. It doesn’t matter a scrap to anyone. We can let Abd-es-Salaam deal with it. Or Orhan Eser.’

‘And Stevens?’

‘Ah, well, that’s a bit different. He’s a British national.

’ ‘Do you want me to carry on?’

‘I’ll ask the Old Man. You’ve written the report. That will keep London happy. All we need to do now is prod the Greeks occasionally. I mean, it’s up to them now, isn’t it? A crime on Greek territory? Not our pigeon.’

So that was it. After all the work he’d put in. Well, perhaps it wasn’t
that
much work. All the same he felt sore. To bring him out here and then say, well, thank you very much. That’s it, you can go now – even the equable Seymour was mildly irritated. And all over a cat. That was the worst thing about it. Think what they would say back at home! And how it would look on his record sheet. ‘Investigated the death of a cat. Three weeks, Athens.’ That would really help his career along, wouldn’t it?

‘You want to see Miriam?’

‘Yes. The servant who fed the cat.’

Miriam was produced. Along with Talal, the eunuch, to interpret and keep things decent. This morning he was somewhat subdued. Perhaps he could sense that things were closing in.

‘Miriam, I just want to –’

‘Miriam, the Effendi just wanted to –’

‘– take you back to the morning the cat died.’

‘. . . cat died.’

‘You put the bowl of milk down on the floor, if I remember correctly?’

‘That is so, Effendi.’

‘And then Samira called you?’

‘Yes, Effendi, she had lost her shoe, and I had been looking for it.’

‘Did you find it?’

‘In the end. It was in another room. How it got there, I do not know. Perhaps Chloe took it.’

‘Chloe?’

‘The little kitchen maid. We bring her into the harem sometimes, and Samira lets her play with her shoes. She likes to wear them and clop around and maybe –’

‘It was only the one shoe that was lost, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes, it was one of a pair of golden shoes which Chloe liked especially and Samira always used to get them out for her.’

‘Wouldn’t she have been wearing both of them? If it had been Chloe?’

‘Well, yes.’

‘But it was just the one that was lost? Where was the other one?’

‘Well, back in the Lady Samira’s room, where it was supposed to be.’

‘There’s no special place for them, is there?’

‘Yes, behind the curtain.’

‘And that’s where the other shoe was? Had you not looked there already?’

‘Well, yes, Effendi, I had looked everywhere. And that was the place I looked first.’

‘And when you did not find it, what did the Lady Samira do?’

‘She was very angry. She said that she particularly wanted to wear those shoes that morning and told me to go on looking until I found them.’

‘And you looked first in her room?’

‘Yes, Effendi. Of course.’

‘But didn’t find it. But that had made you late, so then you had to run and get the milk?’

‘Yes, Effendi.’

‘And then when you came back, she called you and you had to start looking again?’

‘That’s right, Effendi.’

‘In her room?’

‘Well, yes, Effendi, because that’s where they should be. But the Lady Samira called me a fool and said that I had already looked there, and she told me to look in some of the other rooms, and, of course, that’s where I did find it, in the end, but, Effendi, I had looked before and am sure it had not been there –’

‘Thank you, Miriam, that will be all.’

‘It was not my fault, Effendi, and I have already been beaten over the milk, and it doesn’t seem just that I should be beaten for the shoe as well –’

‘Enough, woman, or you will be beaten again!’ said Talal sternly, and hustled her out.

Seymour sat thinking, and then he sent for Leila.

‘Leila, you do the Lady Irina’s hair?’

‘I do.’

‘And you were doing it that morning when Miriam called to tell you that the cat was dying?’

‘Dead, Effendi, just about dead!’

‘Now, Leila, I am confused about the timing of all this. For you tell me that you were doing Irina’s hair when Miriam called. And yet both Zenobia and the Lady Irina say that earlier, soon after the milk was brought, the Lady Irina had taken the cat into the adjoining room and was feeding it chocolates. Surely she could not have done that until
after
you had done her hair?’

‘Not so, Effendi. She did it before, while she was waiting for me to do her hair.’

Talal could not contain himself.

‘You mean – excuse me, Effendi – that the Lady Irina went into a public room
before
she had had her hair done?’

‘That is so, yes.’

Talal turned to Seymour.

‘Effendi, I cannot believe it! That would be indecent. To show her hair!’

‘That’s what she did,’ said Leila doggedly.

‘Effendi, I cannot accept this! This woman should be whipped –’

‘She often does it,’ said Leila. ‘Especially if she has to wait. I try not to keep her waiting, she is so impatient. But that morning I had had to keep her waiting, because Samira was making such a fuss about her shoes. We were all looking for them, or rather, just the one shoe. How do you lose just one shoe? Anyway, she had us all looking for it, and I was late doing Irina’s hair, and, as usual, she flew into a passion and stalked off into the room next to the salon, saying, “Someone’s got to suffer for this! Where’s that bloody cat?”’

‘So the Lady Irina, and the cat, were not, at one point, in the room where the milk had been left?’

‘She must have gone in to get the cat.’

‘But then she took it next door?’

‘Yes, Effendi. She likes to lie on the divan, with her hair all undone. Especially if she thinks the Sultan may be coming.’

‘Leila,’ burst in Talal, ‘you can just cut out all this indecent talk!’

‘It’s true! She does, and he quite likes it.’

‘Enough, Leila! Enough! This is going too far. Effendi, you will not believe what comes over these young women sometimes. You had better go, Leila. You have said enough. Has she not said enough, more than enough, Effendi?’ Talal appealed to Seymour.

‘I rather think she has,’ said Seymour.

Next, Seymour summoned Chloe. She arrived quaking.

‘It’s all right, Chloe,’ he reassured her. ‘No one is angry with you. It is just that I have been thinking over what you told me and there is something I want to ask you.’

Chloe bobbed her head. She could barely speak.

‘Chloe, I know you are a friend of the Lady Irina.’

‘She spoke for me when the eunuchs would have beaten me.’

‘So she did. I remember. And I remember that she took you on her lap and talked to you.’

‘About my people.’

‘Your people are the Vlachs, aren’t they? Your uncle is a Vlach, and you are a Vlach. And I rather think the Lady Irina is a Vlach, too?’

‘The Lady Irina is very beautiful.’

‘I am sure she is. And she came from a village like you, didn’t she?’

‘The soldiers came.’

‘Not to your village, fortunately, but certainly to hers. And to others, too. I know another lady who is also a Vlach and to whose village the soldiers came, long ago, and I would like you to meet her. Because I remember another thing you told me, Chloe, and that is that the Lady Irina said to you that the harem was no place for one such as yourself, and I think there may come a time, and it may come soon, when you will wish to seek for another place. This lady may help you.’

‘I would have to do as my uncle bids me,’ said Chloe.

‘Of course. But I do not think he will object. Now, Chloe, as I said, there is something I wish to ask you. I know that the Lady Irina is your friend and I think that she may, occasionally, as a friend, ask you to do something for her.’

Chloe kept silent.

‘It is a secret, of course. I appreciate that. But it is not a secret from me. Now, I think that the Lady Irina asked you to get a love potion for her. To gain her favour with the Sultan. And I think she told you that if you asked your uncle he would get it for you and that then you could take it secretly into the harem. And you were important, for only you could take it into the harem without the eunuchs knowing. As, I think, the Lady Irina told you.’

Chloe gazed at him, transfixed. Then she gave herself a little shake.

‘Effendi,’ she whispered, ‘you know all. Or nearly all. But it was not quite as you said. The Lady Irina did indeed speak to me and I spoke to my uncle, as she commanded. And he obtained a love portion and brought it to me.

‘But then, Effendi, it did not go as it was supposed to. For Amina heard us talking, my uncle and me, and after he had gone she took the potion from me.’

‘
Amina
took it from you?’

‘Yes, Effendi. She said she would give it to the Lady Samira, for the Lady Samira was more worthy to be the First Lady then Irina was, and she would give it to her.

‘And I wept, Effendi, and tried to take it back, but she would not let me. And I went to the Lady Irina, weeping, for I knew I had let her down, and I did not want the Lady Samira to become First Lady of the harem. And I told the Lady Irina what had happened.’

‘And what did the Lady Irina say?’

‘She stood there, Effendi, for a long time, silent. And at first I could see she was angry. And I told her she could beat me. But she didn’t. She put her arms around me and said that it was nothing. But still I wept, for I knew I had failed her. And I told her this. But she went on holding me and seemed to be thinking, and then she said, “No, no, perhaps you have not failed. It may even be better like this.” And she smiled. But, Effendi, it was not a smile such as she gives me.’

Seymour found Amina in her cubby-hole beneath the stairs. Although she was curled up and seemed to be sleeping, her eyes were open and looking at him maliciously.

‘Amina,’ he said, ‘do you know what I think? I think you are the true mistress of the harem.’

She cackled with laughter.

‘No, no,’ she protested, ‘I am but a servant. A kitchen maid, these days. The lowest of the low.’

‘But Abd-es-Salaam values you. And I think he knows what he is doing.’

‘Well, it may be as you say.’

‘For it is your hand that plucks out the next senior wife.’

‘No, no. Would it were so. I am nothing these days. Once, perhaps – but those days are long gone.’

‘Nevertheless, you shape the future. For was it not you who took the potion meant for Irina and gave it to Samira?’

‘The girl has told you?’

‘Not all, perhaps.’

‘No, not all. But I did take the potion from her. For why should Irina be the first? When Samira by right should be the one.’

‘You gave the potion to Samira?’

‘I did.’ She cackled. ‘To stiffen his rod. So that he will give Samira a baby. And she will rule in the harem.’

* * *

As Seymour was walking back up the corridor he saw Orhan Eser talking to Chloe just outside the kitchen door. He was bent over her and as Seymour watched, he saw him stroke her tenderly on the head. Then, hearing footsteps, he hurried away quickly, and Chloe scuttled into the kitchen. When Seymour went in, she was away on the far side washing the dishes.

Seymour was now on confidential terms with the kitchen staff.

‘Hello, Effendi!’ they hailed him. ‘Still on the trail?’

‘On the trail of a good cup of tea,’ he said.

‘Well, Effendi, you have come to the right place. And, as it happens, the kettle has just boiled.’

Chloe hurried past him carrying a great pile of newly washed dishes. She disappeared through the door.

‘It is good that Orhan Eser is kind to her,’ Seymour said.

‘Too kind,’ one of the servants said tartly. ‘What does he have in mind to do with her?’

‘She is too young for that sort of thing,’ said another servant disapprovingly.