The Girl Under the Olive Tree (6 page)

Miss Bushnell arrived one morning at the villa to give Penny the once-over. She would not commit herself to taking on a student until she was sure she was serious about the subject. She herself was on a scholarship to the British School, seconded from a girls’ grammar school in the north of England. She was tall, her fair hair bleached by the sun, and wore round spectacles. She was about the same age as Evadne and eager to make a new career in archaeology. She’d been recommended to Walter by the Director. She peered now at her new charge with suspicion and Penny tried to look enthusiastic. This was an important interview.

‘What have you read? What experience have you had? How’s your Greek?’

Penny shoved all her drawings of museum artefacts under Miss Bushnell’s nose
. ‘Ela.’

Miss Bushnell peered at them closely, then glanced up at her with interest.

‘You’ve got an eye but
our
work is all about accuracy of line and shading. You’ll need a better selection of pens and pencils . . . I can’t provide equipment. I presume you have been to all the museums here?’

Penny nodded, taken aback by her sharp tone. This was not an encouraging start.

‘If I take you on, I want no time wasting, no flitting off to cocktail parties on a whim. My spare time is precious and I’m not interested in excuses. Girls of your age can be keen one moment and then off onto the next craze once the assignments get harder. I won’t give praise unless it’s due,’ she continued brusquely, but her eyes were warm, Penny noted. ‘You’ve made a valiant attempt to impress, I’ll give you that, but we’ll have to go right back to basics if you are serious about archaeological illustration. Reputations are made or lost on how finds are represented on the page. Have you ever been to a stratigraphic museum?’

Penny looked blank.

Miss Bushnell smiled. ‘Latin and Greek; it means layers and drawing. It’s where discoveries are cleaned, sorted, recorded, drawn from many angles, then stored for reference and research. You must read John Pendlebury’s work and, of course, Sir Arthur Evans on Knossos.’

‘Papa once went to dinner in Oxford and he was a guest,’ Penny chipped in hopefully.

‘I’m not interested in your social goings-on,’ Miss Bushnell snapped. ‘You need to read all round your subject, and find out what’s been going on here in the British School of Archaeology. I can get you a ticket for the Penrose Library but first, here are some ground rules for our sessions. I’ll give you six and then I’m off on a dig. I will leave you a chunk of work while I’m away. If you make a decent shot at this, I’ll give you some more. Oh, and you must make a visit to a stratigraphic museum and see what really goes on. I also want you to observe an excavation and learn how the artifacts are recorded. I’ll be going back to Crete with the Pendleburys next spring. That might give you something to aim for.’

Next spring. Penny gulped – she and Evadne were due home for Christmas – but she nodded. ‘That will be wonderful but I’ll have to check with my parents, of course.’

‘Why? How old are you?’

‘I’ll be eighteen by then.’

‘And never done a day’s work, I hazard a guess . . . There are children of thirteen full time in the mills where I come from. Surely your parents won’t object to your studies, though it’s dirty work. You won’t keep those nails or those hands, and your skin will turn to leather in the sun,’ she warned, inspecting Penny’s smooth hands and painted nails.

‘It’s not that, it’s just they have plans for me.’

‘Don’t tell me you’re going to be one of those debutantes with feathers poking out of the back of your head, traipsing down to Buck House to curtsy to a cake? If so, we might as well stop right now.’ Miss Bushnell turned to leave.

‘No, please,’ Penny pleaded. ‘I don’t want to be a deb. I’d rather stay here. I love Athens. I have Greek ancestry. Papa’ll understand. I’ll write to him and explain. I really want to have a useful career, something that interests me. Someone once said to me, “Find what you love and do it well” and I’m trying to do just that,’ she continued.

‘Couldn’t have put it better myself,’ said Miss Bushnell, turning back. ‘No education then?’

‘Afraid not,’ Penny sighed. ‘It isn’t thought necessary for girls like me. We can’t choose our parents, can we? They come from a different world and expect us to be just the same as them.’

‘Fair enough,’ Miss Bushnell replied, and her eyes softened. ‘Forgive me for blaming you for something you had no control over. But now things can change if you take charge of your own life. Don’t expect miracles, it takes years to train the eye to
really
see and interpret what is in front of you. You need confidence and reference books and patience by the bucket-load.’ Miss Bushnell shot out a leathery hand. ‘See you next week, Penelope. At least your parents gave you a good Greek name.’

‘Thank you, Miss Bushnel, but I prefer Penny.’

‘Then you can call me, Joan
or
Kyria Joanna,’ she laughed.

As Penny watched her striding down the path she felt a surge of hope. With women like Joan supervising her studies, she might just succeed. She would not let her down.

Evadne suddenly appeared from the orchard of citrus trees. ‘Goodness, what an old bluestocking!’ she exclaimed as they watched Joan striding down the steps in her long skirt and floppy hat.

‘Oh, don’t say that,’ Penny retorted, feeling oddly protective of her new teacher. ‘She loves her work. I’m going to visit the British School of Archaeology and its library,’ she boasted.

‘She’s very mannish. I hope she’s not one of those . . . well, you know.’

Penny sensed what she was getting at. ‘She’s wearing an engagement ring. Stop now – I really like her. She’s coming back next week and she’s left me a list of things I’ll need.’

‘Goody, a trip to the shops, but rather you than me,’ Effy smiled. ‘Wait till I tell Mummy you’ve got a tutor . . . Come on, let’s have an early snifter.’

‘No, Effy.’ Penny grabbed her arm. ‘I’d rather you didn’t tell them, not yet, not until I’ve got something to show them. It’ll be a surprise. I don’t want them to think I’m just playing at this. I really, really want it to be our secret. Promise?’ she pleaded.

‘As you wish, but don’t forget we’re going home for Christmas and then you’ll be busy coming out . . .’

No, I won’t, thought Penny, though that shocking thought gave her no comfort at all. If she stayed on here there would be all hell to pay and Effy would be blamed for leading her astray. Yet the rebellious seed, long planted in her mind, was now firmly rooted.

On that first visit to the British School of Archaeology Penny was allowed to make her own way, with strict instructions to talk to no one and to take the tram straight there. Evadne was playing bridge with friends and so arranged to meet her later at Costas for dinner.

The building was impressive, set high on the slopes of Mount Lycabettus, overlooking the grandeur of the city skyline. The Director’s house was in the classical style, surrounded by immaculate lawns, orchards and even a clay tennis court.

Penny found her way to the student lodge at the side, built in the same style, and saw Joan waiting for her in the Penrose Library. Its walls were apparently lined with every book on ancient history known to man. How was she ever going to devour all this knowledge? For one agonizing moment she wanted to rush back outside, fearing her ignorance would make everyone laugh. Who was she to be attempting to join these serious students? What did she know that was worth knowing? But the students merely looked up and smiled at her entrance before turning back to their own projects.

One face, however, continued to fix her with a grin. ‘Good Lord, it’s “the mountain goat”! So you made it here after all. Thought you would. I could see that steely look of determination in your eye.’

Bruce Jardine smiled up at her, twice as large and handsome as she remembered him in Scotland.

All eyes were now on her, everyone waiting for her response. Penny felt herself flushing, but Joan leaped to her defence, holding an armful of books she’d been picking out from the shelves.

‘Take no notice of our Kiwi friend; he’s always on the charm offensive with new arrivals. Do you know this bounder?’

‘We met at a ball in Scotland . . . he gave a slide show . . .’

‘Glad to know he takes his studies seriously. Miss George is joining us for some tuition this term so don’t distract her,’ Joan barked at Bruce. ‘Come on, Penny.’

Bruce jumped up. ‘How’s the family, Penny? Fancy a game of tennis some time?’

‘She’s here to work, not thrash around the court.’

‘Slave driver!’ Bruce whispered loudly, and even Joan laughed as she and Penny made their way to the corridor.

‘He really is the limit. Has all the girls eating out of his hand, drooling over his muscular thighs in shorts, but it cuts no ice with me,’ she said, looking down at her ring. ‘My fiancé is back home and we’re getting married when I finish my scholarship out here.’

They found their way to another common room with a huge stone fireplace and armchairs, the walls filled with yet more leather-bound books.

‘This is where we relax in the evening.’ Joan pointed out a dining room and stairs leading up to the study bedrooms. Penny was getting the full tour of the student quarters.

Joan’s narrow room was as bare as a monk’s cell. There was no space here for their lesson. The whole hostel had an aura of study and academia, and Penny felt her confidence slipping as she wondered how she would fit in. But she sensed the students had fun too. They seemed lively, older than she was – teachers, researchers, graduates on tight budgets.

‘Everyone has their own project and digs to write up, finds to record, theories to argue. There are open meetings you must attend if you want to know where the latest excavations are heading. Our Director has one next week. Then we often go out for dinner later, somewhere cheap but lively. I think you might enjoy that side of student life but keep away from Jardine. He’s like an overgrown Boy Scout. He’ll have you racing over mountains as if they were hillocks. What’s all this about “a mountain goat”?’

‘Just a joke. I like stalking in the hills in Scotland. I’d enjoy a decent hike. I’m getting soft in the city.’

‘You toffs live in a different world. It’s all just a game to you, isn’t it?’ Joan sneered. ‘I don’t know why you’re bothering to take up a profession. You don’t need to work, do you? Jardine is just the same. Neither of you is made for the rough and tumble of life at all.’ Joan sat moodily smoking, looking out of the window. ‘You’ve no idea how hard it is for ordinary mortals to follow our dreams.’

‘And you have no idea how many lies and evasions I’ve had to make just to be sitting in this beautiful building seeing a world I can never be part of,’ Penny snapped back, waving her hands around at the books and pictures. ‘We’re not so different. At least you have an education and a world to go back to, whereas I am dependent on the whims of my family. I’m not even capable of striking out on my own. For me there is no prospect but of a suitable marriage, a gilded cage with the door shut.’ Penny felt tears welling up and slumped down in despair.

‘Steady on, I didn’t mean to pry,’ Joan whispered, putting her hand on Penny’s shoulder. ‘Sorry . . . Let’s just do the tour and then go into town. Better if we do our work in the villa in private. You’re going to have to toughen up, though, you know, if you want to join us in the real world, young lady.’

Penny tried to smile back. Joan was trying to be kind but she didn’t understand how much Penny was envying her life, her freedom, her knowledge. She resolved not to waste one hour of this wonderful opportunity. This was what she’d always longed for, and such a chance might never come again.

Joan’s lessons became the highlight of the day for Penny. Effy got quite jealous when she was too busy studying to go shopping or to the beach. Penny took every chance offered and often found herself in the company of other students as they sat drinking coffee in a fug of blue smoke, spinning out their ouzo and
meze,
putting the world to rights, planning how they would fund their next excavations, studying for exams in a world that was looking increasingly unsettled. Everyone borrowed English newspapers to read about Herr Hitler and Mr Chamberlain’s attempts to find common ground. There was talk of appeasement and the rise of Fascism. Penny recalled the violence in the backstreet with the Blackshirts and their slogans. What if the unrest spread? She began to take an interest in the debates and read the dog-eared papers for herself. She looked around at the graduates, the teachers on secondment, the lecturers. What would happen to them if war came?

Bruce offered to play her at tennis to make up foursomes, to escort her home to say hello to Walter and Evadne, but Joan’s words of warning rang in her ears. He was too old and worldly-wise for her. Now she felt shy in his presence, nervous and self-conscious. He was much darker, rougher than she recalled, with his jagged, rock-like features. In the cafés, he was often loud and half drunk, quick to argue and make jokes she didn’t understand. Then he disappeared into some mountain in the Peloponnese on an excavation, leaving her wishing she could join the other students on a dig, but Evadne wouldn’t hear of it.

‘Look we’ve got to face the fact, it’s time you went home. We must make plans, though I don’t want to miss the Christmas ball at the legation. We must find you something decent to wear for that too . . .’

Soon enough Evadne was distracted by talk of clothes and the subject was mercifully dropped. But Penny was all too aware that she was living on borrowed time.

Evadne was never still, always out shopping, visiting friends, preparing to entertain. Penny noticed that as the time when her baby should have been born drew nearer Effy grew increasingly restless and snappy. Penny was outstaying her welcome but the thought of going home now was unbearable. She knew now that Joan’s down-to-earth dismissal of her Society world wasn’t sour grapes but welcome iced water thrown on all Mother’s fanciful plans for the coming season. Sometimes her words were challenging – ‘Who is she doing it for, you or her?’ – and Penny loved it when she argued so hard on her behalf. Mother would be appalled at Joan’s accent but she would be no match for her plain-speaking. Joan was becoming a close friend, one from whom Penny had so much to learn: how to interpret sculptures and art, how to study textbooks and write up reports, how to live on a shoestring, looking for bargains in the shops and markets. Life was never dull when Joan was around.