Mortal Remains (7 page)

‘Poor old Felix.’ Patrick shook his head. ‘Gwenda hasn’t wasted much space on him.’

Ursula thought eulogies, however well merited, over-doing things, and said so.

‘She must have had an awful shock,’ she pointed out.

‘I don’t suppose it’s interrupted her life much,’ said Patrick. ‘She’ll carry on just as before, but she’ll wear a martyr’s expression for a while.’

‘You don’t like her, do you?’

‘No,’ said Patrick flatly. Then he went on, changing the subject, ‘I had an interesting time this morning trying to track down the Greek godson of another friend of mine who’s just died.’ He described his morning.

‘Obviously Yannis has done something they don’t approve of in Ai Saranda,’ said Ursula.

‘Yes. But what? I thought he’d got himself into some sort of political scrape – that’s what Alec thought, I’m sure.’

‘The old men might have been prudently evasive about that, if it were so, but they wouldn’t have been disapproving,’ said Ursula.

“That’s what I thought. It was almost as if they were embarrassed,’ said Patrick.

‘When are you going to that island to look for him?’

‘How did you know I’d do that?’ Patrick looked at her in astonishment.

‘Well, you’ll soon be bored here, when you’ve been to Knossos and a few other spots. I’m sure you aren’t content to lie in the sun for more than a day or two. Besides, I don’t think you like loose ends, do you?’

‘Am I so transparent?’

‘No, but you’re a positive sort of person. More impulsive, too, than many academics.’

‘What about you?’ Patrick attacked back, shaken by such discernment.

‘Oh, I’m quite ordinary. I kept house for my father until he died last May. Now I’m having an indefinite holiday. I don’t know when I’ll go back to my job.’

‘Where is that?’

‘At the National Gallery.’

Patrick was about to ask her in what capacity, when his attention was distracted by a large black car which drove past and stopped outside the police station. Out got Inspector Manolakis, wiry and smart in his uniform. He spoke to the driver and disappeared within.

‘Is that the local police chief?’ Ursula asked.

‘I don’t know if he’s the chief. He’s the chap who’s been dealing with poor old Felix. It must be very trying for the local force when tourists die.’

‘Nice for the tourist, if he’s happy,’ Ursula said.

‘Yes – if it happens peacefully, while you’re sitting on the terrace looking at the sea. But not if you drown.’ He would never forget Felix’s appearance, ravaged by the effect of the water.

‘Hullo – your policeman has seen you. He’s coming to talk to you,’ said Ursula.

Sure enough, Inspector Manolakis had emerged from the police station and was walking towards them.

‘Good evening, Mr Grant. How are you?’ he said.

Patrick introduced Ursula, and the policeman repeated,

‘How are you?’ Greeks often used this greeting, Patrick had noticed.

‘Won’t you join us, Inspector?’ he suggested. ‘Can I get you a drink?’

‘Thank you. I will have coffee, please,’ said Manolakis.

The waiter, seeing him, had at once appeared, and now, took the order with a sincere
‘amesos’,
returning in a magically short time with the strong Greek coffee for the policeman.

‘Your friend, Mr Lomax – the matter is at rest,’ he said. ‘The body goes back to England tomorrow.’

‘Oh, good.’ Someone had been efficient. The unfortunate vice-consul, no doubt, summoned from Heraklion. ‘It’s reported briefly in the paper,’ Patrick said, indicating his copy of
The Times.

‘So sad. You must forget it now and enjoy your holiday,’ said Manolakis. He was looking at Patrick, consideringly. ‘You are in
Kriti
for fourteen days?’

‘No. I’m going to Athens soon. Friday, probably.’

‘Ah – you have been to Athens before?’

‘Yes.’

They talked about Athens for a while, with Ursula and Patrick waxing lyrical and Manolakis proudly listening to their praises of the city, drinking his coffee.

‘I am glad you like,’ he said.

He left them then, and when he had gone, the waiter rushed over to see if they had more commands.

‘You’re a marked man now,’ said Ursula. ‘The policeman’s friend.’

‘It was nice of him to talk to us,’ said Patrick. ‘I wonder why he did?’

‘Just natural Greek courtesy.’

‘I thought he was pleased that I was leaving,’ Patrick said, slowly. ‘Now why? The business about Felix seems to be closed. They’ve decided it was an accident.’

‘But you’re not sure?’

‘I think Manolakis is convinced it was suicide.’

‘If it was—’ Ursula hesitated, choosing her words. ‘If it was, it’s a terrible thing to have happened, and surely better by far for everyone’s sake, to have it officially described as accidental. You said your friend had a tiresome wife.’

Patrick laughed shortly.

‘If every man with a tiresome wife killed himself the suicide rate would soar,’ he said. ‘I just don’t see Felix doing such a thing. Besides, a man suffering from vertigo would choose another way of doing it, wouldn’t he? He wouldn’t throw himself over a cliff. And why here, anyway?’

‘He’d had a lot to drink,’ said Patrick.

They were sitting on the hotel terrace after dinner. Taped bouzouki music came from the softly-lit
taverna
bar outside which the tables were arranged. The scent from the flowers in the well-watered beds filled the air, and when briefly the bouzoukis stopped, the cicadas could be heard instead.

‘He might not have realised he was close to the cliff edge, in the darkness,’ said Ursula. ‘He might just have blundered over it.’

‘I’ve never seen a night in a place like this that was so dark,’ said Patrick. Both remembered that when they had arrived the harbour lights were brilliantly reflected in the sea; and now the sky above them was full of stars. ‘There’s a moon at the moment – it’s coming up to the full. And anyway, what was he doing here when he should have been sailing up to the Black Sea? That’s what I’d like to know.’ For by now he had told Ursula about Felix’s cruise commitment.

‘Had he no papers on him? Nothing that explained it?’

‘No. Only a wallet with some money, and his driving licence. And his passport.’

‘Have you got your passport on you now?’ asked Ursula.

‘No. It’s locked in my case in my room. I don’t carry it around all the time.’

‘Neither do I. That’s what I meant.’

‘That he was in transit, so to speak? The police found no record of his having booked in anywhere, nor any luggage. I suppose he could have dumped it somewhere.’

‘Are you going to tell Inspector Manolakis about his fear of heights?’

‘I don’t think so. Or not at the moment.’

‘His wife must be satisfied with whatever explanation she’s been given, or she’d make a fuss and demand further enquiries.’

‘Mm. She may have had a letter from him, saying why he’d changed his plans.’

‘Do you think, if it really were suicide, that he might have decided to do it in the most challenging way he could find?’ By an act that terrified him in itself?’ asked Ursula.

Patrick considered this.

‘Interesting theory. It’s possible, I suppose. But why come to Crete for it? I still find it impossible to accept Felix as a suicide.’ He sighed. ‘Still, what do we really know about anyone? It’s all only guesswork. Maybe I just don’t want to accept that a friend of mine could be in a state of despair and I hadn’t noticed. Why don’t we stop thinking about it for now, and go down to the town? Have you been there in the evening? It’s quite lively.’

‘I haven’t, and I’d love to come,’ said Ursula. ‘I’ll just get a sweater, if you don’t mind waiting for a minute.’

She hastened off to her room, and while she was gone Patrick stood in the hotel foyer studying the notices which advertised trips to Knossos, Heraklion and so forth, and excursions by boat to various islands. It was pleasant to have found such a congenial companion; the little town was best enjoyed in company. How satisfactory to feel that there could be no emotional complications from their friendship.

Ursula soon returned. With her height and her striking white hair, she was a handsome woman.

He told her about
Aphrodite’s,
the shop where he had bought Jane’s waistcoat, and suggested she might like to go there before they had their drinks. Ursula agreed, and they parked the car near the foot of the steep steps leading to that part of the town. A few people were wandering about up there, but most of the activity was centred around the waterfront.

In the shop, they found the mother still knitting, but the girl was attending to an elderly couple who were choosing a rug. Ursula at once began to browse among the crochet-work, telling Patrick he was quite right to enthuse about it.

‘Will you be dreadfully bored, waiting?’ she asked.

‘Not a bit. We’ve all night before us,’ said Patrick. ‘Take your time.’

He started to look at postcards, and watched her covertly. She had a confident manner that was quite without arrogance; she clearly knew her own value and a lot about life. She hasn’t just moved between her father’s house and the Gallery, thought Patrick, and wondered about her elastic plan to stay in Greece indefinitely.

Little Sophia was struggling hard with the couple she was serving. They were carrying out their transaction in English but there was some difficulty about it, and it soon became obvious that they were German. The woman seemed to speak only a few words of English, but the man spoke more; his accent, though, was thick. Sophia’s mother kept her eye on them, her needles for ever clicking but her glance was sharp.

While they were negotiating, George and Elsie Loukas came into the shop. George was delighted to see Patrick.

‘Elsie would come here. Said it’s cheaper than some of those shops down by the harbour,’ he said. ‘She wants one of those embroidered dresses. Look honey,’ he addressed his wife, ‘there’s a whole rail of them here.’

Elsie began to look through a rack of long caftan-type dresses, and George, who had seen Sophia’s mother at the back of the shop, started a conversation with her. She looked surprised at first, and then delighted. Still keeping an eye on her daughter, she actually laid down her knitting and joined in a busy dialogue.

The German woman had now decided she must add an embroidered caftan to her pile of purchases. She crossed to the rail where Elsie was looking through them. Neither took the least notice of the other but grimly pursued their quest. Elsie snatched out a black dress and held it against her body; the German woman looked annoyed and rattled the hangers as she hunted on. Sophia came anxiously across.

‘You like what colour?’ she asked the German woman.

‘I want a black dress and this woman’s taken the only one there is,’ said the woman to her husband, speaking in German.

‘I’ll try this on,’ Elsie said to Sophia. ‘I found it first. If it doesn’t fit, she can have it.’

‘Of course. But I have more,’ said Sophia. She bundled Elsie behind a curtain at the back of the shop with her booty, and then returned to the German woman. ‘You would like a black one, please?’ she said, and went to a shelf where more dresses, neatly folded, were stacked.

‘Do you make these too?’ Patrick asked.

‘No. My sister makes them,’ Sophia said.

‘They’re lovely. If I hadn’t already got one, I’d buy one,’ said Ursula. She turned and spoke to Sophia in Greek, and then added to Patrick, ‘I said we’d come back when they’re not so busy. She’s got her hands full at the moment.’

It was true. Elsie had emerged from the curtained corner in her dress; her broad shoulders and impressive chest displayed the elaborate gold embroidery to perfection. The German woman now went behind the curtain to put hers on, while George told Elsie she looked magnificent.

‘Doesn’t she?’ he appealed to Ursula and Patrick.

They agreed that she did.

‘Like Brunhilde,’ said Ursula.

The two walked back down the steep steps to the harbour and wandered on past the tables of the various
tavernas
and the
kafenia.
Patrick looked at the boats tied up below the wall.

‘There’s an interesting set-up,’ he said, and pointed out the
Psyche
at her berth. ‘A sweet young Canadian girl seems to be helping a Greek lad with that boat on its trips.’

‘What fun for her,’ said Ursula, mildly.

‘I thought it would be pleasant to have a day with them exploring the coast. But I’m not sure if there will be time now.’

‘You’re going after Yannis?’

‘Yes. That, and other things.’ Patrick stared at the
Psyche.
‘Come on, let’s find a table.’

Though it was still warm, the air was fresh now, and everyone seemed to have woken up. From Zito’s came the sound of bouzoukis.

‘It’s curiously haunting music, isn’t it?’ said Ursula. ‘Lilting and gay, yet with a melancholy undertone.’

‘Like the Greek character.’

‘Yes.’

‘I suppose all this tourism is a good thing. Brings prosperity.’

‘Oh, undoubtedly. But the young people find it pays better to work in the hotels rather than on the land. That seems a pity.’

A couple whom Patrick recognised as being a youthful pair from the hotel went past.

‘The place is packed with honeymooners,’ he said, tartly.

‘Don’t you think it’s an ideal spot for romance?’ Ursula suggested.

‘I suppose so,’ said Patrick, in a surly tone.

‘Sunlight and tranquillity. What more can you want when you’re young and in love?’ said Ursula, watching the pair walk slowly along, hand in hand. ‘Penzance in the rain wouldn’t be quite the same.’

‘I suppose not. Look, there’s the Canadian girl I told you about,’ said Patrick, seizing the chance to change the subject.

Jill McLeod had emerged from Zito’s and was walking along the quay towards the boat. She wore a long skirt in some purple flowered material, and a tight black top. Her hair, freed from its pony-tail, was loose and flowing.

‘Is that the boat owner with her?’