Strangers in Company (28 page)

“Oh, perfectly.” The fresh air combined with the message she had just received was helping to wake her out of the trance of despair into which she had let herself sink after the fiasco at Piraeus. She had, apparently, allies. Impossible to imagine how she had acquired them, and no chance of asking Marcelle any more, but the knowledge changed everything. It meant hope, not just for herself, but for Stella. If they knew of her plight, they must surely know of Stella's, might even have done something about it already.

“Do nothing,” Marcelle had said. “Wait.” It was lucky, after all, that she had achieved nothing at Piraeus. She might have wrecked everything, even have killed Stella by precipitate action. But—waiting is the hardest thing of all. She shivered a little in the heavy, all-concealing cardigan Mrs. Adams had chosen from among her clothes and made her wear.

“You are going to the temple?” Marcelle was making polite conversation with Mrs. Adams.

“Yes. I imagine that is our bus waiting on the quay.”

“Very likely. Me, I am not fond of buses. They make me sick. I have a friend with a velo—what do you say?—a motor something? He will take me, fast, fast, and I will be in Aghia Marina long before you. We do not go to the temple, he and I, only to lunch and shop for the carpets they make there or say they make there. So perhaps we had better settle now, had we not, in case by any chance we do not meet again.”

“Oh, yes, of course.” If Mrs. Adams had hoped that the seven pounds odd that she and her partner now owed were to be forgotten, she concealed her disappointment manfully. “Do you mind it in sterling?”

“Far from it,” said Marcelle, cheerfully pulling out her purse. “I love money of all kinds, do not you madame?”

Marian was remembering something Marcelle had said earlier in the game: “Never think of defeat; think always of victory.” Well, they had won themselves seven pounds each. She accepted the money Mrs. Spencer was handing her and made herself smile at Mrs. Adams. “We'll have to have a drink on this at lunch.”

Would she be alive at lunchtime? When would it happen? And did Marcelle really know? Her hands gripped hard on the rail.

“You are feeling worse?” Mrs. Adams missed nothing. “You would like to go below again?”

“Oh, no, it's nothing. Just a bit sleepy still.” She ought to tell Marcelle she had understood and would obey her message. “I think I'll try and get some sleep in the bus,” she said. “After all there's nothing to do until we get to the temple.”

“Very wise,” said Mrs. Adams.

“You are lucky,” said Marcelle. “Me, I will be clinging tight, tight to my boyfriend's rear end, but you will be wise to rest while you may, madame. It is a long day you make for one who has been in an accident”

“Oh, it was nothing,” said Marian vaguely. She had just seen a policeman directing traffic at the harbour side. Would Marcelle cover her if she were to try and make a break for it? But Marcelle had said, “Do nothing.”

Besides, she was now shaking hands warmly all round. “I shall say
au revoir,
and thank you for a very pleasant game. I see my boyfriend there, by the policeman.” She laughed. “That policeman. He directs the traffic beautifully, and if he saw a crime committed, I promise you, he would look the other way. There! Jacques has seen me.” She waved vigorously. “He does not like to be kept waiting, that one. Well”—she conceded it cheerfully—“he is a little younger than I am, in fact”

He looked it. He had stopped talking to the policeman now and was pushing his heavy motorbike towards the
landing stage, and Marian, taking the warning about the policeman, thought that this unknown Jacques looked like a much more promising ally. She must hope he
was
an ally and try not to let her eyes follow the retreating back of Marcelle, who was now pushing her way briskly through the crowd, conspicuous in the bright fake fur.

“Well!” said Mrs. Adams.

“Cheating, of course,” said Mrs. Spencer.

“Oh, dear,” said Marian. “I am so sorry; I had no idea. You really must let me give you your money back.”

“No, no, not at all,” said Mrs. Spencer. “It will be a lesson to me not to play with strangers.”

“And to me.” Mrs. Adams sounded even angrier than Mrs. Spencer. “Did you see how she did it?”

“Can't say I did. Some French trick, no doubt Of course one could see that you knew nothing about it” Her tone of patronage irked Marian suddenly, and then she thought how absurd it was to let a trifle annoy her, now, when her life was at stake.

People were filing ashore, and they followed rather behind the main crowd. “No hurry,” said Mrs. Adams comfortably. “Mike will wait.”

The motorbike went off with a roar of exhaust as they were crossing the dock to their bus, and Marian could not help a new pang of despair. Did Marcelle know that nothing would happen before they got to Aghia Marina? It was easy to say, “Do nothing,” but extraordinarily hard to do it.

In fact, to her own amazement, she actually did fall asleep in the bus, after it had made its precarious way out of the narrow, hilly streets of the little town, and woke with a start to find her head resting cosily on Mrs. Adams' shoulder. “There,” said the latter in motherly tones, “haven't you had a splendid sleep. I expect you feel all the better for it”

“I feel like hell,” said Marian.

“Never mind.” Mrs. Spencer turned round from her seat in front “You missed a very dull talk from young Mike. I don't think his mind's on his job today. If the
professor was here, I'm sure he'd have corrected him on a point or two. Why, even I know that the Temple of Aphaea here is older than the Parthenon.”

“Is it really?” It was hard to feel that it mattered.

“Yes, fifty years or so, I believe. I expect it's one of the reasons the Athenians disliked Aegina so much. What with that and their being such a progressive lot here. Real money, you know, before anyone else. Well”—brightly—“here we are.”

The bus had been climbing through pine groves for some time and now pulled into a car park that already had its complement of tourist buses.

“It's going to be crowded, I'm afraid,” said Mrs. Adams gloomily.

“Looks like it,” agreed Mrs. Spencer. “Well, it always is. So near Athens. One would need to come in mid-winter to have it to oneself.”

Marian pulled on her heavy cardigan. If the temple was crowded, it could not be going to happen here. She did not let herself specify what exactly she meant by “it.” What was the use. She would find out soon enough. But climbing down from the bus, she could not help a quick look round the car park, or a pang of disappointment at sight of several cars, one of them a small red one that might be unpleasantly familiar, but no motorbike.

The temple was as crowded as the one at Sounion had been, and thinking this, Marian felt as if she were looking back on some remote, almost archaeological past. She remembered escaping from the crowds there and sitting peacefully, dazed with sleep as she was today, among gold and yellow flowers, brooding about the twins. That was the day when Mrs. Hilton had sealed her own doom by insisting on sitting with her on the bus going back. The professor had not been there, but the Adamses had, and had doubtless reported Mrs. Hilton to him as a possible hazard. Was she really thinking of the professor as the leader of this gang? It was horrible, but granted his part in it, she could imagine him as nothing else.

The harassed custodian of the site was shouting at a
party of German boys who were clambering on the rare upper row of pillars. “Disgusting,” said Mrs. Adams, “they ought to be kept under better control.” She looked at her watch. “It's about time we were going.”

“Going?” They were in the midst of a group of older Germans, who were busily discussing their guidebook.

“Yes. Don't you remember, you wanted to walk down? I still think it's a bit much for you, but since you insist, I'll have a word with Mike, and we'd better get started. If we leave now, we ought to get to the café in Aghia Marina at about the same time as the others. So long as you're sure you're up to the walk.” This was a little louder, for the benefit of Mrs. Spencer, who had climbed over a fallen pillar to join them. “Mrs. Frenche wants to walk down to the village,” she explained. “It was an idea of Miss Marten's actually.” The name rang a warning bell in Marian's head as was undoubtedly intended.

What had Marcelle said? “Do nothing.” Well, surely that meant go along with what was suggested. Besides, for Stella's sake, she must. “Of course I'm up to it.” She sounded quite convincingly cross. “This place is too crowded to be borne. But let's just have one more look at the view.”

If it was her last, of any view, it was worth it.

“Hi, there!” Marian and Mrs. Adams had cut through the car park and started down a narrow path through the pine woods, when the shout from behind made them stop and turn. Mrs. Spencer was hurrying after them. “Wait for me!” she called. “I want to walk down, too.”

Marian, who had already been encouraged by the fact that the sinister little red car was no longer in the park, felt a wild leap of hope. Surely Mrs. Spencer's presence must be some kind of protection? Mrs. Adams was certainly greeting her with a signal lack of enthusiasm. “It's a very rough path. Are you sure your shoes are up to it?”

“Yes, don't you think you'd be better in the bus?” Remembering the gang's ruthlessness, Marian felt it the least she could do to try and protect Mrs. Spencer.

“Nonsense.” Mrs. Spencer fell into line behind Marian on the narrow path.

It was surprisingly quiet among the trees, and dark with the sinister darkness only pine woods have. Ahead, Mrs. Adams set a brisk pace that left no time for conversation. Stumbling, sometimes, with fatigue, Marian was aware of Mrs. Spencer coming steadily along behind her. The path came out into the opening suddenly to cross a bend in the road that zigzagged its way up the hill. They paused for a moment, to let a minibus pass, then crossed and plunged into a still deeper, more silent stand of pines. No birds sang here, and even the noise of cars from the road seemed muted. Only the sharp smell of the pine trees served as a reminder of living.

“Here.” Mrs. Adams stopped at a fork of the path. “This is our way.” Suddenly, she and Mrs. Spencer had an arm of each of Marian's as they turned into a surprisingly broader path, wide enough, surely, for a small car.

“How far?” asked Mrs. Spencer.

“Ten minutes. But we'll have to hurry. There's a lot to do.” And then, as Marian caught her breath. “Quiet now. Not that anyone could hear you. It's a geological fault, if that means anything to you.”

Marian was silent She was digesting her own extraordinary stupidity. Mrs. Spencer was one of them. If she had applied to her, back on the bus, it would have meant disaster.

Well, and what was this? Marcelle, down in the village of Aghia Marina, seemed worlds away, and Stella, back in Athens.… Poor Stella. She was young.

“Here we are,” said Mrs. Adams with satisfaction. The track had turned a corner and emerged into a clearing where stood a typical little one-storey Greek summer home, all white concrete and geraniums in petrol tins.

A young man was sitting on a kitchen chair outside
the front door, cleaning a gun. “Good.” He pushed the door open, and they filed into the large, main room of the house. Marian had recognised him as one of the two Greeks of the red car, which was doubtless parked out of sight behind the house somewhere. The other one awaited them inside. “You're late,” he said.

“I know.” Mrs. Adams turned on Marian. “No time to lose. Your clothes. All of them. In there.” She pushed her into a tiny slip of a bedroom, threw a black bundle after her and, mercifully, closed the door.

The room was windowless and furnished only with a pallet bed and another kitchen chair. Marian sat down on the chair. What now? Every instinct told her not to cooperate. She had friends, after all. Marcelle and the young man on the motorbike must be somewhere. Time, now, had to be on her side. If anything was.…

What had Marcelle said? “Don't think of defeat.… Think of victory.” Time.… She got up from the chair, threw herself on the hard bed, which smelled, and pretended sleep. Was there a hole in the door? Were they watching? Apparently not. A few minutes passed with nothing but the sound of rapid Greek from the main room. It was, she supposed, not surprising that Mrs. Adams and Mrs. Spencer both spoke it fluently. She could hear their voices now, and another woman's, loud, harsh, angry. Her double? She would know soon enough.

The talk in the other room came to a crescendo, then stopped on one grating monosyllable from the strange voice. Marian made herself lie relaxed on the bed, as if she had fallen there in complete exhaustion. She heard the door swing open, and a furious exclamation. In a moment, Mrs. Adams and Mrs. Spencer were standing over her. “You said she'd cooperate.” Mrs. Spencer's voice vibrated with fury.

“She will.” Mrs. Adams' blow caught Marian exactly on last night's bruise. The pain was exquisite. She pulled her upright on the bed. “We've not much time. What we do to you here they do to that girl in Athens. It's been hard enough to keep Adams off her as it is.”

“If you mark her,” said Marian. “How will she explain it?”

“The motor accident, cretin. No one's seen her since, have they? Now, off with those clothes, or do we get the men in to strip you? I expect they'd enjoy it. A little.” As she talked she had pulled off the enveloping cardigan, was now busy with the buttons of Marian's blouse.

“Bra and girdle?” asked Mrs. Spencer, as one might have said, medium or rare.

“No need. Marks and Spencer's, and she's got on her own size.” The word “she” carried a curious aura of respect, and for the first time Marian found herself actively wondering about this double of hers. Would she see her?