The Lost Swimmer (16 page)

‘Well, perhaps I'm ready to listen.'

‘You know I'm blunt.'

‘Fully aware – and I'll probably disagree with everything you say.'

The light seared our eyes as Burton headed under a fir tree, where he wheeled to face me. I sat down in the baked dirt, looking up at him like an acolyte to Plato, surprised I had let it get to this.

‘I've always thought Stephen would make a good spy,' said Burton. ‘He's the type MI5 would have recruited at Oxford in the thirties. You never see all there is with him.'

I swallowed my instinctive reaction to rebut Burton. ‘He retrenched staff recently,' I said, and my voice trailed off – I didn't want to speak ill of Stephen, even if I was encouraging Burton to do so.

‘Really? And I bet he only told you after the event?'

I didn't reply, which he knew meant yes.

‘I can imagine him having an affair with Priscilla because they're quite alike.'

‘Oh, please don't say that.'

Burton shrugged. ‘They're wolves. Opportunistic and hungry. I know this is harsh but I suspect Stephen would get a kick out of sleeping with your immediate superior. A sort of warped power play. Do you still have sex?'

Burton's eyes were shining like an animal's. He had taken on a rat-like quality, but I let him continue.

‘You don't have to answer that but I would surmise no or not very often. “Damned whores and gods' police” as Anne Summers once said. The virgin and the call girl. I've known Stephen longer than you and as teenagers he played that out over and over. He'd two-time the prettiest girls: one would be a slut and the other Mother Teresa.'

My mouth was drying up. Burton wouldn't stop without me telling him to. He might have known Stephen longer, but surely I knew my husband far better?

‘What's always annoyed me is that Stephen pretends to be so moral and everyone thinks he's the Great Man. When he talks the rest of us shut up, as though we mere mortals could never come close to his wisdom. It's complete bunkum. If I looked like him and came from his privileged background, I guess colleagues would treat me like that too. Instead, I churn out books and research and never come close to receiving his accolades.'

‘That's not true.' I finally found my voice. ‘And you went to the same school, so you both came from privilege. Stephen's parents weren't wealthy. They devoted their lives to medical research but they earned next to nothing. I think that's why Stephen became an economist.'

‘Anyway, as I was saying,' interrupted Burton testily. ‘To answer your question, there's a lot more to Stephen than you've ever realised. And none of it pleasant.' Burton sat back, almost licking his lips. ‘I've been wanting to say that for years. Sorry. I don't know how to sugar-coat things anymore. I spend too much time alone.'

‘I asked.' I sat rubbing my fingers in the dust, unable to move.

‘I think you're ready for a bit of truth, Pollyanna.'

‘Burton, I've been accused of fraud.'

•  •  •

We sat for an hour talking through everything that had happened and, in the end, a very startled Burton promised he'd use all his extensive contacts to find a way to get an introduction to the Athenian bank manager or failing that, the young assistant or another member of staff. He would make it his mission to discover who had set up the Athens 2 and 3 accounts and who had followed me to the bank.

‘Here you are! I've been looking everywhere!'

I almost jumped out of my skin but was delighted to see Maria Kelikarkis, who was the size of a doll and well into her eighties. The tour-guide identification dangling from her neck was an ingénue shot of a bee-hived young lady from over half a century ago. Today Maria was dressed in a beautifully cut fire-engine-red suit finished off with a flamboyant blue scarf. Although she was decades older than her photo, her eyes still held the vibrancy of youth and her hair, dyed a rich black, was cut in a contemporary style. She made all her clothes herself and lived off the tips from tourists, but to the outside world Maria bore the appearance of a wealthy woman – and one who was heart-warmingly vain.

‘Burton told me you were coming. I couldn't wait to catch up!' she cried.

I leaped from the ground and she stood on tiptoe, kissing both my cheeks as I leaned down to embrace her.

‘Maria, I've missed you!'

‘She's missed everything about Crete,' Burton said drily, annoyed by the interruption even though he'd arranged it.

‘I had a dream about you the other night. Is everything all right?' Maria asked.

‘Sort of,' I said.

‘No, it's not,' said Burton. ‘It's not all right at all.'

Maria had been our den-mother on the digs long ago when she'd been the Greek liaison. I burst into tears as I absorbed the pervasive warmth of her tiny hand tucked into mine. She sat down and proceeded to wrap me firmly under her wing.

‘In my dream you were in the labyrinth,' she gave a little squeeze.

‘Theseus or the Minotaur?' asked Burton.

‘No, she was following Ariadne's woollen ball but she wasn't Theseus. He was behind you.' She turned to me. ‘You were in between the ball and the man. The follower and the followed.' Her eyes pierced mine. ‘The investigator and the investigated. That was what I felt as I woke. Are you in trouble, Rebecca? I tried to telephone you and you can imagine my surprise when Burton told me the next day that you were travelling here. Maybe I've spent my life reading too many Greek myths but I have the strangest sense that you need help. My dear, what is it?'

The shock of her insight halted my tears. Drawing a deep breath I stared at the tiny woman, so perfectly groomed she looked like an exquisite museum exhibit.

‘Promise you're sworn to secrecy? Only you and Burton can be in on this.'

‘Of course,' she said matter-of-factly, switching to Greek as a group of American girls sauntered past. ‘They call me the vault.'

Burton cut in, outlining the whole situation, punctuated by gasps from Maria, who clapped her bird-like hand to her mouth on several occasions, eyes widening to heavily made-up full moons.

‘I have a cousin who works in that bank. Sofia,' she said when the story had been told. ‘We've always been close. With your permission, I'll speak to her?'

‘That would be wonderful,' Burton and I replied together, and Maria laughed gaily.

‘You must take this seriously,' said Burton.

‘Sorry. I've always loved espionage.' Maria's eyes twinkled.

‘When can you contact her?' I asked.

Maria checked her watch. ‘She'll be home cooking dinner by about seven and it's best to reach her on a full stomach. She's from the large side of the family and is an angry bear when hungry but a lamb once full.'

‘Would I have seen her at the bank?'

‘Did you notice a giantess with a mane of black hair?'

I shook my head. ‘I'd certainly remember that. How old is she?'

‘Much younger than me. Young enough to be my niece.'

‘I'd like to meet her,' said Burton.

‘Well, you might,' replied Maria. ‘I'll play it by ear. Sometimes it's better to do these things face to face.'

‘I'm happy to pay your airfare,' I said. ‘In fact, I'd insist.'

‘Then that's settled. I've been wanting a trip to Athens,' said Maria. ‘I can stay with Sofia. That way if she's evasive I can pin her down. Burton, have you any business to do in Athens? It might be useful having you there.'

‘I'll pay for you too, Burton, of course,' I said.

‘That won't be necessary,' he replied. ‘I need to get that gold to the museum. God knows I've run out of excuses for keeping it here. They're starting to pressure me.' He paused dramatically. ‘So, anyone for a viewing?'

‘He told me I'd have to wait till you came,' crowed Maria. ‘Let's go!'

As we headed through the long shadows cast by the palace ruins I was grateful to Maria for turning my misfortune into an adventure. For a moment it helped give the nightmare a fresh perspective.

‘There must be a solution,' she announced. ‘Together we'll get to the truth.'

•  •  •

Burton passed us white cotton gloves and donned a pair himself. He punched in the combination to the safe and with all the care in the world lifted out a tray on which sat the treasures. He passed me the cup, about the size of my palm, its gold gleaming with a rich warmth, a lustre formed by centuries. I turned it carefully, holding my breath. The flexed muscles of the bull were so realistic it seemed incomprehensible they were formed by the precision of hammer blows.

‘Around 1900 BC,' I whispered in awe. ‘Much older than the Vapheio Cups.'

‘The work of a genius,' Burton replied and Maria turned white.

‘I don't think I dare hold it,' she said as I went to pass her the glittering cup. I was happy to keep it in my hands, greedy to absorb every detail that pushed out in high relief in the pure gold.

After what seemed like a brief time but Burton pointed out was almost half an hour, I handed back the cup and was given the signet ring. This, too, was the work of a craftsman at his absolute peak. The two leaping bulls were captured so finely in a golden bezel it seemed they would burst from the ring and into the very air surrounding us. The finery of the ladies dancing with the bulls was beyond anything I had ever seen. The photographs had not revealed the way the gold was almost embroidered, its detail was so intricate. A master goldsmith had captured a world from millennia ago that was alive even now. Maria took the ring with trembling hands and gazed upon it with so much love it seemed as if her heart was breaking.

Two hours passed in Burton's room, where we stood in an oasis of calm amid the clutter of his existence. We had been transported deep into the Minoan world and it tore us to wrench back to the present.

As Burton returned the golden treasures to the safe, reality was suddenly mundane. Burton and Maria promised to make their phone calls on my behalf, and we agreed to regroup at eight-thirty for dinner, where we would meet other friends in what promised to be a rowdy night. Stephen would be there too, so we would have to find a chance to slip away to discuss any possible leads that were uncovered.

T
ravellers talked too loudly and bumped hard against me as the bus descended into Heraklion. Dust and sweat were nauseating as Burton's assessment of Stephen rang in my ears. Granted, Burton had a jealous streak, but he was astute and passionately believed what he'd said. I was angry with myself for raising it, when Stephen and I were getting on so well. And now I couldn't ignore it. Why couldn't I just take Stephen at face value and be happy?

The bus cleared out at the main square and I took a seat as we chugged down the hill to the harbour. Alighting, the air was salty and vibrant; a sea breeze rocked the boats moored along the wall. I climbed the steps to the hotel and ordered a fresh orange juice, procrastinating before going to the room. As I sat on mounds of Turkish pillows, I gazed down to the Venetian fortress. People on its flat roof looked like ants but one ant in particular was familiar. I peered closely – it was definitely Stephen's walk. He must have changed his clothes, to dark trousers and a white shirt. But what perplexed me was his companion: a blonde-haired woman with a neat figure. My heart froze. She could have been Priscilla, but for a lighter, more carefree movement.

I rushed out of the hotel, passing a curious Katina who had just come back on duty. Darting through traffic, I made my way to the entrance of the fortress, its massive wooden doors half-shut.

‘Sorry, we're closed.' A girl was in the process of locking up, switching out lights in the gloomy, yawning space that was the main area of the ground floor.

‘Would you mind if I find my husband? I just saw him up on the roof.'

‘But he's probably left by now,' replied the girl, glancing at her watch.

‘Promise I'll be quick.' I raced past, chancing she was too young to challenge me.

‘Please hurry!' she called, making no attempt to follow.

It was cold and damp inside, distinctly creepy. I glanced into the rooms off the hall; the walls were so thick you could scream until you died without a soul hearing. Ancient iron weaponry lay about as decoration, torturous chains and cannons. I rushed on, not wanting to be locked in but feeling certain I would have seen Stephen come out with all the other tourists as I was making my way down. I'd had a clear view except when I was avoiding traffic.

I arrived at the grand staircase that led upwards and stopped in shock. Sitting to one side of the stairs was a pair of blue and white sandals, neatly laid side by side, awaiting the return of their owner. They were like the sandals that Priscilla wore – their image had been burned into my brain as I stared at them during our mediation sessions: the unusual cornflower-blue, the fine leather. And these were identical, except for one strap hanging loose and a thin layer of dust. I blinked, not trusting my eyes. Could it be that Priscilla was upstairs with Stephen?

Or coming down. Noisy footsteps started tramping towards me from high above. I crept to hide in the shadows of the staircase, and soon a little boy came tripping along, followed by his mother, father and older sister.

‘How come they can stay and we can't?' he whined in an English accent.

‘They're coming too. The man told them,' replied the mother patiently.

‘It's not fair!' the boy screeched.

‘I want to go back!' cried his sister, bursting into tears.

The mother picked up the blue and white sandals and slipped them onto her bare feet. I wanted to hug her. She was dark-haired and stocky, nothing like Priscilla. The only thing they had in common was their footwear.

After the family left I ran up the stairs as fast as I could, my ribs twingeing, slowing me down. By the time I reached the top, far above, and pushed out on to the roof, I was so short of breath I could barely keep going. There was no one in sight. The sea was choppy and tiny white horses pranced across the caps of the dark waves. The cannon parapets stood ominous in the light. A cloud passed in front of the sun and the area was plunged into cold shadow.