The Moonspinners (18 page)

‘Oh, God, I suppose you're right. I – I've not been thinking very straight.' I put a hand to my head. ‘If you'd seen Sofia. That's what really frightened me . . . when Josef didn't come home. You should have seen her face.'

Incoherent as I was, she understood me. ‘You mean that she's not worrying in case he's broken his neck out there on the mountainside, but because she's afraid of what he may be doing?'

‘Yes. And there are only two things I can think of that he might be doing.'

She was blunt. ‘Meaning that if Josef is your Cretan murderer – and I'd risk a bet on it myself – he's either still out hunting for Mark; to kill him, or he's mounting guard over Colin somewhere?'

‘And she's terrified.' I swallowed. ‘If he's with Colin, and she knows it, and she's afraid of what he may be doing . . . Well, there it is.'

My voice trailed off, miserably. She didn't answer, and we trudged along for some minutes in silence. The sun had gone now, dipping swiftly into the sea, and the shadow of the cliffs had reached after us. The breeze had dropped. At the other side of the bay there was a light in the hotel. It seemed a long way away.

I said at length: ‘You're right, of course. Mark told me to keep out, and he meant it. Unless I actually found Colin—'

‘That's it, you see. That's why he wouldn't go to the authorities, he told you that. If any question were asked, or if Mark and Lambis came here openly, or if anyone shoved the affair to the point where accusations were made – I wouldn't give you twopence for the boy's chances of surviving to tell his part of the story. He's the hostage.'

‘I see that. Mark told me himself, after all. All right, I – I'll stay put, Frances, don't worry. But all the same—'

‘Well?'

‘There's nothing to stop me
looking
for him, is there? If I'm terribly careful? I – I can't just put him out of my head, can I?'

‘No, love. You go ahead. I don't see how you could stop looking, even if you wanted to. It isn't just a thing one forgets overnight, like losing a pencil. All you can do, for the sake of your own peace of mind, is to assume he's still alive, and keep your eyes open. One thing, for a start; if he's alive, he's got to be fed.'

‘Of course! And not too far away, at that. If one kept a tight eye on Sofia – I'll bet it's she who feeds him . . . though it could be Tony, I suppose.'

She smiled. ‘My bet's on Sofia. Whoever does it probably has to get up at crack of dawn to avoid being seen, and I don't just see Little Lord Fauntleroy frisking around in the dew.'

‘Well, I shall, and tomorrow as ever was. I'll go for an early-morning swim near the hotel, and keep my eyes skinned.'

‘You do that,' said Frances. ‘Look, there's someone out there now. That's the little boat putting out, isn't it? The man in it – is that Stratos Alexiakis?'

A man, a dim figure in the fast-falling dusk, had been stooping over the small boat, which was now moored beside the rocks by the hotel. He climbed in, and cast her off. He busied himself over something in the stern, and presently we heard the splutter of an engine. The boat started towards us, keeping well inshore.

‘I think so,' I said. ‘He must have taken an outboard motor down . . . I wonder where he's going?'

We had both stopped to watch him. He was standing well forward, and, as we drew nearer, we could see that the rudder had a long lever attached, to enable him to steer while peering over the shoulders of the boat into the lighted water. The huge lamps were in their places in the bows, but were as yet unlit.

She was drawing level with us, and he had seen us. It was Stratos. He grinned and waved, then he moved aft for a minute, and the engine slowed to a soft
put-put
, so that the boat seemed to be just drifting by. I could make out the white letters on her bows:
ΨΥΧΗ
.

His voice came cheerfully over the water. ‘Hullo there! Would you like to come?'

‘Another time!' We both grinned and waved in what we hoped was a cordial refusal. ‘Thanks all the same! Good fishing!'

He raised a hand, stooped again to the engine, and
Psyche
veered away in a long, lovely curve for the tip of the headland. Her wash lapped the shore beside us, and the small shingle hissed and grated.

‘Hm,' said Frances, ‘very matey.'

‘I asked him about light-fishing before.'

‘Well, there's something for us, anyway. Detection without tears. Colin's not along that way, or Stratos would hardly welcome visitors.' She turned to go, then said quickly: ‘What's the matter?'

I was standing still, like a dummy, with the back of my hand to my mouth.

‘Frances! The
Eros
!'

‘The what?'

‘He's got a boat, a big one, lying in the harbour!
That's
where he'll be!'

She said nothing for a moment, regarding me with a frowning look I couldn't quite read. Then she nodded. ‘Yes, that's something we could try. If we're allowed near the
Eros
, we may be sure she's innocent; if not, then I think you can certainly go straight up to look for Mark tomorrow. It would be the easiest thing in the world for those two to bring their caique in after dark, and board the
Eros
, and search her. They could be clear away in no time. We could do something about keeping Stratos and Co. away from the harbour – burn down the hotel, or something like that.'

I laughed, then looked curiously at her. ‘Do you know, I believe you meant that?'

‘If it was the only thing that would do the trick,' said Frances crisply, ‘why not? There's a boy being frightened and hurt by a bunch of thugs, and what's more, he probably believes, all this time, that his brother's dead. Oh, yes, if a little arson would help, I don't mind in the least burning Mr Alexiakis' hotel, with him inside it. Meanwhile, we can certainly take a look at the
Eros
. We'll go straight down tonight, if only to put your mind at rest.'

‘We?'

‘Why not? It'd look more natural. Look, is that Tony on the terrace, waiting for us?'

‘Yes.'

‘Then for heaven's sake let's start looking natural straight away. I'm supposed to be a botanist, and you seem to have given me a build-up that would have flattered Linnaeus. Now, would you like to pause one moment, and peer passionately at this plant here – no,
here
, you owl, the one in the rock!'

‘Is it rare?'

‘Darling, it grows in every wall in the South of England. It's pellitory-of-the-wall, but you can bet your boots Tony won't know that! Go on, pick a bit, or one of those mesembryanthemums or something. Show willing.'

‘The ice daisies?' I stooped obediently. Tony was waiting under the tamarisks, not fifty yards away. ‘Look,' I said, holding it out to her, ‘they've shut. Don't they look like tiny plastic parasols?'

‘Dear heaven,' said Frances devoutly, ‘and to think I once hoped to make a naturalist of you! And another thing, that egret you mentioned; according to the books, there are no egrets in Greece.'

‘I know that.' Without looking his way, I knew that Tony had come out from under the tamarisks, and was standing at the edge of the gravel. My voice must be carrying clearly to him. ‘Just as there aren't any golden orioles, either – officially. But I've seen them at Epidaurus, and honestly, Frances, I saw a pair today between Chania and Kastelli, and I couldn't be wrong about a golden oriole; what else could they have been? I admit I might be wrong about the egret, but I can't think what else that was, either!'

‘A squacco heron? They look white in flight. Oh, no, you said black legs and yellow feet . . . Why, hullo, Tony, something smells good.'

I said cheerfully: ‘I hope it's not the octopus I saw down at the harbour today?'

‘No, my dears, it's a
fricassée
, my very own
fricassée
of veal . . . done with wine, and mushrooms, and tiny, tiny peas. I call it
veau à jouer
.'

‘Why on earth?'

‘Well, veal by Gamble,' explained Tony. ‘Now, ladies, dinner's almost ready, I'll have your drinks waiting for you when you come down. What's it to be?'

11

What bird so sings, yet so does wail?

O 'tis the ravish'd nightingale.

Jug, jug, jug, jug, tereu, she cries,

And still her woes at midnight rise.

LYLY
:
Campaspe

The caique was still where she had been, lying without movement in the still waters of the harbour. There was a riding light on the mast; its reflection glimmered, stilly, feet below the level of her keel. Another light, bigger, glowed in its iron tripod at the end of the pier. Apart from these, all was darkness, and the dank, salt smell of the harbour water.

The youth, Alkis, must have left the caique for the night, for the dinghy no longer nuzzled her sides. It lay alongside the pier, at our feet.

We regarded it in silence.

Then a voice spoke suddenly from somewhere beside my elbow, nearly startling me straight into the harbour.

‘You want to row out?' asked Georgi. ‘I'll take you!'

I glanced at the caique again, lying so quietly in the darkness. Stratos was away fishing, Tony was in the bar, Alkis had presumably gone home. On the face of it, it looked like the sort of chance that shouldn't be missed . . . But – with Georgi? If Alkis had made the offer, well and good. That would have been proof enough, and we could have refused him, with another possibility safetly eliminated. But to row across now, and, perhaps, actually find Colin there . . . in the village . . . at this time of night . . .

‘What's he saying?' asked Frances.

I told her of Georgi's offer, and my own conclusions.

‘I'm afraid you're right. We'll have to wait till morning to find out. If we did find him on board—' a little laugh – ‘the only solution would be to up anchor, and sail full speed away,
Eros
and all, to meet the other caique. No doubt that's exactly what your capable friend would do, but let's face it, this is one of the occasions where being a woman has its limitations. I suppose you
can't
drive one of those things, can you?'

‘Well, no.'

‘That's that, then.'

‘There is the rowing-boat.' I offered the suggestion with a marked lack of conviction, and she made a derisive sound.

‘I can just see us rowing along the coast of Southern Crete in the pitch darkness, looking for a caique that's been hidden in a creek somewhere. I'm sorry, but we'll have to accept our female limitations and wait till morning.'

‘As usual, you're so right.' I sighed. ‘Well, I'll tell Georg it that we'll ask Stratos properly, in the morning.' I looked down at the boy, who had been following this incomprehensible exchange wide-eyed. ‘Thanks a lot, Georgi, but not tonight. We'll ask Mr Alexiakis tomorrow.'

‘We can ask him now,' said Frances dryly. ‘Here he comes . . . and how nice it would have been, wouldn't it, if we'd both been on the
Eros
, struggling madly with the gears and the starting handle? I think, Nicola, my pet, that you and I must definitely keep to the less strenuous paths of crime.'

The soft
put-put
of the light-boat's engine sounded clearly, now as she rounded the pier.

‘Here he is!' announced Georgi buoyantly, skipping to the extreme edge of the concrete, where he stood on tiptoe. ‘He's been spear-fishing!
Now
you will see the big fish, the sea bass! He must have got one, or he wouldn't have come back so soon!'

I found myself watching the boat's approach with, ironically, relief: at least now there was no question of heroics. Moreover, they were unnecessary. We could find what we wanted to find, the easy way. We didn't have to wait till morning.

We didn't even have to ask: Georgi did it for us. The boat, with its engine cut, glided alongside, and Stratos threw Georgi a rope, sending us a cheerful greeting.

‘What did you get?' demanded Georgi.

‘I wasn't spear-fishing. I've been to the pots. Well, ladies, out for another walk? It's Miss Scorby, is it not? How do you do? I see you lose no time in exploring our big city. It's a pity you didn't take the trip with me, it's a lovely night.'

‘The ladies were wanting to go to the
Eros
,' said Georgi. ‘Shall I carry those up for you?'

‘No, I'm taking the boat round again to the hotel. I came to put some gear on the
Eros
.' He stood easily in the rocking boat, looking up at us. ‘Do you really want to have a look at her? She's not much of a boat, but if you're interested—' A gesture of invitation completed the sentence.

I laughed. ‘As a matter of fact, it was Georgi's idea, he wanted to row us out. I would like to see her, of course, but let's wait till daylight, when we take that trip. What have you caught?'

‘
Scháros
. You'll have it tomorrow; it's very good.'

‘I've heard of it, but I've never had it. Is that it? How do you catch them?'

‘You set pots rather like lobster pots, and bait them with green stuff. I assure you, they're better than lobster, and handsome too, aren't they? Here, Georgi, you can take this to your mother . . . How that boy guessed I'd be coming in this way . . . !' This with a grin and a grimace, as Georgi ran happily off, clutching the fish.

‘Was that what he was waiting for?'

‘Sure. He knows everything, that child; he'd be a godsend at Scotland Yard. You ladies don't want a lift back to the hotel, then?'