The Santorini Summer (9 page)

‘If we send for the police there will be much trouble,’ said her mother. ‘Irini’s husband will be taken away. My husband will be taken away. There will be no money for us. No-one to help Irini, and her baby is due soon. How will she feed herself without Niko?’

‘Please, Olivia. You are my friend. Niko was Christos’ friend. He did not intend to hurt him. You must agree. Please. Do not talk of police. The village knows what happened. They will take care of everything. You cannot take Niko away from me now.’

‘Christos has been taken from me!’ I shouted. ‘And your father caused it!’

As Irini collapsed onto her knees, sobbing, the priest returned, his wife behind him carrying a cup of something.

‘Miss Olivia,’ he said gravely. ‘This is a great tragedy. Christos was a fine young man, but we cannot undo what has already been done. It will not help you to destroy Irini’s family and doing so will not bring Christos back. You are in shock. Drink the tisane my wife has brought you and sleep. In the morning we will take you to the church and Christos will be brought to you there. You can say goodbye and pray for him.’

I had used up all my strength. I lay back on the pillow and wept. Christos was dead.

Irini’s mother brought the cup to my lips and I drank, obediently, thinking that if they were poisoning me I didn’t care. Irini and Maria were gently ushered from the room and I was left alone.

*

The village church was small but, unlike an English church, there were no pews and so the central part of the building was empty. A table had been brought in and on this lay Christos, surrounded by a glowing halo of candles. The priest led me gently to the table and then left silently, closing the door behind him.

Christos looked just the same. A little pale, perhaps. But there was nothing to say he was dead. They had placed a thick pad behind his head so I couldn’t see the damaged skull. He might have been asleep, except that his chest was still. His eyelashes were curled upon his cheeks and he looked entirely peaceful.

I stood looking at him, trying to take it in. He was dead. To prove it to myself I stretched out my hand and touched his arm. The skin was ice cold and I flinched slightly at the physical confirmation – Christos was dead.

I ran my fingers through the curls that fell upon his forehead. I ran them down his nose. I bent and kissed each eyelid. I kissed each finger. I stroked his chest, his stomach. His feet were bare so I kissed his toes. Then I stared hard at him, telling myself that I must remember this, I must remember how he looks for I will not see him grow old now. This is all there will ever be, there is no tomorrow for him, for us.

The priest had said I should say goodbye and pray for him. I could do neither. I simply stood and stared at him until they came and took me away.

*

There was a meeting that evening at the priest’s house. Irini and Maria were there, with Stavros’ two sons, the priest and his wife, a red-eyed Niko and a white-faced Dimitrios. Stavros did not appear. I was glad he stayed away, whether from shame or contempt it didn’t matter to me. I never wanted to see his face again.

‘Miss Olivia,’ said the priest, once everyone had been served wine, ‘we are here for you to tell us what we must do. It is your decision. If you decide that we must send for the police from Fira, then I will do it. Niko will be tried for manslaughter and Stavros will be tried for fraud. Many others in the village who did what Stavros did will also be in trouble. Irini and her mother must then manage alone. But if you decide that it was an accident, that no-one meant any harm to come to Christos, then you could leave it to the village to…forget what happened. We will bury Christos with reverence and forever remember him in our prayers. And Irini and Niko will name their baby for him, if it is a boy.’

‘We cannot bury him, Father,’ burst out Niko, miserably. ‘If there is a grave then someone will eventually want to know what happened. We will all live in fear.’

The priest looked scandalised. ‘Of course he must be buried.’

‘We will bury him at sea,’ said Dimitrios. ‘It will be fitting. I believe Christos would understand. He was a fine fisherman.’

The priest turned to me. ‘Miss Olivia?’

I had spent the day thinking about what should happen. I hated Stavros for what he had done, the sort of man he was. I wanted him to be punished. But I could not do that without implicating Niko and I did feel pity for him, because I knew in my heart that he was a good man. He had been a true friend to Christos and he loved Irini devotedly. I pitied Irini who would have no father for her child. She would be forced to live with her mother in poverty. I didn’t think Christos would have wanted that. And whatever I did, Christos was gone. Putting Niko in prison would not help me.

‘We will bury him at sea,’ I said at last. ‘But the priest must be with us to say a prayer. I will not have him tossed overboard like a cargo of rotten fish.’

Irini rushed to hug me. ‘Thank you, thank you,’ she wept.

Maria bent her head and muttered a prayer.

‘But you cannot be there, Olivia,’ said the priest, frowning. ‘Women are not permitted on the boats.’

‘It is bad luck,’ nodded Dimitrios.

‘Then I will go to the police,’ I said defiantly.

They looked at each other. After a moment Niko stood and took my hand. ‘We have already had the bad luck. Let Olivia come. She can choose where we will … set him free.’

I had already thought of that. ‘We will sail down into the channel between Santorini and Crete,’ I said. ‘That is the right place for him to be.’

The next day was still and calm. When the boat was ready and Christos’ body, now wrapped safely in a sail, had been taken aboard, Irini walked with me down to Armeni, kissed me and then watched as the men helped me aboard. The priest said a blessing before he, too, stepped on board and we set sail. No-one spoke. There was just the wind in the sails and the sound of the water around the boat. The sky was a perfect, cloudless blue. I sat with my hand resting on the canvas bundle that was Christos as we sailed serenely through the strait between Santorini and Analfi down into the Sea of Crete.

At a certain point there was a moment of unspoken agreement between Dimitrios and Niko. Without a word they dropped the anchor and lowered the sail. The priest rose unsteadily and came to take my hand.

‘This is a hard thing for you, Olivia. But it is a brave thing. A generous gift to Niko and Irini. To the entire village in fact. We will say a prayer now for Christos’ soul, sending him to God with great blessings and much love.’

He placed his other hand on the body and began to pray. Niko and Dimitrios joined in softly but I could not speak. My heart was calling out to him,
Goodbye my love, Goodbye
, but I could not utter a single word.

Then the three men lifted Christos up and placed him gently in the water, praying still until the body floated away towards Crete. When we could no longer see him, they drew up the anchor and set the sails for Santorini.

*

I had the address of Christos’s parents in Athens but I did not write to them. I had no idea what Christos had told them about me and I simply didn’t know what to say. Had I known then that I was pregnant, I might have felt differently, but I could see no reason why they would want to be bothered with an unknown foreign girl when their only son had been killed. I gave the address to the priest and asked him to write. I thought he would probably say there had been an accident on the boat. Cowardly of me, perhaps.

One of the villagers accompanied me to Fira by donkey and from there, I boarded the boat to Piraeus. Sailing away from Santorini knowing I was leaving Christos behind would have broken my heart had it not already been broken.

*

‘So Daddy is half-Greek and had Greek grandparents he never knew,’ Alexa muses softly, and I see tears in her eyes. ‘And Peter and I are one-quarter Greek, one half Italian and one quarter English. Quite a mixture. I wonder why Daddy never told us any of this?’

‘Perhaps he thinks it’s not his story to tell. After all, he never knew his father.’

‘It’s really sad, Nan. You and Christos had so little time together, and he never knew about his baby.’

‘Yes, it
is
sad. But when I look at you, Alexa, I see Christos. He would have been very proud of you and Peter, and proud of Christopher too.’

‘Did you ever see Irini and Niko again? Did they have a son?’

‘I don’t know. But I like to think they did and called him Christos. Every time I return to Santorini I wonder if I will see someone in the street I recognise, but I have changed beyond recognition so I suppose they will have, too.’

‘I’m surprised you can bear to be here, after what happened. Yet you come back so often.’

‘I come back to be near Christos.’

‘Oh, Nan.’ She gives me a hug and helps me up because I have grown stiff with sitting. ‘Could we hire a boat?’ she asks. ‘I’d like to sail to the place where you left him and drop some flowers there. He was my grandfather and I’d like to pay my respects to him.’

I am touched. ‘That’s a lovely idea. Let’s organise that for tomorrow. But now, back to the hotel for a swim, I think. Then a good dinner and plenty of wine.’

‘Assyrtico?’ she asks.

‘Definitely.’

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