Who Pays the Ferryman Read online

  'But one which will have given him much pleasure, believe me,' Spiridakis assured him.

  'I'll have a lot of work to do on the boat. But I'll enjoy that.' Haldane saw his friend glance enquiringly at the two large packing cases which were standing at the foot of the stairs. 'Things I asked my brother to send from England,’ he explained. 'They arrived yesterday evening. Some clothes, a few books, some records, my drawing board. Things like that. I'll unpack them later.'

  Spiridakis smiled. 'And then you will be really at ease here.'

  'Yes. But I'll still feel guilty.'

  'About what?'

  'Taking your house away from you.'

  'Nonsense,' exclaimed Spiridakis. 'I told you. I only use this place in the summer. Occasionally. And recently less and less.'

  Haldane nodded. 'Well, thank you anyway. And just until I find a place of my own.'

  He crossed to the mantelpiece; picked up a box of matches and lit his pipe. Spiridakis studied him and frowned. 'You do intend to stay on then. Indefinitely.'

  'Yes.'

  'Do you really think that is wise?'

  'Probably not.' Haldane blew out the match. 'But it's what I want to do. And there can be no harm in it.'

  'Not unless Elena discovers the truth. Then there could be.'

  'How can she?' asked Haldane. 'I am not going to tell her. And you're not. Melina and Papadakis are both dead. There is no one else who knows.'

  'Then why stay?'

  'To be near her. To help her if I can with this problem between her and Nikos.'

  Spiridakis regarded him sadly. 'And what if she sees that as only the interference of a foreigner and not the concern of a father for his child. As she must. And, without knowing the truth, resent it. As she so easily might.'

  Haldane gazed into the bowl of his pipe. 'I hope she'll see it as the interest of a friend. Of someone she can trust. That at least.'

  'And that will be enough for you?'

  Haldane looked at him. 'It has to be, doesn't it?' he said. Slowly he crossed to the windows with their view of the sea and stood looking out of them thoughtfully.

  Spiridakis watched him, his expression one of great concern.

  ‘I never knew that Melina had a sister,' Haldane said at last.

  The lawyer nodded. 'Yes. Annika. A remarkable woman.'

  'Truly,' Haldane agreed. 'And very attractive.' 'Very.'

  'You have met her?' Spiridakis said, frowning.

  Haldane nodded. 'Shortly after I returned. And it was like meeting Melina all over again. Feeling the same things I'd felt then. Emotions I thought I'd lost forever. And I believe it was that way with her too. But then, later, I found out who she was. I haven't seen her since.'

  Spiridakis shook his head. 'Do not unpack, Leandros,' he said quietly. 'Go home. Before someone is really hurt by all this.'

  Slowly Haldane turned to him. 'If I keep silent. If I keep my distance. Who can be hurt?'

  The lawyer regarded him thoughtfully. 'You, he said.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Matheos Noukakis parked the pick-up truck outside the taverna, got out of the driving cab and moved around to the other side of it to open the door for Annika. She stepped down onto the road, looked around and then walked to the hack of the truck with him where he unfastened the tailboard.

  'There is someone I want to see,' she said.

  Yes, thought Noukakis, of course. And I know who. He scowled.

  'Wait for me here. I won't be long,' she added.

  He grunted and let the tail board fail noisily on its chains. Then he reached for one of the two 20-litre drums of olive oil standing in the back of the pick-up and edged it towards him.

  'Nikos will help you with those,' Annika said.

  'I can manage,' replied Noukakis sulkily and without looking at her. She shrugged.

  Still scowling, Noukakis watched her walk away down the street. You are making a fool of yourself, Annika Zeferis, he said to himself as he manoeuvred the second drum to the sill of the truck. And treating me as though I were one. And it was more than just a passing petulant reflection. He carried the two drums of oil into the taverna.

  Nikos was serving two men who were sitting at a table just inside the door playing tavli, He looked up and greeted Noukakis. 'Yassou, Matheos.' Noukakis nodded.

  'Here,' Nikos went on. 'Give me one of those.' He took one of the drums from him and carried it down towards the counter where Elena was polishing glasses. Noukakis followed him. Elena looked puzzled.

  'You are making deliveries now, Matheos?' she asked.

  Noukakis flushed. 'Your aunt needed an excuse to come to Elounda,' he muttered.

  Elena. glance in the direction of the doorway. 'She is with you?'

  'She has gone running along to see the Englishman, Haldane,' said Noukakis scathingly.

  Nikos shot a look at his wife, grinned and raised his eyebrows. Elena shrugged and looked at Noukakis.

  'He is Leandros. Did you know that?' she asked.

  'Yes, I have heard.' He was clearly unimpressed. 'Who has not?'

  'It looks as though he is planning to stay here for a long time,' said Nikos.

  Noukakis snorted.

  Elena smiled mischievously. 'And if my aunt always uses such an excuse to see him,' she said, 'soon we shall be swimming in olive oil.'

  Nikos laughed but Noukakis was not amused.

  Haldane had left the front door open after he had returned from seeing Spiridakis to his car and Annika stood in the doorway and watched him.

  He had already emptied one of the packing cases and distributed the contents around the room. The half dozen LPs which had been racked alongside the record player when Haldane had moved in had now grown considerably in number and there were books on shelves which had previously been bare. A drawing board and an array of draughtsman's equipment was set out on a table which the Englishman had placed in front of the long windows to the balcony so that when he was working he would have a view of the sea.

  Now, surrounded by sheets of crumpled, discarded newspaper, Haldane had turned his attention to the second packing case. He had not heard Annika approach and, with his back to the front door, he was unaware of her presence. He prised off the lid of the packing case with the blade of a screwdriver and threw away the layer of wood shavings beneath it. Then he lifted out a package wrapped in corrugated cardboard and opened it. It was the framed photograph of Ruth which had stood on the mantelpiece in his study in England. Haldane gazed at the picture.

  'Hello, Leandros,' said Annika quietly and, startled, he swung round, surprise giving way first to pleasure and then, just as quickly, to a feeling of consternation. She held his look.

  'Hello,' he said.

  'I am disturbing you,' Annika said with a slight note of apology. 'You are busy.'

  Haldane shook his head. 'No, it's all right. Just unpacking a few bits and pieces. Come in. Please.'

  He stood the photograph on the dining table beside him. Annika moved into the room. 'Getting settled?' she said.

  'Yes.'

  Haldane was aware that there was an awkwardness between them that had not been there before. And he knew that it was generated by him. Annika felt it too but she ignored it. She looked about her and smiled.

  'It is a nice house, isn't it? I have always liked this room.'

  'You've been here before?' Haldane was surprised.

  'Often. Babis Spiridakis is my friend too. A family friend. He is Elena's godfather.'

  Haldane frowned. 'I didn't know that. About him being Elena's godfather I mean.'

  ·Yes.'

  'Of course, I knew he was a friend of your sister's. And he has spoken to me about you.'

  'Oh?' asked Annika with a faint smile. 'What did he say?'

  'That you are a remarkable woman.' She gave him an enquiring look. 'I agreed,' he assured her.

  She picked up the photograph from the table. 'Your wife?' she asked.

  'Yes.'

  'What was her name?' 'Ruth.
'

  'A road accident you said.'

  Haldane nodded. 'A lorry ran into her car.' 'How long had you been married?'

  'Twenty years,' replied Haldane.

  Annika put the photograph back down on the table again. 'You have children.'

  He hesitated and then shook his head. 'No. No children.'

  'That is sad.'

  'Yes, I suppose it is. But then living's a pretty sad business, isn't it?'

  Annika studied his face. 'Often,’ she said. 'But then perhaps because we expect too much.'

  'Perhaps.'

  'And,' she went on, 'because we do not value happiness enough when we have it, or are offered the chance of it.'

  Haldane nodded thoughtfully. 'That too.'

  He reached into the packing case again and took out another bundle of books and started to undo the string around them.

  'Would you marry again?' Annika asked.

  Haldane fumbled with a knot. 'I might. For the right reasons.

  The string untied, he carried the books across the room and slipped them into a space on one of the shelves.

  'Yes, there are many wrong reasons, aren't there?

  Haldane turned to her. 'At twenty-five or fifty-five,' he said. 'More at fifty-five though. Then it's too often a challenge. Or an insurance policy.'

  'Against loneliness.' Annika nodded. 'But a challenge!

  Surely that is a good thing.'

  Haldane returned to the packing case. 'It depends on what you're trying to prove,' he said. He looked at her. 'Would you marry again?'

  'Not to prove anything. But if I loved. If I was loved. To share. To be a part of a secret again. Yes.'

  'A secret?'

  She nodded again. 'That is what marriage is. When it works. A secret shared by only two people. A conspiracy against the world.'

  Haldane gazed at her and then he said simply. 'It's good to see you again.'

  She smiled. 'Thank you. Then why have you been avoiding me?'

  Haldane, taken off guard by this, floundered. 'I haven't been avoiding you,' he said. 'It's just that. .. Well, I've been busy. There's been a lot to do.'

  'Of course,' she said, understandingly. 'Well then, if that is the only reason I haven't seen you for the past two weeks I am happy. And in that case I accept.'

  Haldane frowned. 'Accept?'

  Annika was pleased with herself and it showed in her eyes. 'Your invitation to have dinner with you tonight.'

  Haldane looked at her, still frowning slightly. He was pleased to see her; more than just pleased. And the idea of having dinner with her was a tempting one. But he remembered Spiridakis' warning. Oh, what the hell? Why not? What harm could there be in it? So long as he kept his distance. He smiled.

  'Good. I'm glad I asked,' he said.

  Her mother's tone on the telephone had been peremptory and Annika had resented that. But, nevertheless, she had driven to Neapolis to see her. Now, as she stood across the sitting room from her, she felt her temper rising and she had to force herself to control it.

  'You saw him again today.' Katerina hurled the accusation at her. 'In Elounda.'

  'Do you expect me to deny it?' Annika's anger gave a chill edge to her voice.

  'He is an Englishman. A foreigner.'

  'Not quite, mother. He is Leandros. Did you know that?'

  Katerina nodded gravely. 'He is still a foreigner,' she insisted. 'What is he doing in Elounda?'

  'He has come back to Crete. He plans to live here for a while.' .

  'But why in Elounda?' demanded her mother.

  'Babis Spiridakis lent him his house.'

  Katerina studied her. 'He spends much time with my grand-daughter?' she probed.

  'Elena!' exclaimed Annika, puzzled by the question. 'Some time I imagine. When he goes into the taverna. Why should that trouble you? Or do you think she is also in some danger because of him?' Katerina frowned darkly. 'Well you clearly believe that I am,' Annika went on. 'Why else did you send for me?'

  'Because I do not want you to make a fool of yourself again. You have already made one mistake with a foreigner. '

  Despite her anger Annika could not resist a smile. 'Hardly a foreigner. My ex-husband was born in Athens.'

  'He was not a Cretan,' countered Katerina stubbornly. 'I want you to re-marry. But you must choose wisely. Matheos is a good man. And he loves you. Why do you treat him so badly?'

  Annika sighed. They had been through this before.

  Many times. And in this same oppressive room.

  'Matheos is an excellent manager,' she said, summoning up all her patience. 'He works for me. He is also a friend. And as a friend and an employee I do not treat him badly. But I do not love him. And I would never marry him.'

  Katerina was not to be put off. 'Such a marriage would have my approval,' she said. She crossed herself. 'As your father would also have approved of it.'

  'I am sorry, mother. But if and when I marry again, it will be to someone of my own choice,' replied Annika, still managing to keep her voice level and her tone reasonable.

  'As it was before,' snapped Katerina.

  'Yes.'

  'You did not choose very wisely then, did you? And because of that you brought the shame of a divorce to the name of Matakis.'

  Annika knew only too well the pain her mother had suffered at that time. 'Yes; she said sadly. 'And I regret that. For your sake. I really do.' She smiled gently. 'But why all this talk of marriage? The Englishman and I have known each other for a little over two weeks. And during that time we have only been together for a few hours.'

  'But you find him attractive,’ her mother said reproachfully.

  'Yes. I do.'

  'And you entertained him at your house. Alone.'

  Annika's temper began to flare again. She sighed and shook her head. 'Matheos!' she muttered angrily.

  That was not wise,' said Katerina.

  Times have changed.' Annika was already weary of this conversation. 'And I am not a child, a virgin who must be chaperoned. I am a woman. I have two grown children of my own.'

  'Yes. And you should think of them also. They would not wish you to become involved with someone who was not even Greek. With a foreigner.'

  'With this particular foreigner you mean, don't you?

  You have never even met him,' Katerina shook her head. 'So what is it then that you have against him?'

  The old woman crossed slowly to the table and gazed at the wooden box which was standing on it. She was tempted to open it, to show Annika the letters and tell her everything. But that was not possible. And she knew it. She looked up at her daughter again.

  'Promise me that you will not see him any more; she pleaded.

  'Why?' demanded Annika, totally bewildered. 'I don't understand. '

  'Because I ask it. That should be enough.'

  'Not without a good reason. Can you give me one?

  Other than because he is not a Cretan?'

  'Promise me,' urged Katerina,

  Annika felt sorry for her. 'Mother, try to understand,' she said quietly. 'It is a different world today from the one you grew up in. Here, when you were young, those who lived in Heraklion were foreigners to those who lived in Chania. And that is the way you still see it. But now, in three hours, someone from Heraklion can be in London. In ten in New York. There are no foreigners any more. Just people. Some good. Some bad.'

  'Promise me.' Now Katerina was begging and it was as if she had not heard a word that had been said to her.

  Annika shook her head. Clearly she was just not getting through to her and now she could no longer restrain her impatience.

  'No, I am sorry,' she said sharply. 'But I won't do that. I cannot give you such a promise.' She turned on her heel, walked over to the sitting-room door and opened it. Then she looked back at her mother. 'I am seeing him again tonight. We are having dinner together,' she said unequivocally. 'And you have heard that from me. So I will tell Matheos that there is no need for him to pass on the informat
ion to you.'

  She closed the door quietly behind her.

  CHAPTER NINE

  By the end of the first week in March, Haldane had achieved a great deal and he was feeling pleased with himself. There had been very little rain during February and although there had been quite heavy snowfalls west of Heraklion and the peaks of the Dhikti Mountains behind Elounda were now even more thickly blanketed by deep drifts and often obscured by clouds, along the eastern coastal strip there had been only occasional chill winds and the exceptionally mild winter had been the principal topic of conversation among the villagers.

  It had delighted Haldane because it had meant that almost every day he had been able to put in at least four or five hours of work on rebuilding the old caique and the restoration was well advanced. What had been even more satisfying to him was the fact that, with the exception of some weekend and evening help from young Alexis who had eagerly volunteered his services and who he had welcomed the chance of being with, he had done it on his own. Invariably he had laboured under the critical eyes of at least two or three of the older men of the village who would sit at a discreet distance from him, turning their worry beads between their fingers and nodding their approval whenever he glanced across at them. But never once had anyone other than Alexis offered to help and he had never asked for it. The general feeling in Elounda seemed to be that if the Englishman was crazy enough to want to put so much of his time, energy and sweat into repairing a wreck when, if he wanted a caique that badly, he could so easily obtain one in good condition and at a fair price then that was his affair and he was best left to it. And Haldane understood those feelings and was content with the villagers' polite interest but total lack of involvement.

  And while work on the boat had progressed well, so had the development of the idea which he intended to put to Nikos and Elena. Much research, many discreet enquiries and a daily stint of several hours at his drawing board had resulted in his finishing a fully detailed and attractively illustrated proposition much earlier than he had anticipated. And now he was ready to present it to them. And not before time either for, in conversation with Babis Spiridakis, he had learned that the hotel group had set the 6th Mayas the deadline on their final offer. And that must mean that Elena would already be under even greater pressure from her husband to agree to the sale. And. as the lawyer had said, if she still refused then Nikos, pushed to the limit, might well resort to emotional blackmail. So Haldane had good cause to be pleased with his efforts.