Dark Side Of the Island (v5) Page 9

  So she was safe? There was that much to be thankful for. She was wearing a headscarf and looked exactly as he had seen her on that first night, very young, the eyes like shadows in the white face and a lump rose in his throat that threatened to choke him.

  He lay there on the deck, the cold rain falling on his face and as the island faded into the mist a seagull dipped over his head and fled through the grey morning like a departing spirit.

  12

  One Should Never Return to Anything

  When he awakened, the coin was still firmly clutched in his right hand. He stared at it, a frown of bewilderment on his face, his first conscious thought that it should not be in his possession, and then he remembered.

  The past and the present had become so inextricably mixed that it was difficult to make sense of either. He dropped the coin and chain on the small beside table, swung his legs to the floor and sat there trying to get his bearings.

  Who am I, he thought. The Nightcomer or Hugh Lomax, residence California, scriptwriter and novelist of sorts? There was no answer or none that would suffice. He had become a stranger to himself and he got to his feet and moved across to the washstand.

  There was a dull ache in his side where a foot had caught him and a bad graze on his right cheek. He pulled off his shirt and splashed lukewarm water over his face. As he started to dry himself, there was a knock at the door and Katina entered.

  She was wearing the same silk headscarf and cream linen dress and she closed the door and smiled. "How do you feel?"

  He grinned. "Too old for street brawls with men half my age."

  She opened his suitcase, took out a clean shirt and unbuttoned it for him. "What have you been doing?"

  "Going back into the past," he said. "Trying to make some sense out of things."

  "A dangerous game. They say one should never return to anything."

  "I'm beginning to think they're right. I'm not even sure who I am anymore."

  "You are Hugh Lomax," she said, and with uncanny perception added, "The Nightcomer died a long time ago."

  "I'm not so sure," he said. "He almost killed a man this afternoon."

  To that she had no answer and he went on, "There's no logic to it, Katina. No answer. I've only one thing to hang on to in a world gone mad. The fact that I know that I didn't betray those who helped me."

  "I know, Hugh," she said. "I believe you and so does Oliver. He wants to see you. He thinks he might be able to help. Will you come out to the villa with me?"

  "What have I got to lose?" he said. "I'd like to meet him again in any case."

  She crossed to the door and opened it. "I'll see you downstairs. I want a word with Anna before we leave."

  He decided against a shave and finished dressing quickly. When he walked out into the hot sunlight of the square five minutes later, she was sitting behind the wheel of the jeep talking to Kytros.

  As Lomax approached, the police sergeant turned and examined him critically. "You look in considerably better shape than Dimitri."

  "How is he?" Lomax asked.

  "When I last saw him he was having several stitches inserted into his face," Kytros said. "But don't underestimate him. It will take more than one beating to put him on his back. He's made of iron and his capacity for hate is frightening."

  "Am I to take that as a warning?"

  Kytros nodded gravely. "Keep off the streets at night, Mr. Lomax. There are those here who would kill you. I'd rather you didn't make it easy for them."

  "My pleasure." Lomax climbed into the jeep beside Katina. "Was there anything else?"

  "Perhaps the only worthwhile legacy of the German occupation is our telephone system," Kytros told him. "If you could keep me informed of your movements it would help. If I'm not at my office, the operator should be able to contact me for you."

  He stepped back and Katina drove away across the square. As they turned into a side street she said, "Will you do as he asks?"

  Lomax nodded. "Why not, if it keeps him happy?"

  She concentrated on her driving, taking the jeep expertly through the twisting, narrow streets. There was a new bridge over the ravine outside town, its web of steel replacing the stonework of the old, but otherwise nothing seemed to have changed.

  He lit a cigarette, his hands cupped against the breeze, and turned sideways so that he could look at her.

  "Where's Yanni?" he said.

  She smiled. "I left him in the kitchen eating his head off."

  "Who with--old Maria?"

  Her smile faded. "Maria died a long time ago at Fonchi. They took her when they arrested Oliver."

  He groaned, remembering the old woman and her kindness, and then another thought came to him and he said slowly, "What happened to your aunt?"

  "She tried to warn my uncle when they came for him. They shot her down on the stairs."

  "Something else he blames me for?" Lomax asked bitterly, but she made no reply and they continued the journey in silence.

  When she stopped the engine in the yard outside the stables at the rear of the villa, it was still and hot and very quiet and nothing had changed. Time stood still, the past and the present merging to touch everything with a slight edge of unreality.

  As he followed her along the narrow path between the olive trees, the feeling remained, and what he found when they mounted the steps to the terrace and entered the house only strengthened the unreality.

  Everything was exactly as it had been seventeen years before. The great stone fireplace, the grand piano, even the shelves filled with books, and he paused and touched them gently with one hand.

  He swayed suddenly, feeling vaguely light-headed, and Katina said in alarm, "Are you all right?"

  He took a deep breath and pulled himself together. "Nothing to worry about. It's just that in some strange way, time seems to have no meaning for me standing here in this room. It takes some getting used to."

  She seemed about to speak, hesitated and then turned away, a slight frown on her face. She walked out into the hall and moved along the cool, whitewashed corridor that led to the north terrace.

  The circular glass room was filled with a diffused light, flimsy curtains half-drawn as a filter against the strong rays of the sun. There was no sign of Van Horn, but his magnificent collection of Greek ceramics was there, the great red and black amphora still the centrepiece, aloof on its pedestal in the middle of the room.

  Lomax paused to admire it then frowned and moved closer. The surface was covered by a network of fine lines. Since he had last looked upon it, it had obviously been smashed into hundreds of fragments which someone had laboriously fitted together again.

  A step sounded behind him and Van Horn said, "If you're interested, it took me just over a year."

  His face seemed a little thinner, the hair and moustache snow-white now, but the eyes seemed very blue in the tanned face and when Lomax took the proffered hand, the grip was surprisingly firm.

  "What happened?" he said.

  "To the amphora?" Van Horn shrugged. "When the Germans came to arrest me they got a little rough. The astonishing thing was that when I returned after the war, I found the pieces in a box in the cellar. It was a good thing in a way. Piecing it together again gave me something to do during that first year. I had to take things pretty steady."

  "After Fonchi?" Lomax said.

  Van Horn nodded. "Let's go out on the terrace. It's rather pleasant as the evenings draw in."

  Katina had withdrawn quietly and Lomax followed him outside. The view was quite breathtaking, the sun like a great orange ball dropping to meet the sea, Crete and its mountains faintly in the distance, shimmering in the heat haze.

  Lomax leaned on the concrete balustrade and looked down. The cliffs dropped a good two hundred feet into a small funnel shaped inlet. From that height he was able to see quite clearly the different shades of blue and green in the water caused by the dark basalt ledges at varying depths. A thirty-foot sea-going launch floated motionless beside a s
tone jetty that pushed out from the bone-white sand.

  Van Horn sat in a canvas chair beside a table on which stood a tray containing ice-water and several bottles and a portable typewriter.

  Lomax picked up several sheets of paper, blown by the breeze, and put them back on the table. "I don't seem to have read anything new by you in quite some time."

  "My dear chap, I said everything I wanted to say a long time ago." Van Horn poured gin into two glasses. "You know, we were given to understand by the Germans that you were dead. That the boat in which you were sent to Crete never reached there. What happened?"

  Lomax sat down and took out a cigarette. "We ran across a Greek fishing caicque that shouldn't have been where it was and the captain decided to investigate. Unfortunately for him it turned out to be a wolf in sheep's clothing. The Special Boat Service outfit that was supposed to take us off Kyros when we'd completed oar mission."

  "So the E-boat was sunk? What happened to you after that?"

  "The SBS commander got me to Alexandria as quickly as he could. My legs were in pretty bad shape so they flew me home to England for special treatment. I wasn't fit for active service again until the beginning of 1945. By that time things in Europe were moving pretty fast and they decided they could make better use of me in Germany."

  "And why not?" Van Horn said. "After all, the Aegean was never anything more than a side show. They didn't even bother to invade Crete. When the end came the Germans simply surrendered as they did on all the islands."

  "And a projected invasion of Crete was the excuse for the whole Kyros operation," Lomax said. "Presumably you think the whole thing was a waste of time?"

  Van Horn looked mildly surprised. "Did I ever pretend anything else? Things were all very romantic here in the Aegean with your landings by night and your legalised brigandry, but don't let's pretend it had the slightest effect on the course of the war."

  Blind, unreasoning anger sparked inside Lomax. "It's a pity Joe Boyd and one or two more I could mention aren't around to hear you say that."

  "I could give you a few names myself," Van Horn said calmly. "Old Maria, Alexias's wife and several more. Innocent bystanders who hardly knew what it was all about. Fonchi was bad enough, but what about the women and young girls like Katina who were sent to the troop brothels in Greece? They were the real victims."

  His voice moved on, but Lomax didn't hear it. He closed his eyes and was sucked into a dark vacuum of quiet. The agony was almost physical, a hard ball that rose into his throat, threatening to choke him, and he lurched to the balustrade and was violently sick.

  He stayed there for a little while, staring down into the void, and slowly, sounds came back to him and he was aware of Van Horn at his elbow holding out a glass.

  As the contents burned their way down into his stomach, Van Horn said quietly, "I'm sorry, I thought you knew."

  "The one thing she omitted to tell me," Lomax whispered.

  Van Horn put a hand gently on his shoulder and then returned to his chair and Lomax lit a cigarette and stayed there staring blindly into space.

  After a while he turned and said quietly, "Katina tells me you're the only other person she knows who believes I didn't betray you all to Steiner."

  Van Horn poured himself another drink. "That's right."

  "May I ask why?"

  Van Horn shrugged. "Let's just say it didn't seem in character."

  "And you think that a sufficient reason?"

  "I'm a professional writer, remember. People are my business."

  Lomax sat down again at a table. "Tell me what happened when they arrrested you."

  "A rather officious young officer arrived with a squad of men and searched the house without giving me any explanation. That's when the amphora got smashed. Afterwards, they took me to headquarters to see Steiner. He simply said that he had information to the effect that I'd harboured you and Boyd. Naturally, I told him I didn't know what he was talking about."

  "And when was it first suggested that I'd given him the information?"

  "I first heard it about a month later from one of the guards at the town gaol."

  "They didn't send you to Fonchi straight away then?"

  "I was in prison here for three months before they transferred me. Most of the others were already there when I arrived."

  "Including Alexias?"

  "He was never at Fonchi. They sent him direct to the Gestapo prison in Athens. I suppose they thought they could squeeze him dry in time. They knew he'd been working with the EOK in Crete."

  "But why did they keep you here in the town gaol after the others had left?"

  "That was Steiner's doing. He knew my health wasn't good and the garrison doctor told him I wouldn't last three months at Fonchi. I think he was trying to do the best he could for me."

  "Why should he?" Lomax demanded bluntly.

  "He liked me, it was as simple as that." Van Horn shrugged. "We played chess every week, remember. When I needed them, he obtained scarce medical supplies that saved many lives. He was ruthless, even cold-blooded, but he was not a bad man."

  "Then why the change of heart after three months?"

  "There was none. He left the island on an E-boat one morning bound for a military conference on Crete. Like you, he was never heard of again. His successor had me transferred to Fonchi as soon as he took over. I was there until the German surrender in Greece the following year."

  "That garrison doctor was pretty wide of the mark when he said you wouldn't last three months," Lomax said.

  His challenge was unmistakable and the fact of it lay between them like a sword. Out of the silence Van Horn said calmly, "There would appear to be some doubt in your mind as to the truth of my story. Perhaps I can convince you with something a little more concrete than words."

  He stood up, unbuttoned his cream linen beach shirt and turned. From his shoulders to the base of the spine, his back was a mass of scar tissue, great raised weals crossing each other to form an ugly web that could have had only one possible cause.

  He pulled on his shirt again. "Not very pleasant, eh? Fifty lashes for striking a guard and that was mild compared to what they did to some people."

  "And you survived that?" Lomax said slowly.

  Van Horn started to button his shirt. "I reached rock-bottom, Lomax. The ultimate in degradation. It's a funny thing, but when you're that low, you become so full of hate for the people who've put you there that it gives you new life. I swore I'd live to walk out through the gates of that place. As a matter of fact they had to carry me, but at least I was alive."

  Lomax got to his feet and went to the balustrade and stood there, seeing again in his mind's eye the scars criss-crossing Van Horn's back, thinking of those who had died and of Katina and her own private agony.

  After a moment, Van Horn moved beside him and said softly, "I'm afraid you'll have to look elsewhere for your traitor."

  "Any suggestions?" Lomax said.

  Van Horn shook his head and sighed. "Even if I knew, I'm not sure that I'd tell you."

  For a long moment Lomax looked down into the fine face and the blue eyes so full of compassion and then he turned quickly and went back into the house.

  Book Three

  A Sound of Hunting

  13

  To the Other End of Time

  He went down the steps from the terrace and moved through the garden, conscious of its freshness after the heat of the day. The sky was an angry red towards the horizon, the cypress trees by the wall etched against it like black lace, but just above them, the crimson faded into a dark blue vault in which a single evening star was already shining.

  He could hear the splash of water from a fountain hidden somewhere among the bushes and moving on through a narrow gate, found himself standing at the top of the cliffs.

  At that moment Yanni came over the edge and cannoned into him. He glanced up in surprise and then grinned impudently. "Oh, it's you, Mr. Lomax."

  "And where are you off to
in such a hurry?" Lomax demanded.

  "To the kitchen." The boy's grin widened. "Katina's asked me to tell the cook she can start to get supper ready."

  "Is she on the beach?" Lomax said.

  Yanni nodded. "I've been helping her to get the boat ready. She and Mr. Van Horn are sailing to Crete on Saturday. Katina says I can crew for them if I behave myself."

  "See that you do." Lomax ruffled the boy's hair and Yanni grinned and darted through the archway towards the house.

  The beach was reached by a series of stone steps that zig-zagged in a haphazard way across the face of the cliff. Lomax was sweating slightly when he reached the bottom. He started along the jetty and saw her at the water's edge half-way round the curve of the bay.

  She was standing knee-deep in the sea and held the skirt of her frock bunched in front of her with one hand, her face turned towards the sunset.

  There was something indomitable about her, something eternal with its roots deep in this ancient land as she stood there, the proud curves of her body dark against the sky, the sea spilling orange fire around her bare thighs.

  She turned her head and saw him and his throat went dry. It was with almost a sense of revelation, of wonder, that he realised she was beautiful.

  She smiled. "You and Oliver didn't talk long."

  "Why didn't you tell me, Katina?" he said simply.

  For a long moment they gazed at each other and then she waded out of the water and crossed the beach to a hollow in the sand surrounded by a horseshoe of boulders. Her shoes and a towel lay on an old travelling rug and she sat down and started to dry her legs.

  Lomax crouched beside her and lit a cigarette. After a moment she held out her hand. "Do you mind?"

  He gave her the cigarette without speaking and there was silence between them while she smoked it.

  After a while she sighed and tossed it away. "What do you want me to say? That my life was ruined? That each day was a torment?"