Aphrodite’s Smile

‘In the absence of any evidence to the contrary it is likely. I can think of no reason why anyone should have wished to harm him.’

Irene was frowning, deep in thought. She realised we were both watching her. ‘I suppose that you are right,’ she agreed, though she didn’t sound entirely convinced. She got up and began clearing the table. As she picked up a cup she disturbed Theonas’s folder and a photograph fell out from between the typewritten sheets. It was a shot of my father’s pale bloated corpse on the autopsy table, the flesh grey and wax-like. Irene blanched.

Theonas picked it up quickly, looking stricken as he murmured an apology. ‘Signomi, Irene.’

His hand strayed to her arm in an instinctively intimate reaction and suddenly I understood the look I’d seen pass across his face earlier. But Irene hadn’t noticed. Instead she picked up one of the typewritten sheets and, frowning, said something in Greek to Theonas.

‘I am sorry, Robert,’ she said, remembering me. ‘I was asking Miros about something that is written here. It says the examiner found a wound on Johnny’s head.’ She touched the back of her skull above the neck to demonstrate.

‘What kind of wound?’

‘Some bruising,’ Theonas explained. ‘A small cut. It is conceivable that your father struck his head when he fell into the water. In fact that would explain how he drowned … if for a short time he lost consciousness …’

Irene stared at the sheet of paper, her brow deeply lined. ‘What is it?’ I asked her.

She shook her head in frustration. ‘I do not know. This. Everything. Perhaps Johnny had a heart attack. Perhaps he fell. Perhaps he struck his head. Nothing is for certain.’

‘This wound, couldn’t the examiner be more specific about what caused it?’ I asked Theonas, hoping he could add something to quell Irene’s anxieties.

‘The examiner found wooden splinters. Perhaps he hit his head on the wharf. It is impossible to say for sure. By the time he was found, your father had been in the water for several days. If there was any blood it had washed away.’

Irene gave him back the notes, though she still appeared to have her doubts. There was nothing more Theonas could tell us and, when he rose to leave shortly afterwards, Irene went with him to his car. I watched them from the terrace. They spoke quietly together in Greek. I couldn’t understand what they were saying and they were careful to maintain a degree of distance between each other, but they couldn’t disguise what I had already seen. When she came back Irene avoided my eye.

I helped her clear the table and followed her into the kitchen. ‘Can I ask you something?’ I said. ‘Did my father know Theonas was the man you were seeing?’

She looked momentarily surprised but didn’t attempt to deny it. ‘Yes. I sometimes wondered if that was why your father was so secretive.’

I didn’t understand what she meant. ‘Did he know you told Theonas that he thought somebody tried to kill him?’

‘No. I think that is why he tried to pretend he did not mean it. He did not want me to say anything.’

‘Because of your relationship with Theonas?’

She hesitated. ‘Yes,’ she answered, though I had the feeling that wasn’t what she’d meant at all. Before I could ask her any more she turned away leaving me puzzling as to why else my father wouldn’t have wanted her to say anything to Theonas.

Later, Irene told me that she had to go to her office. They were very busy, she said apologetically. ‘But there is something we must discuss. I must arrange your father’s funeral. Unless you would like to bury him in England?’

The idea hadn’t even occurred to me. ‘Did he make any requests in his will?’

‘Your father was not a religious man. I do not think he ever gave it any thought.’

‘You were his wife,’ I said. ‘It’s for you to decide. But if you want my opinion, I think he should stay here.’

‘Then I will speak to the priest today. You will stay for the funeral?’

‘Of course.’

She suggested I might like to go for a drive and fetched a map to show me some places where I could stop for a swim, suggesting we would have dinner together later. I hadn’t told Irene about Alex, but after I left I drove to the house where she was staying. There was nobody about, so I went to her room and knocked and when there was no answer I peered through the window. The bed was made and her backpack was still there and though Alex wasn’t anywhere to be seen, everything looked quite normal.

I found a note she had left for me by the door. It was brief, thanking me again and assuring me that she was all right. She said there was something she had to do, but she would be back later in the day. As a postscript she had written that I needn’t worry about her, and had added a smiley face and some exclamation marks in an effort to be convincing. It worked. Had she been planning on doing something rash I was sure she couldn’t have written anything so jaunty. I thought what had happened the night before was probably as she had said, a mixture of pills and alcohol that had caused a temporary loss of perspective.

I was disappointed that she wasn’t there, but since she hadn’t said anything about where she was going I decided to spend a few hours at a beach somewhere. When I got back to the Jeep I consulted the map Irene had given me. Other than the village of Perahori and the main town of Vathy, the remainder of the southern half of the island was uninhabited and largely inaccessible except by sea, so I decided to drive north to the more populated part of Ithaca.

When I reached the village of Stavros where Irene and I had stopped the day before, I drove down to the beach at Polis Bay, descending a perilously steep and rutted track to park in the shade of a small olive grove. There were a few local fishing boats tied up at the small wharf and a couple of buildings housed a shop of some kind and a bar. A plaque fixed to a large olive tree inscribed in both English and Greek described the history of an archaeological site on the far side of the bay that had been excavated during the thirties. I remembered my father telling me about it. Louizos cave, as it was known, had become famous as the place where, among other things, a fragment of a clay mask bearing the inscription of Odysseus had been found, proving that Homer’s hero had been worshipped as a god since before Homer himself had lived. The cave, however, had been buried during the devastating earthquake of 1953.

The beach was deserted. I sat in the shade afforded by a ruined stone hut and for a while I tried to read a book I’d brought with me, though I couldn’t concentrate and eventually I put it aside. Out in the bay several large yachts rode at anchor, brilliant white against the deep blue of the sea. I went down to the shore and swam out towards them. The water was clear and cool and almost completely flat. I swam hard, powering myself out into the bay with long, even strokes, the salt water sluicing off the dead cells, shedding old skin. I didn’t stop until my muscles ached and my chest was heaving, by which time I was almost alongside one of the yachts.

It was deserted, perhaps forty-five or fifty feet long. I wondered where it came from and who owned it. The idea of sailing the islands, stopping where I wanted, moving on without any particular destination or schedule seemed appealing. I trod water for a while engaged in this idle fantasy before I swam back again and came ashore dripping onto the pebbles where I lay down to dry and fell into a light sleep.

When I woke it was early in the afternoon. I’d had too much sun and I felt thick-headed. I was bathed in an uncomfortable sheen of sweat. I staggered groggily to the sea to cool off and lay with my head immersed looking up at the sky through the water. The images of a dream I’d had filtered back to me. My father had been standing by his boat when a shadowy figure approached from behind with his arm raised. He brought it down and my father collapsed. I knew it was only the workings of my unconscious mind fuelled by Irene’s suspicions. My father was seventy-two when he died. He had a bad heart and a history of drinking. Maybe his wild claims had all been a ploy to gain Irene’s sympathy. In fact I thought that made sense. Maybe he’d been trying to win her back from Theonas.

Once I had towelled off I decided to drive up to Stavros and find somewhere I could buy a beer and sit in the shade. At a junction just back from the beach I checked carefully for traffic, wary of the erratic driving habits of the locals. Fifty yards away a figure was squatting beside a scooter stopped at the side of the road. I almost drove on but then she stood up and I realised that it was Alex.

She looked around when she heard the Jeep approaching, but she didn’t realise who it was until I stopped.

‘Hello again,’ I said.

She smiled uncertainly. ‘Hello.’

‘How are you feeling today?’

‘Fine. I slept late.’

‘I went to the place where you’re staying earlier. I got your note.’

She gestured to the scooter. ‘I wanted to get out and take a look around so I hired this. I couldn’t face being in my room all day.’

I looked at the scooter. ‘Is there a problem?’

In a gesture of frustration she pushed a damp strand of dark blonde hair back from her forehead. ‘Yes, actually. It won’t go.’

In the light of day she looked a lot better than when I had last seen her. The dark smudges beneath her eyes had already begun to fade. I was struck again by the colour of her eyes. Now that they weren’t reddened and puffy, the full effect of them was even more pronounced. Their unusual paleness somehow added to her vulnerability. It was as if I could look right inside her. She was, I thought, quite beautiful. But the overriding emotion I felt was one of protectiveness as I had when I had sat watching her sleep. Tearing my gaze away I bent down to have a look at the engine, checking that the lead and plug were secure, then opening the fuel tank.

‘I filled it before I left Vathy,’ she commented drolly. I smiled and gave up pretending that I knew what I was doing.

‘The best thing would be to leave it here. I’ll give you a lift back to the place where you hired it and they can come and pick it up.’

‘I suppose you’re right.’ She sounded disappointed and glanced toward the hills across the bay.

‘Is that where you were going?’

‘Yes. There’s a village I wanted to see.’ She pointed to a towering hill where the hazy outline of a few buildings was visible perched precariously on the steep upper slopes. ‘But it doesn’t matter. I can go another time.’

‘I could drive you there if you like,’ I offered.

‘I didn’t mean to suggest …’

‘Suggest what?’