Aphrodite’s Smile. Stuart Harrison
a bottle of pills that were on the bedside table. I picked it up to read the label, which was in Greek. It appeared to be some kind of over-the-counter pharmacy medicine, and the bottle was about three-quarters full. I was about to put it back again when the bathroom door opened. I hadn’t noticed that the shower had been turned off.
‘They’re to help me sleep,’ the girl said when she saw me with the pills.
‘Did you take any tonight?’
‘A few. They didn’t help. I didn’t want to take any more so I went out.’
‘Did you drink anything?’
She nodded. ‘That probably wasn’t a good idea was it?’
‘Probably not.’
She sat down on the edge of the bed. She looked better for the shower. She’d towel-dried her hair and her skin had a fresh glow. ‘It’s funny. I feel as if I could sleep for a week now.’ She looked at her hands on her lap, then back at me. ‘I don’t even know your name.’
‘It’s Robert.’
‘Robert. Thank you.’
‘I don’t know yours either.’
‘Sorry. It’s Alex.’ She looked away and thought for a few moments. ‘What happened earlier, it was an accident. I feel stupid now. I think it must have been the pills and the alcohol. I felt really strange. But I’ll be OK now. I promise.’
I wasn’t sure whether I believed her. I didn’t think the sadness I’d sensed earlier could be explained by the sleeping pills she’d taken. ‘Look, if there’s something you’d like to talk about …’
She shook her head. ‘I’m so tired. Honestly. I’ll be fine.’
There was a chair in the corner. My clothes were wet and uncomfortable but it was warm in the room and tendrils of steam were rising off me. I sat down. ‘I’ll just wait here for a while to make sure you’re all right.’
For a moment I thought she’d protest, but then she smiled resignedly and I thought she was actually glad in a way. She got into bed and lay down so that she was facing me. For a while her eyes remained open.
‘Thank you,’ she murmured again. Her eyes flickered shut. I waited until she was breathing evenly, then I got up and turned out the light. Eventually my eyes adjusted to the darkness so that I could see her small, huddled form lying in bed. She slept deeply with her knees drawn up to her chest, curling herself into a tight ball.
She barely stirred for the next few hours. It seemed a little peculiar to watch over her the way I did, but I felt a kind of responsibility, as if she’d entrusted me with her well-being. She looked so defenceless in her narrow bed. Almost like a child. I stayed there until early in the morning and then, certain that she was safe and unlikely to wake for some time, I looked around for something to write her a note. I found a pen and wrote my name and Irene’s address, and that I would come back later.
After I left, I took the bedspread back to the cottage where I’d borrowed it from, though I left the money. I smiled to myself, wondering what they’d make of it. By the time I got back to the Jeep, the first faint streaks of light were visible in the sky over the hills.
It was mid-morning when I woke. The events of the previous night came back to me in a rush, but in that groggy state between sleep and full consciousness I wondered whether I had dreamt it all. I recalled turning towards the figure muffled by shadow at the end of the wharf as she appeared to fall slowly forward into space and be swallowed by the darkness, then the splash of water. I thought of how Alex had watched me later as she had lain in bed, her eyelids flickering as she succumbed to sleep.
I got out of bed. My clothes were on a chair where I’d left them, still wet from the night before. The shutters over the window were closed and the air was stiflingly hot. I threw them open, squinting at the harsh light. Outside, the sun was beating down on the roof of the house from a still and cloudless sky. I could see the back of a dark-coloured sedan parked by the Jeep and the sound of voices reached me from somewhere in the house.
After I’d showered and dressed I went downstairs and found Irene and a man wearing the uniform of the local police sitting at the table on the terrace. They were speaking quietly in Greek, their heads close together. When they saw me, Irene drew back quickly, some indecipherable expression flashing in her eyes. It was gone in a moment, and smiling she rose to introduce us.
‘Kalimera, Robert. Did you sleep well? This is Captain Theonas from the police department. Miros this is Johnny’s son.’
The policeman rose to shake my hand. He was middle-aged, tall and thin with a deeply tanned face. ‘Kalimera, Mr French. May I extend my sympathies for your loss?’
‘Thank you.’
‘Sit down,’ Irene told me. ‘I will fetch you some coffee.’
‘Are you here about my father, Captain?’ I asked after Irene had gone inside.
‘Yes. I have the results of the autopsy carried out by the examiner from Kephalonia.’
Beyond the terrace the deep blue sea glittered with slivers of light. The cicadas were going at full force, a startlingly loud cacophony of sound. I was aware that Theonas was watching me with professional reserve.
‘I am sorry to have to discuss these things. I understand that this must be a painful situation for you,’ he said sympathetically.
‘I suppose I’m not used to the idea that he’s dead yet.’
‘Of course. You are aware, I believe, of the circumstances surrounding the discovery of your father’s body?’
‘Irene told me that he was found in the harbour.’
‘That is correct. As I was explaining to her, the examination shows that your father drowned. It appears that he had been in the water since early on the morning he vanished.’
Just then Irene returned with coffee. Theonas glanced at her and I saw a sudden quickening change in his expression. It was gone before I could interpret it, but it made an impression on me, like a vivid painting glimpsed through a crack in a doorway before it closed.
‘How can you tell he drowned?’ I asked him.
‘By the presence of water in his lungs.’
‘Did he have another heart attack?’
‘This the examiner cannot determine for certain. There is evidence of thrombosis. This is the narrowing of the arteries supplying blood to the heart. However, this is to be expected given your father’s history. Perhaps he simply lost his footing and fell … his clothes became tangled in the propeller and he was unable to free himself …’
It seemed straightforward enough, and I glanced at Irene wondering if the autopsy results had allayed her misgivings. She guessed what I was thinking.
‘Miros is aware that your father claimed somebody had tried to kill him,’ she said. I was surprised that she had gone as far as reporting it to the police.
‘After Irene came to me I made some discreet enquiries,’ Theonas said. ‘On the night your father was taken to hospital he had been drinking heavily in a bar on the waterfront. There were many witnesses. Everybody that I spoke to said that he was in good spirits. In fact he had been making a speech.’
‘A speech?’
‘This was not unusual where your father was concerned. On this occasion he claimed that he had discovered the missing Panaghia.’
Seeing my incomprehension, Irene explained. ‘Your father was referring to a statue that has been lost since the German occupation ended during the war. The Panaghia