Aphrodite’s Smile. Stuart Harrison
I was young there had been a man who worked for my dad whose name I couldn’t remember. They would have been about the same age. The three of us used to go out on the Swallow and my dad would talk about finding some statue that was meant to be on a sunken wreck from the war. We’d drop anchor at some spot or other and the two of them would take turns diving. I had a vivid recollection of watching them strap on their scuba gear, and their tanned bodies glistening when they came out of the water. When I asked if this was the statue she meant, Irene said that it was.
‘The ship was called the Antounnetta. Johnny used to spend part of each summer trying to find her. He wanted to return the Panaghia to the people of Ithaca, as a way of thanking them for making him welcome on the island.’
‘The statue is worthless in monetary terms,’ Theonas said. ‘However, to the people of the island it has great significance as a religious symbol. The night he was in the bar, your father became involved in a mild argument with a fisherman called Spiro Petalas. It seems that Spiro was sceptical of your father’s claim that he had at last discovered the Panaghia. It is possible that this incident might explain your father’s belief that somebody wished him harm. Perhaps he was confused …’
‘You mean he was talking about this fisherman?’
‘Perhaps.’
‘Could there be any truth to it?’
‘I do not think so. Many people have told me that Spiro remained in the bar for several hours after your father left that night. And though he is certainly a moody fellow, I do not think Spiro is a violent man. In fact violent crime is almost unheard of on the island. On the rare occasion when it occurs, it is usually committed by a visitor. We had an incident recently in fact. I am afraid that it is an unpleasant irony that though we need tourists to survive, sometimes the people who come here are not entirely desirable.’ Theonas shrugged before he went on. ‘Your father was alone when he left the bar that night. It is a steep walk to the Perahori road from the harbour. There are many steps. For a man in his condition …’ He paused tactfully and I assumed he meant for a man as drunk as my father was. ‘I spoke also to the driver of the truck who took him to the doctor. He saw him collapse with his own eyes and he swears there was nobody else on the road.’
‘Then you think he imagined it?’
‘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