carefully you can see other bits scattered all around. They’re Neolithic at the latest, so there are things here even older than your family.”
She looked at the flints for a few seconds then threw them down the slope towards the sea.
“You see, Steve, like I told you, we are here a very long time.”
Feeling she didn’t get the significance of the flints he elaborated.
“The really interesting thing is that these flints wouldn’t occur here naturally, so this place must have been important enough for them to be brought here.”
She laughed and he realised that she found him amusing.
“Yes, just like cricket pitch, but I am no longer interested in your little rocks, and we have something else to see before we rejoin my father.”
She must have seen by his expression that she’d disappointed him; she took his hand with a smile and began to pull him back onto the path that led to the house.
“Today is a beautiful day, Steve; a special day. There will be other chance to come and meet with your silly little rocks.”
Before they reached the house, she turned to the right, where beyond a grove of trees in a natural glade stood a church which Steve attributed to the middle ages. It was small but beautiful; made of dressed stone probably robbed from the Island’s classical buildings.
“You see, Steve, I told you we would see something better than your old stones; this is beautiful and very old: come on inside.”
She pulled him to the door. Inside the church was lit by large candelabra and perfumed by incense. The walls were painted with exquisite murals, brightly coloured, depicting what he thought must be scenes from the Bible, but none of which he could place. As he looked more closely he noticed that the artist had arranged the scenes with great skill. The eye of the observer was drawn, after the first glance, away from the centre of the mural towards the fringes. At the margins of the pictures unexpected things were happening. He was going to look closer when he heard the sound of something moving behind the altar and, on turning round, saw a black shadow move through a doorway out of the room. Alekka took his hand again and pulled him towards the door and the light.
“That is Father John, our priest. You will meet him later when we eat. Now I am fed up of looking at old dead things; I want life and what it offers, come, we go back to the house.”
When they got back to the room with the terrace it was empty but, as if she had been waiting, the ancient maid appeared. Alekka turned to go.
“I will leave you now, Steve, but see you for a drink before dinner; this place is very lovely at night. Electra will show you to your room where you can rest and shower then change into the clothes you will find laid out for you. You will join us please on the terrace at seven, the sunset here is special I think.”
He followed the maid Electra down a long flight of stairs leading into the heart of the mountain, then along a cool carpeted corridor ending in a whitewood door. Inside was a large chamber with a window cut through the rock looking out over sheer cliffs falling away to the sea. Beneath the window stood a chaise longue on which a white linen suit and silk shirt had been laid out witha pair of soft leather, ankle high boots. Steve had not expected to be staying, but the realisation that he was delighted him. He threw himself onto the large bed and lay on his back, thinking of Alekka.
He woke suddenly, taking a while to get his bearings. Through the window he could see it was still bright but that the angle of the sun had shifted, he checked his watch, and it was past six. At the stroke of seven, freshly showered and feeling good in the perfectly fitting clothes, he walked onto the terrace to join the strange group gathered with drinks to watch the sunset. Later, when he tried to recall that night it was without any ordered sequence; just a series of brightly lit, intense images. The blood-red sun sinking
She looked at the flints for a few seconds then threw them down the slope towards the sea.
“You see, Steve, like I told you, we are here a very long time.”
Feeling she didn’t get the significance of the flints he elaborated.
“The really interesting thing is that these flints wouldn’t occur here naturally, so this place must have been important enough for them to be brought here.”
She laughed and he realised that she found him amusing.
“Yes, just like cricket pitch, but I am no longer interested in your little rocks, and we have something else to see before we rejoin my father.”
She must have seen by his expression that she’d disappointed him; she took his hand with a smile and began to pull him back onto the path that led to the house.
“Today is a beautiful day, Steve; a special day. There will be other chance to come and meet with your silly little rocks.”
Before they reached the house, she turned to the right, where beyond a grove of trees in a natural glade stood a church which Steve attributed to the middle ages. It was small but beautiful; made of dressed stone probably robbed from the Island’s classical buildings.
“You see, Steve, I told you we would see something better than your old stones; this is beautiful and very old: come on inside.”
She pulled him to the door. Inside the church was lit by large candelabra and perfumed by incense. The walls were painted with exquisite murals, brightly coloured, depicting what he thought must be scenes from the Bible, but none of which he could place. As he looked more closely he noticed that the artist had arranged the scenes with great skill. The eye of the observer was drawn, after the first glance, away from the centre of the mural towards the fringes. At the margins of the pictures unexpected things were happening. He was going to look closer when he heard the sound of something moving behind the altar and, on turning round, saw a black shadow move through a doorway out of the room. Alekka took his hand again and pulled him towards the door and the light.
“That is Father John, our priest. You will meet him later when we eat. Now I am fed up of looking at old dead things; I want life and what it offers, come, we go back to the house.”
When they got back to the room with the terrace it was empty but, as if she had been waiting, the ancient maid appeared. Alekka turned to go.
“I will leave you now, Steve, but see you for a drink before dinner; this place is very lovely at night. Electra will show you to your room where you can rest and shower then change into the clothes you will find laid out for you. You will join us please on the terrace at seven, the sunset here is special I think.”
He followed the maid Electra down a long flight of stairs leading into the heart of the mountain, then along a cool carpeted corridor ending in a whitewood door. Inside was a large chamber with a window cut through the rock looking out over sheer cliffs falling away to the sea. Beneath the window stood a chaise longue on which a white linen suit and silk shirt had been laid out witha pair of soft leather, ankle high boots. Steve had not expected to be staying, but the realisation that he was delighted him. He threw himself onto the large bed and lay on his back, thinking of Alekka.
He woke suddenly, taking a while to get his bearings. Through the window he could see it was still bright but that the angle of the sun had shifted, he checked his watch, and it was past six. At the stroke of seven, freshly showered and feeling good in the perfectly fitting clothes, he walked onto the terrace to join the strange group gathered with drinks to watch the sunset. Later, when he tried to recall that night it was without any ordered sequence; just a series of brightly lit, intense images. The blood-red sun sinking
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