behind the mountains at one end of the bay as the shadows crawled up the mountain at the other was a spectacular backdrop. As the darkness was rising they moved from the terrace to an elegantly laid table set below in the cool of gardens. On the terrace he’d been introduced to the other guests by Alekka, who acted as his personal hostess: they were an odd mix.
At the table, Vassilis insisted that he occupy the place of honour at his right and he watched in disappointment as Alekka moved down to the far end. Across the table was the wife of Dougie, an English resident. Dougie looked to Steve like a gangster tax exile; he told him he’d made a packet out of arms exporting before political correctness got in the way of business and ruined the country. Brandi, his wife, who apparently liked a drink, was, he guessed, in her late thirties, younger than her husband. She was a tanned blonde wearing a dress with a low cleavage and, as the wine flowed and the evening progressed, rubbed Steve’s leg with her bare feet under the table. Usually he would have responded to the invitation; tonight it was an embarrassment. Vassilis said to Steve without bothering to lower his voice,
“Contrary to what you might think we do produce some excellent wine in Greece: this one, for instance, is from my estate near Patras: but for her the vinegar that the local peasants drink would be enough.”
Brandi giggled then hiccupped; Vassilis tapped his glass with a knife then stood up and proposed a toast.
“We will drink to the health and happiness of Doctor StevenWatkins to whom I, and therefore all of you, owe a debt of gratitude. He has preserved a very special bloodline, and so here on this island he is protected and what he wants, he gets.”
He sat down and as Steve listened to the polite applause that followed, he wondered at the curious choice of words, seeming to contain elements of some kind of warning. However, with each succeeding course and the accompanying wine his focus blurred; shortly after Brandi had got up from the table and staggered off towards the house, Vassilis had grasped Steve’s elbow.
“Ah, there is coming someone whom I would like you to meet.”
Steve followed the direction of his gaze as a figure appeared to detach itself from the dark. As it moved to within the range of the low lights and gentle candles its blackness seemed to deepen rather than diminish.
“Permit me to introduce Father John. He, amongst the many other demands made upon his particular talents on the island, looks after our spiritual needs and tends to our ancient chapel, which I believe you have seen and which is by far the oldest here. Indeed you were lucky to have seen it; we are very careful about who is granted access. Lucky also to be here at this time to meet him, as owing to a rare and quite complicated condition he prefers to avoid daylight.”
Steve felt Vassilis found this speech amusing. It was courteous yet masked some hidden joke. He had no further time to brood on it as Father John was now moving into the seat recently vacated by Brandi; Vassilis continued.
“The hour is late, and as I still have much to complete today I must ask you to excuse me: you have done me great service, I am in your debt and I invite you to stay with us next weekend for the cricket match: perhaps you would like to take part. Antonis will be back with us then, but of course he is still too weak to participate. I now must bid you goodnight and leave you to the estimable Father.”
He stood to leave and Steve noticed, to his dismay, that Alekka also got up from the table and after blowing him a farewell kiss in which he tried to read a message, she followed her father towards the house. Most of the guests had dispersed leaving just himself and Father John at his end of the table.
“I have, of course, heard of you, Kirios Watkins, and would like to add my thanks for the way in which you have preserved something rare and very special. I would, of
At the table, Vassilis insisted that he occupy the place of honour at his right and he watched in disappointment as Alekka moved down to the far end. Across the table was the wife of Dougie, an English resident. Dougie looked to Steve like a gangster tax exile; he told him he’d made a packet out of arms exporting before political correctness got in the way of business and ruined the country. Brandi, his wife, who apparently liked a drink, was, he guessed, in her late thirties, younger than her husband. She was a tanned blonde wearing a dress with a low cleavage and, as the wine flowed and the evening progressed, rubbed Steve’s leg with her bare feet under the table. Usually he would have responded to the invitation; tonight it was an embarrassment. Vassilis said to Steve without bothering to lower his voice,
“Contrary to what you might think we do produce some excellent wine in Greece: this one, for instance, is from my estate near Patras: but for her the vinegar that the local peasants drink would be enough.”
Brandi giggled then hiccupped; Vassilis tapped his glass with a knife then stood up and proposed a toast.
“We will drink to the health and happiness of Doctor StevenWatkins to whom I, and therefore all of you, owe a debt of gratitude. He has preserved a very special bloodline, and so here on this island he is protected and what he wants, he gets.”
He sat down and as Steve listened to the polite applause that followed, he wondered at the curious choice of words, seeming to contain elements of some kind of warning. However, with each succeeding course and the accompanying wine his focus blurred; shortly after Brandi had got up from the table and staggered off towards the house, Vassilis had grasped Steve’s elbow.
“Ah, there is coming someone whom I would like you to meet.”
Steve followed the direction of his gaze as a figure appeared to detach itself from the dark. As it moved to within the range of the low lights and gentle candles its blackness seemed to deepen rather than diminish.
“Permit me to introduce Father John. He, amongst the many other demands made upon his particular talents on the island, looks after our spiritual needs and tends to our ancient chapel, which I believe you have seen and which is by far the oldest here. Indeed you were lucky to have seen it; we are very careful about who is granted access. Lucky also to be here at this time to meet him, as owing to a rare and quite complicated condition he prefers to avoid daylight.”
Steve felt Vassilis found this speech amusing. It was courteous yet masked some hidden joke. He had no further time to brood on it as Father John was now moving into the seat recently vacated by Brandi; Vassilis continued.
“The hour is late, and as I still have much to complete today I must ask you to excuse me: you have done me great service, I am in your debt and I invite you to stay with us next weekend for the cricket match: perhaps you would like to take part. Antonis will be back with us then, but of course he is still too weak to participate. I now must bid you goodnight and leave you to the estimable Father.”
He stood to leave and Steve noticed, to his dismay, that Alekka also got up from the table and after blowing him a farewell kiss in which he tried to read a message, she followed her father towards the house. Most of the guests had dispersed leaving just himself and Father John at his end of the table.
“I have, of course, heard of you, Kirios Watkins, and would like to add my thanks for the way in which you have preserved something rare and very special. I would, of
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