going to ignore the summons from Stokencourt. How could she go home when there was so much waiting for her here? If only she felt better. It was such a bore being sick and feeble with no appetite for anything but sleep . . .
If Penny felt wobbly and weak-kneed at the sight of all the jostling crowds gathered by the old harbour in Piraeus, she was determined not to show it. This was her first outing since falling prey to influenza, and she still felt washed out, her joints aching and her head fuzzy. At the edge of her mind was the fear that her time was running out here and she didn’t want to miss anything. She was getting used to filling her days with what she wanted to do, not what was expected of her. How could she go back to the straitjacket that was Stokencourt?
Then there was the delicate matter of Bruce Jardine. He had called in to see how the invalids were coping, charmed Kali\ope into laying an extra place for him at dinner. Walter and Evadne were glad of his company. They chatted away, ignoring Penny as they caught up on family news. Why did he make her feel so awkward and silly, as if she was still a schoolgirl? He reminded her of his invitation to join him and his friends to see the Blessing of the Water and Effy was happy to let her go. So now Penny was standing at the harbourside, feeling wobbly and looking less than her best, among the throng of onlookers.
‘Watch your bag, put it under your arm, there’ll be pickpockets everywhere in this rugby scrum,’ Bruce yelled, grabbing her hand as if she were a child. Bruce guided her through the crowds as if she were his little sister, useful in the beginning when she was unsure of her bearings but strangely irritating after a while. She’d watched him flirting with all the other female students, teasing and joking, but with her he was always correct, polite and careful. Was it because he knew her world? Had Walter had a quiet word with him? Was he her chaperone, her protector from bothersome attentions? Oh, how demeaning!
The Athenian crowds were gathering in every nook and cranny, climbing on lampposts to catch a glimpse of the archbishop in his golden robes as, at the climax of the ceremony, he raised his great crucifix over the harbour basin while everyone crossed themselves fervently. There was chanting and singing, and then he threw the top of his precious silver cross into the water. A scramble of bare-chested boys and young men dived into the chilly water to retrieve it. The crowds cheered and shouted as an arm came up – like Excalibur out of the lake, Penny thought. The lucky swimmer came out to receive his special blessing, which guaranteed a run of good fortune for the whole of 1938.
‘Cleansing the water of evil spirits is a very ancient ceremony, probably pagan,’ Joan whispered. It was good to have her company. She was trying to take pictures with her box camera. ‘Haven’t you noticed how superstitious they all are here?’
Joan didn’t attend St Paul’s. She wasn’t interested in organized religion. This had shocked Penny, who’d always gone to St Mark’s in the village in Gloucestershire. It was what one did to show support for the village, to set an example, but the more she mixed with this metropolitan Athens crowd, the more she realized they didn’t observe Sundays much, preferring to lounge about the cafés with newspapers, lunching under the mulberry trees or on the pavements, drinking and dancing till all hours while she had to be back at the Villa Artemisa before eleven. Walter’s orders.
The Blessing celebrations went on all day, with dancing and singing in the restaurants to bouzouki music. Later she heard the guns rattling across the city, not guns of war but of celebrations as street parties and dancing got under way.
Penny wanted this day to stretch out for ever even though she felt exhausted. The plan was to go to Zonar’s café and then on to a nightclub to meet up with the usual gang.
Alexis, a stocky Greek
If Penny felt wobbly and weak-kneed at the sight of all the jostling crowds gathered by the old harbour in Piraeus, she was determined not to show it. This was her first outing since falling prey to influenza, and she still felt washed out, her joints aching and her head fuzzy. At the edge of her mind was the fear that her time was running out here and she didn’t want to miss anything. She was getting used to filling her days with what she wanted to do, not what was expected of her. How could she go back to the straitjacket that was Stokencourt?
Then there was the delicate matter of Bruce Jardine. He had called in to see how the invalids were coping, charmed Kali\ope into laying an extra place for him at dinner. Walter and Evadne were glad of his company. They chatted away, ignoring Penny as they caught up on family news. Why did he make her feel so awkward and silly, as if she was still a schoolgirl? He reminded her of his invitation to join him and his friends to see the Blessing of the Water and Effy was happy to let her go. So now Penny was standing at the harbourside, feeling wobbly and looking less than her best, among the throng of onlookers.
‘Watch your bag, put it under your arm, there’ll be pickpockets everywhere in this rugby scrum,’ Bruce yelled, grabbing her hand as if she were a child. Bruce guided her through the crowds as if she were his little sister, useful in the beginning when she was unsure of her bearings but strangely irritating after a while. She’d watched him flirting with all the other female students, teasing and joking, but with her he was always correct, polite and careful. Was it because he knew her world? Had Walter had a quiet word with him? Was he her chaperone, her protector from bothersome attentions? Oh, how demeaning!
The Athenian crowds were gathering in every nook and cranny, climbing on lampposts to catch a glimpse of the archbishop in his golden robes as, at the climax of the ceremony, he raised his great crucifix over the harbour basin while everyone crossed themselves fervently. There was chanting and singing, and then he threw the top of his precious silver cross into the water. A scramble of bare-chested boys and young men dived into the chilly water to retrieve it. The crowds cheered and shouted as an arm came up – like Excalibur out of the lake, Penny thought. The lucky swimmer came out to receive his special blessing, which guaranteed a run of good fortune for the whole of 1938.
‘Cleansing the water of evil spirits is a very ancient ceremony, probably pagan,’ Joan whispered. It was good to have her company. She was trying to take pictures with her box camera. ‘Haven’t you noticed how superstitious they all are here?’
Joan didn’t attend St Paul’s. She wasn’t interested in organized religion. This had shocked Penny, who’d always gone to St Mark’s in the village in Gloucestershire. It was what one did to show support for the village, to set an example, but the more she mixed with this metropolitan Athens crowd, the more she realized they didn’t observe Sundays much, preferring to lounge about the cafés with newspapers, lunching under the mulberry trees or on the pavements, drinking and dancing till all hours while she had to be back at the Villa Artemisa before eleven. Walter’s orders.
The Blessing celebrations went on all day, with dancing and singing in the restaurants to bouzouki music. Later she heard the guns rattling across the city, not guns of war but of celebrations as street parties and dancing got under way.
Penny wanted this day to stretch out for ever even though she felt exhausted. The plan was to go to Zonar’s café and then on to a nightclub to meet up with the usual gang.
Alexis, a stocky Greek
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