whole, however, although Trifonas socialised at the golf club, Artemis kept herself apart. Life for her had stopped in 1964 and this state of paralysis was her way of being. All the money in Cyprus and Britain could not bring Dimitris Markides back.
Aphroditi knew that she had her father’s approval, but she hoped for her mother’s too.
‘What do you think of it?’ she asked.
‘It’s beautiful, darling. You have done a wonderful job,’ replied Artemis, forcing a smile.
‘You should come and stay here!’ suggested Aphroditi.
Her parents had kept their own apartment in the building that had been given to Aphroditi and Savvas as a wedding gift and they always used it on their rare visits to Cyprus. They almost never went to the Nicosia apartment.
‘We couldn’t do that, dear.’
Aphroditi had known even before the words left her mouth that her mother would refuse. Such an environment would be far too public for her.
A waiter came up to them with a tray of drinks.
‘Hello, Hasan.’
‘Good evening, madam.’
‘It’s gone well tonight, don’t you think?’
‘The guests have all been very impressed,’ the waiter replied with a smile.
Aphroditi took three glasses of champagne and handed one to her mother.
‘No thank you, dear. Something soft, if you don’t mind.’
‘Even tonight, Mother? Just to make a toast?’
Although they only had minimal time together these days, Aphroditi still found herself irritated by her mother. Why could she not lift her mood a little, just for once, on an occasion that meant so much to her daughter?
Even at Aphroditi and Savvas’ wedding, Artemis Markides had sat quietly apart from the celebrations. Dimitris’ death had been a catastrophe for them all, but Aphroditi yearned for its shadow not to cast a pall over this event too. He was dead, but she was still living.
Aphroditi noticed how her mother avoided looking at the waiter. Her mother’s prejudice against Turkish Cypriots upset her, but it was something she avoided mentioning. Aphroditi supported her husband’s way of thinking. The hotel must employ whoever was best for any job, regardless of background.
‘It’s another way to set The Sunrise apart,’ Savvas had explained to his mother-in-law, when she had raised the issue that afternoon. ‘To make it more truly international, we must have a broad mixture of staff. The chef is French, two of the receptionists are English, our banqueting manager is Swiss. In the hair salon we have a Turkish Cypriot … and many of the kitchen staff are too, of course.’
‘But …’ interjected her mother. ‘Waiters? Front of house?’
‘Well, I don’t like to disagree,’ answered Savvas, ‘but we want the best people. And of course the people who will do the job for the money we’re offering. It’s business.’
Savvas saw the world through a prism of profit and loss.
Aphroditi got up from the table.
‘I must see if Savvas needs me,’ she said, making her excuse to walk away.
Something that did not help between Aphroditi and her parents was that the truth had always been kept from her mother. Artemis Markides had been protected from the irrefutable facts about her son, and at times like this, Aphroditi was filled with an urge to tell her everything; to scream out the truth:
‘He killed someone, Mother. Your precious son
killed
a Turkish Cypriot!’
She had lived for almost a decade with these words close to her lips, but they could never be spoken.
There had been a careful cover-up, which was easy to arrange for a man with as much money and influence as Trifonas. Paying someone off to change the story was very straightforward. Markides did not want any suggestion that his son had been killed in retaliation for another murder. A fact such as this would taint the family name for ever.
Aphroditi knew that her brother was not innocent. He had been in the thick of the pointless antagonism between Greeks and Turks that had swelled into hatred after the
Aphroditi knew that she had her father’s approval, but she hoped for her mother’s too.
‘What do you think of it?’ she asked.
‘It’s beautiful, darling. You have done a wonderful job,’ replied Artemis, forcing a smile.
‘You should come and stay here!’ suggested Aphroditi.
Her parents had kept their own apartment in the building that had been given to Aphroditi and Savvas as a wedding gift and they always used it on their rare visits to Cyprus. They almost never went to the Nicosia apartment.
‘We couldn’t do that, dear.’
Aphroditi had known even before the words left her mouth that her mother would refuse. Such an environment would be far too public for her.
A waiter came up to them with a tray of drinks.
‘Hello, Hasan.’
‘Good evening, madam.’
‘It’s gone well tonight, don’t you think?’
‘The guests have all been very impressed,’ the waiter replied with a smile.
Aphroditi took three glasses of champagne and handed one to her mother.
‘No thank you, dear. Something soft, if you don’t mind.’
‘Even tonight, Mother? Just to make a toast?’
Although they only had minimal time together these days, Aphroditi still found herself irritated by her mother. Why could she not lift her mood a little, just for once, on an occasion that meant so much to her daughter?
Even at Aphroditi and Savvas’ wedding, Artemis Markides had sat quietly apart from the celebrations. Dimitris’ death had been a catastrophe for them all, but Aphroditi yearned for its shadow not to cast a pall over this event too. He was dead, but she was still living.
Aphroditi noticed how her mother avoided looking at the waiter. Her mother’s prejudice against Turkish Cypriots upset her, but it was something she avoided mentioning. Aphroditi supported her husband’s way of thinking. The hotel must employ whoever was best for any job, regardless of background.
‘It’s another way to set The Sunrise apart,’ Savvas had explained to his mother-in-law, when she had raised the issue that afternoon. ‘To make it more truly international, we must have a broad mixture of staff. The chef is French, two of the receptionists are English, our banqueting manager is Swiss. In the hair salon we have a Turkish Cypriot … and many of the kitchen staff are too, of course.’
‘But …’ interjected her mother. ‘Waiters? Front of house?’
‘Well, I don’t like to disagree,’ answered Savvas, ‘but we want the best people. And of course the people who will do the job for the money we’re offering. It’s business.’
Savvas saw the world through a prism of profit and loss.
Aphroditi got up from the table.
‘I must see if Savvas needs me,’ she said, making her excuse to walk away.
Something that did not help between Aphroditi and her parents was that the truth had always been kept from her mother. Artemis Markides had been protected from the irrefutable facts about her son, and at times like this, Aphroditi was filled with an urge to tell her everything; to scream out the truth:
‘He killed someone, Mother. Your precious son
killed
a Turkish Cypriot!’
She had lived for almost a decade with these words close to her lips, but they could never be spoken.
There had been a careful cover-up, which was easy to arrange for a man with as much money and influence as Trifonas. Paying someone off to change the story was very straightforward. Markides did not want any suggestion that his son had been killed in retaliation for another murder. A fact such as this would taint the family name for ever.
Aphroditi knew that her brother was not innocent. He had been in the thick of the pointless antagonism between Greeks and Turks that had swelled into hatred after the
Similar Books
