Greek Fire (24 page)

“I thought she was splendid. We met as mourners.”

“Of course. Of course.” He glanced once round the apartment, summing it up swiftly and in a different way from ever before, like a man suddenly being asked to bid at an auction. Then his eyes came back to the girl as she sat on the arm of the settee and summed her up too, missing absolutely nothing, from the curve of her breast under the scarlet shirt to the hand rubbing itself meditatively along her trousered leg. “Anya, this will make a difference to you.”

“And to you, Jon.”

“Naturally. Will you smoke?”

“No, thank you. But please smoke yourself.”

“We have—a lot in common now, Anya. We both—attached ourselves, in very different ways, to a star. And now the star has fallen!”

“I hadn't looked at it that way.”

“Of course I am putting it too bluntly. But many years ago … May I?” Manos slipped off his thin white overcoat and dropped it on a chair. “… many years ago, when I first met George Lascou, I saw him as a coming man in the biggest way. One had to be with him only a little while to appreciate his penetrating yet subtle mind, the great driving force behind that too quiet manner. I—made my choice. Sometime—I don't know when—you made your choice. That is what I mean by saying we had much in common. Of course, in our different ways, we had much to contribute in return.”

“You're too kind.”

Manos paced across the room lighting his cigarette. His white foulard tie contrasted with a navy blue shirt and a suit with a just visible pink stripe. He said: “My trained legal mind was of great value to him in his transactions. We helped each other. I learned much from him. I hope—to carry on in his tradition, as it were. All will not be lost, Anya, all will not be lost.”

She remained perfectly quiet, holding her knee in her hand now, profile to him, ankle gently swinging.

He said: “It was my ambition to serve George faithfully until he reached the highest eminence. I would have been his second man. Stavrides is a nonentity who would have been swept away after the election. George was agreed on it.”

“So?”

“Now that George has gone I serve Stavrides for the time being. He is the only figurehead we can rally behind. But he is too weak to survive permanently.” Manos stopped in his pacing and made an expressive gesture with his hands. “He will go and the leadership will devolve on me. That's certain.”

“So?”

“I cannot hope to bring to this position the gifts that George Lascou had. But my best will not be inconsiderable. It's not impossible that you're looking at a future Prime Minister of Greece.”

Anya got up then and poured herself more wine. “Will the
coup
go on?”

He looked at her quickly. “You knew of it?”

“Of course.”

“George did not tell me he had told you.”

“George told me many things.”

“Well, it cannot. General Telechos has already indicated that he will deal with no one else. I shall see him again in the morning, but I'm afraid the chance is lost.”

“Then your chances of being Prime Minister of Greece …”

“Will depend—temporarily—on the outcome of the election. But we shall not lose votes through George's death.” In his pacing Manos stopped before a mirror and tightened his tie. “Anyway, I'm not sure that it would be a good thing to win this election.”

“Why not?”

“The country is too evenly split. With Telechos, yes, we could take over and hold what we took. Without him—and depending on parliament—it is better I think if the Government is returned, but with a very small majority. Then we can exploit their weaknesses, make capital out of the discontent that must come, and carry the day next time.”

“Wine?” she said. “ Or brandy? It is George's brandy, so you should like it.”

He glanced at her, sensing the equivocal, poured himself a drink. She said: “Do you think the Communists have a chance?”

“The Communists?” He took time over putting back the brandy bottle. “They're finished—we could never stand them back in Greece, could we?” It was half a statement, half a question.

“George talked of it sometime. He said that there were many disguised Communist sympathisers.”

“Some, I suppose.… Do you know any?”

She smiled. “ They do not confide in me.”

“No.” He stepped uneasily away from the mirror. “The immediate point is not that at all—it is that EMO has a chance—and I with it.”

“Which you intend to take.”

“Which George would wish me to take—in the interests of Greece.”

“And in your own.”

“He would have wished me well, because, as I repeat, I have always subordinated my own interests to his. Even my interest—my very deep interest to his. Even my interest—my very deep interest in you.”

It was out now. If she had not taken the point before, it was here plainly stated. Manos's take-over bid did not stop at political parties.

She sipped her wine and looked at him over the top of her glass.

“Don't you think, Jon, that it would be better to leave talking of that until a little time has gone by?”

“Naturally you're upset. Naturally you want time to adjust yourself. We all do. But I didn't wish you to be in any doubt as to the way I feel. My holding back has been entirely out of loyalty for George.…”

“Has anything been seen of the man who—did this thing?”

“Vanbrugh? He hasn't been caught yet, if that's what you mean. But he will be.”

“It's twenty-four hours.”

Manos's eyes had become smaller and colder. “ You knew him well, didn't you?”

Anya shrugged. “ I knew him. Because George asked me to, I made a friend of him.”

“He regretted that later, didn't he?”

“Who, George? I don't think so.”

Manos finished his drink and poured himself another. “ I happened to be at Heracles House when he came back from visiting you the day before yesterday. He was very angry. He said little to me, but I gathered that he had quarrelled with you.”

Anya leaned her elbow on the mantelshelf. “Dear Jon, between a man and a woman things like that can always happen. It's quite true he thought I'd gone too far in encouraging Gene Vanbrugh. So he was jealous. That did no harm. I should only have had more flowers, more presents when he came to his senses. But alas, that did not happen, cannot now ever happen.”

Manos said: “ I'm glad to know there was no foundation in it. Glad for myself, of course. And glad for you. I did not see how you could possibly betray all the things we have been working for these last ten years.”

Anya said: “What exactly
have
we all been working for these last ten years?”

They stared at each other, and ultimately it was Manos who made the little disclaiming gesture. “Need you ask? For the good of Greece. But this man Vanbrugh will be caught—I've no doubt at all.”

“Why?”

He walked across the room, his shoes toeing in. “ In politics, money and diplomacy will not always do everything. Political life is rough sometimes. I used to argue with George. He always preferred to exercise his power through money if he could. Sometimes he could not—and then he would leave it to me.”

“And you?”

“In my legal career I have made contacts where contacts sometimes are invaluable. Little jobs can be done at a price—and no questions asked.”

“You mean the Spaniard?”

“So George told you that. It seems——”

“Why did you take me to the Little Jockey the night before it happened?”

“How can one explain these impulses? Curiosity, bravado, a wish to see these people for myself.…” Manos made another of his gestures, dismissing it with his plump hands like a legal technicality. “What is important is that I have not left it entirely to the police to trace this Vanbrugh.”

When he talked he moved like a dancer, a slow step here, a quick step there; it was a trait that had always amused her. Now it no longer amused her.

“And when did you—decide not to leave it entirely to the police?”

“Monday evening.”

“Did George tell you to?”

“No. Sometimes he would hesitate too long. In this case
I
hesitated too long also.”

“Is it without any doubt that this man killed him?”

“He was clever enough to remove his finger prints, but Michael's evidence alone will convict him.”

“Michael saw the blow struck?”

“No, but everything else. Have no doubt, my dear. Vanbrugh will be found, alive or dead.”

She came back to the supper table, picked up a plate and put it over another, slid her used knife and fork on to them. “Forgive me, Jon, I think I am going to bed soon. All this has greatly upset me.…”

“Of course.” Smiling with his teeth and talking all the time, he allowed her to see him to the door. He took two little side steps and bent to kiss her hand. “Don't forget what I said, Anya.”

“About what?”

“About ourselves.”

“No.… No, I'll not forget.”

His smile encompassed her breasts, her shoulders, her neck and face and eyes, and then slipped politely past her to take in again the handsome room he was leaving. “I suppose you haven't heard—you will not have heard yet how any of the money has been left?”

“To his children, I expect,” she said. “ In trust for his children.”

“And in the meantime?”

“I don't know. I hope none of it has been left to me.”

“You heard?”

“A good deal of it.” Gene moved away from the blind. “The man outside hasn't spoken to him. They're obviously not sure themselves.”

“It was Jon Manos who did this—not George.”

In silence they cleared away the things. Then she washed up and he wiped.

He said: “Do you care anything for Manos?”

“How could I? A man like that!”

“He has George's bad qualities without his good.”

“He could
never
lead Greece. He can only buy the gangster and the bully.”

“Which he appears to have done pretty efficiently of late. I don't think we should under-rate him.”

“I don't under-rate him but he has no hopes of ever taking George's place!”

After a minute he said: “Was it true, what you told Manos, that you allowed me to make the running on instructions from George?”

“Not instructions. But he thought it a good thing.”

“I see.”

She said: “And did you first ‘make the running with me,' as you call it, to find out more about him?”

“Yes.”

She looked at him thoughtfully.

He put down a plate. “ I think we've come rather a long way in a week.”

“All your invitations to me were—part of this policy?”

“Of course. As all your acceptances were?”

“I didn't come to Delphi because of what George had told me to do! You heard. We quarrelled because of it.”

He took up another plate. “I didn't ask you to Delphi to find out about George. By that time I was in love with you.”

“But you—went on helping this Spanish girl?”

“It was something I'd promised her—and myself—before I even met you.”

She stopped. “ I asked that out of jealousy. It's a feeling I have never had before.”

He put his hand on her arm and turned her gently round. Her eyes were warm.

She said against his mouth: “So I think I love you too.”

When they separated it was as if they had run up five flights. His fingers were trembling. She leaned against the chromium sink.

She said: “And yet—can you understand it?—in spite of this and in spite of what we have said, I don't want—anything here tonight.”

“You mean, this flat?”

“
His
flat. He is—to me he is still here. You said this morning that he had come between us. He cannot
help
but be between us here.
Everything
reminds me. I am still part of his belonging. Are you superstitious?”

“No.”

“Neither am I. But there are some things that one …”

She stopped and looked at him.

He said: “What's between us is too important to begin wrong. I've confidence enough in my chances of getting clear to let this opportunity by if you think it right we should, for the right reasons. But I make one condition.”

“What?”

“That we stop talking as if this was something temporary. Whatever else, it isn't temporary. It's the big thing for me—like no other ever. I don't have to say it again, do I?”

She answered: “I think it is the first time you have ever said it.”

The plumber had finished his evening meal, and although his children were still up and making a noise, his wife was out, so he enjoyed his daily paper in more detail than usual. It was the warmest evening of the year, and he was regretting he had not gone out for a glass of mastica with his friends, when something he read took his attention, not solely because it was in blacker type. (
Telmi
was a great paper for bigger and blacker type.)

“The murderer was last seen at a ceremony held to commemorate the 50th Anniversary of the founding of the newspaper
Aegis
, from whose offices he made his escape on being recognised. In the interests of fair play we forbear to comment on a situation in which a man such as this, a notorious criminal long wanted by the police, finds himself in the company of high-placed Government supporters, entertained by them, on the best of terms with them, while the blood is still wet on his hands from the commission of his latest and vilest crime.”

The paragraph puzzled the plumber. He took out the penknife he had found and stared at it and then re-read the paragraph twice more. The man with the beard stopping him on the street corner—did that mean anything? And—in spite of his denial—the voice he
had
heard in the flat?