Greek Wedding (26 page)

At last a member of the
Cambrian's
crew brought them a
reassuring note from Brett. It was addressed to Miss Knight, and Phyllida felt a familiar pang as she watched her aunt open it. In happier days, surely, he would have written to her?

‘Good news!' Cassandra had read it rapidly, aware of the two girls' anxious attention. ‘He's seen Reshid Pasha—a great success, he says—“tell Jenny several chapters for the book.” And, best of all, Reshid gave him his word that the garrison of the Acropolis will be spared if they surrender. He seems to think it will happen any day now. Church has written Fabvier advising that he give up, and Admiral de Rigny has undertaken to supervise the evacuation. I think it's as good as one could hope for.'

‘Yes.' Phyllida was longing for a personal message like the one to Jenny. ‘What else does he say, Aunt?'

‘Not very much. Read it if you like. It sounds as if it were written in haste…' There was no mention of Phyllida.

Howe and his friends were not much comfort. They were appalled at the idea that the defenders of the Acropolis might really mean to surrender. ‘It can't be necessary,' said Townshend Washington. ‘That position should be impregnable, and we all know they're getting a certain quantity of supplies through the lines. If you ask me, the truth of the matter is that Fabvier doesn't much like being shut up there. That's why he's writing such desperate letters.'

‘Yes,' said Howe. ‘What he doesn't realise is that to hold out there is the most important thing he can do for Greece. It's like Missolonghi; it catches the attention of the world.'

‘But that works both ways,' said Phyllida. ‘Mr. Renshaw once told me he thought Missolonghi might be like Thermopylae—a victory that turned things against the victors. It struck me very much at the time. Don't you think the fall of the Acropolis might be the same?'

‘Not if the Turks behave well,' said Howe, and, as so often, a cold little silence fell.

Next day, Nauplia was seething with rumours. The Turks had stormed the Acropolis by a trick; the garrison had marched out with flags flying and been cut down to a man; Church had launched a counter-attack and cut Reshid Pasha's lines of communication.

‘That I don't believe,' said Jenny. ‘Nor the gloomy stories either. If you ask me, they're merely rumours put about by
Grivas or Fotomarra to mask their own quarrel. Marcos gets gloomier about things here in Nauplia every day. There's something going on to do with old Kolokotronis and his son John. Nobody quite knows what, but they're both in town, with more of those ragged desperadoes of theirs than anyone much likes to see.'

‘I know,' said Phyllida. ‘Sam Howe's had to put a guard on the American relief ship that came in the other day. Even when he gets the food distributed, he says he's afraid the soldiers will just take it away from the poor peasants.' She had been working steadily with Howe and his friends since the long-awaited ship had sailed into harbour.

‘Not really a very nice lot, the Greeks,' said Jenny.

‘But, poor things—' Phyllida could still be relied on to spring to their defence. She broke off, ‘Yes, Price?'

‘The
Helena
's in, miss.'

‘At last!' They were all on their feet. Phyllida turned pleadingly to her aunt. ‘Surely we could go down and meet them?' Meet whom? She hardly dared ask herself the question.

‘If you'll excuse me, miss.' Price had hovered in the doorway. ‘Things are on the boil in town today, Marcos says. He told me particularly not to let any of the English servants out of the house.'

‘Anyway,' said practical Jenny, ‘there are so many ways to the harbour, we'd be bound to miss them.' She, too, carefully did not specify to whom her ‘they' referred.

‘And in the meantime,' said Cassandra, ‘we'd better make up some beds.' She kept Phyllida and Jenny busy tidying and retidying Brett's room, and the one intended for Peter, until a commotion in the street sent Jenny rushing to the window.

‘They're here,' she said. ‘Oh, Phyllida!'

Hard to recognise Peter in the gaunt, heavily bearded figure who walked unsteadily beside Brett. ‘Both of them!' It was a prayer of thanks. ‘Quick, let's go down.'

Peter was exhausted, at the end of his tether, and furious. ‘We should never have yielded! Two thousand pounds of powder, and grain for several months, and Fabvier surrenders the heart of Greece!' He still had his arms round Phyllida, and she recognised, with an odd little shock, that he was wearing a suit of Brett's clothes. ‘Not that I'm not glad to see you, Phyl,' he went on, ‘or to be here, come to that—but it's a black day for
Greece. If I'd been Fabvier, I'd have held out to the last man.' He turned, with the smile she remembered, to Brett: ‘In a way, sir, you've done Greece a disservice.'

‘Oh?' Brett looked almost as tired as Peter.

‘A massacre would have been better than this ignominious surrender! Now what will the world say? That the Turks are civilised, the Greeks barbarians. That the garrison of the Acropolis marched out with the honours of the war. And what happened at Saint Spiridion?'

‘Perhaps the world will be right,' said Brett.

And, ‘Peter,' intervened Phyllida, ‘You mean you'd not have escaped, if Alex had arranged it for you?'

‘Escaped? From the Acropolis? Have you gone crazy, Phyl?'

‘Oh.' She was aware of Brett's disconcertingly sympathetic glance. ‘I've been stupid,' she said.

‘I expect so!' Peter's tone told her that everything had changed between them except affection. He was a man now. Odd to think that the last time she had seen him, she had been insisting that he take warm underwear to Harvard. ‘But what's the news of Alex?' he asked. ‘I rather expected to find him here.' It was all kinds of questions rolled into one.

Phyllida turned an anguished, questioning glance on Brett. ‘Alex?' she temporised. ‘We've not seen him for some time.'

‘Your brother's been asleep all the way from Phalerum,' put in Brett. ‘Some food, and I think the best place for him is bed again. There'll be plenty of time for talk later.'

‘Yes,' Peter's laugh came oddly from that gaunt face. ‘This tyrannical friend of yours, Phyl, has kept me on iron rations, and in bed, ever since we met. And don't think I'm not grateful,' he finished.

‘And more iron rations, and bed, are what you're going to have now,' said Aunt Cassandra. ‘How much, Brett?'

‘I told Price. It should be ready directly. That sour milk the Greeks eat so much of is the best thing for the moment. Never mind—' As Peter made a face that reminded Phyllida almost unbearably of the boy he had been. ‘We'll soon be dressing the fatted calf for you.'

‘It's too good to be true,' said Phyllida. ‘Oh, Brett, I do thank you.'

‘It's been a pleasure.' Something extraordinarily daunting about the social phrase. If she had hoped that in the excitement
of the reunion he had forgotten to be angry with her, this brought her back to reality with a start. And, worst of all, she was aware of Peter's speculative eye taking it all in.

‘Food and bed,' he said. ‘It sounds like heaven. It's what we dreamed of, up there on the Acropolis, with the vultures waiting overhead.'

‘What a vulgar idea of heaven,' Jenny broke the moment of tension.

‘Ah, but you see, Miss Renshaw, I'm an American.'

He ate his curdled milk with gusto, drank the one glass of watered wine that was all Brett would allow him, and agreed again that bed would be very pleasant. ‘And if I were you,' Brett said to Phyllida afterwards, ‘I would send for that American doctor friend of yours. You brother's made a great effort today, but I'm not at all happy about him.'

‘No.' Phyllida had seen the suddenly admitted exhaustion with which Peter collapsed on to the bed they had made ready for him. ‘Brett—'

‘Yes?' The monosyllable was forbidding.

‘Just: thank you.' What else dared she say?

Dr. Howe took a comparatively cheerful view of Peter's condition, prescribing merely rest and cautious diet. ‘It will take a bit of time, of course. I certainly wouldn't recommend moving him until he's a good deal stronger. Unless things get so bad here in Nauplia that there's no alternative.'

‘You expect them to?' Brett asked.

‘I wouldn't be surprised at anything. Something very queer seems to have happened up at the Palamede last night. As far as I can make out, old Kolokotronis tried to bribe Grivas's men to surrender the fortress to him, but was betrayed in his turn. He and his son have retreated ignominiously to Argos and are the laughing-stock of the town today. Personally, I think the Greek Government crazy to move back here to Nauplia, with things in such a state of confusion. Kolokotronis may be out of it, but I wouldn't be surprised if fighting broke out between Grivas and Fotomarra any moment.'

‘As bad as that?' Brett drank coffee thoughtfully. ‘I think I shall call my book “When Greek Meets Greek”. So far as I can see, it only takes two of them to make a civil war. But you really don't think we ought to move Peter Vannick?'

‘It would be risky. All very fine if the weather holds, but you know how quickly a storm can blow up in these waters, and, frankly, I'd not much like to be on board that pretty little
Helena
of yours in one of the real Aegean tearers.'

‘That's what my captain says. We've been incredibly lucky so far; we'd best not chance it. Besides, I'd much rather keep Peter under your eye so long as possible.'

Peter himself made a gallant attempt, the first day, at getting up and behaving normally, but half an hour of it had been enough and he had given in gratefully when Cassandra bullied him back to bed. After that, he lay there peacefully while the three women took it in turns to read aloud to him out of their exiguous store of books. Brett had shut himself up in his study to write his chapters about Reshid Pasha and the disaster of Phalerum and only appeared at meals. Invariably courteous to Phyllida, he contrived never to be alone with her. Sometimes she thought she would have minded less if he had lost his temper.

Peter did not improve matters by asking fretfully over and over again when Alex was coming to see him. ‘Not till you're a great deal stronger than this.' Jenny had arrived to take over from Phyllida by his bedside. ‘Look at you! Working up a fever over that Alex who is doubtless busy committing piracy for the greater glory of Greece. I don't suppose he even knows you're here.'

‘No, very likely not.' He lay back obediently among the pillows she had plumped up for him. ‘Read me some
Rob Roy
, Jenny, you do the Scottish much better than Phyllida.'

And Phyllida, retiring to her own room, recognised as yet one more last straw the fact that he preferred Jenny's ministrations to her own. She sat for a while, wondering what he would say when she told him she had refused Alex, then shook herself and sent for Marcos to escort her down to the ramshackle dockside warehouse where Howe and his friends were still busy sorting American relief supplies.

Returning, much later, with hands blistered and filthy, she was at once aware of tension in the house. Price materialised
between her and the door of the main saloon: ‘Mr. Mavromikhalis is here, miss. He wants to see Mr. Peter. Mr. Brett thinks we ought to send for the doctor first, and get his permission. They're discussing it.'

‘They certainly are!' Alex's voice rose in anger in the next room. She looked down at her dirty hands. ‘Price, Dr. Howe is down at the warehouse. Send Marcos right away?' She pushed open the saloon door and found Alex pacing furiously up and down the room, shouting at Brett. ‘There you are!' He turned on her. ‘What's this I hear about you running round the town with a pack of young Americans who haven't even the guts to fight for us? And—look at you! A Greek lady would be ashamed of herself to appear in such a state.'

‘A Greek lady would probably not be allowed to appear at all,' said Phyllida. ‘Besides, I fail to see what business it is of yours. Price said you wanted to see Peter, and I think I'm the one to explain to you just how quiet the doctor wants him kept. He's not to be worried about anything—yet.'

‘And what do you mean by that?' His tone was dangerous, and Brett, who had risen and held a chair for Phyllida, gave her a quick glance, then left her to deal with it in her own way.

‘That I have said nothing to him about you—about us.' She made herself clarify it. ‘He's been asking for you a great deal. I think it possible he imagines that we are engaged to be married. If you are to be allowed to see him, I would want your promise not to discuss me.'

‘If!' He was angrier than ever. ‘Promises! To a woman! I don't much like your tone,
kyria
.' And then, getting hold of himself with an effort. ‘I'm forgetting myself. Forgive me, Phyllida. It's all been too much. And now, to be kept from my brother's bedside, after all he has been through, by this—'

‘Gentleman,' Phyllida interposed, before he could use a more contentious word. ‘Who saved Peter's life. I think he has every right to protect my brother from the kind of scene you seem set on making.' She folded her dirty hands in her lap and noticed, for the first time, the fringe of dust edging her muslin skirts. ‘Sit down, Alex. I've sent for Dr. Howe. He will decide whether Peter is well enough to see you. In the meantime, tell us what has been happening to you all this time.'

‘What's been happening!' He threw himself into a chair. ‘Disaster! You've not heard?'

‘Another disaster?' Brett's voice was a shade too cool.

‘Yes. There's no Greek fleet any more. I'm ashamed to have lived through the day it happened, but what could I do? One man, among so many?'