'They look such fun,' she said.
They were fun, she discovered shortly. For the first time if dawned on her that being the wife of a rich man—however fraudulently, to her mind, and certainly however temporarily had its compensations. A swift phone conversation with the chauffeur and the luxury limo had been traded for a self-drive bouncing Jeep.
She had to hang on tight, especially as they started to climb into the central Cretan mountains. The hairpin bends were tight, and got tighter, but as they did the views got more and more stupendous. The mildness of the lowland air crispened into a clarity that cleansed the lungs.
'This is wonderful! Thank you!'
They had stopped at a viewpoint and were looking down over the island, towards the sea beyond. Forested slopes spread out like skirts around them.
'I am glad you are enjoying yourself, agape mou.'
He smiled down at her. Again, as in the aftermath of the concert, there was nothing in Nikos's reply except open appreciation of her gratitude for showing her Crete.
She smiled back up at him, her eyes warm, and in that mo-merit she saw his expression change, as if her smile had done something to him.
Hurriedly she looked away, saying the first thing that came into her head.
'For a Greek island, Crete is very forested,' she observed.
"It was not always so,' he answered, accepting her gambit. He must go slowly—oh, so slowly—with this wounded deer, lest she flee him and wound herself even more in the process. ‘When the Venetians ruled Crete, and then the Turks, much of the forest was cut down for timber for ships. In those days public enemy number one for trees were mountain goats, who ate the saplings before they could mature. So a decree went out offering a bounty for every dead goat brought down from Be mountains.' His voice became very dry. 'It is perhaps predictable to relate that an active goat-breeding programme was soon well underway amongst the impoverished but financially astute mountain-dwelling peasants...'
She laughed, as he had intended.
"The best-laid plans of bureaucrats,' she commented, equally dryly.
He slipped his hand into hers, making the movement very casual. 'Indeed. Come—back on the road again. Finding a cafe would be very welcome, ne?
They stopped for coffee at a little cafeneion perched precariously, so it seemed to Andrea, over the side of a precipitous slope. The view, however, more than made up for it. They sat in silence, absorbing the peace and serenity arou
nd them, but it was a silence a world away from the silence at dinner the night before, Andrea found herself thinking. Then it had all been strain and horribleness. Now—now it was...companionable.
The thought was odd. Almost unbelievable.
As she sat there, sipping her western filter coffee while ikos drank the undrinkable treacly brew of the native, she decided she did not want to think about it.
She just wanted to enjoy the moment. For now, it was enough.
It was early evening by the time they got back to the coast. They did not arrive back at Heraklion, but further west, at Rethimnon. 'Just in time for us to make our votla,' said Nikos.
'Volta?'
'In the early evening, after work and before dinner, we take our stroll around the town—to see and be seen,' explained Nikos.
With the westering sun turning the azure sea to turquoise, and yellowing the limestone buildings around the pretty Venetian harbour of the town, it was a pleasant thing to do, discovered Andrea. They strolled around the quayside. And if at some point Nikos slipped his arm around Andrea's shoulders, to shield her from a group of lively tourists heading in the opposite direction, she found, when he did not remove it, that she did not mind. Indeed, the opposite was true. The warmth of his casual embrace was comforting. And when, as they took their places at a table set out on the quayside to have a drink, he let go of her, she felt, she realised, strangely bereft.
Nikos took a beer, Andrea a tall glass of fruit juice, and they watched the world go by. It was very easy, very relaxed. They talked about Crete—its long struggle for independence, its ordeals under Nazi occupation, and its modern Renaissance as a tourist destination. Neutral subjects. Safe subjects.
'Do you know the island well?' she asked.
He shook his head. 'I'm afraid my visits have mostly been brief, and in respect of business. I've seen more of Crete today than ever before.' He paused, then said with deliberate casualness, 'Shall we stay a few days longer?'
She stilled. 'I—I...'
He covered her hand with his. 'You do not need to decide now, Andrea mou. Let us take things as they come, ne?’
There was meaning in his words, but she could not challenge him. Instead she looked out over the gilded water, streaming with the setting sun.
'Shouldn't we start heading back to Heraklion? Won't they be wondering where we are?'