Picasso's Envy, page 17
The town radiated out and up from the curve of the small harbour. Shiny large cobbles made it difficult to walk and I was thankful for my walking shoes. I had experience of this from previous islands, so was prepared for the warning. Years of donkeys and horses’ hooves across the stones had worn them slippery – beautiful in appearance, but treacherous to navigate.
The harbour was alive, the restaurants and cafés full. Laughter and chatter filled the air. Fahim was well known, with waves and acknowledgements from every eatery. A reserved sign was taken hastily from a table, so we sat by the water’s edge. Murat sat at a small table quickly set up next to ours. What was this thing with Murat? Was this protocol for bodyguards – seen but not associated with? A shadow, a warning to those getting too close. I wondered if he carried a gun.
“Many artists live here, Annabelle,” said Fahim. “We’ll be visiting some of the small galleries tomorrow. They’re hidden away, further back and up the hill, away from the harbour.”
When we finished dinner, Eduart went back to Sea Falcon while Fahim, Neills and I, with Murat trailing, walked around the small harbour and along a path that took us away from the town and into the next bay. Another restaurant lay nestled into the cliff below.
“I think Leonard Cohen has a house up there somewhere,” said Fahim pointing to the left. “Have you heard of him? Poet and singer? I like his music.”
I’d been travelling now for a few months and wasn’t up with all the latest music. The English party people had spoken of the latest happenings in London, of which I oblivious. And here too, so it seemed.
We looked across the sea to other islands, dark shapes in the twilight. The harbour was still bristling with activity until way past midnight.
“I think we’ll turn in … well I will,” said Fahim. “We’ll be back ashore in the morning for breakfast. Happy with that, Annabelle?”
“Yes, definitely. I imagine it’s quite different in the morning.”
I’d had little to say since we stepped foot on the island, so mesmerised was I with the atmosphere and a little ill at ease with Murat’s presence. I had the feeling he watched me without watching me. All so different to the times spent with the Americans and the yachtie community. Sharing what we had with others on board our yacht or another yacht’s offerings, evenings at cheap tavernas – it was vastly different to Fahim’s life. A small boat was available to take us back to Sea Falcon, which was moored offshore.
Ashore at breakfast, we were five, with Eduart and Murat. Murat sat separately again and, although he ate, his eyes were constantly alert. Why he needed to keep me in his sights was beyond me. Where did he think I was going?
After breakfast, Fahim led us to a painter, then a potter. Eduart then sought out shops to look for presents for his wife and children. Fahim, Neills and I continued on. Fahim knew where the artists lived, their small houses doubling as studios. A maze of tiny pathways led us across and up the hill from the village. We found exquisite leatherware, paintings, pottery, weaving and everything in between, where artists and craftspeople sold directly from their premises. Fahim spoke Greek to them all. He sounded fluent, but as I didn’t know the language beyond pleasantries, I couldn’t be sure. The artists loved him. He bought something from all of them. They often pressed him with a small gift. The experience was a treasure for me. Left to my own devices, I would never have known these artists existed or found my way along the alleyways.
At one studio, Neills and I lingered outside, the space being so small we couldn’t all fit. I took the opportunity to ask about Murat, who was out of earshot. I wasn’t even sure if he spoke English.
“He travels everywhere with Fahim,” Neills said.
“Why?”
“Fahim’s father has a bodyguard, his uncles, his brothers … it’s what the wealthy Saudis do. And not just Saudis, Annabelle.”
I didn’t know that, nor had I ever thought about it.
“I’ve never noticed him before. Was he around when the others were on board?”
“He was around. Murat is a professional. He’s only seen when it is time for him to be seen.”
“Does he speak English?”
“A little.”
With Fahim occupied, I struck up further conversation. It was something I thought we’d be doing now with the others gone, but so far, we hadn’t. Nor had we spent much time alone.
“How is your mother, Neills? Did she buy her house?”
“We’re not sure it’s the right one. Laars said he’d check in on her and the house.”
“Your father, Neills, you seldom mention him. May I ask?”
“He left us when I was very little. He found another woman. Left my mother broken-hearted.”
“Oh … I’m so sorry. That must have been very hard for her. Have you seen him since?”
“No.”
“Did she meet anyone else?”
“No. It was very difficult. She was still in love with him when it happened. Still is, I think. She never got him out of her system.”
“Did he help raise you financially? Sorry, I probably shouldn’t ask, but it’s a beef of mine, when men get someone pregnant and then don’t take any responsibility.”
“Is it?”
“Yes, very much.”
“What would you do if that happened to you?”
“Oh God, hopefully I’d never meet a man like that, never get involved in the first place.”
“How would you know?”
That was a question I hadn’t been confronted with or thought about.
“Hopefully I’d have the insight to pick a decent man. They say girls often pick their fathers to marry. Thankfully mine is a wonderful, decent man. Very honest and well meaning. He’s very loyal to my mother and always had time for Peter and me. He’s my role model.”
“It’s wonderful you feel confident in that way. And you say you’ve had a good example set for you. My mother was not so lucky. I don’t know what example my mother’s father gave her, maybe it was being charming like the man she fell for. This man, when she needed him and loved him the most, gave her a paltry sum and sent her out of his life. You say in English, pissed her off.”
What could I say? He was still, after all this time, very angry, whether for his mother’s sake or his own. I didn’t want to question him further, dredge up old wounds. Neills had other ideas.
“We were blessed in other ways, as I’ve mentioned, with friends, especially Laars’s family. My mother had no family left after the war.” He was quiet, looked away. “You’ve had a blessed life, Annabelle.”
Suddenly I felt privileged and guilty. “Yes, I guess I have been very lucky.”
“It shows. Both you and your brother, Peter. No real crises in your life.”
“Um … no.”
I scanned my life and could find nothing that matched Neills’s. A tipped over toy boat that was still haunting me, ridiculous in comparison.
“No, I’ve been lucky. We have wonderful parents.”
As if to close the conversation, Fahim stepped from the studio carrying a small bag.
“Come,” said Fahim, “we haven’t finished.”
We found Eduart on the way and by then the hot sun was overhead with little shade. We walked to the harbour and took a table by the water. Time passed so quickly, it was already one-thirty.
Right by the water again, we ate simple food, succulent local produce: sheep’s milk feta cheese, spring lamb and retsina from the mainland.
“We’ll go back to the yacht, have a rest if you like Annabelle, then we can change and come back for dinner,” said Fahim. “I think we should walk to the restaurant we saw last night, carved into the rock beneath the path. You remember? Would that suit, Annabelle?”
“Very much.”
Fahim was certainly laying on the charm, unlike his time drawing me. I had a niggling thought that this was all to keep me happy, so I would continue to sit for him. I still didn’t know how long I would be needed.
“After a rest we’ll have a couple of hours to fit in a sitting if that will be convenient, Annabelle?”
Was I getting deeper into debt?
Forty-eight
What could I say to Fahim besides “Of course”? I could hardly show my gratitude by saying I didn’t want to sit for him and would prefer to sit aft and enjoy the sun and the view.
Eva was heading home by now and, for a fleeting second, I wanted to be with her. To talk with her. She had invited me to join her and stay at her house. Neills and I had so far not become any closer. Did Fahim know there was something between us and that we might want time together? Fahim was not to know I slept alone. Then again, perhaps he did. I’m sure he knew everything that happened on board.
“Fahim’s ready now,” said Peggy, as I sat aft enjoying the warmth of the sun. I sighed. “Would you like me to walk you there, Miss Annabelle?”
“No, thank you.”
The request was for me to wear one of the dresses provided, the colour was up to me. Without looking, I opened the cupboard and pulled the nearest off its hanger.
“Come in,” said Fahim after I’d knocked. “Wonderful … perhaps you can stand by the chair this afternoon. For the first sketch.”
“Are these sketches for a painting? How many will you make?”
“I sense impatience in your voice, Annabelle. We are going to be stretching our legs shortly and enjoying a wonderful dinner. You will enjoy that, won’t you?”
“Yes, of course, I’m looking forward to it.”
After four, twenty-minute sketches, with five-minute breaks, Fahim finished.
“That will do,” he said. “My hand is getting tired.” He added quite absently, “Shortly we will go for dinner.”
Walking back to my cabin, I felt quite shaken. Fahim’s tone, more than his words, had been like a knife through my belly. I had no one to talk it through with.
Oh for Eva.
A knock on the door woke me. I didn’t remember falling asleep. It was Peggy, rather than Neills.
Along with my troubling thoughts, I was drinking too much. Krug was poured without my asking. Krug was always available in Fahim’s studio, even during morning sessions. I declined but soon felt it was something to do. I tried drinking less, but it seemed I was in fact now drinking more often. My inebriated condition became the norm. Dutch courage helped me through the loneliness, even when I wasn’t alone.
So many questions were burning in my head; I didn’t know where to begin. My mind felt like a basket, where I collected questions to ask at appropriate times, but could never spend them. The only person to ask was Neills. When I thought it would be appropriate, it turned out not to be. Why? How? What? All lay forlornly unanswered.
We spent another day at Idhra. Prior to going ashore the next evening, Neills and I sat quietly enjoying a glass of wine. A little tipsy, I found enough courage to fire my questions, but then the moment felt so blissful, I didn’t want to spoil it. I said nothing. I looked at him in the romantic twilight. I wanted to kiss him very badly. In my tipsy state, he looked like the most gorgeous man on earth. And I was with him, at arm’s reach, yet so far away.
Finally, I said, “I’m so attracted to you Neills, but I don’t know if you feel the same.”
No answer.
“Do you?”
“You are a beautiful woman, Annabelle. Any family would be proud to have you as a member.”
His answer baffled me. Did he mean in marriage? Was he thinking of his mother? Was he wondering if she would approve of me? I left a space for him continue, but he didn’t. A door was closing, but I stuck my foot in the gap to keep it open.
“Come, let’s sit where it’s comfortable,” I said, taking the lead.
Grasping his hand, I walked him to the comfy seating. I snuggled in. He put his arm around me. I looked closely into his eyes and leant in to kiss him.
He whispered, “I think we should save this moment for a special time.”
As if on cue, Fahim, Eduart and Murat appeared.
“Ready to go ashore?” said Fahim.
The evening was a repeat of the night before. Back on board, Neills walked me to my cabin and kissed me on the forehead.
“See you in the morning.”
As I lay on the bed, tears rolled down the sides of my face. I was in the most beautiful place and situation on earth and I didn’t ever remember feeling more alone.
Forty-nine
After breakfast the following morning, our routine resumed. During that morning’s sitting, Neills did not join us. The sitting was broken by lunch. I felt suppressed. Things had changed so much. Lively people had populated the yacht and apart from my constant waiting for Neills, there were people to talk to, people to laugh with. Now I had become a mouse. Loneliness skulked in every corner.
My chance to interact at lunch was stifled. Not only could I not get a word in, I didn’t know anything about the subjects discussed. I knew very little about navigation on the scale Fahim and Eduart spoke. Neills did not notice me. My mono-linguistic skills were a great shortfall when all three dropped into various languages, followed by laughter.
After dinner, I had the night off. Fahim went to his quarters, Eduart to his or the bridge, leaving Neills and I alone. The evening was glorious, warm with no wind. I decided to stay aft and didn’t care if I was alone. The Krug waited for me. Surprisingly, Neills joined me.
He was eager to talk. I wondered if he was tipsy, as his manner was more open. While he talked, my mind panicked with uncompleted tasks.
“What’s up?” said Neills. “You’ve drifted away. Have I been talking to myself?”
“I just realised my parents don’t know where I am, or Peter. I meant to post letters while we were on Idhra.”
“Oh, never mind, Annabelle. You can post them back in Piraeus. They will probably get home faster than posting them from an island.”
“Are we going back to Piraeus soon?”
“That sounds like you want to, Annabelle. Have you had enough of being on board? You are sailing around the Aegean and seeing islands you may not have visited on your own. And it is your dream remember?”
As if I needed reminding.
“No, no … don’t get me wrong, I’ve had, I mean I’m having, a wonderful time and I’m so grateful to you for inviting me. It’s been incredible. Of course, I want to stay,” I said, suppressing my doubts and ever hopeful Neills would be responsive.
The subject changed and we talked about my life at home, my parents. We compared life in Australia to life in Denmark. How children played, their schooling and how idle time was spent. Neills repeated his thought that I’d had a fortunate life. I could only agree. His had been more of a struggle but, to balance that, he and his mother had received great kindness from close friends. This subject was thrashed to death now and I felt we could talk of other things.
During this time with Neills, Murat lingered far in the dark. I only saw him when he changed his position. A master of his craft.
“Is Murat with us to protect us? Are we under threat?”
“No, Annabelle. He’s always been around. You’ve just never noticed him before.”
“But we’re here on board.”
“Precautions.”
“I don’t understand.” No answer. I moved on. “Where’s he from?”
“I don’t know. The Eastern bloc somewhere.”
“Neills,” I said, “this … this being here is so magical, isn’t it? It fulfils all my expectations of what I imagined a Greek Islands trip to be.”
Another glass or two of Krug had doubled the romanticism of my situation, colouring an already colourful experience.
He smiled. “And I am your Prince Charming?”
Neills put his arm around me, more friendly than romantic. “I feel I’m an experiment for you, Annabelle. Maybe a plaything, so that when you can return to your country, you can tell your friends about me.”
His words astounded me. “Is that what you think? Is that what you’ve thought all along? Even back in London when I first met you?”
He shrugged. “I saw you talking with Eva. I know how girls talk. I don’t want to be someone’s trophy.”
“Neills … that is so unfair. The reason I’m staying on board is because of you. The reason I’m sitting for Fahim, session after session, is because of you. I hoped, really hoped, we could form a firm and meaningful relationship. I’m still hopeful.”
“You’re so romantic, Annabelle. I’m flattered. I feel for your fiancé, though.”
A second kick in the gut. “I’m not engaged, Neills. We took a break, I’ve told you that.”
“And what? Waiting to see if you get a better offer? Yes, I know that expression.”
“If you’d give me a chance.” I couldn’t find words through the haze of Krug. “I … I really like YOU, Neills.”
Just then Fahim called out, “Don’t stay up too late, Annabelle, I want you looking your usual gorgeous self in the morning.”
I slumped. “How long am I going to be his model?”
“You’re not happy with the trip?”
There was nothing to say. I collected my wrap and walked to my cabin.
Perhaps it was Murat who reported me.
Fifty
A loud thudding noise woke me. Peggy was at the door.
“Wakey wakey, Miss Annabelle. Breakfast is ready. Wakey wakey.”
Impatience in her voice suggested she’d been knocking for a while.
I rose and showered, powering through a hangover and a feeling of uselessness. Alone at breakfast. One place setting. It was a buffet and I helped myself. Peggy advised me that everyone else had eaten. She would take me to Fahim’s studio when I was ready. I should change into the orange dress.
