The Summer of Secrets, page 6
‘Absolutely,’ Babá agreed. ‘She must have bribed someone, or been the crazy daughter of an important person in Rhodes. Imagine the embarrassment of having a self-opinionated spinster with ideas of grandeur in the family. They’d remove her to a distant island and there’s no further Greek island than Castellorizo.’
Kuríllos nodded. ‘If she had any brains, she’d know a woman’s purpose is to satisfy her husband in bed—’ At this, Babá grinned and Mamá’s eyes narrowed. She threw another venomous glance at her husband and shifted the chicken and rice out of his reach. Kuríllos continued, ‘—feed him well, keep the house neat and give him as many male children as possible.’
María glanced at Sofía and then rolled her eyes in disgust.
*
Sofía, inspired by the day’s events, lay in bed that night, dreaming about her idol, the teacher, determined to follow Anastasia into the teaching profession. The next morning, she wasted no time in broadcasting her intention to instruct other girls to read and write and learn mathematics.
‘But who will help María with her children?’ Mamá asked.
‘Who will make the precious oil for Mustafa to sell to the French?’ Babá asked.
‘Who will finish weaving your glorious rug?’ María asked.
‘Who will help Mamá with the cleaning and washing and cooking?’ Uncle Kuríllos asked.
‘You see? This is what happens when you give useless girls big ideas,’ Babá stated.
In despair, Mamá shook her head at Sofía and said, ‘The fact is, you’re so useless, child, nobody can survive without you.’
Sofía said, ‘l love you, Mamá,’ and then smiled at everyone.
*
Sofía also loved the building that was their family home. The house consisted of three floors. Mamá, Babá, Sofía and baby George slept on the attic floor. María, Mustafa and the three youngest children slept on the first floor. On the landing of the first floor was an ornate iron hand pump that brought water to the house from the cistern up the mountain. Ayeleen and her younger sister, Rosa and all the other children slept on the ground floor, which had the traditional wall-to-wall bed over an assortment of cupboards. Filling the back of the room was a mezzanine, built for when the boys were older. Under this indoor balcony, against the far wall, hung a vertical carpet loom and Sofía’s three-metre-wide carpet that was nearing completion.
‘You’re doing a wonderful job,’ María said as Sofía tied off another row of tufts. ‘I was having a look at the pattern – you’ve got the whole family in there.’
‘Thanks, but it’s not all my work you know, Mamá and Mikró Yiayá started it when the loom hung in the distillery, before I was born.’
The stout adjoining door behind the carpet linked the house to the distillery where the precious oil was produced.
CHAPTER 9
OLIVIA
Rhodes, Greece, present day
MY CASE IS PACKED AND I’m ready for my journey to Greece tomorrow. I can’t leave without saying goodbye to Uncle so I walk hurriedly into Brighton. Although he arrived home from hospital a couple of days ago, I know he still feels fragile. A street vendor outside the station catches my attention. I stop to admire her blooms. Cones of cellophane envelop a vivid display of colour. All types of flowers, perfectly presented, seem to shout my name from their white enamel buckets.
‘What amazing roses. I’ll have two bunches of the dark red, please,’ I say on impulse, then hold them to my face and inhale. Their rich, overwhelming scent swirls about, playing with my senses, and I know they’ll please Uncle.
I let myself into the flat, call, ‘Good morning! Tea in five minutes!’ then hide the roses behind his armchair. I go straight into the kitchen and pop the kettle on before even taking my coat off. My uncle comes into the big room, mutters, ‘Morning,’ and settles in his chair. ‘I’m going to miss my breakfast cuppa, Olivia. Are you ready to go?’
‘I am and I’ve brought you something so that you don’t forget me while I’m away.’ I reach behind his chair and place the roses in his lap. ‘Ta-da!’ I cry dramatically and grin.
My uncle gasps, lifts them to his face and closes his eyes. He inhales their perfume, long and slow, as if they are the finest red wine.
‘Damascus roses. Dear Rosa,’ he whispers. His chin quivers as he looks up. In an emotional moment, tears spring to his eyes and he fumbles for his handkerchief.
‘Oh, Uncle,’ I whisper. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you. Shall I take them away?’ I’m confused and regret having saddened him. But why should a grown man cry over a bunch of flowers? I turn away to make his tea while he recomposes.
He sniffs and dries his eyes. ‘No problem, it’s me, a bit topsy-turvy after the hospital. I’ll be all right, I promise. What a lovely gesture, Olivia, thank you.’
‘No, really, I can take them away. I’m sorry.’ I wonder if he wants to talk about it.
‘It’s not you, it’s darling Rosa, my dearest niece. She was a little older than me, but much smaller and very delicate-looking.’ He’s silent for a moment; I guess recalling the past. ‘Such a beautiful girl, not just in appearance, but her generous personality too. I admired her tremendously. All she wanted was to make people forget their troubles. This was a great gift and one that many Castellorizons needed as times got harder. You see, it was a time of war, of bombings, of starvation and loss. So, she danced for the people of Castellorizo. Little Rosa shared her great talent with all those she loved.
‘Her favourite saying was, God gave me these feet to dance away other people’s sadness, and she really believed it.’ He closes his eyes and a tear slides out. ‘I loved her dearly, but the tragedy! A trick of fate so cruel, I still can’t talk about it. The flowers brought it all back, what happened to poor Rosa.’
My heart aches, he seems to carry such a burden. I want to comfort him, but I’m not sure what to say and fear upsetting him further. I put his tea and a couple of shortbreads on the side table next to his chair.
‘Rosa is such a beautiful name, but it doesn’t seem very Greek, Uncle.’
He smiles and my heart lifts.
‘Ah, her name.’ He lifts the roses from his lap and inhales their scent again. ‘Best put these in water, if you don’t mind.’ He hands me the flowers. ‘Rosa’s name was an inspired choice. Mamá, María and Sofía were making precious oil from the Damascus rose, a very heavily scented bloom with large, dark-red velvet petals. This was the most expensive and valuable oil we made because there’s very little oil in roses. The petals have to be gathered before sunrise, shipped to Castellorizo and distilled the same day.’
‘Where do they come from?’
‘The Damascus rose comes from across the water, in Turkey. Even today, most roses grown for perfume come from there. Many hundreds of acres of them, a magnificent sight. Anyway, in our distillery there’s an open cement tank in the floor where the ingredients were collected and kept cool. When María was pregnant, they say she slipped and fell into this tank when it was full of rose petals. After that, it was as if she had an addiction to the smell and taste of roses.’
‘The smell I understand . . . but the taste?’
‘Ah, loukoumi, Turkish delight – made from rose water and gelatine – tastes of roses. She couldn’t get enough of it. So, when the baby girl was born, they named her Rosa.’
‘What a lovely story, Uncle. Why does it make you sad?’
He shakes his head, then his face crumples. ‘Will it ever leave me, Olivia? The events of 1945. Poor Rosa. If only I could forget what happened, but I see it so clearly. I was standing right next to her. It was terrible and me just a boy. I idolised her, you see. I can’t find the words to describe . . . I’ll try to tell you the story when you return from Castellorizo.’
‘No pressure, Uncle. Anyway, I’m taking my tablet so you can speak to your Castellorizo friends, via video, before I return. I think you’d enjoy that.’
*
My flight to Athens is over an hour late, so my plans to take a tour bus around the city are scuppered. Waiting for my flight to Rhodes, I wander around the airport departure lounge, gazing at handbags I can’t afford and sampling perfumes in the duty-free shops. Some famous scents have been around since before the Second World War and I wonder if any of them once contained precious oil from Castellorizo. I still feel a little sad that my uncle’s memories of Rosa upset him so much and I wonder what sort of tragedy could continue to break a man’s heart after more than seventy-five years.
I love airports, but worry for Uncle undermines my enjoyment.
Olivia, you’re a very shallow and superficial girl! I tell myself while dabbing another scent sample onto the inside of my wrist. I’m going to smell like a tart’s handbag by the time I get on the plane. You have to make the most of things while you can. My uncle’s such a nice man, I wonder why he never married, but then again perhaps he did. I know so little about him.
Annoyed that I have allowed myself to be bullied into going alone, I punch his number into my phone . . . three rings, four rings . . . five rings. The echoing acoustics and bleachy smell of my surroundings add to my sudden gloom. I sigh and hang up, then realise I’ve absentmindedly stopped before a couple of flight monitors.
Destinations, gates and times scroll down. RHODES catches my attention but before I have chance to read the information line, the monitor changes to the Greek alphabet. Not an R to be seen and I’ve lost my place.
‘Bugger!’ a man’s voice beside me exclaims.
‘Double bugger!’ I reply without looking at whoever it is. ‘Why can’t they have the English on one monitor and Greek on the other?’
‘Hang on, mate, it’s back,’ he says. I catch an Australian accent.
‘Damn – an hour’s delay, again,’ I mutter to myself.
‘Just what I need!’ he moans. ‘Fly halfway around the world, all perfect timing, only to be felled at the last hurdle. I should have listened to the pilot. Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Greece. Keep your seatbelts fastened until the sign goes off and put your watches back fifty years.’
I laugh and glance sideways. He is already looking at me, awaiting my attention. The faintest alarm bell is triggered by the twinkle in his friendly eyes. I smile politely at a younger version of Nick Dundee in jeans and T-shirt. He also wears the sallow tan that comes with tiredness. My flight’s the only red on the screen, so I guess he’s flying to Rhodes too. ‘Hard luck,’ I say.
‘Fancy a beer?’ he asks, nodding sideways.
Suddenly I’m thinking of Andrew. Is this how he did it? Bold as you like. I wonder if the tall Aussie has an unsuspecting wife at home. ‘Actually, I’m just going to the bookshop, then I’ll grab a coffee. But thanks anyway.’
‘Here, take this. Wilbur Smith’s last novel. Really good. Read it on the way over.’
I glance at the tome. ‘Come far then?’
‘Oz.’
I didn’t roll my eyes, did I? Damn!
‘I’m Rob. Pleased t’-meet-cha.’ He makes an exaggerated handshake gesture, elbow out, stiff-fingered hand slicing towards my breastbone. I don’t know why but it makes me laugh, then my guard’s up again. Am I just another conquest? One thing’s for sure, my knickers will never end up in his pocket!
‘Olivia,’ I say, feeling empowered now. We shake. His hand, warm and firm, grips mine comfortably.
By the time I return with my coffee, Rob is asleep, arms folded, chin on chest and knees pointing in opposite directions as if they’d had a row. I take the opportunity to scrutinise him. Sun-bronzed skin, maybe six-two, athletic, muscular. I guess his floppy, sandy hair would be brown in the UK. No sign of a wedding ring but why am I looking?
I call Uncle again and this time he picks up.
‘Sorry, dear girl, I was answering the door. Just about to call you back. My lunch arrived. Shepherd’s pie and jam roly-poly. Jolly good too. They brought me my carer yesterday, Amy; one hour in the morning and one in the evening.’
‘You sound much better. Promise me you won’t overdo things, Uncle.’
‘I feel good, Olivia. Also, I’ve started a new painting and this one’s especially for you. Look, if you need any information, or I can be any help while you’re on the island, just give me a ring. I’d love to hear what you’re up to.’
‘I will, thanks. I’ll call you every day, if that’s all right, just to put my own mind at rest. I’m in Athens airport right now so I’ll phone you from Rhodes, tomorrow, OK?’
‘That will be lovely. Kaló taxídi. Good journey,’ he says with feeling.
The flight to Rhodes is called. I nudge Rob’s shoulder to wake him then quickly sidestep the queue, glad I’ve booked priority boarding. I don’t see Rob on the plane, or in the Arrivals hall.
*
On a hotel sunbed at the side of the pool, I close my eyes against a sky as blue as a Santorini church dome. Apart from an occasional swim in the pool’s crystal water, I will remain on this plush, lemon-coloured beach towel until it’s time for a pre-lunch prosecco served by handsome young Markos. I’m primped and pampered and should be in heaven but the truth is I’m struggling with worry about Uncle. Also, why can’t I enjoy a single moment without wishing Andrew could see me now? I don’t want to think about him, yet it’s as if he’s still deep in my heart and I can’t exorcise him.
I’m also trying to figure out why my mother and grandmother, both of whom I loved, would never talk about the island of their birth? It’s never bothered me before, but Uncle has sparked my curiosity. What will I discover when I get to Castellorizo? Were my family expelled for some terrible misdemeanour? Did Uncle have to leave with Sofía, or was he being brotherly?
So many questions.
I am having a wonderful time, so long as I don’t think. Was it my fault Andrew was attracted to other women? Of course not! I try to lose myself in a book, but it doesn’t work. My eyes drift along the lines of print, but my mind is with Uncle. It was a huge mistake to come without him. I reach for my phone again.
‘Olivia, relax! I’m on the mend, really, everyone’s taking excellent care of me. It’s important that you enjoy your holiday. I don’t want to be worrying about you worrying about me worrying about you. All right?’
‘Sorry, Uncle. I am thrilled to be taking this holiday, honestly and I know you’ll take care of yourself.’
Still, my thoughts keep returning to my uncle’s delicate heart, my ex-husband and my deceased mother. I should be concentrating on my new cookery book.
The sun seeps through my skin, warming me to the bone. I feel that same sun bathe me in glorious elegance. Its sparkling light shines down on my body and illuminates my very spirit. I lift my shades and smile at Marko as he delivers my prosecco.
Too much pressure lately has made me stressed and depressed, but I will learn to love myself once more. I sip my sparkling drink then close my eyes for another ten minutes. I remember poor Uncle and feel sad. There is no escape from my concern. Perhaps on the island of Castellorizo I will find out what happened to Granny Sofía’s family.
*
After three days of relaxing at the poolside of my five-star, drinking exotic cocktails and using the gym each morning before breakfast, I rise from my sunbed, pack and check out of my beautiful hotel. The Wednesday ferry to Castellorizo takes four hours. I could fly. There are planes from Rhodes several times a week. However, Uncle insisted that I sail from Rhodes when I travel to Castellorizo for the first time.
‘This will be an experience you’ll never forget, Olivia,’ he promised.
‘I wish you were coming with me.’
‘I will, next time.’ He closed his eyes and smiled, seeing the scene in his mind’s eye. ‘The commercial harbour’s right next to the castellated city of Rhodes Old Town. It was built by the Knights of Saint John, you know. When the ship leaves, it will pass the lighthouse of Saint Nikolaos and you’ll catch a glimpse of Mandraki harbour where they say the great Colossus of Rhodes once straddled the entrance.’
‘Will I see any remains of the statue?’ I asked.
‘No, they blame an earthquake. Poor Helios lay there for hundreds of years. A famous sight, apparently.’
I imagined his students spellbound and found myself smiling as he continued.
‘Later, when Arabs ruled the island, they sold the fallen Colossus to a Jewish merchant. They say, the Jew needed 900 camels to move it.’
‘It’s difficult to imagine anything that big. Maybe the Statue of Liberty?’
He nodded. ‘Yes, perhaps. Now, Rhodes harbour is marked by two stone columns topped by two bronze deer, a doe and a hind. Worth sightseeing around there. The cathedral, the bishop’s palace, the charming old Muslim cemetery, the fish market, the lighthouse and of course, Rhodes Old Town. You must see them all.’
‘Next time, you’re definitely coming with me.’
‘It was an ambitious plan, but I need to be stronger first. I knew I have a dicky ticker, I should have told you. Damaged it when I was a boy. The fire, drowning, the submarine, seeing my niece and my sister . . . Oh, God! It’s still impossible to . . . After all these year. Will it ever go away?’ He rubbed his hand across his eyes, then sighed as the exhausting memory drained him.
I looked away, conscious of his battle, yet helpless. There are things he wanted to say, events too terrifying or dramatic to pass his trembling lips. His eyes stared into the past. The eyes of a screamer – of nightmares – of horrors conquered for the moment but bound to return.
After a long, shaky breath, the Uncle I know returned. ‘But I don’t want to think about all that now,’ he continued. ‘My past was a bit of a nightmare. I don’t know how we all survived. But then again, we didn’t, did we?’ He crossed himself, one of the few Greek mannerisms he’s retained.
‘It sounds as though you have a huge story to tell me, Uncle.’ I don’t think he heard me.
‘Poor Rosa . . . Poor, poor Rosa. Life was so unfair to her. And the soldier . . . That soldier changed everyone’s lives. I wonder if you can find Granny Sofía’s history book. It might be in the attic, or it could still be in the Castellorizo house. A first-hand account of modern history. It would be marvellous to see it again, even though she wrote it all in Greek.’
