The Dark Side of the Island

He could hear a murmur of conversation and then a girl’s voice was raised, high and scolding. ‘Always you lie to me!’ There was the sound of a slap and Yanni ran into the room head down, a young girl in a blue dress and white apron in hot pursuit.

She came to an abrupt halt when she saw Lomax and the boy made a dramatic gesture. ‘There, am I not speaking the truth?’

The girl was perhaps sixteen or seventeen, with a round, pretty face, and she came forward, wiping flour from her hands on the apron.

She stood looking at him helplessly, crimson with embarrassment, and Lomax smiled. ‘It’s all right. I speak Greek.’

Immediate relief showed on her face. ‘You must excuse me, but Yanni is such a liar and he caught me in the middle of baking. What can I do for you?’

‘I’d like a room,’ he said. ‘Yanni told me this was the best hotel in town.’

She looked as if she didn’t know what to say and he added gently, ‘You do have one available, I take it?’

‘Oh, yes,’ she assured him. ‘You’ve caught me rather by surprise, that’s all. We seldom get tourists on Kyros. I’ll have to get clean linen and air the mattress.’

‘Don’t worry about that,’ he said. ‘There’s no hurry.’

He took a banknote from his wallet and handed it to Yanni. The boy examined it carefully and his eyes widened. He looked longingly at the open door, sighed and held out the note reluctantly.

‘I think you’ve made a mistake, mister. It’s too much.’

Lomax closed the boy’s hand over the note. ‘Let’s call it an advance payment on your services. I may need you again.’

Yanni’s face split into a delighted grin. ‘Say, mister, I like you. You’re my friend. I hope you stay on Kyros a long time.’

He whistled to the dog and ran through the doorway into the square. Lomax picked up the grip and the typewriter and turned to the girl.

‘He is impossible,’ she said as she led the way out into a whitewashed passage.

‘He seems to speak pretty good English?’

She nodded. ‘After his parents were drowned, he lived on Rhodes with his mother’s people. I suppose he picked it up from the tourists.’

‘Who looks after him now?’

‘He lives with his grandmother near the harbour, but she can’t do much for him. She’s too old.’

They mounted narrow wooden stairs and turned into a corridor that seemed to run the full length of the building. She paused outside the door at the far end and said, ‘It’s a very simple room. I hope you understand that?’

He nodded. ‘That’s all I’m looking for.’

She opened the door and led the way in. It was plainly furnished with a brass bed, a wash-stand and an old wardrobe. As elsewhere in the house, the walls were whitewashed and the wooden floor highly polished.

The whole place was spotlessly clean and he went and opened the window and looked out across the red-tiled roofs to the harbour below. ‘But this is wonderful.’

When he turned, he saw that she was smiling with pleasure. ‘I am pleased you like it. How long will you be staying?’

He shrugged. ‘Until the boat comes again next week. Perhaps longer, I’m not sure. What do they call you?’

She blushed. ‘My name is Anna Papas. Would you like something to eat?’

He shook his head. ‘Not now, Anna. Later, perhaps.’

She smiled awkwardly and retreated to the door. ‘Then I will leave you. If there is anything you need, anything at all, please call me. I will be in the kitchen.’

The door closed behind her and he lit a cigarette and went across to the window.

Some fishing boats were moving in from the sea and he could see the rusty little island steamer moored beside the pier. A gull cried as it swept across the rooftops and quite suddenly he was glad that he had returned.

Chapter 2

A Man Called Alexias

He unpacked his bag and then washed and shaved and put on a clean shirt. He was pulling on his jacket when the knock came at the door and a small, balding man entered.

He carried a stiff-backed ledger under one arm and smiled ingratiatingly, exposing bad teeth.

‘Excuse me. I hope I’m not disturbing you?’

Lomax took an instant dislike to him, but he managed a smile. ‘Not at all. Come right in.’

‘I am the proprietor, George Papas,’ the little man said. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you arrived. Mornings I work in my olive grove.’

‘That’s all right. Your daughter looked after me fine.’

‘She is a good girl,’ Papas said complacently. He placed the ledger on the table by the window, opened it and produced a pen from the inside pocket of his jacket. ‘If you wouldn’t mind signing the register. A legal requirement, you understand? The local police sergeant is fussy about such matters.’

Lomax examined the book with interest. The last entry had been made almost a year before. He took the pen and entered his name, address and nationality in the appropriate columns.

‘You don’t seem to get many visitors here.’

Papas shrugged. ‘Kyros is a quiet place with nothing much to attract the tourists – especially Americans.’

‘As it happens, I’m English,’ Lomax said. ‘Perhaps my tastes are simpler.’

‘English!’ Papas frowned. ‘But my daughter assured me you were an American.’

‘A mistake the young boy who brought me here from the boat made,’ Lomax said. ‘I only live there. Does it matter?’

‘No, of course not.’ Papas looked distinctly uncomfortable as he swivelled the register to examine the entry.

‘Hugh Lomax – California,’ he mumbled. ‘Nationality English,’ and then his whole body seemed to be racked by a violent spasm.

For a moment, Lomax thought the man was about to throw a fit. He took his arm to lead him to a chair and Papas jerked it away as if he had been stung.

His face had turned a sickly yellow colour and his eyes were staring as he backed to the door.

‘For God’s sake, man,’ Lomax demanded. ‘What is it?’