Chapter 51

The Mediterranean summer had given way to the brief autumn; almost winter but on a sunny day like today it was still pleasant to sit outside to finish the lunchtime bottle of wine. George was feeling relaxed and, perhaps because of the wine, well disposed towards the world in general. The bag of figs he had left in the house had provided a couple of months sustenance to the hoards of tiny fruit flies that still accompanied it to the dustbin when he threw it out and the place was at least as tidy as he had found it. Apart from last minute things, the few belongings he had originally brought from England and the things he and Susanna had acquired during their stay were packed and awaiting airfreight at the airport. A couple of days earlier he had spent an hour saying goodbye to his favourite beach, standing looking out over a grey, choppy sea and still admiring its garnish of broken plastic. He supposed he could have swum. There had not yet been enough rain to make he sea really cold but, despite the sunshine, there had been a chill in the wind and he had been discouraged. That was over, for now. To his surprise, Theodorus had seemed distressed when he paid the last of his rent and to his even greater surprise the landlord had refused to accept the full amount for the time George had been absent. The little house would be his whenever he wanted it and he hoped sincerely – and George was convinced he was sincere – to see George again next summer for a month at least. Nobody worked in southern Europe in August. It was not civilised and he, George, should return to the civilisation of Greece for at least a month, at least! There had actually been tears in the old man’s eyes when he heard of Susanna’s death. ‘Nice old guy,’ thought George ‘even if he has got some funny ways; just a different culture, really.’ He had paid a last visit to the little supermarket in the village, more out of sentimentality than need. He had had larger offices and was amazed on this visit as he had been every time before at how much and how much variety could be crammed into such a tiny space. He would miss being able to buy everything from parsley to printer cartridges from a single outlet and queuing to pay behind women with pastries, potatoes, pie dishes and pedal bins and schoolchildren with magic markers, maps and Mars bars. Andreas had a new girl working in the taverna. No surprises there, then. This one was more timid and mousy than Deborah. She was slower and less attractive, too but presumably fitted Andreas’ needs at least as well. Mrs Andreas glowered at George reassuringly. Several villagers greeted him instead of staring as if he was recently landed from Betelgeuse. He felt he belonged. And he did not feel threatened. Or anxious. The future was something to be welcomed and he was looking forwards to getting to grips with the banking joint venture.

He took another swig of the wine. It tasted a little sour; a sign that he had had enough. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a movement. A late-season, greenish lizard, restored to activity by the sun’s warmth, shot over the edge of the wall and disappeared into the geraniums at its foot. A second later, its pursuer appeared. The grey cat regarded George with a considering look as if uncertain whether to approach or turn and run. It reached a decision and, sitting down on top of the wall, began to lick a front paw and wash its face. To George’s surprise, it was joined by a kitten, then two more, one displaying the white paws inherited from its mother. The door to the kitchen opened.

“We’ve got an early start tomorrow so I’m going to put my feet up for an hour or two,” said Susan.

George looked up. “Good idea. I think I’ll join you.”