Authors: Roberta Latow
For hours they indulged themselves in sex and orgasms. They bathed in a sunken bath on a lower level of their love-pavilion. Then naked, under the now-bright sunshine, they lay on the mats on the stone terrace and ate fruit and bread, honey and butter, and drank hot black coffee brewed on a stove sunk into the stones of the terrace. Karel never seemed to get enough of Barbara during their sexual escapades. Even after the sex he lingered over her. He knew every inch of her body, could make it his own with just his tongue and his fingers.
They were to leave the island: it was a matter of only a few hours, but still he lingered over her. He licked her
body, her breasts, the nipples, rubbed his face in her soft pubic hair, opened the lips of her cunt and licked her clitoris with pointed tongue, and then trailed it along her slit. He kissed her there and nibbled with a hungry mouth. Unperturbed, the birds were singing their early morning song, the cicadas were clicking their incessant tune, a soft breeze rustled the leaves in the trees, and the sun was baking her body. His tongue told her all she needed to hear of his feelings for her.
She stretched like a lazy, slinky cat, her very skin feeling so alive, every morsel of her being teeming with life. She came, he rolled her over on her side and hugged her to him. They kissed and he whispered, ‘We have to go.’
In the pavilion, she slipped into her white cotton trousers and a white shirt, which she tied in a knot under her naked breasts. As he watched her, she sensed the strength of his desire for her. It seemed even greater than usual. The effect on him of this mountain, she thought, this piece of heaven fallen into the sea. The pressure of so much time past, of all those who had worshipped here, rowed out in boats and spent time on this tiny island to build a temple to their gods. He stepped into his white cotton trousers, rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt and left it hanging open, unbuttoned. They put on sandals and tidied the pavilion. Karel cranked back the roof and they closed the doors. They placed a stone lid over the camp burner, looked once more at their love-pavilion, then hand in hand walked away from it to take the narrow stone path cut through the bush down to the temples. There they stood in silence just looking out to sea.
Here they had a different vantage point on the mountain and the sea. One filled with mystery, echoes of another age, whispers on the breeze seemingly from the gods of this place. For them it was an Olympus, a spiritual home, as Olympus was home to the gods of the Greeks. But it was even more than that for Barbara and Karel, it was eternity.
He recited to her quietly in the words of the Greek poet Seferis:
‘Since then I’ve seen many new landscapes: green plains intermingling soil and sky, man and seed, in an irresistible dampness; plane-trees and fir trees; lakes with wrinkled visions and swans immortal because they’d lost their voices – scenery unfolded by my willing companion, that strolling player, as he sounded the long horn that had ruined his lips and that destroyed with its shrill note whatever I managed to build, like the trumpet at Jericho. I saw an old picture in some low-ceilinged room; a lot of people were admiring it. It showed the raising of Lazarus. I don’t recall either the Christ in it or the Lazarus. Only in one corner, the disgust portrayed on someone’s face as he gazed at the miracle as if he were smelling it. He was trying to protect his breathing with the huge cloth draped around his head. This “Renaissance” gentleman taught me not to expect much from the Second Coming …’
and he touched her soul. In the little round temple they stood leaning against the pillars, silent once more, just listening to the sea, the sound of the birds, nature. She marvelled at the sensitive soul Karel hid from the world so well, a soul that could seek out such a place as this, make it his own and save it for posterity, and then give it to her. Arms around each other’s waist, they walked down from the round temple and walked through the wild bush, the olive trees and cypress to find the path leading to the steep stone steps Karel had had carved from the sea to the top of the mountain and their pavilion.
Before they descended he turned to have a last look at the small temples nestling in the trees, the sun beating down on the white, weathered and timeworn marble now. He turned
away from them to look at her. He stroked Barbara’s hair and touched her cheek with the back of his hand, kissed her lips with tenderness.
‘No regrets?’
‘Regrets?’
‘I have to know.’
‘No regrets. About us?’
‘Yes, about us.’
‘Regrets, Karel? Only passion, ecstasy, love, that’s all I know with you.’
‘It’s been the love of a lifetime for me too.’
There were tears in their eyes. There were hardly any words to describe the magic of that moment. It was the island, the mountain, the temples. There was a magic there that suggested eternity, something greater than life itself. It was momentarily theirs, and they knew it. He gathered her hands in his, raised them to his lips and kissed them. Then, quite gracefully, he went down on his knees and asked her, ‘Marry me. Until this moment I hardly realized we have been one heart, one soul, ever since that first time I made love to you, that New Year’s Eve during the war. Now there is so little time left, I want us to be together more, for the whole world to see us. I want everyone to know the place you have in my heart. Will you become my wife? Do me that honour.’
There could be but one answer to that. Hand in hand they walked slowly down the mountain. Occasionally they would stop for a few seconds to drink in the beauty of the place, and then proceed. It was like a little Zen prayer, or a form of thanks to the gods for the gift of life.
Yorgos the caretaker and Marika the cook were as tearful as usual when they said goodbye. Barbara and Karel boarded the small boat and piloted it themselves back to the main island. There they only just caught the ferry-boat going to Athens. Only when standing at the prow, among other travellers, watching the island recede to become a dot
on the horizon, did Barbara realize what a momentous thing had happened. Marrying each other! It had been so important to them and so very private that they had not even announced it to the caretaker and his wife. Nor did they mention it to each other again, not on the
Narida,
en route to Piraeus, nor on the plane from Athens to New York.
In the taxi driving from Kennedy Airport the first sight of New York’s skyline brought smiles to their faces.
They were still in their Greek island clothes. ‘I’m taking you home to change,’ he told her. ‘I’ll pick you up for lunch. Wear something glamorous, wonderful. I’ll call Mimi and Jay to see if they can join us. No.’ He changed his mind. ‘That can wait. You and I, just you and I for a celebratory lunch. Where would you like to have lunch?’
When the taxi pulled up to her apartment house on Fifth Avenue, Karel stepped out. They greeted the doorman who took her luggage. He walked her to the elevator.
‘Happy?’
‘A kind of happiness I’ve never experienced before.’
‘Me too.’
‘New beginnings.’
‘It’s always new beginnings when I’m with you, and it always will be. One o’clock. I’ll be back for you at one o’clock. No, better still, would you mind meeting me?’
‘No.’
‘Good, I’ve something to do. We’ll meet at one o’clock, don’t be late,’ he called over his shoulder.
She watched him, happier than she had ever known him. Barbara rushed into the flat and flung her arms round Lee. ‘You’re the first to know, the
very
first to know – we’re going to get married. We’re going to grow old together, to begin again. A new life, all over again, just like the first time we met in 1942. I have to hurry, bathe and change. I want to look really glamorous. I’ve had the most wonderful time. I’m so happy, Lee.’
The look on Ching Lee’s face told her how pleased he was for her. He vanished, to return with a bottle of champagne and two glasses. The ever-faithful Lee and she drank together. Barbara had been away only ten days with Karel, but now, here in her home again, it seemed to her that she had been with him a lifetime on that mountain. And that, in some strange sense, they had brought their mountain home with them.
‘No messages, no calls, no post, nothing. Don’t tell me anything, Lee. I want nothing outside my own selfish little world to touch me yet. I just have to dress and go to lunch, and then we’ll do everything later. I don’t want to keep him waiting, not one minute. And not a word, Lee, not a word to anyone, until we are ready to announce our news.’
They had chosen the Oak Room at the Plaza for sentimental reasons, she thought. That’s where they had dined when he had returned after the war. In the bath she could think of nothing but the morning when she had awakened in the pavilion on the mountain. The sun as it broke through the mist and burned it off. The views from the bed. The feel of him inside her, that moment of orgasm shared, all under the cool marble eye of the ancient Greek temple glistening white in the sun. His voice, the words of Seferis ringing in her ears, that moment when he had kissed her hand and dropped to his knees. Regrets? Not since that first day when she had seen him across the room at the Stork Club had she had one regret. Not in forty years of loving him. Not one regret about how they had handled their long-time affair. Regret? Only passion, love, bliss had she known with him.
She reached for the sponge floating in her warm scented bath of essence of almond, and plunged it in the water, squeezed it out over her body. She recalled their breakfast together, lying on mats under the sun. No plump, purple figs could ever taste so divine as those had tasted to her. Her very taste-buds seemed to stir at the memory. She sponged
her body and silky rivulets of warm water trickled over her shoulders and breasts, and she thought of him. The memories would keep returning, holding a vision of their life together in her mind’s eye, with the intensity of a romantic motion picture. They were scenes of love as fresh and young as they had ever been. They had loved each other so much, and they had lived so well with their love. Here was a love affair to rival Abelard and Eloise, Romeo and Juliet, Tristan and Isolde. She began laughing at herself. Silly sentimentality, romanticism gone mad. ‘A woman your age, and you are dreaming like a fool!’ She scolded herself.
Barbara chose a two-piece dress: a white skirt of raw silk, its top of tiny black and white checks in the same material that clung to the body. It was tight at the waist, with a short flare at the bottom of the jacket. The sleeves were cut to be narrow from the elbow down, puffed from the elbow up, and to sit on the shoulder. Tailoring at its best from Yves Saint Laurent. The buttons of the jacket were black jet, so she chose black, high-heeled, alligator sandals and a Hermès handbag of black alligator, the shoulder strap a gold chain. Barbara had been lucky all her life to be able to dress her own hair. She did it now in the way she had worn it the first night they had met.
She rang for Lee, who on her instructions had snipped some white camellias off the tree in the conservatory, and now helped her place them in her hair. Her make-up was perfection. She viewed herself in the mirror. Karel was going to adore the way she looked.
She was still standing there looking at herself, feeling his happiness as strongly as her own, when Lee knocked at the door. He entered her bedroom. ‘A messenger brought this.’
A small package in silver wrapping and gold ribbon, with a card attached to it. She knew immediately who it was from.
She tore open the envelope and read the card: ‘Wear this
for me, for us, for ever. I love you. Karel.’ She tore off the paper, then the lid of the box. Inside was a smaller box, a grey-velvet ring box. She opened it. She could hardly have imagined he would do such a thing. A square cut diamond of enormous size, a million-dollar gem. She was overwhelmed by the lavishness of his gesture. Karel was not an extravagant man in such things. Oh, yes, a rare book, a fine painting – but such extravagance as this? In all their years together he had never showered her with luxurious gifts. Wonderful holidays and building her the love-pavilion had been the limit of his extravagances. Perhaps the odd piece of costly jewellery. But a million-dollar gem? She lifted the ring from the box. It was extraordinary, two baguettes on either side. She slipped in on her finger: it was a near perfect fit. She was dazzled by it. She had fifteen minutes left to get to him.
On the way over to the Plaza in the cab she could think only of the moment she would see him again, of how she felt about him. She had always felt that knowing him, having him for a lover, made her one of the luckiest women in the world. She was greeted effusively by the mâitre d’, who shook her hand and led her to their table. Karel had booked exactly the right table, next to the window overlooking the park, the table where they had dined before. It was his favourite table: he had loved the Oak Room since their first dinner together there.
She was surprised not to find him sitting there waiting for her. He was late. She ordered a martini, very dry, with a twist of lemon. Her gaze kept returning to her ring. It was more than being dazzled by it; it was the sheer beauty of the object, the perfection of it, the clarity, the light and fire, its purity. On her finger it appeared such an enormous symbol of his love for her, of their love for each other. She checked her watch. He was very late. She ordered a second martini.
By two o’clock she knew something was wrong. He wasn’t coming. She was so devastated, she didn’t know
what to do about it. Quite obviously something must have come up. She would wait for a message. She perked herself up, and ordered oysters, September oysters, the first of the season, and a bottle of Chablis. He would want her to start. He would have a good explanation. An old beau passed the table and stopped to greet her. She realized she was chattering on, wanting him not to leave. But he did, and she was alone again, exposed to a growing anxiety. She ordered lamb cutlets and mint sauce, baby potatoes roasted, and mange-tout. When a waiter came and removed the other place-setting, she told him in a voice that was much too loud, strident with tension, ‘Don’t touch that, he’s just late, he’ll be here.’ Her own words calmed her.