The Collectors Book Two: Full Circle (The Collectors Series 2) (13 page)

*  *  *

Maria took the scenic route along the coast road, stopping at a roadside garage in Pissouri village to fill the truck with diesel. Within the hour she pulled up outside the bishop’s house.

Nitsa
opened the door. “The bishop is expecting you. Please follow me.” She took them into the main reception room and waited.

“You may go,
Nitsa,” said the bishop.

Petros noticed the aggrieved expression on her face as she left the room.

“What’s your decision?” asked the bishop.

Petros stood behind Maria who sat on a chair.

“I will make an attempt to collect the icons. I apologise for not being specific but there are arrangements to be made.” He explained the difficulties with the altar and the Turkish army patrol.

“Ah, the altar,” said the bishop as he studied Petros for an instant. “Did you figure out how to raise it?

“It’s operated by water. We did find a seized valve under a flagstone.”

The bishop stood up and walked around the room.

“You’re correct, but if you had opened the valve nothing would have happened. The secret is St Barnabas’ sword. You must insert that into the narrow slot on the front of the altar. Once engaged you push the hilt to the floor. That allows water to flow into a counter-weight in the chamber beneath. That’s how the altar rises.”

Petros narrowed his eyes. “One little problem, Bishop. The statues in the church have gone.”

The bishop went silent. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

With long strides he left the room.

“I wonder where he’s gone,” said Petros.

“Does it matter?” said Maria. “He appeared quite serious.”

The bishop entered the room, brandishing a highly polished sword. “This will do.”  He handed it to Petros. “I believe it’s the same.”

Petros nodded. “I don’t know what these icons are worth but forty must equate to mega bucks.”

The bishop’s unease was clearly visible. “I haven’t much money, maybe ten to fifteen thousand euros. You are welcome to it.”

Petros showed a slight smile. “Bishop, you’ve no idea how much a venture like
this costs? I’ve promised one-hundred-thousand euros to my team. Through your friend, my old headmaster, you agreed a while back that the payment is four icons of my choice.”

The bishop frowned. “Petros, your price is too high. Are we in a position to negotiate?”

Petros’s smile cut him short, his gaze unwavering. “No. I’m sorry we have wasted each other’s time. Come, Maria, we’re leaving.”

“Wait. Wait.” The bishop’s tone became conciliatory. “The question needed to be asked.”

Petros did not bother to hide his irritation.

“I don’t need to be familiar with the complexities of your plan. I’ll pray you are successful.”

Petros turned to Maria. “We’d better be going. We’ve plenty to do and little time to do it.”

“I’m very grateful, Petros. Those icons will give joy to many. May God help
you.”

“Bishop, for your own reasons, you believ
e in God. I depend on a well-conceived and executed plan, along with help from my trusted friends.”

The sound of a tin hitting the floor startled them. Petros ran and flung open the door. In the entrance hall and not far away,
Nitsa knelt, picking up a tin of metal polish. A shiver of dread raced through his mind. He waited for a reaction. He guessed she had heard every word.

“Bishop, this housekeeper of yours.
Can you trust her?”

The bishop smiled, went across and wrapped one arm around her shoulders. “Young man,
Nitsa has worked here for many years and I’d trust her with my life.”

“I hope you’re right. If not, you’ll be visiting me in a Turkish prison or officiating at my funeral. In this business it pays not to confide in anyone. Goodbye. I’ll keep you informed.”

He opened the main door, traversed the steps with Maria following, and stood by the truck. “Maria, your opinion on Nitsa.”

She met his gaze. “I wouldn’t trust her.”

“We’ll wait and see if she leaves the house.”

Petros repositioned the truck behind a few adjacent bushes and sat collecting his thoughts. “Now we wait.”

“How long?”

“If my theory is right, half an hour at most.”

Ten minutes elapsed before the housekeeper came out of the front door carrying a plastic shopping bag. She strolled along the road, every so often looking behind her. A van drew up and stopped. She jumped into the passenger seat and it drove away.

“
Pavlo’s Electrics. Must remember that,” said Petros. “So much for her not listening.”

“Are we going to follow them?” asked Maria.

“No point. She makes me worry how many others she might have told.”

Chapter Sixteen

Gridlock defined the traffic on the Polis Road. “Sewage works,” said Maria. “They’re digging up half the island to install the pipes. There’s a major problem with all of it.”

“What’s that?” asked Petros.

“They haven’t built a sewage treatment works.”

“No point, until houses are connected.”

The line of cars advanced a few at a time. A blue flashing light indicated it might be more serious than road works. Horns blared and frustrated drivers shouted and cursed.

“There’s your problem. It’s the police directing traffic” 

A long way ahead, the cars started moving and the conflict of sound lessened. Their turn to carry on came and they entered the single coned-off lane.

“Nasty accident,” said Petros.
“Two ambulances, police all over the place and a mobile crane.”

“Whoever they were crashed through the barrier and over the edge. They must have been driving at a fair speed.”

“Maria, they went out of control. Check out the skid marks. Poor sods.”

“Pound to a penny they were in their twenties, boy racers. Cyprus has the worst death toll in the whole of the EU.”

An impatient police officer waved them through.

With an empty road ahead, they made good time to
Latchi.

Maria pointed. “Remember this restaurant? It’s the best in Cyprus. People come from the entire island to enjoy the fish
meze. Before the developers arrived, this village had remained untouched for centuries. Money and greed have changed everything. You’ve noticed the result for yourself.”

Petros parked the truck and together they strolled along the small manmade harbour quay. The October sun lacked the intense warmth of summer.

“Come, we’ll eat in the open.” Maria grabbed his hand and guided him to a beach-front table. The waves tumbling and crashing onto the pebble beach made the view idyllic.

He smiled at the plastic tablecloths fastened by clips at each corner. “I remember the first time you brought me here. This is the same tablecloth. The mark left by my coffee cup is still here.”

“Stop playing the fool. A lot’s happened since then and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Lunch consisted of a sea food salad and a few glasses of Aphrodite, a local white wine.

“I enjoyed that,” said Petros wiping his hands with a napkin.

“I’ve a naughty idea.”

“You always have. What’s it this time?”

“A night of passion in my house.
I’ll telephone Aunt Elini and tell her we won’t be back tonight. She’ll understand.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Elini and Alysa get on well.” She pressed the memory button on her mobile. “Aunt, how are you? How’s Alysa? Would you mind taking care of Alysa while I inspect the state of my farm and check on a few things.”

“Maria, Alysa is perfect. I know what it’s like to have a young baby. You and Petros enjoy the night.”

Maria smiled. “Thank you – love you.” She closed her phone. “Pay the bill, my love, it’s time to go.”

They walked from the restaurant to the water’s edge, where the truck was parked. Various bars, cafes and gift shops filled the vicinity. The Cypriot flag fluttered from a roof-top in the light breeze as seagulls fought for scraps from litterbins. Here the Mediterranean separated Cyprus from Turkey. White sails against the deep blue sea completed the picture.

Inside the truck, he leant on the steering wheel and laughed.

“Why are you laughing?”

“Here I am with the promise of a night of passion and I can’t remember the way to your farm.”

She pointed.
“That way.”

“Here we go then,” Petros said as they motored along the beach road.

Once through the town they turned into the hills and negotiated a single track.

“Turn right at the next crossroads.”

Petros turned and stopped when they reached a large metal gate.

“Now I remember.”

“Wait, I’ll open the gate.”

To their left and right, as far as they could see, were vineyards. Petros braked to a halt outside a stone built house.

Maria jumped to the ground and lifted a flowerpot. Brandishing a key, she unlocked the door and walked in ahead of Petros. A large, well furnished living area opened out in front of them. The floors were of stone, smoothed by the passage of time. A staircase carved into the thick wall led to the upper floor. Here the twenty-first century joined with the old: Light airy rooms, surrounded by thick hand-plastered walls.

Out of habit he operated a switch, but nothing happened.

“No power, Maria?”

“You’ve forgotten. The generator needs to be started. I telephoned and asked Sophie, my farm manager’s wife, to get the house ready. You can tell it’s as clean as can be. I must thank her”

She moved towards him and met his gaze. Laughing she pulled him up the stairs and into the bedroom. With more than a twinkle in her eyes, she stopped, turned, and embraced him, pressing her mouth to his.

He held her face in his hands. “I feel like I’m playing truant from school.”

She giggled. “Are you bragging, confessing, or protesting. Alysa will never miss us with all the attention she’s getting.”

They kissed again and he sensed her warmth and the contours of her body. Their clothing fell to the floor and she pushed him onto the bed. In one swift movement, she straddled him. He reached up to pull her down, but she drew his hands to her breast.

“Let me make love to you.”

“At the moment you appear to have the advantage.”

She moved her hips and smiled.

Petros and Maria remained in each other’s arms until late into the evening. They talked, made love, and talked. She did most of the talking. As the night surrounded the house, they fell into a deep sleep.

*  *  *

“What time is it?”

“Time for a glass of wine.” She dragged the bedcovers from him.

Naked, he followed her downstairs, where she pressed a switch. A muffled roar came from outside as the generator started.

From a cupboard, she removed a bottle of red merlot and two glasses. She filled them both, handing one to him.

“To us, Alysa and the future.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

She raised her glass and smiled. “We have what’s left of the night, and tomorrow we return to the real world. Let’s make the most of it.”

*  *  *

The power shower pummelled her slim frame. Maria let the hot water wash over her for fifteen minutes before she turned it off and stepped out of the cubicle.

“Your turn,” she shouted.

Wrapping towels around her hair and body, she strolled into the bedroom and pulled the sheets off Petros. “Time to get back to reality.”

She dried her hair, closed her eyes and reflected on long-ago. An image filled her mind before coming into focus: the face of her mother, smiling and serene. She had returned to her childhood, awakening memories of her loss.

Maria wiped her eyes and dressed. In a whisper, she said, “He’s a good man, mama, and takes care of me.”

“Maria, who are you talking to?”

“My mama. I usually talk to her when I visit her grave.”

“Do you miss her?”

“I never really knew her. Every now and then I feel close and need to say something.”

“We’d better make a move.”