The Lost Swimmer (13 page)

‘Come on, then.' Stephen took my hand and led me away. ‘Farewell, my lovelies!' he called back, his earlier reticence about the trip having transformed into clear enthusiasm.

I looked at the cameo of my family, arms raised in the air, waving frantically. Big Boy slumped on the ground, head on paws, forlorn. Klair was already stalking off.

•  •  •

The plane taxied down the tarmac. Stephen was absorbed in the business pages of the newspaper, his arm touching mine. The warmth of his skin filled me with all the possibilities the trip held, to grow close again, to enjoy life. I was apprehensive about leaving Coastal while I was under investigation, but I had checked and rechecked that I had my phone, and my laptop was sitting snugly at my feet. I would be fully contactable at all times. I started obsessing again about who the fourth person under investigation might be – the mysterious, elusive ghost – and then told myself to switch off. I willed DiStasio to have better luck at finding the culprit than I had.

The plane gathered speed, its wheels left the ground and we were off. I sank back into my seat. Escape. I wanted to whoop out loud with joy.

Stephen turned to me. ‘I'm sorry I hadn't told you about my investments, Bec.'

I shrugged, surprised. ‘You're only trying to do what's best for us. I'm sorry I was so dismissive of the whole idea.'

He folded his paper. ‘Actually things have picked up and are going well.'

‘I just find it hard to understand options: intrinsic value, time value, out-of-the-money, in-the-money, put and call, buy and sell.'

‘Other way round. A buy is a call and a sell is a put.'

‘Complete gobbledygook. You're not doing the unsafe ones?'

Stephen smiled. ‘You
have
been reading up. It's okay, I've amassed quite a few blue-chip shares as well.'

‘Have you?' I leaned across and kissed him full on the lips and as I moved back I saw his eyes alight with pleasure.

‘I'm acutely aware of how much we're going to need for retirement,' he said. ‘And we're nowhere near that amount yet. I just want to look after us.'

I rested my head on his shoulder. ‘I trust you know what you're doing.' I slipped my hand under his arm and squeezed fondly. ‘And thanks for talking about it.' Stephen relaxed and hugged me. I quashed my apprehension; this holiday was the best thing that could happen and I wasn't going to let anything get in the way, particularly Stephen's investments.

‘Promise you won't do anything silly?' I couldn't help but ask.

‘I promise, Bec.' He kissed my forehead tenderly.

•  •  •

The deep indigo sea reached up yearningly as we started our descent towards Athens. It was ironic that this was the first stop on our trip. Everything had been booked and pre-paid months ago but it had turned out to be serendipitous. I'd contacted the bank about the Athens accounts and was due to meet the manager tomorrow – I just had to find an excuse to leave Stephen alone in the morning.

Beneath us, the Aegean stretched for miles, dotted with tiny rocky islands to the horizon, familiar and alluring. A part of me felt like I was coming home.

‘I can't believe I've never been here.' Stephen, excited, gazed out at the dry, chalky terrain as our taxi sped down the freeway.

‘That's because you were always left minding the kids. It's strange they're getting so old, isn't it?'

‘No,' he laughed, ‘it's very natural, Bec.'

‘I hope they're okay.'

‘We don't see them for weeks on end. Why's this any different?'

‘Big Boy's going to miss us.'

‘He'll be fine,' Stephen replied fondly.

When we reached Plaka, the streets narrowed and ancient stone buildings crowded out the light. Wherever we looked were roadworks and the shells of burned-out buildings. Although I'd been to Greece often, for the past few years I hadn't come into Athens itself, transiting through the airport directly to the islands. I was stunned by how much had changed. We passed through cobbled streets no wider than a lane, with only a handful of tourists wandering about rather than the usual throngs. The shops and stalls that used to tumble onto footpaths, overflowing with colorful earthenware, Persian rugs, tacky souvenirs and startling arrays of gold and silver jewellery, were now mostly shuttered.

Turning into an even narrower street we came up behind a tiny train on wheels, the Athena Express, a crocodile of small carts behind a fake train engine painted in the jaunty blue and white national colours. A handful of tourists sat like giants in the tiny compartments. We crawled behind, Stephen waving to kids who found our taxi more riveting than the ancient surroundings.

The train peeled off into another street and the hotel finally came into view, a beacon of hope with its line of Greek flags flapping vibrantly from its grand façade.

In our room the Acropolis faced us, lofty and mystical, its beauty as magnificent today as when it was built in the fifth century BC during the golden age of Pericles. Beneath a blue sky that was remarkably free of pollution, the Parthenon stood out white and serene as morning light played across its marble columns. For an instant it seemed to float between heaven and earth, the perfection of its architecture, its classical proportions, an enduring monument to rebirth after the city survived the invasion and pillage of the Persians. Now it was surviving the complete breakdown of the Greek economy.

I stepped onto the balcony and Stephen followed, transfixed. The song of sparrows filled the air. Even the traffic, ear-blasting in the streets, was completely banished.

I wrapped my arms around Stephen and felt his familiar contours, strong and reassuring. ‘What would you like to do today?'

‘Maybe we should just stay in this suite. It's the size of a small house,' he replied. ‘Did you book this?'

‘It's an upgrade,' I chuckled. ‘I'd only booked a standard.'

‘That's a relief. I was beginning to think I should have looked at the bills when you were organising the holiday.' His straight white teeth and cherry red lips stood out against his dark beard as he smiled.

‘We should freshen up,' he mumbled and swept me up, carrying me squealing into the lavish bathroom, where deep red marble veined with white set off the gold taps to perfection. It seemed like Pericles' vision for Athens continued to this day.

Water spurted out in a frothy arc as Stephen turned on the shower, kissed me and left. ‘Don't use all the hot.'

‘Join me?' I called as I stripped off my travel-worn clothes.

‘I'll just be out here,' he called back, voice full of wonder, ‘watching the Parthenon.'

•  •  •

Golden rays lit the carpet and crossed lazily over the living room's opulent leather furniture as I awoke from a deep daytime sleep, black with jet lag. I sat up startled, momentarily disorientated, until I found Stephen snoring quietly beside me. Hunger gnawed and my favourite museum beckoned, with its magical collection of Greek vases that I thirsted to set eyes upon again like old friends. I shook Stephen gently, covering his face in kisses. He groaned.

‘Let's go!'

As we wound through the narrow streets of Plaka I was surrounded by familiar sights that were now vastly different – so many places had closed and lay shuttered behind graffiti-strewn metal. A few others were bravely enduring the new austerity, holding out in hope. Homeless people were everywhere, a sight hitherto unseen in a society that had always taken pride in looking after its own.

Under the lush green arms of a plane tree we ordered moussaka and Mythos beer in my usual taverna and watched people coming and going past the towering Athens cathedral standing sentinel over the square. The soft air and dappled light flitting across tables packed with rowdy locals slowly lifted my spirits, which had been dampened by the crushed city.

Stephen leaned forward. ‘So, this is what you've been doing while you were away? Living an ideal existence while I kept the home fires burning.' His eyes wrinkled with laughter as he took my hand and kissed it. ‘Just as well you've brought me this time.'

‘I wouldn't want to be here with anyone else.' I felt a deep pang of love.

After lunch we set off for the museum – and walked straight into a demonstration against the government in Syntagma Square. Police in riot gear made a grim sight, but the Athena Express bustled through unperturbed, children's hands waving to protesters and police alike. The crowd was chanting rowdily against job losses as we hurried around the edge. ‘This is going to grow ugly any second,' said Stephen as he crooked his arm protectively through mine and led us along. ‘Thank God we're not staying in one of those.' He pointed to a line of luxury hotels that were dangerously close to the rally, metal grilles down, front doors locked in spite of the hour.

We relaxed when we boarded our bus and swayed along past technicolour flower stalls and traffic chaos, feeling the intoxicating warmth of each other's bodies. An impossibly green park, leafy and mysterious, beckoned invitingly.

‘The National Gardens. Can I take you there afterwards?'

‘Wouldn't miss it for the world.' Stephen peered out eagerly.

Hand in hand we walked across the vast courtyard leading to the museum's grand entrance and entered the cool interior, relieved to be out of the white heat of late afternoon.

I led the way up the massive staircase to the first floor, anticipation making me flush. ‘I've always wanted to show you this,' I said with barely contained excitement.

The first of the glass cabinets met us in a light, airy room, a gleaming timber floor setting off the extravagant display of pottery. ‘The finest collection of Greek vases in the world,' I announced like a proud mother. Stephen stepped forward and peered at the red, black and white clay masterpieces in all shapes and sizes.

‘This one here,' I pointed to a spectacular amphora decorated in geometric patterns, a central frieze of tall, thin mourners holding aloft a dead man on a bier, ‘marked a grave. It dates from 750 BC. See the intricacy?' I indicated a circle of deer grazing peacefully around the neck of the vase; they had always bewitched me with their fine brushwork.

‘Hmm,' Stephen muttered and my heart sank. The moment I had waited for so long, sharing these treasures with him, suddenly fell flat as his eyes glazed over.

‘And here,' I swept on to the next case, where Heracles wrestled with the Nemean lion, the glossy black figures starkly beautiful against their red background. ‘I feel like I'm back at Coastal with Priscilla,' I said lightly as I watched the bodies linked in mortal combat.

Stephen stared at me, hurt. ‘We're on holiday, Bec,' he retorted and stalked off, giving the sublime vases, their lives and poetry, nothing more than a sideways glance.

‘Stephen?' I trotted after him.

Stephen sighed. ‘Sorry. Just don't mention Priscilla, okay? I'm still annoyed how you could ever have thought . . .' His voice trailed off and he rubbed his eyes, bloodshot with tiredness. ‘I'm very jet-lagged. Forgive me?'

I steered him to another cabinet of vases and drinking vessels from the seventh century BC. ‘This piece is by the Nessos painter, one of the greatest artists.'

A procession of chariots and warriors pranced across a perfectly proportioned vase, their movement so vivid they seemed alive. Stephen nodded and stifled a yawn.

‘Why don't you sit down?' I swallowed my disappointment. ‘While I look around.'

Stephen made his way to a cool marble bench. ‘My ankles are puffed from the flight,' he said as he dropped onto the bench and his phone started ringing. ‘Sorry, have to take this. It's work.'

Suddenly I felt a wave of jet lag too. I passed him my handbag, which felt full of bricks. ‘I'll come back and get you,' I whispered, but he was already deep in conversation. I listened for a moment – on the other end was a man's voice, confident and deep. Stephen was muttering only words of agreement. Satisfied it wasn't a woman, I left.

But how could I be happy among these treasures without Stephen by my side? Particularly with Athens so scarred. Thinking of the turmoil in the streets, I found I'd walked through several rooms and was now in the classical period of the fifth century BC. The breathtaking red-figured inspirations of the artists were so sublime that I was slowly, inexorably, drawn to the pottery. A ghostly world gently opened as heroic tales of gods and beasts that could rule and ruin swept me away. Here was the goddess Athena, winged and powerful, and Zeus, thunderous and unforgiving. A centaur, half-horse, half-man, hoisted a rock on his shoulder and armed himself with a pitchfork while a naked young girl attacked a satyr, his penis swinging back against his stomach in a roaring retreat.

Maidens danced and warriors fought, battle after battle. Men were felled by gods in myths with a spectacular cast of thousands.

On a high-stemmed cylix, an ancient wine glass, a bearded satyr caught my attention. His dark hair hung shaggily, erotically, as his massive, impossibly huge erection faced me. Suddenly I thought of Stephen. Time had run away.

I hurried back to where I'd left him and saw immediately that the room was empty. There was no sign of him in the next room either. I retraced my steps. The rooms formed a circular path and if I walked quickly I'd be sure to catch him. He must have come in search of me because I'd been gone so long. I completed a full loop and couldn't see him. Surely he wouldn't have gone to a different floor? I hurried around again, knowing I had no phone, nothing at all in my pockets except two used tissues. Being without money made me feel vulnerable – but Stephen had to be here somewhere.

After no sighting of him the third time around, I changed direction. When I arrived back at the empty marble bench and there was still no sign of him, I asked an attendant – who sat watching in the doorway between rooms – if she'd seen him. The young woman had only just come on duty; she'd noticed me circling but couldn't recall anyone who fitted my description of Stephen.