The Pleasure Seekers (6 page)

Manoussos was in charge of several dozen men keeping the peace in underpopulated places who checked in by telephone with him every day. He knew his job well, was diligent, and made frequent tours to show his presence and keep the men sharp. Other rookie policemen posted in similar remote places all over the island grew bored and fat and stale in their jobs. Not Manoussos’s men.

Unlike some of their associates who worked in larger groups in the built up villages and towns along the coast under the Chief’s jurisdiction, they had a different kind of action, and were envied for it. They made the newspapers and were feared and respected.

Manoussos and his men had caught more art thieves in the act, and retrieved more works, prevented more antiquities from being smuggled out of Greece, than any other group of art detectives in the whole country. And they were no special force, just policemen doing another part of the job of keeping the law enforced. But their successes in that field had given Manoussos his swift rise in Crete’s police department at a young age. In his own quiet way he was a force to be reckoned with.

He saw D’Arcy round the point and come into view. Manoussos always felt uplifted when he saw her. He had loved her all his life . . . well, since he was six years old. They had lived and played in each other’s houses and
had gone to school together and had been first loves, first lovers, and still, until Laurence and she had fallen in love, had sex together whenever the moment was right, the passion was there. He still loved her, still wanted her.

Melina came into the port with two of the local boys she hung around with and took a table some distance from Arnold. Then the Plums, Tom and Jane, he looking happy, she glum – they were always that way – came into Manoussos’s view. He loved living and working in Crete; she suffered in silence though it was clear that she would have preferred a London or New York life. Manoussos liked Tom, who was one of the Thursday night poker club, but found Jane irritating. He actually thought she envied her husband’s huge success in the art world, that she wanted to be the celebrated painter but had settled for being his hostess instead. They sat down on their own near Melina and her friends after having greeted Arnold.

Katzakis the grocer and his brother were standing with several of the fishermen near the boats talking politics. Katzakis was always talking politics. The national pastime not only of Crete but Greece was talking politics. Life was as it always was in Livakia and that suited Manoussos just fine. This was one of the most unspoilt and interesting villages, beautiful and cosmopolitan in its own small way, because of the foreigners who had chosen to live here. It had become a fascinating and unusual place for the quality of most of its visitors: the famous and creative people who would arrive for the Cretan experience and leave after letting a touch of paradise enter their lives. Manoussos never took the zest and passions, peace and tranquillity, of his town for
granted. Just as he watched over it now from the window of his police station, he watched over it when he was out of uniform and down there with his relatives and friends. He was too good a policeman not to realise that life in Livakia was a fragile thing, just like life anywhere else.

He heard the fax machine click on and turned from the window. The information he was waiting for came rolling out of the machine. He tore it off, read it, and a smile crossed his face, one of satisfaction. Interpol was indeed looking for the two men he had in holding cells in Iraklion. Now he was off duty and could get out of the office and have his game with Arnold.

Manoussos’s house was not far from his office. It was on a narrow path of steep steps, an older part of Livakia where the houses were small and close together. On his way he was stopped by several old ladies, friends of his grandmother, who were sitting in their doorways. Like wizened black crows they watched and waited in the shadows to pounce on their prey, anyone to pass a bit of gossip their way. They were a hard lot, having lived a hard life. He greeted each of them, and received for his good manners the usual petty complaints. To be polite and respectful but brief with them, not usually paying any attention to their disgruntled opinions which they were very free with, took no more than ten minutes of his time, and didn’t matter to Manoussos. Time was irrelevant in Livakia. He enjoyed his walk home every evening.

Manoussos lived alone in a house that had been handed down through the family for three hundred years. He was all that was left of his immediate family, that was why the old crones felt they had to watch over him,
albeit from a distance, him, and Arnold who lived in a small house across the way from him. Manoussos had a housekeeper, Athena, a distant cousin who cooked and cleaned and shopped for him. When he arrived home she was already gone, having left him a cooked meal, and clean well-pressed clothes. She lived several houses away, came in to do her work every day, and only saw him when asked to. It was an arrangement that suited them both: he because of his need for privacy; she because she was disapproving of the women who chased after him. It appeared that the foreign women who arrived on the island could not get enough of sex with Manoussos. He was spoiled for choice and Athena and her cronies wanted him to settle down with a Cretan girl, although they all agreed the next best thing would be D’Arcy Montesque.

It was only when he was relaxed, neck-deep in bath water and smoking a cigar that Laurence had given him, that something one of the cronies had said came to the forefront of his mind. A complaint about Melina. She was doing some work for Arnold in his house, painting a room, only she was spending more time sitting in his garden with her friends. They didn’t like her, didn’t like her friends, but they did like their neighbour Arnold, who was kind and respectful to them and brought them token gifts when he returned from a visit abroad in thanks for their keeping a watch on his house.

He didn’t much like the idea of Arnold’s leaving the girl alone in the house. That might be putting temptation in Melina’s way. Manoussos, if the occasion arose, would drop a hint to Arnold. No, Mark – he would talk to
Mark about it. Melina was terrified of displeasing Mark, whereas having the similar disdain for Arnold that Mark had, the girl would hardly be affected by anything Arnold might tell her. Manoussos had seen signs of that any number of times. A pity because Arnold was a better man than Mark would ever be, and could have been a kinder, more gentle influence on Melina.

Manoussos was an extraordinarily handsome man. He was tall and slender, wide-shouldered, rugged-looking and dark. Black curly hair surmounted dark sultry eyes, ever so slightly hooded and with a definite lusty twinkle in them. His face was Greek of the Classical period, as depicted in painting and sculpture: the perfect nose, wide-set eyes, good bone structure, sexy, succulent lips. He wore a bushy moustache that was exceptionally macho, and by contrast had dimples in his cheeks, and a smile that was broad and laughing and showed his strong white teeth.

When not in uniform, his dark sunglasses and policeman’s hat, he dressed with a certain élan: jeans or cream-coloured linen trousers, fine white linen shirts, at times a Panama straw hat. He had learned many things in his years at the Sorbonne in Paris. Homosexuals came on to him there; he was the Greek male love they dreamed of, all male with a female heart at his centre. Women wanted him for his strength and beauty, for sex, and for him to take over their bodies and souls – something he enjoyed enormously. And they liked his Greekness, that Cretan temperament.

He was always amazed (and delighted) at how foreign women, most especially the English ones, dropped their
sexual inhibitions the moment they left the white cliffs of Dover behind them. For a Greek bachelor it was a dream come true because even now, in the enlightened present day, to obtain sex with a Cretan girl was still a long drawn out family affair and meant certain marriage.

Manoussos had his game with Arnold, who was already half out of his mind with drink and managed to win anyway. Manoussos gave him a good game and several times thought he was going to beat his friend, as did the half dozen people who had drawn up chairs to sit round the table and watch them play. But chess was definitely Arnold’s game. Very few times, drunk or sober, had anyone ever seen him lose a game. Max was his fiercest opponent, Mark his most angry. He could never accept that such a weak character as Arnold could beat him at anything.

There was no question that alcohol had dulled Arnold’s brain but that did not stop him from winning games of chess, being the best swimmer in Livakia, nor being capable of surprising them all occasionally with an observation or insight. The greatest attraction about Arnold was that he had nothing to prove. The least attractive thing about Mark was that he was always trying to dictate something, prove everything, mostly his own brilliance.

From the chess game to the Kavouria. It was one of those great nights that casually came together most every night in Livakia. In the restaurant one table kept joining another until they were a chain of tables and people all sitting together. The mood was buoyant and there was much laughter and clever and interesting conversation as
they drifted from one subject to another. There were half a dozen new faces, guests of the Plums and Max. A very pretty American girl called Susan appeared looking for Mark – a friend of a friend, her father was a well-known publisher who thought Mark was something special. She was dazzled, flirted openly, and thought she had found
the
writer to have a great love affair with. He thought she was right. A potential husband? He and everyone else knew she was wrong about that.

Mark was out to impress, and when Mark was out to impress no one could do it better. He took everyone on with his clever mind, did magnificent twirls and pirouettes with his intelligence and wit. He had the entire table enjoying every minute of him. It wasn’t just the foreigners, the Greeks loved Mark for his passion for them and their island, and there were half a dozen or more of them at the table, challenging his thoughts and statements. The wine flowed continuously and platter after platter of food kept arriving. When all the other customers, having called out farewells to their neighbours at the long table, had left, the owners sat down with bottles of brandy and plates of fresh fruit and sticky sweets while a middle-aged fisherman and his young son played Bazouki.

It was nearly two in the morning when Arnold began slowly to slip from his chair and had to be propped up. That caused a tirade of abuse from Mark: ‘I am sick and tired of having to drag you home and put you to bed, Arnold. If you can’t hold your liquor, for Christ’s sake don’t drink. And you’re drooling and you’re disgusting! You look like a mad degenerate, an
imbecile! You spoil everything. God, you really don’t belong on this earth!’

Only when Manoussos stood up and glared at Mark did he quieten down. He turned to the fisherman and asked for a specific song and the ugly moment passed. After several minutes, when the party was back in full swing, Mark went round the table to Manoussos. ‘It’s all right, he can’t hear me, he’s catatonic with drink. I only said what we all know to be true.’

‘Not necessarily, Mark. You sound like a Fascist. I would like to think it was your own drink talking. But it’s over, let’s make no more of it.’

The two men shook hands and Mark slapped Manoussos on the back, a friendly gesture. Manoussos was distracted. He could feel the girl Bridget’s eyes on him, and D’Arcy watching her watching him. The Swedish blonde whispered in Max’s ear that she fancied a night of sex with the police chief. That was no problem for Max who adored sexual promiscuity and intrigue. He merely told her, ‘Then bring him home with you, the more the merrier.’

But she didn’t bring Manoussos home to Max’s house, Manoussos took her to his. Not that anyone would have known. For all the sex and erotic game playing that went on in Livakia, it was handled with great subtlety except on rare occasions. Everyone knew sex was as important as food and consumed just as readily but only after the fact did people ever learn who went with whom, what so and so had done to so and so. It was all part of the sex game, the secrecy and intrigue, the not wanting to be obvious or to offend anyone’s sensibilities. Each one knew that
they were in a small community where the balance of an idyllic life could be tipped by bad behaviour, offence caused unnecessarily.

There were things assumed but never questioned, known but never discussed: sexual secrets, disappointments, failures of love or money. What had these things to do with friendship, people seeking their pleasures in paradise?

Livakia was silent in the dead of the night and so very dark it seemed to compel those that were talking to do so in whispers. Everything seemed to be incredibly still, without a breeze, and as can often happen just before dawn, the temperature rose and it was, if not stiflingly hot, exceptionally warm. The only lights to be seen were those spilling forth from the Kavouria on to the port. There was only a slice of a moon, bright and white, and the sky was peppered with stars. The smell of the sea was in the air; the sound of the water slapping against the boats was like a lullaby. The night seemed still young to the dozen or so people kissing each other good night, shaking hands and giving hugs as they split up and set off in various directions to wend their way home.

They were a small group climbing up through the narrow stone streets bound in by high whitewashed walls, moonlight as their guide. Mark propping Arnold up as he and Susan, helped by Laurence, tried to coax him to walk, straggled behind Manoussos who was flanked by D’Arcy on one side and Bridget on the other. Max, Rachel, and Jane Plum were leading the way and had vanished into the night by the time Manoussos arrived at his turning. He kissed D’Arcy good night, and taking Bridget with
him, walked back to claim Arnold and deliver him home. Mark was more reluctant than relieved to let him go, and not for the first time Manoussos was aware that their friendship, though complex and at times not very easy, was an important factor in both their lives. He let Mark and Susan take Arnold home. Laurence kissed D’Arcy and placed an arm around her shoulders and they waved goodbye as they walked away, then they too were swallowed up by the night.