The Winter Folly (39 page)

As the ferry slowed and the engine roared, throwing up white spumes of seawater, she saw that around the port were all the marks of the tourism trade: apartment blocks, hotels, tavernas,
restaurants with hundreds of tables and chairs set out along the seafront, racks of mopeds and rows of taxis for hire. She felt a rush of holiday excitement despite herself. She had not known what
to expect, thinking of the horror stories of Greek towns overwhelmed with drunken tourists, but this place did not seem like that. The travellers around here were mostly families and there was also
a good number of nuns in their sensible plain frocks and dark head coverings. She felt a sudden yearning for John, wishing that he were here to share this new experience, to witness the beauty of
the island and to set about exploring it with her.

But I’m not here for that
, she reminded herself.
I’ve come for something else altogether.

She gazed around at the island while down below the port workers set about mooring the great ferry against the wharf, and prepared for disembarking the passengers. Behind a gate waited a horde
of fresh travellers, ready to take the return journey overnight back to Piraeus.

Is she here?
Delilah wondered.
Is Alexandra somewhere close by?
She imagined the dark-haired woman from the photographs – of course she wouldn’t look like that
– walking through the streets above the town, unaware that the ferry, its arrival and departure so familiar as to be almost invisible, this time had brought a messenger from the life she had
left behind.

Tomorrow
, she thought,
I’ll set about finding her.

Once the passengers had got out through the port gates, shunted in a different direction to the crowds waiting their turn to board, they dispersed, heading off towards hotels
or hailing taxis or looking for bus stops. Delilah consulted her map. She had booked a hotel room in Chora, the main village of the island that lay to the south-west of Skala, higher up and near to
the castle on the horizon, which the map told her was actually a monastery. The village had looked only a few minutes’ walk from the port but now she could see that it would be quite a hike
up a steep hill with her luggage, so she headed for a rank of shabby looking cars with taxi signs on their roofs.

‘Chora?’ she asked of the driver of the first available car. He leaned out of his open window, his eyes unreadable under his sunglasses. ‘How much?’

‘Chora – eight euro.’

‘Fine. Thanks.’ She opened the back door and climbed in, hauling her small suitcase after her. The driver started the car and, with a roar from the rattling engine, they set off
through the narrow roads of Skala, expertly avoiding the milling crowds of wandering tourists searching for their holiday accommodation. Most of the buildings were whitewashed, brightened with
baskets of flowers or hung with vines, and every other one was a restaurant or a taverna, with tables lining the street or set out under canopies of woven fax. Mopeds and bicycles seemed to be the
preferred form of transport and the driver took their buzzing approach in his stride, skimming past bare legs and billowing shirts without so much as a squeeze on the brakes.

They left Skala, ascending the curving asphalt road lined with scrub and eucalyptus trees towards the white village above that shone where the evening sun caught it. The monastery sat strong and
dark on the skyline, looking like a Byzantine fort, and at its base white boxes of large villas and houses emerged from pine forests and olive groves. Beneath the grander residences was a tumble of
whitewashed roofs, bell towers and walls that marked the heart of the village.

The driver pulled to a halt by a high wall with a tangle of greenery falling over the top. ‘We stop here.’

‘I’m staying at Hotel Joannis,’ she said, looking out of the taxi window at the narrow path curving away into the village. ‘Is it close by?’

He gestured up the hill. ‘You will find it up there. No taxi any more.’

‘I see.’ She got out and passed him ten euros. ‘Thank you.’ Taking her bag, she began to walk in the direction he had indicated. Despite the late hour, the sun baked the
backs of her legs and arms as she climbed. If this was what it was like in the early evening, it was going to be seriously hot the next day. Maybe this was the wrong time for a fair-skinned Welsh
girl to visit Greece. Well, she’d just have to cope with that as best she could.

The town was charming, with streets, lanes and passages that were too narrow for cars. Thick walls bordered each street, houses and courtyards tucked away behind them. Although she could see
many bars and tiny restaurants, there wasn’t the touristy feeling of the port up here.

It’s beautiful
, she thought, as she pulled her case past another tiny courtyard lined with wooden chairs and tables, brightened with pink and purple bougainvillea and pale blue
clouds of plumbago. She passed through an archway and bumped her case up the cobbled streets until she reached a small shop-lined square where people sat at tables outside a cafe and a small market
was selling vegetables, fruit, pottery and all manner of woven things, from baskets to tiny dolls. Going up to a plump woman sitting on a wall by a stall offering bright raffia hats, she said
shyly, ‘Hotel Joannis?’

The woman nodded towards an alleyway leading upwards in shallow steps from beneath another archway, and pointed with one brown arm.

‘Thank you.’
I must be getting closer now
, she thought, climbing the steps and bumping her case up behind her. The alley was lined at intervals with doorways, their thick
stone lintels not whitewashed like the rest but left a dark honeyed brown colour. The same brown strip was left above the windows.
This place feels as though it’s been designed
, she
thought.
Everything is so in tune, so beautifully matched, almost as though we’ve styled it for a shoot.

There was such a grace and cohesion in the harmony of white and dark stone, the strips of cobbles, the worn paving stones. Even the chairs and tables in front of the cafes seemed to have been
chosen so that their shabby blue wood and woven seats would look delightful against the white walls, the terracotta pots with their spreading plants loaded with bright pink flowers, and the curving
lines of the walls and arches. It made her feel peaceful to look at it, as though it was balm for her soul to see something so satisfyingly of a whole, but she wondered if its unchanging perfection
might eventually become too much and feel stultifying. For now, though, she was happy to imbibe its well-worn beauty.

At last she saw a painted sign above an arched doorway that read
Hotel Joannis
, so she went through the arch and into a small courtyard where a large wooden door stood open. Inside, a
young dark-haired woman in a bright red dress stood behind a desk. ‘Hello,’ she said with a bright smile in perfect English. ‘Can I help you?’

‘I have a room booked. Delilah Stirling.’

The woman checked a computer screen on the desk. ‘Yes, Mrs Stirling. We have your room ready. Please follow me.’

The room was exactly what she had wanted: quiet and comfortable, with a large bed and a bathroom. A shuttered window looked out over the courtyard below. Before the woman left, Delilah said,
‘I’m looking for an address here,’ and showed her what she’d carefully written out from the letter.

The woman examined it and frowned. ‘Villa Artemis. I don’t know it. I don’t think it’s in the village itself. It may be just outside – some of the larger villas
are. You should ask at the post office in the morning – you will find out there.’

‘Thank you. I’ll do that.’

She was one more step closer to finding Alexandra. She would look in earnest the next day.

Delilah slept deeply and woke to a cool and almost complete darkness that, for a moment, gave her a shot of panic.

Where am I?

Then she remembered in a rush the whole of her journey the day before. She was in Greece, alone, in a tiny hotel in a small village in the shadow of a great monastery. Last night she had dined
alone in the courtyard below and then gone to bed. And today she was going to find a dead woman.

She showered and went downstairs to the dining room where the Greek buffet breakfast was being served. Other guests sat at the tables, poring over guidebooks or concentrating on their food.
Delilah helped herself to coffee, fruit and yoghurt and found a table where she could eat undisturbed but another couple soon took the table directly next to her, their plates loaded with the cold
meats and cheeses that were put out for German tourists.

She felt stares upon her, and it was not long before the woman leaned over towards Delilah and said in an American twang, ‘Hi, are you all on your own? Do you need some company?’

Delilah looked up and smiled politely. ‘You’re very kind but I’m fine, thank you.’

The woman was dressed in wide green shorts that fell just past her knees and a black T-shirt, her face open and friendly with large brown eyes. ‘Well, I do envy you. I get too lonely if I
travel alone! I don’t have the spirit for it.’ She smiled and said in a firm way, ‘I’m Teddie and this is my husband Paul.’

Paul had a lined, tanned face with a thick bristling grey moustache and he wore tinted glasses. He nodded at Delilah and grunted a greeting through a mouthful of sausage.

Teddie spread butter over a piece of crispbread and added a layer of cream cheese as she said, ‘We’ve been to quite a few of the islands now but I like this one a lot so far.
It’s a little off the beaten track, you know what I mean? It feels like people live here; I don’t just mean they run hotels and bars and stuff, but like there are normal lives going on
as well. Maybe it helps that it’s such a religious place.’

‘Is it?’ Delilah realised that she knew very little about the island.

Teddie nodded, spreading a dark smear of jam over her cream cheese. She whispered, ‘Haven’t you noticed all the nuns?’ and glanced around conspiratorially, as though there were
gangs of nuns in that very room, although Delilah hadn’t noticed any.

‘I did see a few on the ferry,’ she replied, and took a sip of her black coffee.

‘Yep. It’s easier to spot them than the monks – it’s the wimples. They’re here because of the Book of Revelation.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yeah. St John stayed in a cave here and that’s where he received the vision of the Apocalypse. That’s why it’s kind of a special place and why they’ve got that
great monastery looming above us. Plenty of them come on a pilgrimage here to see the cave and get the thrill of being right where that vision happened.’

‘I see,’ Delilah said, interested. ‘Is that why you’re here?’

Teddie crunched into her crispbread and ate a mouthful before replying. ‘We’re not that religious, are we, Paul?’

Her husband grunted again.

‘But I like the history of it. We’re going to take a tour of the monastery today. I reckon it’s going to be the coolest place on the island in a few hours. The sun here is
something else. You don’t want to be out in the village without sunglasses – I’m telling you, the glare of all these white houses is enough to strike you blind. Are you here to
see the sights? You should come with us if you are. You might enjoy it.’

Delilah warmed to Teddie despite her initial desire to be left alone. She remembered that her mission today was to find the Villa Artemis but as the minute approached she felt more like putting
it off. ‘All right,’ she said, almost to her own surprise. ‘I’d be happy to come along.’

They walked up the steep road from Chora to the vast fortress above them. Although it wasn’t long past nine, the sun was beating down and Delilah was glad of her hat and
dark glasses. On Teddie’s advice she had changed into a long skirt and made sure her shoulders were covered so that they would not be turned away on the grounds of indecency.

‘Will you look at that?’ Teddie breathed, gazing upwards. Her husband strode along silently at her side, a small rucksack strapped firmly to his back. ‘Isn’t it
amazing?’

Delilah looked up. The monastery seemed to loom ever larger above them and she wondered just how big it would be by the time they reached it. Would she stand like a midget against its vast
doors? Was it really the home of giants rather than men? ‘It’s huge,’ she said breathlessly.

‘Cos we’re so close to Turkey here, I guess,’ Teddie said. ‘Gotta protect your church and people when the marauders come, huh?’

‘I suppose so,’ Delilah said. She thought of the fort at home and how its purpose had once been to shield and defend, a place to shut oneself in and others out. This was much the
same but on a larger scale. Here they could have enclosed the entire population of the island behind those walls to keep them safe.

They reached the entrance with its heavily reinforced wooden door, and went through into the courtyard beyond. It was paved irregularly with a mixture of cobbles and stones and in the centre was
a round covered structure that looked like a well. All around them were arched colonnades and entrances to rooms and chapels.

Delilah heard a voice from behind her, a soft female voice with a pure English accent. It said, ‘There are ten chapels here because the Greek Orthodox Church does not allow more than one
sacrament at each altar per day. So in order to carry out all the offices of the religious day, many altars are needed.’

Instantly alert, Delilah looked over her shoulder to see where the voice was coming from but the speaker was obscured from sight by a crowd around her. There was the murmur of another voice
raised in question and the same light, mellifluous tone replied, ‘No. It looks like a well but in fact it’s a jar, a container of holy water. Now, shall we go inside? We’ll visit
the main chapel first and you’ll see the wall paintings of the miracles of St John the Divine.’

The group moved off and Delilah caught a glimpse of a woman in a white dress and a blue headscarf before the throng of people blocked her line of sight.