embraces. The tourists wandered off, pursued by children who’d been delegated the job normally done by their elders. There was one woman dressed in black, probably in her mid- thirties, who was hanging back, her pleasant face directed shyly towards Mavros for a few seconds. He passed by her, needing a caffeine hit before he did anything else, and headed for the first of two cafés. He was hoping that the general mourning hadn’t closed them. There were no customers sitting outside.
Inside O
Glaros
, The Seagull, the two tables farthest from the door were occupied. A doleful youth looked up from the bar and pointed to another table at the rear.
‘Coffee?’ Mavros asked in English, maintaining his foreign guise. ‘Greek coffee?
Sketo?
’ There was no way he was willingly going the full tourist route and drinking the foul instant ‘Nes’. Fortunately there were plenty of foreigners who liked to show off their knowledge of Greek culture by ordering the traditional version, so no eyebrows would be raised.
He glanced around the place. It was decorated in what someone who’d never been beyond Athens imagined was South Sea Island style. There were plastic palm fronds and coconuts hanging from the ceiling and the walls were decorated with posters of perfect beaches that were beginning to peel at the edges. The table to the right behind him was taken by two couples displaying their nationality with a three-day-old copy of the Sun and numerous empty beer bottles. One of the men was wearing a faded Union Jack T-shirt.
‘Christ Almighty,’ the Englishman said, his arms glowing red even in the dim light of the café. ‘How long’s this going to go on? Not much bleeding fun sitting around in the dark, is it?’
‘Shut up, Norm,’ the younger of the women said, glaring at him. Her blonde hair was held back in a clip. ‘You heard what Thanasi said.’ Her voice dropped to a loud whisper. ‘Two of his cousins were drowned.’
‘Yeah, that’s right, Jane,’ the other woman said, applying mauve lipstick. Her ample breasts were unsupported beneath her top. ‘Thanasi’s doing us a favour. The bars are supposed to stay closed as a mark of respect until after the funerals.’
‘When’s that going to be then, Trace?’ the second man asked, lifting his head from a paperback copy of The Guns of
Navarone
and grabbing a bottle. His eyes were heavily ringed and his clippered head was criss-crossed by a network of scars. ‘I came here for the booze and the discos, not the local colour.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, Roy,’ said the blonde woman.
‘What do you expect, Jane?’ Roy said with a grin. ‘I’m not smart like you. I dig ditches for a living.’
‘You do not!’ Trace said, looking to Norm for support. ‘Installing cables is a highly skilled job. You two have done very well for yourselves.’
Mavros nodded to the waiter as he brought the coffee and a glass of water. Behind him to the left he could hear the other two occupants of the place carrying on a muttered conversation.
‘They’re frightening, those people,’ said the woman, her American accent cultured but her tone sharp. ‘No wonder Britain’s finished as a world power.’
‘Give them a break,’ the man said in long-suffering voice. ‘They’re on holiday.’ His fair hair was uncombed, the stubble on his face several days old.
‘They’re morons,’ said the woman, her face fleshless and pale. ‘You know, Lance, this has turned out beautifully. Trigono is the most unspoiled island we’ve been to and now there’s to be a double funeral. I couldn’t have asked for more.’
‘Yes, you have been lucky, haven’t you, Gretchen?’ the man said, the irony in his voice faint but unmistakable. ‘Think of the material you’ll get out of that.’ He leaned closer to her. ‘We’ll have to be careful about taking photographs, though. Maybe I should go up on the walls of the kastro and…’ He lowered his voice and the rest of his words
Inside O
Glaros
, The Seagull, the two tables farthest from the door were occupied. A doleful youth looked up from the bar and pointed to another table at the rear.
‘Coffee?’ Mavros asked in English, maintaining his foreign guise. ‘Greek coffee?
Sketo?
’ There was no way he was willingly going the full tourist route and drinking the foul instant ‘Nes’. Fortunately there were plenty of foreigners who liked to show off their knowledge of Greek culture by ordering the traditional version, so no eyebrows would be raised.
He glanced around the place. It was decorated in what someone who’d never been beyond Athens imagined was South Sea Island style. There were plastic palm fronds and coconuts hanging from the ceiling and the walls were decorated with posters of perfect beaches that were beginning to peel at the edges. The table to the right behind him was taken by two couples displaying their nationality with a three-day-old copy of the Sun and numerous empty beer bottles. One of the men was wearing a faded Union Jack T-shirt.
‘Christ Almighty,’ the Englishman said, his arms glowing red even in the dim light of the café. ‘How long’s this going to go on? Not much bleeding fun sitting around in the dark, is it?’
‘Shut up, Norm,’ the younger of the women said, glaring at him. Her blonde hair was held back in a clip. ‘You heard what Thanasi said.’ Her voice dropped to a loud whisper. ‘Two of his cousins were drowned.’
‘Yeah, that’s right, Jane,’ the other woman said, applying mauve lipstick. Her ample breasts were unsupported beneath her top. ‘Thanasi’s doing us a favour. The bars are supposed to stay closed as a mark of respect until after the funerals.’
‘When’s that going to be then, Trace?’ the second man asked, lifting his head from a paperback copy of The Guns of
Navarone
and grabbing a bottle. His eyes were heavily ringed and his clippered head was criss-crossed by a network of scars. ‘I came here for the booze and the discos, not the local colour.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, Roy,’ said the blonde woman.
‘What do you expect, Jane?’ Roy said with a grin. ‘I’m not smart like you. I dig ditches for a living.’
‘You do not!’ Trace said, looking to Norm for support. ‘Installing cables is a highly skilled job. You two have done very well for yourselves.’
Mavros nodded to the waiter as he brought the coffee and a glass of water. Behind him to the left he could hear the other two occupants of the place carrying on a muttered conversation.
‘They’re frightening, those people,’ said the woman, her American accent cultured but her tone sharp. ‘No wonder Britain’s finished as a world power.’
‘Give them a break,’ the man said in long-suffering voice. ‘They’re on holiday.’ His fair hair was uncombed, the stubble on his face several days old.
‘They’re morons,’ said the woman, her face fleshless and pale. ‘You know, Lance, this has turned out beautifully. Trigono is the most unspoiled island we’ve been to and now there’s to be a double funeral. I couldn’t have asked for more.’
‘Yes, you have been lucky, haven’t you, Gretchen?’ the man said, the irony in his voice faint but unmistakable. ‘Think of the material you’ll get out of that.’ He leaned closer to her. ‘We’ll have to be careful about taking photographs, though. Maybe I should go up on the walls of the kastro and…’ He lowered his voice and the rest of his words
Similar Books
