her clothes suggested a renewed confidence: daffodil-coloured blouse tucked into black divided riding skirt and shining black boots. Her fair hair was freshly washed, fluffing up in an unruly way and lightly scented with lilies and sandalwood. “It's going to be a warm afternoon. I thought we could have a picnic among the ruins. And, Laetitia, I've had another good idea—why don't we find George and ask him to lend us his car? Can you drive it, do you think? I should so enjoy swanning up to the Ariadne in a Bugatti!”
Letty was intrigued to see that she had dared to put on makeup even on a Sunday—the cheekbones were delicately rouged, the sweet mouth slightly reddened. All this for her benefit? Surely not? Phoebe's face was animated and clever, Letty realised in the sharp light of morning. Not elfin—there was too much mischief bubbling in the sideways glances. A sprite, Letty decided.
Phoebe turned her attention to Gunning. “I don't know, William, if you were planning to spend the afternoon marching Laetitia round the site? I bet you were! Every inch of every level explained in precise order and in exhaustive detail…Oh, essential, of course—I know that—but she has all the time in the world to
study
the place. I thought today she should just be at leisure to
enjoy
it. To sit on the stones in the sun like a lizard…sniff the mimosa and the rosemary and dream a bit. No notebooks allowed! No guidebooks! In any case, you'd need to hire a spare donkey to cart
that
around with you!” She pointed a dismissive finger at Evans's thick
The Palace of Minos. Vol 1.
“What do you say, Laetitia?”
Letty was instantly caught up by her gaiety. “That's just exactly what I'd like! I can drive the Bugatti—yes. And there's just about room for a small hamper aboard. But do you really think George will let us take it? You know how possessive men can be about their motorcars.”
“Don't worry—George wouldn't refuse me,” Phoebe said with a slight smile.
“Then I'd better change my outfit,” Letty said doubtfully. “Sunday picnic in tricky terrain…?”
“Desert boots rather than parasol, my dear,” advised Phoebe firmly. “This is Crete, not Birdcage Walk.”
* * *
“Slow down! Slow down or you'll miss it! There's the carriage drive on your right. You go up between the pine trees,” Phoebe shouted and pointed.
They'd driven through the narrow bazaars of Herakleion and past the museum, joining the southern road where it wound down through the old moat and breached the ramparts. After a short halt at the gates for Phoebe to dole out a handful of coins to the flock of beggars who gathered around the car, they chugged on through untidy straggles of houses and out into open country. The recent rain seemed to have settled the dust; the driving was proving not to be the challenge Letty had expected.
Phoebe's call had come unexpectedly soon. “Golly!” said Letty, braking and holding the car back to a docile rumbling approach. “The Palazzo Evans already! I hadn't realised it was so close to Herakleion.”
“The Lodge at the end of the drive—the Taverna, they call it—is where the students are housed. You could have stayed there, Laetitia, but I don't think you'd have liked it. Trails of dirty socks everywhere, uncertain hot water, and a constant squabbling going on.” She caught Laetitia's quickly suppressed smile. “So unlike the home-life at our own dear villa, of course.”
Fifty yards up the hill the land flattened out, and there ahead of them in a grove of sheltering trees was the Villa Ariadne. At last she was here, seeing it for herself, this bit of Arcadia talked of with a gusty sigh of nostalgia and a far-off look in the eye of everyone she knew who'd ever sampled Sir Arthur Evans's hospitality. The sighs were inevitably followed by stories of convivial parties, nights of deep drinking fired by raki and dark red Cretan wine, days of muscle-cracking exertion in the trench or on the tennis
Letty was intrigued to see that she had dared to put on makeup even on a Sunday—the cheekbones were delicately rouged, the sweet mouth slightly reddened. All this for her benefit? Surely not? Phoebe's face was animated and clever, Letty realised in the sharp light of morning. Not elfin—there was too much mischief bubbling in the sideways glances. A sprite, Letty decided.
Phoebe turned her attention to Gunning. “I don't know, William, if you were planning to spend the afternoon marching Laetitia round the site? I bet you were! Every inch of every level explained in precise order and in exhaustive detail…Oh, essential, of course—I know that—but she has all the time in the world to
study
the place. I thought today she should just be at leisure to
enjoy
it. To sit on the stones in the sun like a lizard…sniff the mimosa and the rosemary and dream a bit. No notebooks allowed! No guidebooks! In any case, you'd need to hire a spare donkey to cart
that
around with you!” She pointed a dismissive finger at Evans's thick
The Palace of Minos. Vol 1.
“What do you say, Laetitia?”
Letty was instantly caught up by her gaiety. “That's just exactly what I'd like! I can drive the Bugatti—yes. And there's just about room for a small hamper aboard. But do you really think George will let us take it? You know how possessive men can be about their motorcars.”
“Don't worry—George wouldn't refuse me,” Phoebe said with a slight smile.
“Then I'd better change my outfit,” Letty said doubtfully. “Sunday picnic in tricky terrain…?”
“Desert boots rather than parasol, my dear,” advised Phoebe firmly. “This is Crete, not Birdcage Walk.”
* * *
“Slow down! Slow down or you'll miss it! There's the carriage drive on your right. You go up between the pine trees,” Phoebe shouted and pointed.
They'd driven through the narrow bazaars of Herakleion and past the museum, joining the southern road where it wound down through the old moat and breached the ramparts. After a short halt at the gates for Phoebe to dole out a handful of coins to the flock of beggars who gathered around the car, they chugged on through untidy straggles of houses and out into open country. The recent rain seemed to have settled the dust; the driving was proving not to be the challenge Letty had expected.
Phoebe's call had come unexpectedly soon. “Golly!” said Letty, braking and holding the car back to a docile rumbling approach. “The Palazzo Evans already! I hadn't realised it was so close to Herakleion.”
“The Lodge at the end of the drive—the Taverna, they call it—is where the students are housed. You could have stayed there, Laetitia, but I don't think you'd have liked it. Trails of dirty socks everywhere, uncertain hot water, and a constant squabbling going on.” She caught Laetitia's quickly suppressed smile. “So unlike the home-life at our own dear villa, of course.”
Fifty yards up the hill the land flattened out, and there ahead of them in a grove of sheltering trees was the Villa Ariadne. At last she was here, seeing it for herself, this bit of Arcadia talked of with a gusty sigh of nostalgia and a far-off look in the eye of everyone she knew who'd ever sampled Sir Arthur Evans's hospitality. The sighs were inevitably followed by stories of convivial parties, nights of deep drinking fired by raki and dark red Cretan wine, days of muscle-cracking exertion in the trench or on the tennis
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