Читать книгу The Meaning of Friday - Vanessa Gordon - Страница 21

12

As they walked back to the car, Day told Helen what the old woman had said. He was despondent again. They had not achieved anything useful, and this Frenchman was unlikely to be Emil Gautier. Day resigned himself to the facts. Looking for Michael’s supposed sanctuary was a waste of time without more information. However, Day badly wanted to find the antiquities dealer from Paris, and he couldn’t sit on his hands, he needed to do something.

Day spoke as if he had already been talking to Helen aloud. “So, although I was going to suggest a bit of lunch round here, why don’t we head north to Apollonas, grab a bite to eat by the sea, and make a few enquiries there about this Frenchman? We could visit the other kouros while we’re there.”

“OK,” she said, quite hungry now. “I don’t mind that. Although without knowing what Emil Gautier looks like, I don’t think we’re going to find him.”

They had a choice of two routes to Apollonas, neither of which were particularly easy. They chose the coast road, a high one with some tortuous bends, but it would be easier than going back through the mountainous central part of the island.

The contrast between the coast road and the tourist hub of Chora couldn’t have been more stark. It also looked nothing like the green valley of Flerio. It took them an hour just to cover thirty kilometres. Helen liked the fact that Day was a slow driver so she didn’t have to worry about the road. It was narrow in parts and the barriers on the side which dropped away were broken or old. It was a high landscape with beautiful sea glimpses to the left, she would have liked to photograph it. Every few miles, though, there seemed to be a little altar signifying a fatal accident.

They reached the town of Apollonas on the northern tip of Naxos and decided to start by visiting their second kouros of the day, the Kouros of Apollo. A coach-load of visitors was climbing the steps to where the huge fallen statue lay on the open hillside. Blocks of black, grainy stone, now unrecognisable as ancient marble, lay scattered across the whole area. The giant figure of Naxos’s largest kouros was about twice the size of its counterpart in Flerio, but Helen found it less impressive. For one thing, this statue had no face, only a roughly shaped head. Also, there were too many people around for her liking. They heard German, American and British accents. They admired the kouros briefly, then walked back down to the town.

The little town huddled round the small bay that formed its heart. Day’s priority now was to find a café table within six feet of the sea. Three fishing-boats bobbed on the water near the beach, their hulls or cabins painted blue. Only gentle waves tickled the sand, as the bay and its little beach were protected from the sea beyond. They parked the Fiat in an empty parking area by the sea wall and walked back to the beach. The entire water’s edge had been adopted by various tavernas, and their painted tables and chairs, their coloured awnings and bright tablecloths, all in combinations of blue and white, left nobody in any doubt that this was Greece. It was as if the azure and white Greek flag was artfully wrapped around everything.

Waiters and waitresses invited them to their tables as they walked along. Day and Helen sat down at a blue table near the water and ordered a lemon juice with ginger for Day, a freshly squeezed orange juice for Helen, and two toasted sandwiches. Helen looked round with satisfaction, grateful that it was relatively quiet.

“This place will be packed in a few weeks,” she said. “We’re so lucky today.”

“Let’s hope our luck continues,” he replied. “So what are our chances of finding this Frenchman, do you think?”

“Nil. Call me a pessimist, but I’m with Inspector Cristopoulos on that. How were you thinking of finding him, Martin?”

“I thought we’d just talk to people. That’s all the police would do. I think the locals will be noticing strangers at this time of year. Everyone’s on the alert for new customers. I’m a great believer in luck, did I tell you? I believe it’s my affinity with the Ancient Greeks.”

“Oh really, Martin!”

***

Day began his investigation at once by chatting to the man who brought their toasted sandwiches, and then to the girl who cleared the plates away, claiming to be looking for a French acquaintance. Neither of the staff knew anything. Day paid the bill and they started to amble along the beach road, pausing at shops where Day asked more questions. It seemed a pointless exercise to Helen, although Day’s efforts made her laugh and it was quite fun to chat to so many locals. It was good to have a chance to practice her Greek.

Finally they had some luck. At a small shop selling pretty ceramics they attracted the attention of the lady in charge, who turned out to be the wife of the potter. They admired her husband’s ceramics and Day bought a bowl, and the woman was happy to talk.

“Yes, the visitors are starting to arrive now,” she said. “I have a good feeling about this year. Already there are groups of Germans and Americans here, and the cruise ships will be arriving soon.”

“I wish you a successful season, Kyria. Can you tell me, are there still any good rooms to rent here in Apollonas?” asked Day.

“Of course. My son has a small guesthouse just as you come into town. I can recommend it.”

“Ah, thank you. We already have a place to stay, but I have a French colleague who’s looking for accommodation.”

“I’ll bring you my son’s card in a moment,” the woman offered. “French, did you say? We don’t have many French visitors so far. Funnily enough, one of them has a bit of a reputation. Everyone has noticed him! His Greek is really terrible. Yours is excellent, Kyrie, or I wouldn’t say that to you! Although your Greek is actually quite funny, if you don’t mind me saying so. It’s like listening to Homer when I’m talking to you.”

Day grimaced and Helen laughed. The woman, meanwhile, squinted into the sun as if looking for something and began pointing towards the beach. Walking towards the cafés that Day and Helen had just left were two men, deep in conversation.

“There, that’s him, the shorter man,” said the potter’s wife. “I thought I saw him a minute ago! Isn’t that funny! He isn’t a typical tourist, that one. People think he must be here on business, but what business a Frenchman does in Apollonas, the Lord only knows! We don’t like him very much, although I shouldn’t say it, I suppose.”

Day thanked her and took her son’s business card. He and Helen crossed the road and followed the two men, who had ducked into one of the tavernas near the beach. Day and Helen took a table as close to them as they dared. They tried to eavesdrop but the men spoke too quietly. What they could make out was that the shorter man had a French accent, and the other seemed to be American.

Helen had the best view of the men. The American’s physique suggested he worked out, but his belly spoke of over-indulgence. His clothes looked expensive. The Frenchman was a little younger, short and thin, black-haired with a bald patch on top. They wore sunglasses so she couldn’t see their faces. Helen pushed back her chair and took out her phone. Pretending to take a picture of Day, she managed to get a picture of the men. Day gave a tight smile. He hated having his photo taken. The two men took no notice.

Within five minutes of Helen sitting down again, the American got up and held out his hand to the Frenchman.

“Keep in touch. I’ll expect to hear from you in a few days. You have my number.”

“OK, and I’ll send Panos over.”

The American nodded and walked away. The Frenchman signalled to the waiter and asked for a menu.