Читать книгу The Search for Artemis - Vanessa Gordon - Страница 13

4

Day woke late the following day, his mind immediately full of the story of Artemis. Edward’s proposal for a series of programmes on Greek marble was very interesting, but Day found himself much more excited by the romantic tale he had heard in the warm darkness outside Thanasis’s taverna the night before.

He could hear his guest moving about already, probably in need of coffee, so he forced himself out of bed and into the shower. When he emerged from his room, Edward was already sitting on the balcony with a glass of water, smiling into the distance, watching the peaceful movement of the shadows as they slowly slid away in the face of the rising sun.

“Good morning, Martin. Another beautiful day in Paradise!”

“You’re too kind, Edward!” said Day quickly, always swift to pun on his name.

Edward laughed, and nodded eagerly as Day waved the empty cafetière at him from the kitchen counter. The smell of fresh coffee soon permeated the house, and when Day carried it out to Edward on the balcony, he thought for the first time that he had nothing to offer his guest for breakfast. Edward seemed unconcerned.

“I should apologise for being excessively talkative last night, Martin. Undoubtedly I enjoyed rather too much wine, but I must say it did me good. Thank you for listening.”

“Not at all, it was very moving. It was the stuff of romance. It is the stuff of romance, I should say. Look, have you booked somewhere to stay in Athens yet?”

“No, I usually find somewhere at the last moment.”

“I know a small hotel that I think you’d like. It’s central and convenient for you. It’s called the Hotel Lykavittos Comfort. It’s in one of the streets right at the foot of Lykavittos Hill, up from the British School. You know the area, I’m sure?”

“Sounds a pricey area, but I don’t mind that. I only need a basic single room anyway.”

“It’s close to my apartment, actually. I thought I’d pop over to Athens next week and we could meet up again before you go home, discuss the project. I could make the hotel booking for you now, if you like?”

“That would be wonderful. From tomorrow night for six nights in total. Is that OK? I’ll get my credit card for the deposit….”

Day booked the hotel and they arranged to meet again before Edward returned to England. The arrangement suited Day well. He would spend a couple of nights in his studio apartment in Kolonaki and do some errands in town. He would call his agent in London before committing himself to Edward’s scheme. Day was now quite enthusiastic about the marble project, but he was in no doubt that what he really wanted next week was to hear all about the meeting with Angelika.

***

Day and Edward were due to meet Konstantinos Saris at roughly two o’clock, so Day suggested a light lunch first. They closed up the house and drove the short distance to the centre of the village, where they took a table under the ancient plane trees overlooking the little covered market. Day remembered sitting here for aperitifs with Helen not long before she had returned to England. It seemed a long time ago.

“Gentlemen, what can I get you?” asked the lady of the taverna.

“Ah, good afternoon. A portion of moussaka, please,” said Edward in his formal Greek.

“Calamari fritti, please, and we’ll share a salad, and a large bottle of water.”

The lady left, and Edward looked sheepishly at Day.

“All the tourists ask for moussaka, don’t they? I feel I should order something different, but I do love it! It’s a must for me when I’m in Greece.”

“I sympathise. My equivalent is the chips here, they’re just so amazing, I can’t resist them. It does make me feel like a Brit tourist. We must remember how much the Greeks like both moussaka and fried potatoes. Now, while we wait, I’d love to hear more about Konstantinos.”

***

Day’s car could almost drive the road to the west coast by itself; it was his usual route to the Nikos Elias house. Not far outside Kato Potamia, one of the hill villages along the way, a sign at the side of the road said SARIS EM, the letters standing for Ergastyria Marmarou or Marble Workshop. It was no wonder that Konstantinos Saris used the word atelier, Day thought He drove down the private track to a pair of closed wooden gates, where another sign politely asked visitors to park on the grass before ringing the bell for admittance. Day obeyed. He and Edward got out, not troubling to lock the Fiat, and looked round.

The marble workshop commanded a panoramic view of rolling countryside and hills. Three low, brick buildings faced with decorative black wooden panels stood round a courtyard, and what looked like a large family home was just visible at the top of a ridge behind the property. Everything was modern and well tended, and spoke of success. To their right, overlooking the road and the valley below, and forming the open fourth side of the courtyard, was an inviting terrace shaded by a pergola. From one of the beams of the pergola hung several large, paper-thin, discs of marble which were cleverly suspended so that they would move in the slightest breeze, catching the light in their translucent white forms. An enormous marble table, its rim carved with the Greek meander design, waited hospitably beneath the pergola, surrounded by red canvas chairs and several pots of red geraniums.

Inside the five-bar gates stood a welcoming dog. This was not the customary Greek guard dog, chained to an outdoor kennel. This was a beautiful creature which looked to Day like an almost white Labrador, and it was behaving as if he and Edward were members of its family. Edward rang the bell, a smile of delight on his face.

“I told you it was wonderful, didn’t I, Martin? This is Konstantinos’s dog, Dali, after Salvador Dali. He’s a gentle creature. I have no proof, but I surmise he sleeps on the end of Konstantinos’s bed!”

A young Greek man emerged from the nearest building to open the gate. He wore sturdy boots and a dark overall over his working clothes; his trousers and hands were pale with marble dust.

“Ah, Foti. Good to see you again. I’m Edward, do you remember me? I was here last year. How are you? This is Martin.”

The young man called Fotis nodded and smiled shyly, shaking hands first with Edward then Day. He closed the gate after them saying only the word ‘Konstantinos’, and indicated they should follow him. They walked towards the large building at the furthest end of the courtyard, Dali running ahead with wagging tail.

The building turned out to be the main workshop, and it seemed chaotic at first. They walked carefully through a host of free-standing display units on which were set many ceramic items in various stages of completion. There was a pleasant smell, a mixture of clay, paint, varnish and straw. They reached a broad counter which prevented visitors accessing the room behind it, where Day saw several kilns. An old man with white hair and moustache stood behind the counter, playing with a lump of clay; he seemed not to have heard them enter, which was clearly impossible.

Nothing Edward had told him could have prepared Day for his first meeting with Konstantinos Saris.

The old sculptor suddenly looked up and walked round the counter, arms outstretched towards Edward. So far he had not said a word. His deep-set eyes twinkled mischievously, but Day was equally struck by an inherent sadness in his face. His Mediterranean complexion was liberally freckled with age spots, his bushy brows were frosted with white, even his stubble was white. He was, in his way, immensely attractive, charismatic even. So far, not one word. Day thought he had never met anyone quite like this before.

Edward seemed to be in on the charade and also said nothing. The two old men stood facing each other, and then Konstantinos threw his arms wide open and embraced Edward, chuckling. Neither gave any thought to the wet clay on Konstantinos’s ancient apron.

Suddenly Edward and Konstantinos were both talking at once.

“It’s been too long, Edward, my friend. And you choose the hottest month of the year to come and see me! How English of you! And this must be Martin?”

Edward made the formal introductions. Konstantinos Saris looked at Day appraisingly, retaining the hand that he had shaken for a second longer than Day found comfortable.

“Martin. I am truly honoured that you have come with Edward to see my atelier. You are most welcome. Please call me Konstantinos. Foti, please, would you make us some coffee? We will have it on the terrace. Now, Martin, Edward knows the place well, but you are here with fresh eyes. What do you think?”

Day avoided voicing the awe he felt in this place and this man, and instead gave an expressive shrug in the most Greek manner he could muster.

“I’m looking forward to seeing everything, Konstantine. For instance, what are you doing here with the white clay?”

“Ah, you are thinking that I am a marble sculptor so what am I doing with clay? Good point, Martin. I do two things with clay. The first is that it can be useful to work out in clay some ideas I have for marble. The second is that I make pretty objects for the public, because not everyone wants a big piece of marble, do they? And anyway, I like clay, it relaxes me. I have my kilns back here, you see? That’s how I started, with ceramics. It was my first study, my first love. Nothing is wasted, is it? Every piece of knowledge we acquire feeds our soul and our head and our heart, and we use all of these to make beautiful things.”

Konstantinos placed a hand on Martin’s arm and gently guided him across the room as he talked. His English was expressive and fluent. So fluent, in fact, that he held the floor completely. They stopped at one of the tall display units, on which stood half a dozen small figures resembling ancient Cycladic figurines in white clay awaiting finishing, and a dusty CD player.

“Come, see. This is very important. You know what this means to me, Martin? The restoration of the soul. When I want to relax, when things aren’t going too well, I play my CD of your wonderful English lady, Miss Alison Balsom. She’s my favourite. This room rings with the magnificent sound of her trumpet, and I am consoled!”

Day laughed. Clearly Konstantinos had no intention of explaining the Cycladic figures, only the CD player. Trumpet indeed, he thought. That was unexpected.

“So, this building is the heart of my atelier, Martin. The ceramics are made here, and through that door over there is where I work with marble. I’ll show you later. For now, please follow me and I will give you a small tour, arriving at the terrace in time for our coffee.”

He swept Day away, followed mutely by Edward who appeared completely content. As they left the workshop Day realised that Dali the dog was still sitting patiently outside, getting to his feet only when he saw Konstantinos.

“Good dog, Dali! Dali knows he isn’t allowed in the workshop or the shop.”

“Shop?”

“Yes, we have a little shop on site where visitors can buy something to take home. Here it is. Let’s go inside, and I’ll introduce you to Xanthe, if she’s in here. Ah yes, here she is.”

They entered the single-roomed building, which was full of good light from the large front window. Ceramic bowls, vases, crockery and small sculptures were displayed on tables and shelves, discreetly lit with modern LED lights. Day only had time for a first impression, but it was enough to tell him that these ceramics were very much of the kind that he liked.

Xanthe turned out to be an efficient, middle-aged Greek woman with hair which had probably been lightened a few shades, and modern, dark-framed glasses. She was concentrating on a computer in the corner of the room. She took off her glasses as they entered and stood to greet them. As he made the introductions, Konstantinos explained that Xanthe was basically in charge of the whole place: the shop and its customers, the online enquiries, placing the orders for clay, marble, packing material, glazes, pigments and so on, and in short was indispensable.

“I have the best job on Naxos,” smiled Xanthe, shaking hands. “Hello Kyrie Edward, how are you? You look extremely well.”

“I’m very well, thank you, Xanthe, and you, as always, look radiant.”

“We’re about to have coffee on the terrace, Xanthe, can you join us?” asked Konstantinos.

“I’m sorry, not at the moment, Konstantine. I’m in the middle of the monthly account and I’ll lose my place.”

“I’ll ask Fotis to bring your coffee in here, then. Many thanks!”

Outside, Dali was waiting in the sunshine, panting eagerly, watching their movements and pushing a small marble pebble towards them with his nose.

“Dali likes people to kick his stone for him,” explained Edward. “Just gently. He likes to play ‘fetch’ with it. Very appropriate for a marble artist’s dog, don’t you agree?”

The coffee was waiting for them on the white marble table under the pergola. The terrace faced across the valley to where the distant hills lazed in the heat haze. Day and Edward sat in the red chairs, and Konstantinos joined them after arranging for Xanthe to be given coffee at her computer. Day’s attention was transfixed by the discs of fine white marble which hung from thin steel wire at the furthest corner of the pergola, cloudy white in the sunshine.

Konstantinos gestured grandly towards Edward. “Edward and I are like a good marriage, Martin. Our passions coincide but each brings a slightly different set of interests to the relationship. Edward adores ancient marble, and I adore contemporary marble. You see? The perfect match. We always have plenty to talk about - and sometimes to argue about.”

“I’m looking forward to it, Konstantine!” laughed Edward. “In fact, I have a new subject for us to debate. It’s a new idea of mine to use my collection of travellers’ accounts of Greece as part of a series of programmes about Greek marble; it would cover Greece area by area. For each location we would see history through the eyes of an early traveller, and then look at the marble work to be found there.”

Konstantinos pursed his mouth and nodded, as if considering the merit of the idea. He took a sip of coffee and replaced the cup on the table. Edward continued.

“Martin presents history programmes and writes intelligent books about Greek history. He and I are thinking about working together on the programmes; my material would be used in the planning of the series, and Martin would be the presenter.”

“That sounds excellent, Edward. Many congratulations on such a novel idea. At last your collection can be put to good use. But you should have told me we have a celebrity here. I apologise, Martin, I haven’t seen your work. I live in something of a - what’s the expression? - something of a bubble up here.”

“There’s no reason you should have heard of it, Konstantine.”

“Edward, how do you propose to explore modern marble work in your otherwise excellent plan?” asked Konstantinos, turning back to Edward.

Day concealed a smile. Konstantinos Saris was sharp.

“As usual you’re ahead of me, Konstantine. I’m hoping I can persuade you to be involved. Naxos has been a major marble centre since ancient times, and I would like you to be central to the programme talking about modern Naxian marble art. Perhaps I could send you some ideas, and we can discuss it over the phone in a week or two?”

“Naturally I’d be honoured, Edward. I’m going to have a busier winter than usual, as you know, but I always have time for things that interest me. Have you told Martin about the Niarchos Project?”

“Yes, I’ve certainly mentioned it.”

“It’s going to keep me busy over the next three years, Martin, especially during the months when the Visiting Sculptor is here and we work alongside each other. This year my collaborator will be the Sicilian, Peppino Berducci. He’s going to stay in accommodation in Kato Potamia at the cost of the Niarchos Foundation. I’ve asked Xanthe to order some very interesting pieces of marble which will arrive in a week or two, including some very large pieces of exceptional purity. Our smaller work will be shown in an exhibition in the Kastro in Chora at the end of Peppino’s stay, then everything made in the three year project will be packed up and taken to Athens to be exhibited in the Niarchos Cultural Centre. Next year and the year after I will be working with different sculptors.”

“Congratulations, Konstantine, a collaboration with the Niarchos Foundation is a great honour and opportunity. Do you know who the sculptors will be during the second and third years?”

“Not yet. I’m lucky, the Foundation will give me the final choice. I didn’t hesitate to agree to Peppino Berducci. You must come back and see me, Martin, and I’ll introduce you to Peppino.”

Konstantinos was about to continue when they heard the approach of a car from the main road. An old Land Rover Defender, on which the paintwork had been scorched by exposure to sun and salt, pulled up by the gate and parked next to Day’s Fiat 500, making it look particularly small and new. The driver got out and Dali ran to greet him.

“Ah. Here’s Markos. I wasn’t expecting him today. Martin, this is a good friend and colleague of mine, Markos Ioannakis. We should avoid talking about the Niarchos Project in front of him. I’ll explain later.”

With that, Konstantinos rose and walked slowly towards the gate. Day noticed he had a slight limp and favoured his right leg. He and Markos greeted each other with a friendly handshake and began to walk back to the terrace. Konstantinos offered coffee and Markos accepted. With a friendly shout, Konstantinos called Fotis and asked him to provide it.

“Marko, I think you’ve already met my friend Edward Childe, who has been here before? And this is Martin Day, a historian and well-known presenter of history programmes, I understand. Martin, this is Markos Ioannakis. Markos is the owner of Blue & Gold Naxos.”

Everyone rose and shook hands. Markos explained to Day that he owned two art boutiques on Naxos called Blue & Gold, one in Chora and the other in Halki, and that Konstantinos’s ceramics and smaller marble pieces were his best sellers. He had been Konstantinos’s exclusive local outlet for ceramics for the last six years, he went on, making it sound like the highest honour. His smile was genuine. All the same, Day thought he detected a tension arrive with the latest visitor.

Markos sat with his coffee amicably and Dali sat at his feet to have his head scratched. From time to time Markos would nudge the dog’s little stone for him to retrieve. He seemed very much at home at the atelier, and talked comfortably about the good tourist numbers and items that had sold well over the past month. He was smartly dressed in the style Day too preferred, cotton trousers and sharply ironed long-sleeved shirt; he had come straight from the Halki shop, he said, leaving it in the care of his wife for the rest of the afternoon.

Day was glad of the shade of the pergola which, in true Greek style, had a considerable amount of climbing plants across its cane roof panels, providing dappled protection from the sun. There was just enough room for all four of them to shelter from the worst of the heat, watching the bright white marble decorations shine against the greens and greys of the fields beyond and the distant blue-grey hills.

Markos finished his coffee and rose to leave. He left a sheaf of papers with Konstantinos, explaining they were requests for more stock to cover an order from the owner of a new boutique holiday rental in Apollonas for a ceramic coffee set with fish motifs and some matching bowls. He shook hands round the table and petted Dali, who accompanied him to the gate.

“I’ll come by in a week or so for the order, Kosta. I’ll phone Xanthe first,” he shouted belatedly. Konstantinos nodded and raised a hand. Markos drove away.

‘“Thank you, Martin. I didn’t have time to explain why it was better for us not to mention the Niarchos Project in front of poor Markos. It’s quite simple. One of the rules attached to the funding is that I may not sell any new work made after the arrival of Peppino Berducci up till the end of the three year agreement. Unfortunately that includes my ceramics. It means that Markos will only have my old stock to sell in his shops for the next three summer seasons. There’s no shortage of pieces ready to go, but no flexibility with designs, and once the stock is sold there won’t be any more. He’s not happy about it, but what can I do?”

“I see. As you say, there’s nothing anyone can do. Will it seriously affect his livelihood?”

“I shouldn’t think so, he’ll just sell other artists’ work. His pride is bruised, and some of his customers will be upset if they can’t continue buying a set of something. He’ll get over it. He’s a good man. His wife is more angry than he is and she doesn’t give him any rest.”

“I’ll pop in to one of his shops and buy a few bits for my house in Filoti,” said Day.

Edward excused himself politely and went towards the shop where, Day remembered, there was a public bathroom. Fotis came to take the coffee cups and ask where Konstantinos wanted some delivery to be stored. When Fotis had left, Day and Konstantinos sat contentedly in silence. Day realised that his host was as relaxed in companionable silence as he was himself, but on this occasion Day’s curiosity got the better of him.

“Fotis and Xanthe are great assets to you,” he observed. “Do you have anyone else working here?”

“No, they look after all my needs. Xanthe has been working for me for about ten years, I rely on her completely. Fotis is like a son to me.”

Day was surprised. Fotis had seemed rather more like a handyman than a son. He must have somehow communicated his thoughts, because Konstantinos threw him a perceptive glance.

“Fotis lost both his parents in a car accident when he was fifteen. Somehow my late wife came to know about it and talked to me most urgently about helping him. She wanted us to give him a home, and promised me she’d take care of everything and that young Fotis would be a great help to me, especially as I was nearly sixty and there’s a lot of heavy lifting involved in what I do. She said a strong young man about the place would be an excellent thing. I gave in to her, as I always did. She was right, of course.”

Konstantinos stroked his chin thoughtfully before continuing.

“Fotis had been extremely upset by his parents’ death, as you can imagine. Probably a better word is damaged. Little by little he settled down with us, and he adored my wife. Now that she’s passed on, he and I have become very close. As you’ll have noticed, he’s very shy with strangers, but I think he’s happy enough.”

“Does he live here at the atelier?”

“Fotis? No. He has a nice little place in Kato Potamia. My wife set him up there, she thought he’d be better with a small house of his own. She hoped he’d find someone, a wife perhaps, but that hasn’t happened yet. He’s only thirty-four, there’s still plenty of time. So, I rattle about with Dali in the big house up there behind us, and Fotis drives back to the village each night in the old van.”

Edward was walking back from the shop. He seemed a little breathless and his face was flushed. He explained he’d just been throwing the pebble for Dali. Martin was concerned at the difficulty breathing that Edward appeared to be having.

“It’s nothing, I’m just a little late taking my tablets,” he said. “Curses on old age, eh, Konstantine? My body is a lot less robust than my brain. Could I ask for a glass of water, please?”

Fotis was requested to bring a glass of water and looked on in concern as Edward used it to swallow four or five different pills. Edward tried to reassure the young man that the medicine kept his heart in excellent condition, he had just forgotten to take them at lunchtime. He spoke to Fotis slowly in Greek, and Fotis seemed to understand him.

“Come and sit with us, Foti,” suggested Konstantinos. “We’re all friends here.”

Fotis shook his head and took a step back shyly, but stayed close to the terrace and smiled towards them at intervals as he came and went doing small jobs. Edward, who had recovered from his breathlessness, surveyed the magnificent view with his customary placid smile. Fotis, standing nearby, looked with interest to see what Edward saw.

“I leave tomorrow for Athens, Konstantine,” said Edward, his eyes twinkling, “but I hope to be back soon to work with Martin. Let me know how things go with Peppino. Don’t give me that nonsense about you not knowing how to email, and anyway you can pick up a phone! We must keep in better touch, we’re not so young any more. And I may have some interesting news for you in a few weeks. I’m going to meet with a beautiful young lady while I’m in Athens. She’s the granddaughter of a lovely woman I met when I was twenty-one, the love of my life, as they say. How’s that for good luck?”

Konstantinos nodded. “You’d better take care of your old heart, Edward my friend. Too much excitement is bad for us at our age.”

“Don’t worry, old friend, I couldn’t feel better. Trust me. Well, Martin and I should take our leave and let you get on with your clay.”

“Already? I thought you’d stay for the evening. Have you another engagement?”

“For the evening? No.”

“Fotis is going to barbecue some lamb chops from a farmer in Ano Potamia, and Xanthe has brought us a salad. I have some good wine from the Saint Anna Winery over there.” Konstantinos waved his hand in the direction of a distant building down the valley. “I was hoping you would both stay.”

Day and Edward didn’t need convincing. Fotis supplied them with a bottle of ouzo and some ice, and they drank together in the warmth of the terrace. As the sun sank in the west, they watched as the marble discs gradually turned from white to amber. Fotis barbecued the meat in a brick shelter over coals covered with vine clippings, and when they had all eaten they talked quietly as it grew dark.