The Enlightenment of Nina Findlay (49 page)

Nina had arrived weeping at her father’s house that night in a taxi. He didn’t take her moving out seriously, either. The two of them had a conversation about Anna, and then Robert went up for an early night. Nina watched television and drank some more of his whisky, and then at about 11:30 p.m. the phone
rang. Luca had called her so late because he’d waited till Paolo had gone to bed.

“Luca was furious. What the hell was I playing at? He’d got back to the apartment and found that I’d gone. I’d yelled at poor Paolo and stormed off. How could I be such a total coward? How could I do that to Paolo?”

“Understandable. In a way.”

“He said, ‘Do you want to hear what I really think? I’ve never liked the way you treat my brother.’ I was so upset. I was shaking violently; I could hardly speak. I said, ‘The way you treat him, you mean.’ He said, ‘No, Nina, it wasn’t me who was married to Paolo and who failed to love and cherish him.’ I couldn’t believe my ears. I kept saying, ‘What? What?’ I had chest pain. My breath was short. I couldn’t breathe. I thought I was going to die.”

She said, “I don’t understand,” though that wasn’t true. She understood everything. This narrative of his, now it was spelled out, made recent events make sense. Nonetheless like an idiot she started making more lists. “Why were you constantly trying to be with me, Luca, and touching me; why did you roll me across the floor, and throw me in the sea so you could put your hands under my thighs, and why did you constantly bitch about Francesca?” He said he remembered it differently.

“Then he said, ‘There’s something else you need to know.’ He’d told Francesca about the sex. It turned out Francesca had known about it since the day after it happened. That was completely shattering. I hadn’t seen her again; I’d kept away. Luca was blanking me so I stayed away. I didn’t know she was going to die. I should have gone to see her, despite Luca. I know that. I’m
not proud of that. I missed two family Sunday lunches with an invented flu bug. Francesca knew, all that time, that I’d had sex with her husband. She didn’t call me. She didn’t say anything.”

“Oh, Nina.”

There wasn’t even the remotest possibility that Luca had hinted how it really was. He would have painted quite a different picture. Though perhaps no picture was painted. Perhaps the brutal, informative
Nina and I had sex last night
was enough for his wife. Francesca may well have closed her ears against more details.

“It had a big impact on me. I was worthless, a worthless person. It still makes me sweat to think how betrayed she must have felt. I’d had sex with her husband and then I’d dropped her.”

“What a mess.” Dr. Christos was shaking his head.

“I told Luca I was never going to speak to him again, and he hung up the phone and that was that. I haven’t spoken to him. I haven’t seen him. I sent him a chirpy postcard when I first got here, about the island food; just about the food. It makes me laugh, actually, to think of him receiving it and being puzzled.” She laughed bleakly. “I suppose in time we might have to make our peace, not a real peace, but maybe a token one. I might need to tell him, if he ever brought it up again, that our supposedly golden time, the summer we were eighteen, wasn’t how he remembers it. For most of the time we were both supremely bored.”

“Yes. You should tell him that.” Dr. Christos had to leave her, to go home and walk his dog, who’d been locked in on his own all day. He said he’d be back later, after Paolo had been to visit, to see how she was. He kissed her on the cheek before he left.

Once he’d gone she dozed awhile, and had dinner, which was a spinach filo pastry pie with pine nuts and unexpectedly good,
and watched Greek television, looking at the pictures but thinking about Luca, and then Paolo was there, cursory in his greeting and fishing a packet out of his bag.

“Here. I brought more figs. And also, red wine.” He produced the bottle. His expression was grim.

“Are you okay?”

“Things on my mind.”

“What kind of things?”

“Work. Work which has followed me to Greece. And also, Christos. Christos is always here. I swear he has a lookout who warns him I’m walking down the road; he always seems to be leaving your room as I come through the main door.”

“He doesn’t really have enough to do.”

“And that’s why he’s hired the locum.”

“He hasn’t hired anyone. There isn’t any money.”

“You haven’t met him? Dr. Argyros? He’s Doris’s uncle. He’s come out of retirement temporarily. He seems very nice.”

“Dr. Argyros? He came in once and looked at the chart, but he didn’t even say hello. You’ve met him?”

“We had a brief chat earlier. I thought he was very personable.”

“It must have been for his sake, for Dr. Argyros’s sake, to give him a job before the funding runs out.”

“Look,” Paolo said. “Speaking of money running out, there’s something you need to know. It’s about the business. It’s being sold. Hence long phone calls, and e-mailing from Vasilios’s bar, and bad nights.”

“What? Oh no, why?”

“Hence also, I’m afraid to say, Mum’s stroke.”

“Paolo, I’m so sorry. This is terrible news. Can’t it be sorted out? Is there still time to sort something out?”

“It can’t be stopped now, not now the bank’s got wind of the trouble we’re in. It’s started raining so they’ve taken their umbrella back. But there’s a buyer and a good offer — finally the right offer, after a lot of messing us about.”

“You’re not going to be Romano and Sons anymore?”

“They’re keeping the name, the brand, and they’re keeping the sons, at least for now. I told them I wanted to go part-time, maybe become a consultant, depending on the money. I think the time has come to change my life.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

On their last day Paolo texted to say that he’d hired a car from Andros and was going to Main Island for the morning, and did she want to come? Nina didn’t feel up to it, but said she hoped to see him later.

Back at 1:30 to take you to lunch
, he replied.
Be ready. Also, at 4:50 precisely we’re going for a drink
. A second text followed on its heels:
That’s today’s schedule, so rest up and no excuses
.

She was waiting in the foyer when he arrived, roaring up in a tiny car. It was too small for someone with a broken leg, he said, getting out and locking it up, and in any case he didn’t fancy going to the café again. The taverna was out, too. Both tavernas.

“Because of the eavesdropping?”

“Because of the world-class eavesdropping; correct.” He held up a bulging carrier bag. “Picnic. I’ve been to the market. The town was hopping and I had trouble parking, but it’s beautiful over there, the main square, the planting, the shopping, the church. I’d live over there if I were you. Anyway. Picnic. Come on — can you walk two hundred yards, along to the next bench? It’s hot but there’s that big tree. I noticed there’s shade creeping over the seat, so it should be good timing.”

They went slowly, at Nina’s pace, along hot tarmac, past arid verges that smelled of summer, and sat on the bench, and looked at the twin headlands that framed the bay, and at the far shore of Main Island, whose outlines were gauzy and drifting. Nina glanced at her watch. The bus would already have been through
on its lunchtime run. She was wearing a big hat and sunglasses, hoping to be incognito, but the crutches were a giveaway and various islanders came over to wish her well. “Here comes another one,” Paolo kept saying, as they were approached again by a concerned and smiling face. “It might be time to learn how to say that you’re feeling much better.” In between halting conversations they ate stuffed vine leaves, an oily aubergine salad, nectarines, and a pale, bitter cheese. They talked about the food and the view and locals they’d met, and what living there in the winter might be like.

Afterwards, Paolo delivered Nina back to her room and said he’d be back in two hours precisely. He said she should be ready to go out for a late-afternoon jaunt.

“What kind of a jaunt?”

“All will be revealed. Bring a cardigan, hat, suncream, the usual kit. Camera. Don’t forget your camera. I’ve got phone calls to make, but I’ll come back for you.”

The picnic had made her tired and sweaty, so Nina changed out of trousers and into a loose floral dress, and lay on the bed to rest. She’d just got off to sleep when Dr. Christos came in, wearing jeans and a white shirt, a red embroidered waistcoat, mirrored aviators tucked into his collar. “So here we go: time to go and look at the villa. I ran into Paolo outside and he said he’d have to miss it.” He looked at his watch. “We have one hour forty-five, so we’d better get going. Dr. Argyros is covering. Are you ready? My car’s outside.”

Dr. Christos’s car was a small silver hatchback, immaculately clean, its interior smell suggestive of air-conditioning and
recent valeting. The passenger seat had been moved back to its furthest setting, and he helped Nina maneuver herself into it, pulling the strap of the seat belt across her and fixing the buckle. “We don’t have much time,” he said, “so I’m only going to show you the house that’s in the top village today, but I can send you lots of pictures of another one, which is across the water, and a link to their website.” He reversed the car and turned out of the car park, letting tourist bicycles go by first, cycling raggedly in a bunch. Nina was reminded of her childhood village, the gang on their bikes. There was safety here, and a society and hopefulness.

“That sounds good,” she said, absentmindedly.

“I also know of several good places to buy, which I’ll send you details about. You can have a look at them in November when you get back.” They went along the coast road, and as they got to the turnoff he slowed down. “First, do you want to go along to my place and have some coffee there?”

“Maybe if we have time afterwards.”

“Okay, let’s get straight to it.” He put his foot down and turned up the hill, taking its initial steep slope at quite a clip. Round two soft bends they went, and then a third, and as they approached the site of the accident Nina could feel the beginnings of panic. Her breath quickened and shortened and she found that she’d clamped both hands onto the dashboard. Dr. Christos glanced at her once, twice, as he was driving. “You all right?”

“I’m fine.” It was interesting; now that they were out of the hospital grounds her first inclination was to lie.

“You’re finding the hill very interesting.” Nina had her head turned to the right, grateful to be on that side of the car. “Are you okay?”

“I just want to get past here.”

The car slowed almost to a halt. “Do you want to stop and take photographs?” He took his hands off the steering wheel, looking out over the valley.

“No, thanks,” Nina said firmly. “Can we just press on?” They drove around the tight corner and another softer one, and saw the roofline of the hamlet ahead, and then the canopies of trees that lined the small square. “I took photographs there before,” she added, less severely. “I was taking pictures when Andros ran into me.”

He glanced at the camera in her lap. “That’s right, we picked it up off the road. You’ve used it at the hospital, so it still works.”

“It does. Amazingly.”

“Have you looked at the pictures since the accident?” he asked her, slowing for goats.

“I deleted them all.”

“Sunsets are difficult things to capture on film.”

They drove at low speed through the village, circling around a sleeping dog and pausing so that children who were playing soccer could get out of the way. They stopped by the gate into the allotments, and Nina saw, through the loose hedge of fruit trees, that there were long rows of plants, some at ground level, some on canes and wires, a vivid red of peppers and tomatoes, the purple-black of aubergines, racks of foliage and hidden hanging beans, and women bending to the task, in their black patterned dresses and dark headscarves. She felt a surge of optimism. Perhaps she, too, could have a garden. Perhaps there’d be nowhere better in the world to be a woman who lived alone than here. There might not be friendship of a straightforward kind, but that mightn’t be a bad thing. There’d be community, and perhaps that’d be enough. Perhaps it was what she needed, a kind of embracing and protected seclusion, something at once loyal and incurious.