The Girl Under the Olive Tree (37 page)

The new man in their group, Stavros, was a useful pair of hands on the farm, and Adonis thought him a champion for an Athenian. One night they sat outside and Dimitra proudly brought out all her family snapshots of Andreas and Yolanda’s wedding feast, taken by their mayor. ‘We didn’t always live like beggars. See, we even had a photographer. We fed 100 people that special night,’ she boasted proudly. Out they all came for the men to look at and pass around: bride and groom with the village children, all the family, the dancing – and one of Penny and Yolanda laughing together.

‘Good Lord, I know that face!’ Stavros exclaimed, peering closely at the two of them.

Before Yolanda could stop her mother-in-law, Dimitra smiled, ‘Yes, the nurse is from Athens too . . . Athina . . . like Yolanda, from the town.’

‘Oh, we don’t know that,’ Yolanda was quick to butt in.

‘But you said she was a nurse in Chania?’

‘Did I? I don’t recall.’ Yolanda stared at the older woman, willing her to shut up.

‘Where is she now, this Athina?’ Stavros’s eyes were focused on the image of Penny.

‘Not sure.’

‘But she came with the Greek-American and his wife to your wedding feast. You have met her many times . . .’

Oh, please shut up, Yolanda prayed.

Andreas picked up on her anxiety. ‘Come on Stavros, back to work.’

Yolanda couldn’t settle after that. He’d recognized her friend and that meant he knew her real name. She must warn Penny. There was something about the stranger she couldn’t work out. He was helpful, polite though distant, he seemed to pull his weight. He was a crack shot but hadn’t seen action yet.

Andreas always said you couldn’t judge a man until he was under fire. If he was captured and tortured, he could give away the farms, the caves, the nicknames and the families feeding them. She knew he spoke good English and Greek, but he was different, not like the other escapees and she felt uneasy.

‘I’m going to visit Athina,’ she announced. ‘It’s far too long since we met together.’

‘But it’s a day’s walk in your condition,’ said Dimitra, looking at her stomach.

Yolanda smiled at her concern. Her monthlies had stopped for two cycles now but she still wasn’t sure if she was really pregnant. Hunger stopped many a girl’s courses, she’d noticed, and it might be a false alarm. Mountain women worked hard right through to the birth. She would have to do just the same if this joyous event was really happening for her.

‘I’ll be fine if you can spare me. I must speak with my friend. There are things she must know.’

They gave her the old mule to ride side-saddle down the paths to Ike’s village. Spring was bursting into green, the smell of fresh leaves and flowers was overpowering, above her wheeled the buzzards mewing, and she saw a flash of the mysterious
kri-kri
goats, darting as they got wind of her, long before she crossed their path. She sat in the shade, excited to be seeing Penny. How surprised she would be. What good news she had if there was a baby on her way.

Her arrival caused consternation. Katrina was busy at her chores and there was no sign of her friend.

‘We thought she’d come to see you at first, but poof . . . she rushed away. You got her letter . . . ?’ Katrina paused. ‘Holy Mother, I forgot . . . in the rush. It’s somewhere on the shelf. I’m sorry.’ She rifled through the plates and jugs and holy picture cards. ‘I think she’s gone to find her young man, Panayotis. She must have taken the bus to Chania. I don’t understand young women now. In my day our father would not let us out of the house in daylight in case we were dishonoured, but this war is changing everything. Girls come and go as they please,’ she sighed. ‘There are no men left to check them. Now, where is that note she left . . . ? Here it is.’

Yolanda took the package. She recognized the hanky and shoved it in her apron pocket for safekeeping. She sat down with them to drink mountain tea and biscuits, then rested for a while, reading the note, which didn’t make much sense and was barely legible as it was stained with red wine and the paper faded.

With a weary sigh she set off back uphill, troubled, even more uneasy now. Why had Penny gone? Panayotis could be anywhere on the island. The British officers came and went, kept their couriers close and trusted only their runners and guides. She would never find him. It was a crazy scheme, full of danger. What was she thinking of, leaving her best friend without a word. What was she trying to tell her? Could it be she was sensing danger too?

The next letter from Stavros found its way from a drop at the crossroads, hidden at the back of a holy shrine. From there it was given to a friendly policeman and taken down to German HQ. Stavros warned it was time to trawl in the catch. He knew their key operating area, the friendly farms and outposts. This was the usual information, useful for sending a silent patrol in a first-light operation, catching them by surprise. Meanwhile Stavros would escape to find the next group. It was the last bit of his letter that intrigued Rainer.

So Penelope had slipped out of town and it
was
her he’d seen with the doctor. All these years hiding in the hills. He’d often wondered what had happened to her. She’d fooled them all with her Greek accent.

Why had she not come clean and been interned with all the other Brits? What hold had this island on her to make her risk her life for it?

Now it would be only a matter of time before she was brought in for questioning. He’d not like to see her subjected to the methods of those SS sadists who had their own particular ways to make women talk. Stupid, stubborn woman. Why hadn’t she left?

Rainer looked out of the window onto the bay and recalled the image of Penny in the caves; calm, strong, unflappable, determined to stay by her patients. If anyone deserved a medal she did. He would hate to see such a beautiful woman destroyed by that gang of thugs and rapists bent on terror, but there was nothing he could do to save her now.

‘Wake up, Aunt Pen. Are you OK? Shall I fetch the doctor?’ Lois was hovering over me with concern. ‘You’ve been asleep for hours. We’re going out for dinner soon. Mack knows a special place in Chania, but if you’re too tired . . .’

‘I’m fine, don’t fuss, but you should go on your own. Alex can stay with me,’ I offered, not wanting to be a gooseberry. I knew what it was to have my heart broken and I was determined that Lois should have the chance to mend hers.

‘No, this is my treat. We’ve been neglecting you, going out all day, leaving you here with only a book for company.’

‘Books are the greatest companions, and this one is a gem:
The Winds of Crete,
you must read it. Besides, I’ve had time to put all my memories in some order.’

‘Don’t forget the ceremony on Saturday. Mack says we must go early. Are you looking forward to it?’

What a silly question. Only the young could think such a thing. Remembrances are often so painful. ‘It’s what we’re here for.’ I replied, stretching my stiffening limbs. ‘I’ll go and make myself decent.’

‘Don’t forget you’ve promised to tell Alex what it was like living rough in the hills,’ she shouted as I made for the door.

‘Perhaps . . . but tonight is not for my old stories. This Mack seems very attentive all of a sudden.’ I couldn’t resist making her blush.

‘I know, and he’s being brilliant with Alex, but he’s good with all his clients, I’m sure. He’s going to the ceremony. Do you remember, he said his father was on submarines around here in the war?’

As I brought out my blue silk dress and pashmina shawl, pulled my hair back into shape and slapped on the mozzie cream, I smiled: it was time to leave wartime behind for a while and the memory of those fearful days trying to find news of Bruce among the ruins of Chania, seeing its citizens sheltering in shacks and caves, destitute and starved of hope as well as food. It had been a mistake to go back there but I was desperate by then.

Mack led us through the busy streets to a restaurant in a building with no roof, open to the night sky. It was packed, musicians playing Cretan songs in the corner, waiters dashing around with trays held high, a noisy vibrant tavern in the heart of the old city. For a moment I was taken aback by the coincidence: it was in the very quarter where Yolanda’s parents had lived. The ruin had once been a soap factory close to their synagogue, bombed later. How strange to see laughing and singing by candlelight in the very place where once I’d made such a painful visit in the spring of 1944.

Penny found the only
kafenion
she recognized by the ancient walls where she knew there would be friends of the Resistance. She hovered outside, hoping for work but looking so rough and downtrodden, she feared she’d be turned away as a vagrant. She’d not eaten properly for days and now she was feeling faint and nauseous. She grabbed hold of a chair to steady herself. A woman came out and she asked for water.

The woman paused. ‘Sit down,
Kyria,
you look ill. Have you travelled far?’

‘From the Apokoronas,’ Penny nodded. ‘“When will the skies grow clear?”’ she whispered, knowing the first line of this freedom song might help her cause.

‘Do you know the bone doctor then?’ the woman was clearly fishing.

‘Cyclops, the hero with healing hands, his wife is my friend,’ Penny replied.

The woman smiled. ‘I thought I recognized you. You came here once with them. I never forget a face.’

Penny felt herself relaxing. ‘I’m Athina. I’m looking for work and I have to find someone. It’s important.’

‘You won’t find any work. Come inside . . . Athina, come and meet Nikos. Help me in the kitchen and at the tables and you can eat and sleep here.’

Stella and Nikos found her soup and dry rusks, a bowl of water to wash herself, and she pulled put on her one decent dress, which made her feel human again.

‘We still have a few regulars from the offices, priests and teachers, and soldiers, of course, the better sort.’ She paused. ‘There’s no money; even the soldiers count their drachmas. They come to play backgammon, to gossip, anything to forget this war. We hear things and we pass it round those we can trust. You have news?’

Penny explained her dilemma and the fear that there was an agent planted in their group who could betray everyone. ‘I need to find Panayotis or Michalis.

Stella laughed. ‘They swagger around like natives, more Cretan than we are. Michalis is a terror. He drinks with German soldiers. They have no idea who they are talking to. First you must renew your papers. There are spot checks. You must go to the town hall, register again. It’s the safest way. They are on the lookout for “suspicious visitors”. Always check with us first before you speak to anyone. They got that agent who betrayed his village and made martyrs of so many last year. A death squad came into his house in September and stabbed him. Now the Polentas family is avenged. Trust no one, Athina, especially those asking questions. Your accent is good but gives you away among the locals.’

Thus warned and fortified, Penny felt ready to search out news of Bruce, but her hopes were dashed when she realized he was back in the hills on a mission and there were plans for big raids in the offing.

One afternoon during siesta, she took herself down to the
limani
, to the old harbour, past the shuttered shops, up to Kondilaki street and the ruined houses round the corner into Portou, the street of the gate into the old Venetian wall. It was a visit long overdue, one she was making for Yolanda’s sake.

No one recognized her at first. Yolanda’s parents stared at her with suspicion as if she were some official. ‘It’s Penelope . . . remember, from Athens? I came to see how you are.’

Solomon’s lips broke into a half-smile. ‘Ah, yes, we remember you, don’t we, Sara?’

Sara Markos’s face looked blank. She had aged so much in the last year, Penny thought with a pang.

‘Momma has been ill. She doesn’t remember things so well now. She may repeat herself to you. How are you? Come in.’ Solomon ushered her over the threshold, guiding Sara with her two sticks. ‘You are still with the school in Halepa?’

Penny shook her head. ‘That was a long time ago, sir. Much has changed since then. I have been nursing in the mountains. Now I’m back in town. I wanted you to know I have met Yolanda only recently and she is well . . .’

‘Please don’t continue. It will upset Momma.’

‘We have no daughter, she died,’ Sara added, turning her face from Penny.

‘But she doesn’t know I am here. I just wanted to check that you are safe and well so I can tell her. She worries about you so . . .’

‘The girl should’ve thought about that before she ran away and broke our hearts. I see from your eyes you do not understand this.’ Solomon shook his head and gave a long sigh. ‘There’s no joy in life for us now she is gone but she made her choice. If you belong to a faith community you abide by their laws. There is no picking and choosing what you believe in or not.’

Sara became increasingly agitated at his words. ‘Why does she talk about the girl? She died. We don’t talk of her, do we, Papa?’ Sara was tugging at his sleeve in distress.

‘You see how Momma is, her mind wanders, strained by worry and pain. It is not easy for us here.’

‘I am sorry,’ Penny said, feeling the weight of the old man’s sadness. ‘What shall I tell Yolanda if I meet her again?’

‘Tell her what you like. There is nothing we can say. She wrote us letters. They were burned. You do not receive letters from the dead, no matter how much you want to read them. It is not our way.’ Solomon saw Penny’s face fall. ‘Oh, tell her we are well and making our lives without her, if you must. How long we remain so is in the Good Lord’s hands. Our men are always the first to be taken hostage if there is trouble.’