The Girl Under the Olive Tree (45 page)

Over breakfast I’d tried to explain to Lois what happened and how I needed to find out more about the person who had left the flowers. As I thought, the veteran party had left, not for the airport, but a day trip to Lake Kournas, and were not expected back until late.

Victoria, the resort receptionist, was concerned that my visit was proving fruitless. I told her a little of my mission and its urgency. She smiled, offering her own idea. ‘If your friend was in the Resistance, you should contact the Cretan Resistance Association. They will have tales to tell you. My grandfather was a partisan – if you like, I can contact him.’ She asked the name.

‘Bruce Jardine,’ I replied. ‘But no, they would only know him as Panayotis, his cover name.’

‘That’s easy to remember, it’s my boyfriend’s name,’ she smiled, taking down contact details, promising to get back to me if there was anything useful.

We drove back and I must have looked as exhausted as I felt.

‘Siesta, now,’ Lois ordered. ‘You need to rest.’

I had no energy left to protest when we got back to the villa.

Alex was excited at the latest mission. ‘Are we going to find Aunt Pen’s boyfriend?’ Lois shooed him outside to the pool.

‘Bruce was always your special one,’ Lois said. ‘I thought Adam was mine but things change.’

‘They do indeed,’ I sighed. ‘At least you lived with him, found out what he was really like. We never had that luxury. Our love affair was never earthed in the physical way. It was fuelled by danger and separation but we never actually . . .’ I paused, flushing. ‘I never really knew what he thought of me.’

‘But you never looked at another man? We often wondered . . .’ It was Lois’s turn to hesitate.

‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that. Things were complicated then but I had my moments.’

‘Tell me more,’ Lois said.

‘Certainly not! Bruce was my first love and you know the saying, first love leaves the longest scar. I had no idea he was buried here. Isn’t that awful? Once I knew he was gone, I just shut the pain of it out of my life. Now I feel ashamed. I saw all those widows and orphans, read what they put on their crosses yesterday. I was so cold and cut off, just like my mother when Papa died.’

‘But you went on to do sterling work, devoting your life to caring for others, all that teaching work in Africa. You should be proud.’

I leaned back in my chair, uncomfortable with compliments I didn’t deserve. ‘Don’t think I wouldn’t have given up some of it gladly to have a family, children and a home of my own.’

‘But you have family, children and grandchildren; we are your family. You’re the nearest thing I’ve had to a proper granny, but we never think of our parents and grandparents having lovers and dreams and disappointments like our own.’

I reached out for Lois’s hand. ‘You’ve had a rough two years but I think you’re coming out of that dark tunnel?’

She blushed. ‘Actually, Mack’s asked me if I’d like to return later before the season ends for a bit of a break. He’s coming back to England then, planning a travel book:
Crete by Car, Cycle or Foot.’
She smiled. ‘I have to admit this holiday’s gone rather better than I thought.’

‘I like Mack. He strikes me as genuine. You do right to seize the moments that spring out of nowhere. I’d like to see you settled again.’

‘Oh, not yet. I don’t want Alex involved.’

‘Come on, he’s got his own life to lead, school. Blink, and he’ll be off to college. Follow your heart in this, Lois. Don’t shut yourself off like I’ve done.’

‘I’ll try. It’s good to share all this but it feels like beginning all over again.’ She paused for a deep breath. ‘I know you’re not telling me everything, but I hope coming back has helped you.’

‘It will when I find out what I’m looking for. I feel it’s just out of reach, round the corner, very close, waiting for me. Oh, listen to this romantic tosh! Everything we’ve done here’s prepared me for this moment. I’m getting excited, and at my age it’s good to have something to look forward to.’

I wasn’t lying. I could feel a bubbling up of hope. The odds might be stacked against finding someone who didn’t want to be found, but it was a small island and people talk and remember. Tomorrow I was going on another private pilgrimage, something I’d been dreading but must be done, and it would be a private visit. Now I had seen Bruce’s resting place, I needed to find Yolanda’s.

Mid-morning, the door to Etz Hayyim synagogue was open. The bustling of Kondilaki Street hadn’t begun yet but it was already hot and I was glad to come into the enclosed courtyard, with its palm trees and pergola of shade, just to sit for a while.

Truth be told, I’d never been in a synagogue before. I don’t do churches any more, but the moment I stepped into the little oasis of green and calm, I felt the quiet and the peace of a house of worship restored from rubble and ruin, brought back into the life of the Chania community.

I felt a link back to those old days when the houses around teamed with noise and bustle, preparations for the Sabbath, the smell of the bread ovens. I recalled sitting at supper with the Markos family and their relations, sensing the tension in poor Yolanda in being expected to marry within her faith, her secret love for Andreas, that wedding party in the hills and that last visit I made to her parents. It all came flooding back.

I knew their fate only too well. I was there, I saw them drown, locked in the hold. I will never forget that sight for the rest of my life. I bore witness to a Red Cross official but never heard anything more about an inquiry. If there was one, I was never called. I was on no one’s list; as far as the world was concerned I was never there.

A surge of sadness washed over me.

A young man came to welcome me from the office. ‘
Shalom
, do feel free to look around.’ I felt curiously reluctant to go inside, but I wandered through the porch and saw how it was now a simple house of prayer. The young American guided me through its history, from a Venetian church given to the Jews by the Turks during their occupation. I sat down. ‘I just want to remember my friends who lived here before . . .’

‘You knew people before the war? Please, come when you’re ready, I’ll make us coffee. We want to know anything we can about those times. There are so few left, and of course none of them returned. Who was your friend?’

‘We nursed together in Athens and here for a while. She was my dear friend.’ It was hard to speak about her without crying and usually I am not one to break down in front of strangers. ‘I have come to pay my respects to her family.’

‘We do have a list of all those taken that night, and others,’ he offered, but I was not sure I wanted to face the enormity of a long list. Yet I knew it was my duty to the lost community to face who they all were in life.

‘The rabbi had to register all the names of the Jewish residents, their place of birth, ages, occupation and dependants.’ My guide brought out a booklet in which were pages and pages of names.

I scrolled down, marvelling at the detail, putting faces to some of them: Alegra, Soultana, Iosif, Miriam . . . My hands were trembling, my finger shaking as I came to the ones I dreaded most. It was then I noticed Yolanda’s name separate from the others.

‘Why is she not with her family?’ I asked.

‘Because she wasn’t there on the night of the roundup,’ he replied. ‘She married a Christian and they hid her. The Nazis never found her . . .’

I did not hear the rest as one glorious thought overwhelmed me. She was never on the ship . . . Yolanda lived.

‘Yes, but wait . . .’ he called after me as I fled. ‘Your name would be so useful to us.’

I sped out into the little alleyway and down the busy street. Yolanda survived. Was she still here on the island after all this time?

Yolanda woke, back on the mattress in the hospital basement. The dream had been so real: all those figures looting the houses, carrying away pots and chairs in their handcarts, shouting and laughing to each other, ransacking what had already been ransacked. The pain in her back had turned to agony, there was a rumble of wheels of a cart and the touch of a stranger holding her hand. It was a nightmare she didn’t want to recall, but then she felt the cotton shift of a hospital gown, the mattress was upended with books so her feet were raised, and she felt raw and sore inside. Her tongue was rough and there was a stench of ether on her pillow. Only then, as she came to her full senses, did she realize the nightmare was real.

Slowly she slid her hands down her stomach, feeling for the quickening of life. There was nothing but an emptiness, an aching void and wadding between her legs.

‘Lie back, Yolanda, rest,’ a voice said and she saw old Dr Frankakis peering down at her. ‘It all came away. We had to stop infection. I’m sorry.’

‘My baby, where is my baby?’ she mouthed without hope.

‘He was too small to live, it was too soon, the shock brought on the miscarriage.’

She turned her face from him. ‘I thought it was just a dream. How did I get here? I was down looking for my . . .’

‘We know, and you were lucky not to be denounced. Thank God some people still have the decency to protect their neighbours. You were hidden until dark and brought up here hidden in a cart. They saved your life.’

Yolanda tried to rise up. ‘I have to find my parents.’

‘They’re all gone, along with the captured partisans. We’ve heard to Heraklion and by ship. You’ve lost a lot of blood and we’ve not got a match for you so you must rest here and build up your strength.’

‘Is there news of Andreas?’

Frankakis shook his head. ‘Sadly no, but that is good news. Bad travels faster than the wind. Now rest. It is the best cure.’

How could she rest when everyone she loved was lost to her: Andreas, the baby, her parents and their heritage? What was the point of being alive when there was no future?

She felt the tingle of breast milk spilling across her bandaged chest. They were taking away the baby’s food, stopping the flow to ease her pains, but nothing would ease the ache in her heart. How could she recover from such a body blow?

Even as she cried she felt a spark of rage blazing into the life.
You will pay for this, all of you will pay for my loss. I will be avenged, even if it takes the rest of my life. I will have justice and I will defy you by living. I defy you in the name of all that is holy, someone will pay.

It was the fire of revenge that made her eat, though she had no taste or appetite; made her build the strength in her legs and arms; made her snap and snarl as she went on light hospital duties until she felt strong enough to return to the farm on the old bus. It had taken almost two months to recover and now, in the heat of August, she saw the landscape dry, scorched and brown.

Then as she approached up the track she saw an army of partisans encamped around the farmhouse in the olive groves, men in uniforms round a campfire ringed by stones. She wondered why they were here. Could it possibly be . . . Then, in the doorway of the farmhouse she saw their
kapetan,
Andreas.
Andreas!
He was talking to a woman but on seeing her running to him, he stepped back as if he’d seen a ghost and crossed himself.

‘Andreas!’ she shouted. ‘It’s me. Oh, you’re safe!’

‘They told me you were arrested, picked up in the raid. What were you doing in Chania? No one told us you were still alive.’ He seemed genuinely shocked at her arrival. ‘Look what they did to the place when they came to find you . . . ransacked it.’

‘But I’m here now.’ She fell into his arms, crying with rage. ‘Why didn’t you come for me?’

Andreas pulled her into the house, embarrassed at her making a scene. ‘Come out of the sun. I was told you went to see your parents and you were picked up and taken with them. You were on the list and they came here looking for you first and did this . . .’ He was pointing to the burned shed, the broken furniture, smashed pictures piled up outside the farmhouse, the smell of burned carcasses in the air. She couldn’t take it all in.

‘What list? Who told you that?’

‘Stavros. He escaped from prison. He saw the Jews in Agia Prison and there was a nurse taken from the Red Cross. I thought it might be you. They took Manolis and Taki. I didn’t come because I thought you were dead.’

‘I went to find you at the caves to warn you about Stavros. I saw him signalling to the enemy on the path, the morning you were nearly caught. I saw them take prisoners and I thought one of them was you at first.’

‘Nonsense, he was signalling to the other group to stay back, the band on the other side. We sensed they were coming,’ he replied. ‘Why do you always blame him?’

‘I don’t trust him. He’s not one of you,’ she snapped.

‘You’re not one of us,’ he argued, looking at her as if she was a stranger. You’re from the mainland too.’

‘What do you mean? How can you say that when you know my parents and all my family have disappeared? Aren’t you glad to see me?’ She felt such a panic. This was not her Andreas, her husband.

‘I’m sorry but we have important orders. The Allies are freeing Europe from north and south. We expect an invasion from Egypt. We are grouping to flush the enemy out of each district now we have regular supplies.’

‘Panayotis died. I was there,’ she said, hoping he would comfort her.

‘Yes, and many other brave
palliakaris
like him. We mustn’t rely on the British any more. We have our own national army, other allies now. Come, no more talking. Anna will find you something to eat.’

A black-haired girl in army uniform stepped out of the shadows. She had overheard everything. ‘This is Anna, who comes with us on missions. She can decode messages faster than anyone I know.’ He beamed at the girl and Yolanda felt sick.

‘There’s something else I must tell you,’ she whispered.

Her husband turned impatient. ‘Well?’

‘In private, please,’ she pleaded. Anna had the decency to saunter outside into the sunlight.

‘I lost our baby. They say it was the shock of seeing those looters, on top of thinking you might be dead . . .’