The Sunrise (10 page)

For Savvas, expenditure of any kind had to be for a purpose and needed justification, whether it was for a certain grade of marble in the bathrooms or a piece of jewellery for his wife. Savvas divided income by number of guests by number of rooms occupied and then calculated profit. For him, it was maths not emotion.

He applied the same principle to staff. His criteria for recruitment were similarly clinical. He wanted the best people working in his hotel and he did not care who they were, as long as they arrived early for their shifts, did their jobs faultlessly, did not steal from guests and did not ask for pay rises.

It was this pragmatic philosophy that had led to The Sunrise having a balance of Greek and Turkish Cypriots among the staff, a ratio that also happened to reflect their relative proportions on the island. For every Turkish Cypriot there were four Greek Cypriots, and all of them (even if Turkish was their first language) spoke both Greek and English. There were a few Armenians and Maronites too. For the foreign guests there was little possibility of differentiating one from another. Every member of staff had to work hard to please the boss, whatever their ethnic origin, whether they went to the mosque or church. What they did and where they went outside working hours was their own business. By the end of the year, the hotel was employing one thousand people.

Though Savvas Papacosta himself was not particularly interested in the cultural richness of Cyprus, he did make one concession in the hotel. Once a week, he agreed that there should be a Cypriot Night, with local recipes along with traditional dancing.

On these nights, both Greek and Turkish Cypriot members of staff were asked to demonstrate the steps, wearing specially made local costumes. The men looked dashing in their red waistcoats and sashes, baggy knickerbockers and long leather boots, and the women were pretty in their full-length gathered crimson skirts and white blouses. No one was obliged to take part, but it was noted if they did not. From time to time Emine persuaded Hüseyin to join in. He could earn some extra money that way and he could dance effortlessly.

Although every nationality found the steps challenging (especially the American guests), they were enamoured of the food, getting a flavour for the first time of the ‘real’ Cyprus. The French-trained maestro chef took the night off, and two chefs from the best tavernas in Nicosia were brought in. They came with trays of ready-made specialities and then spent the day preparing more. Greedily, guests piled their plates high with meatballs, halloumi
cheese, stuffed vine leaves and
kleftiko
, and were ecstatic at the range of desserts,
kataifi
, baklava and every type of Turkish sweetmeat. For many, it was their first taste of
zivania,
which was served in generous quantities, and the hotel had even taken delivery of some cheap china so that guests could write on their postcards, ‘Having a smashing time!’

Fuelled with alcohol and sweet pastry, guests danced until midnight and then adjourned to the Clair de Lune to dance a little more. When they emerged from the purple and the darkness, they crossed the foyer and stood on the terrace to watch the sun emerging over the horizon. Just as Savvas Papacosta had always intended, The Sunrise provided the best place from which to observe this daily phenomenon. It was a truly awe-inspiring sight.

T
HE BEACH BECAME
a little quieter at the beginning of October, but work continued for Hüseyin. He was asked to mend broken loungers and umbrellas, and after that helped repair the hotel boat. This was followed by several other maintenance jobs on the beachfront. Similarly the salon had slightly fewer customers and Emine was able to take a little time off, which she used to visit some of her more elderly clients who liked to have their hair cut or permed at home.

One of these was Irini Georgiou, who lived in the same street. For the first time in several months, Emine went to see her, taking shampoo and a few rollers. While she waited for Irini’s hair to set, they had plenty of time to gossip and catch up on each other’s news.

‘Markos is doing so well,’ said Irini proudly.

‘The nightclub is obviously a huge success,’ Emine replied. ‘So many customers tell us about it! One of our regulars is a German lady – easily seventy years old – who goes there every night!’

‘Markos has mentioned her,’ said Irini. ‘And what about your Hüseyin?’

‘Well he’s certainly earned himself a bit of money in the last few months. I don’t know if he wants to be on the beachfront for ever, but at least it gives him time for his sport …’

Neither woman brought up the subject of politics. The summer had been a period of intense political instability, of which they had both been aware. Earlier in the year there had been the threat of a military coup against Makarios, and Turkey had put its forces on alert. Turkish Cypriots had even been told to store up food supplies in their homes, and Emine had filled her cupboards. The coup had been averted but Makarios had continued to face opposition, from some of his own bishops now as well as the Greek junta. This ongoing threat and fear made both the women anxious and sleepless, but had had miraculously little effect on tourism.

In his financial forecasting, Savvas Papacosta had expected a steep decline in bookings to begin in the autumn. Despite this he had projected there would be a sizeable profit. What he had not anticipated was that people who had come in July would want to return again in November. This meant that occupancy of the hotel was still at fifty per cent. Temperatures were balmy and the sun warm and kind, and the sea promised to hold its heat. The glamorous shops and smart cafés in the city remained open and the Clair de Lune was full to capacity each night.

Once a week, Aphroditi telephoned her parents. Trifonas took a keen interest in everything happening at The Sunrise, and most of the phone call was taken up with answering his flow of questions. Aphroditi was very surprised one day in November when it was her mother who picked up the phone rather than her father. She could hear Trifonas Markides coughing in the background and gathered that he was not even feeling well enough to play golf.

She wondered if she should go and visit them.

‘I’d rather you left it a while,’ urged Savvas. ‘Guests like to see us. Or to see
you
at least …’

It was not an idle compliment. Aphroditi’s presence thrilled the female guests in the way that the nightclub artistes excited their husbands. What would she have on that night? Would she be wearing some spectacular jewellery? All such questions were on their minds.

‘But I’m a bit worried about—’

‘Why don’t you wait until January? There’s bound to be a drop in bookings after Christmas. It would be a much better time.’

A moment passed while his words sank in.

‘But …’

‘You
can’t
go now.’

‘Savvas! I think my father is—’

‘I’ve
told
you what I think.’ He banged his fist on the table. ‘We have to put all our energy into this enterprise, Aphroditi.’

It was the first time she had realised that for Savvas, work came before everything else. And it was the first time he had shouted at her.

She retreated, shaking with anger and shock. For several days she came to the hotel to perform her duties as the boss’s wife, but she did not speak a word to her husband.

The popularity of the nightclub never waned. It did not depend on sunshine, and there were more than enough wealthy businessmen in Cyprus wanting whisky and entertainment. Markos found new and better acts all the time and kept the fine brands coming in.

The well-heeled came midweek and the politicians mostly at weekends. They all stayed until dawn. Their host not only knew them by name but also who needed to be given tables where. He read several newspapers a day and was aware of any rivalry or animosity among the clientele. If his tact had not been exemplary, many of them would have reluctantly gone elsewhere. The Clair de Lune was the place to be.

Markos’ confidence swelled as his nightclub became key to his boss’s own ambitions. He basked in the praise and respect his clients, colleagues and even competitors gave him. Everyone, in fact, except Aphroditi Papacosta seemed to recognise his talent. To celebrate the first successful quarter since the opening, he treated himself to three new hand-tailored suits, all of them with the wider lapels that were the latest fashion, and gentle flares shaped to conceal his heeled boots. The elegant cut of the suits accentuated his slimness and made him look taller.

When he got to work late each afternoon to ensure that everything was in place in the nightclub, Aphroditi Papacosta was usually arriving at The Sunrise too. One day in December, they came face to face at the entrance. The doorman held open the door and Markos naturally stood aside to let Aphroditi pass. He noticed, as always, how she smiled at the hotel manager with both eyes and mouth.

Something altered when she looked at Markos. Her lips moved, but the subtle creases around her eyes seemed to have disappeared. Her eyes were empty.

‘Good evening,’ she said politely.

‘Good evening, Kyria Papacosta,’ he replied. ‘
Ti kanete?
How are you?’

It was absurd to use such formal language, but even after all this time she had not invited him to call her by her first name, and on this occasion, just as on many others, she did not even bother to reply.

Savvas was crossing the reception area to greet his wife. As happened on the days when he did not collect her from their apartment, she was a little late. Some guests were already gathered in the bar, and she should have been there beforehand.

‘Markos! All well?’ asked Savvas.

Without waiting for an answer, he turned away, taking Aphroditi’s arm and steering her abruptly towards the terrace bar. Markos saw Aphroditi pull away, but he had already left a mark, like a bangle.

Markos went down into the Clair de Lune to make sure that glasses gleamed, bottles were lined up in the right order and bar stools were equidistant from each other. This purple underworld was his to arrange. He brushed his hand across the arm of one of the velvet chairs to move the pile in the right direction, and then pushed a little stack of cocktail napkins more centrally on to the bar. They were printed with ‘Clair de Lune’.

When he was happy that everything was in order, he went up to the main bar in case he could be of use. He knew Savvas appreciated him being there.

It was busy that night. The hotel was laying on a gala dinner for the feast of Agios Nikolaos. Markos was walking past a crowd of guests on his way towards the bar when an arm reached out like a road barrier to halt him. He recognised the ornate bracelet modelled on an ancient design and the sapphire ring that matched it. It was Aphroditi who had stuck out her hand to give him an empty glass.

It was a peremptory gesture. He had no choice but to take it before continuing on his way. It was a silent exchange of contempt and resentful servitude.

Markos greeted the bar staff and then walked to the other side of the terrace to talk to some new guests. The air was still balmy enough for them to be outside. First of all he would say something to make them laugh, then he would enthral them with his description of the cabaret for that evening, before moving on to another group. By the time dinner was served, he knew that all the tables in the Clair de Lune would be full that night.

Aphroditi was always conscious of Markos Georgiou’s whereabouts in the room. Wherever there was laughter, he was at the centre of it.

At the end of the year, Savvas reported that the profits of the hotel were double what he had anticipated. The main source of this income came from the success of the nightclub.

‘Of all the staff we have, that man is our greatest asset,’ he said to his wife.

Aphroditi listened silently, forcing a smile.

By the time January came, there were just a few residential guests, but the restaurant and bar continued to be popular and the Clair de Lune never shut its doors before four in the morning. Even though there were a few pieces of upholstered furniture that needed ordering, Aphroditi essentially felt redundant. Her role had run its course.

When she rang her parents one weekend, nobody picked up the phone. She knew immediately that something was very wrong. The Markides never went out on a Sunday evening. Several hours later, the phone rang in the apartment. It was her mother.

‘Your father’s in hospital,’ she said. ‘Can you come?’

Aphroditi could scarcely understand what her mother was saying. The words ‘tests’ and ‘weight loss’ were almost lost in her muffled sobs.

She got the first available flight to London, but it was Tuesday by the time she arrived.

The tests to which Artemis referred had confirmed that Trifonas Markides’ lung cancer, caused by his sixty-a-day habit, was inoperable. His condition deteriorated very rapidly.

When she arrived at the hospital from Heathrow, Aphroditi found her mother holding her father’s cold hands. He had died an hour before.

Both mother and daughter were initially paralysed by shock, but they were soon lost in the twin mires of grief and paperwork. Both of them knew how things were done in Cyprus, but here they were adrift. There was so much to organise, so many formalities, and the complexities of a UK funeral to be arranged. Trifonas Markides had plenty of friends in the Greek community close by, and they rallied round, wives bustling and making food, husbands giving sound and practical advice.

Savvas arrived thirty-six hours later.

‘Darling, I am so sorry,’ he said uselessly.

Sorry for what? she wondered. For keeping her away from her father until it was too late? For that she would never forgive him.

Mother and daughter continued to weep, their mourning full of real anguish. Savvas was excluded from their circle of sorrow.

During the weeks that followed the death and the funeral, Savvas came and went several times, leaving Aphroditi with her mother. Whenever he left Cyprus, he was confident that The Sunrise was in good hands. Markos Georgiou knew exactly how he liked things to be run, even better than Costas Frangos.