The Sunrise (11 page)

When the forty-day memorial service was over, it was time for the reading of the will. Trifonas Markides had left enough for his wife to live a comfortable lifestyle. There was a small legacy for each of his three surviving sisters, who lived in Cyprus, and his shares in The Sunrise were left to his daughter. There were no additional sums.

‘But what about all his other financial interests?’

‘Savvas, don’t get upset about it,’ Aphroditi said, in an attempt to mollify him. ‘He invested so much in our business. Maybe he really didn’t have much more than that.’ She was more preoccupied with the human loss than with any gains they might have made.

‘He still had the export business. I am sure he did. There are containers down at the dockside with the name Markides on the side,’ Savvas said, losing the struggle to hide his disappointment and disbelief.

With The Sunrise fully booked for the coming summer, he had already had some long phone calls with his father-in-law about totally redeveloping The Paradise Beach. Trifonas Markides had promised that he would be behind it. A hotel that would rival theirs was already under construction, and Savvas knew with a sickness in his stomach that they were going to be left behind. What had happened with the legacy was inexplicable.

Aphroditi could see how her husband felt. A black mood lay over him like a pall.

For now her attention must be on her mother, and she naturally suggested that Artemis should return with them to live in Cyprus. In reality, neither she nor Savvas did much to persuade her, knowing that she would bring her commitment to grief along with her. It was out of the question, given that Trifonas Markides was now buried in Southgate. His wife wanted to stay close to observe the memorial rites, and in any case her feelings for Cyprus had not changed.

When Aphroditi finally arrived back in Cyprus a few days after the forty-day service for her father, she could see that Costas Frangos had managed all the day-to-day issues perfectly competently, but it was clear that it was Markos Georgiou who had really kept everything running, as Savvas was keen to point out to her.

‘We are so lucky to have someone like that,’ he said. ‘He is exceptional. He has such a firm hold on the financial workings of this place. The staff like him, the clients like him—’

‘And Frau Bruchmeyer worships him,’ interjected Aphroditi. ‘Sometimes I think he leads her on …’

‘Aphroditi! Of course he doesn’t! Don’t say things like that!’

Aphroditi found it intensely annoying that her husband would never hear a word against the man who had now effectively assumed the role of second-in-command.

Buried beneath her grief was a deep resentment against Savvas for keeping her from her dying father. Her emotions were dominated by an all-pervading sense of anger that she had not been able to say goodbye.

F
OLLOWING HIS FATHER-IN-LAW’S
death, Savvas decided that if they could not build a new hotel, they should improve on the old. Apart from anything, it would provide a distraction for his grieving wife. He reluctantly met with his architect to see if they could modify the exterior of The Paradise Beach to make it more up-to-date.

Aphroditi began work on refurbishing the interiors, busying herself for some months on the project and glad to have something to occupy her.

One Friday at the end of March she was on her way to meet a fabric wholesaler, whose offices were situated in the middle of Famagusta.

It was a beautiful, clear-sky morning and cafés in the main square were full of people drinking coffee and enjoying the balmy air. The orange trees that lined the streets leading to the square were heavy with white blossom and the atmosphere was filled with sweet scent. One of the city’s main annual cultural events, the Orange Festival, was about to take place, and she passed a group of people making preparations. They were constructing a huge ship out of the fruit to be paraded through the streets in celebration of the fact that it brought so much prosperity and good health to the city.

Aphroditi browsed in the shop windows as she passed by. She had her favourites, but there were always new ones opening and fashions seemed to change every day. Next winter she might start to wear the flared trousers, the catsuits even, that many of the mannequins seemed to model, but for now she would stick to dresses. There was so much variety, in shape and colour, and a new fashion for floral.

As she came out of a shop, Aphroditi saw a familiar face. Markos Georgiou. He was sitting at a café table with a young woman and they were smiling and talking animatedly. Aphroditi had never seen her husband’s major-domo outside the environment of the hotel and had never thought of him having a personal life. First of all, she took in that he was not wearing a jacket. She had rarely seen him just in shirtsleeves, such was the formality of hotel protocol for their staff, and he was rocking back slightly in his seat, more relaxed than she had ever seen him. The woman was radiant. She had long dark hair, loose around her shoulders, and a wide smile that, like Markos’, showed a row of perfect white teeth. Aphroditi thought of her husband’s, slightly stained with nicotine.

The pair were noticeably at ease with one another, perhaps more so than many of the other couples at neighbouring tables, between whom the rapport seemed not so intimate. They looked very compatible, and Aphroditi felt a stab of envy at the sight of such companionship.

Markos got up when he saw Aphroditi. He too was conscious that they had never met outside the hotels. After so many years, it was strange. He was impeccably polite as ever and kept to the formal address he normally used with her:

‘Good morning, Kyria Papacosta,’ he said. ‘Can I introduce you …?’

Aphroditi put her hand out and quickly noticed that the other woman was struggling to get to her feet.

‘Oh, please don’t get up. I didn’t realise …!’

The young woman was heavily pregnant and her belly bumped into the edge of the table as she tried to rise. She sat down again.

‘How many …?’

‘Almost eight,’ she replied, her expression beaming. She was quite literally in bloom.

‘How exciting,’ Aphroditi said. ‘Just a month away! Well, good luck. Markos will keep us informed, won’t you, Markos?’

She turned to her husband’s right-hand man and he nodded. It was strange. Perhaps because of the charm he exuded towards female guests in the hotel, she had assumed he was single.

Aphroditi walked away. She had no wish to make further conversation with Markos. It was awkward at the best of times and she could not feign a pleasure she did not feel.

Moments after she had left, the couple were joined by another man.

Aphroditi found herself thinking of the encounter all the way to her meeting and well beyond it into the afternoon. For some reason it was disconcerting to have discovered that Markos had a wife, and even more that he was about to be a father. Exactly why it bothered her she could not explain to herself. In the past year she had begun to hope for a child and month by month had been disappointed. Perhaps this was something to do with her reaction.

The following morning, the phone rang in their apartment. Savvas had left for a meeting at The Sunrise a few hours earlier. It was a man’s voice at the end of the line. British. Aphroditi found herself shaking. Something must have happened to her mother.

‘Mrs Papacosta?’

‘Yes,’ she said, sinking into the nearest chair. Her legs could not support her. ‘Speaking.’

‘It’s George Matthews here. Matthews and Tenby Solicitors.’

There was a silence on the line. Neither of them knew if the connection had broken, as often happened.

‘We met a few months ago when your father’s will was read.’

Aphroditi needed no reminder.

‘Some other papers have come into our hands … Are you still there, Mrs Papacosta?’

‘Yes,’ she replied softly, realising that the call did not seem to be about her mother’s health.

‘It seems that your father had made changes to the ownership of his companies some time before he died. He transferred everything into your name.’

‘But the will …?’

‘This was outside of the will.’

It took Aphroditi a few seconds to take it in. Her father was canny with money and would have known how to maximise her inheritance.

‘Your mother must have known and approved of this,’ the solicitor continued.

There was a long silence from Aphroditi. She realised now that he might even have known he was dying the last time she saw him.

‘Mrs Papacosta …?’

‘I’m still here … Thanks for letting me know.’

‘Would you like any more information?’

‘Not at this moment, thank you. Not right now.’

Aphroditi wanted to tell Savvas. This news would have an enormous effect on their future. It was exactly what her husband had hoped for.

By the time George Matthews realised that the line really had gone dead, Aphroditi was already in the lift going down to street level.

She accelerated hard along the straight road to the hotel, turned through the iron gates and pulled up next to her husband’s car. With a racing heart, she ran towards the entrance.

The angle of the sun on the highly polished glass meant that she saw her own reflection clearly but everything inside was dark. She burst into the foyer and ran straight into Markos, who was on his way out. Her bag went flying, its contents skittering across the floor in a dozen directions.

Markos had never seen his boss’s wife moving at any speed greater than a dignified walk. Nor had he ever seen her look less than perfectly coiffed and groomed.

Several members of staff were instantly on their hands and knees, retrieving her possessions from under furniture and in the plants.

She had not fallen, but her irritation was unconcealed. She snatched her car keys from Markos’ hand.

‘Why the
hell
don’t you look where you are going?’ she said.

He stood silently to one side. He could do nothing but let the injustice pass. Markos had kept count of the number of times she had dismissed him in this way and added this occasion to the score.

Aphroditi made for the door marked ‘Staff Only’ in the far corner of the reception area and walked in without knocking.

‘Savvas, I have to talk to you.’

Savvas was surprised to see his wife. She looked unusually flushed, untidy almost, but she was smiling. He got up from his desk and asked Costas Frangos to come back in an hour.

Even before they were alone, Aphroditi began to tell him what had happened.

‘We won’t need this fabric any more!’ she announced triumphantly, pulling a sample from her bag. ‘We’re not going to refurbish. We’re going to rebuild!’

‘What do you mean?’ Savvas asked.

Soon Aphroditi had explained.

‘So our dream is going to come true!’ he exclaimed.

Savvas had kept the plans for his next project locked in the bottom drawer of his desk, and now rolled the blueprint out on to his desk. For the first time in ages, he smiled at his wife.

‘There’s nothing stopping us now,’ said Aphroditi.

‘Let’s call the lawyer again. We need to free up that money as soon as we can. I can get a loan to cover us until then.’

‘My father would be happy with that, I think,’ responded Aphroditi.

The temperature between them had warmed a little for the first time since the death of Trifonas Markides.

Within three months, Aphroditi had sold her father’s businesses and the finances were in place to demolish The Paradise Beach and begin the rebuild.

The new hotel would have twenty-five floors and six hundred bedrooms but it would be built to a lower specification and aimed at a less affluent market than The Sunrise. Its scale meant that profits would be fast and guaranteed. If they threw every cent they owned behind it, and worked to an accelerated schedule, paying out a premium for overtime, they could open in less than eighteen months. They made the decision together. The more they invested, the faster would be their return.

‘It might be a little while before you have any new jewellery …’ Savvas murmured in mock apology.

‘I think I have more than enough,’ said Aphroditi. ‘There aren’t enough days in the month as it is.’

This was true. During the first year of The Sunrise, when profit had flowed in almost faster than he could count it, Savvas had regularly commissioned new pieces for his wife. He bought gold by the ounce and sets of stones from different merchants so that he could calculate the initial value of the investment. A jeweller, usually Giannis Papadopoulos, who was the best in the city, was then paid a fee for design and creation, processes in which Aphroditi was closely involved. She favoured the very simple and modern but liked to add details inspired by the jewellery found in the tombs at Salamis. This added value, but the intrinsic value of the raw materials was what mattered to Savvas Papacosta.

Nowadays, Savvas had no time for anyone but the merchants who sold him concrete and glass, and he was already calculating his return in the same way as he had done with his wife’s jewels.

Irini Georgiou hardly saw her elder son these days. He was now spending from nine in the morning until four the following day at The Sunrise. He was the best front man a hotel could wish for, charming his way out of any problem or scene created by a guest, whether it was over some glitch with plumbing or an inadvertent error in a bill. Each one of them left completely satisfied and many were even under the impression that Markos was the owner.

Irini hardly saw Christos either. He was evasive or absent and she could not bear to learn the reason. Fortunately, she had something to distract her. Maria had just produced their first grandchild and Irini spent much of the day in her apartment, singing lullabies to little Vasilakis. It was a peaceful antithesis to the violence that was being perpetrated close by. Every time her husband returned from the
kafenion
with news of another EOKA B bomb attack against a police station or a politician, she held the baby closer.

H
IGH SEASON CAME
and business boomed at The Sunrise. It had quickly established itself as the number one hotel in Cyprus and they were obliged to turn potential guests away. They simply did not have enough rooms.