Authors: Victoria Hislop

The Island (32 page)

BOOK: The Island

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It was also the day that Anna had promised to visit. There were still some of her possessions in the house and she might want to take them when she went home again. Some were her childhood toys. Perhaps Anna would need them soon, mused Maria. Surely there would be a baby in the Vandoulakis home before long.

A spring-clean in autumn-time. The small house was generally tidy - Maria always saw to that - but there was an old dresser stuffed with bowls and plates that were rarely used but could do with a wash, furniture that needed a polish, candle-sticks that looked tarnished and many picture frames that she had not dusted for months.

As Maria worked, she listened to the radio, humming along to the music that crackled over the airwaves. It was three o’clock in the afternoon.

One of her favourite Mikis Theodorakis songs was on the radio. Its energetic bouzouki made an ideal accompaniment to cleaning, so she turned the volume up as high as it would go. The music drowned out the sound of the door being opened, and with her back turned, Maria did not see Anna slip in and take a seat.

Anna sat there for some ten minutes watching Maria work. She had no intention of helping her, got up as she was in a dress of finest white cotton embroidered with tiny blue flowers. What perverse satisfaction she derived from seeing her sister toil in this way, but how she could seem so happy and carefree, singing while she scrubbed shelves, made no real sense to Anna. When she thought of the man Maria was about to marry, however, she understood perfectly. Her sister must be the happiest woman in the world. How she hated that. She shifted in her seat, and Maria, suddenly hearing the scrape of wood on the stone floor, started.

‘Anna!’ she shrieked. ‘How long have you been sitting there? Why didn’t you tell me you were here?’

‘I’ve been here for ages,’ said Anna languidly. She knew it would annoy Maria to know that she had been watching her.

Maria climbed down from the chair and took off her apron.

‘Shall I make us some lemonade?’ she asked, instantly forgiving her sister’s deception.

‘Yes please,’ Anna said. ‘It’s quite hot for September, isn’t it?’

Maria busily halved a few lemons, squeezing them hard into a jug, and diluted the juice with water, vigorously stirring in sugar as she did so. They both drank two glasses before either of them spoke again.

‘What are you doing?’ asked Anna. ‘Don’t you ever stop working?’

‘I’m getting the house ready for when Father is on his own here,’ answered Maria. ‘I’ve cleared out a few things you might need.’ She indicated a small pile of toys: dolls, a flute, even a child’s weaving loom.

‘You might need those just as soon as me,’ snapped Anna defensively. ‘No doubt you and Manoli will be hoping to continue the Vandoulakis name once you’re married.’

She could barely contain her jealousy of Maria and this single sentence carried all her resentment. Even she no longer relished her childlessness. The abandoned lemon skins which lay crushed and dry on the table in front of her were no less barren and bitter than she.

‘Anna, what’s the matter?’ There was no avoiding such a question, even if it meant treading closer than Maria felt she ought. ‘Something is wrong. You can tell me, you know.’

Anna had no intention of confiding in Maria. It was the last thing she planned to do. She had come to see her father, not to have a tête-à-tête with her sister.

‘There’s nothing the matter,’ she snapped. ‘Look, I might call on Savina and come back a bit later when Father returns.’

As Anna turned to leave, Maria noticed that her sister’s back was damp, the fine fabric of her tightly fitting dress transparent with sweat. That there was something troubling her was as crystal clear as the water in a rock pool, but Maria realised that she was not going to find out. Perhaps Anna would confide in Savina and Maria could find out indirectly what the problem was. For so many years her older sister’s emotions had been easy to read; they were like the posters that went up on every tree and building advertising the time and date of a concert. Nothing had been hidden. Now everything seemed so tightly wrapped up, so swaddled and secret.

Maria continued cleaning and polishing for an hour or so longer until Giorgis returned. Perhaps for the first time, she did not feel anguished about leaving him. He looked strong for a man of his age and she knew for sure that he would survive without her being there. Nowadays he did not seem too bowed down with the world’s worries, and she knew the companionship of his friends in the village bar meant that lonely evenings were thankfully rare.

‘Anna came by earlier,’ she said chattily. ‘She’ll be returning quite soon.’

‘Where has she gone then?’ Giorgis asked.

‘To see Savina, I think.’

At that moment Anna walked in. She embraced her father warmly and the two sat down to chat as Maria made drinks for them both. Their conversation skimmed all the surfaces. What had Anna been doing? Had she finished all the work on her two houses? How was Andreas? The questions Maria wanted to hear her father asking - Was Anna happy? Why did she so rarely come to Plaka? - went unasked. Not a word of Maria’s forthcoming wedding was mentioned, not the slightest reference was made to it. The hour went quickly and then Anna rose to go. They said their farewells and Giorgis accepted an invitation to visit the Elounda house for Sunday lunch in just over a week’s time.

After supper, when Giorgis had gone to the
kafenion
, Maria decided to do one last task. She kicked off her shoes to climb on to a rickety chair so that she could reach into the back of a tall cupboard and, as she stepped up, she noticed a strange mark on her foot. Her heart missed a beat. In some lights it might scarcely have been visible. It was like a shadow but in reverse, a patch of dry skin that was slightly paler than the rest. It almost looked as though she had burned her foot in the sun and the skin had peeled off to leave the lighter pigment underneath. Perhaps it was nothing at all to worry about, but she felt sick with anxiety. Maria usually bathed at night, and in the dim light such a thing could have gone unnoticed for months. She would confide in Fotini later, but she did not plan to worry her father about it yet. They all had quite enough to think about at the moment.

That night was the most troubled Maria had ever endured. She lay awake almost until dawn. She could not know for certain and yet she entertained little doubt about this patch. The hours of darkness passed with aching slowness as she tossed and turned and fretted with fear. When she finally fell into a brief and fitful sleep, she dreamt of her mother and of huge stormy seas which wrecked Spinalonga as though it was a great ship. It was a relief when day broke. She would go and see Fotini early. Her friend was always up by six o’clock, tidying away dishes from the night before and preparing food for the following one. It seemed she worked harder than anyone in the village, which was especially tough on her given that she was now in the third trimester of her pregnancy.

‘Maria! What are you doing here so early?’ Fotini exclaimed. She could see that there was something on her friend’s mind. ‘Let’s have some coffee.’

She stopped working and they sat down together at the big table in the kitchen.

‘What
is
the matter?’ asked Fotini. ‘You look as though you haven’t had a wink of sleep. Are you getting nervous about the wedding or something?’

Maria looked up at Fotini, the shadows under her eyes as dark as her untouched coffee. Her eyes welled with tears.

‘Maria, what is it?’ Fotini reached out and covered her friend’s hand with her own. ‘You must tell me.’

‘It’s this,’ said Maria. She stood up and put her foot on the chair, pointing to the faded patch of dry skin. ‘Can you see it?’

Fotini leaned over. She now understood why her friend had looked so anxious this morning. From the leaflets regularly distributed in Plaka, everyone round here was familiar with the first visible symptoms of leprosy, and this looked very like one of them.

‘What do I do?’ Maria said quietly, tears now pouring down her cheeks. ‘I don’t know what to do.’

Fotini was calm.

‘For a start, you mustn’t let anyone round here know about this. It could be nothing and you don’t want people jumping to conclusions, especially the Vandoulakis family. You need to get a proper diagnosis. Your father brings that doctor home from the island nearly every day, doesn’t he? Why don’t you ask him to have a look?’

‘Dr Lapakis is a good friend of Father’s, but he’s almost too close and someone might get to hear of it. There was another doctor. He used to come over before the war. I can’t even remember his name but I think he worked in Iraklion. Father would know.’

‘Why don’t you try and see him then? You’ve plenty of excuses for going to Iraklion with your wedding round the corner.’

‘But it means telling my father,’ Maria sobbed. She tried to wipe the tears from her face, but still they flowed. There was no avoiding this. Even if it could be kept secret from everyone else, Giorgis would
have
to know, and he was the one Maria would most have liked to protect.

Maria returned home. It was only eight o’clock but Giorgis was already out, and she knew she would have to wait until the evening to speak to him. She would distract herself by continuing with the work she had begun the day before, and she threw herself into it with renewed vigour and energy, polishing furniture until it gleamed and picking the dust with her fingernail from the darkest corners of every cupboard and drawer.

At around eleven o’clock there was a knock at the door. It was Anna. Maria had already been awake for seven hours. She was exhausted.

‘Hello, Anna,’ she said quietly. ‘Here again so soon?’

‘I left something behind,’ Anna answered. ‘My bag. It must have got tucked down behind the cushion.’

She crossed the room and there, sure enough, concealed beneath a cushion, was a small bag in the same fabric as the dress she had been wearing the day before.

‘There, I knew it would be there.’

Maria needed a rest.

‘Would you like a cold drink?’ she asked from her elevated position on a stool.

Anna stood looking at her, transfixed. Maria shifted uncomfortably and climbed down from the stool. Her sister’s eyes followed her but they were trained on her bare feet. She had noticed the sinister mark and it was too late for Maria to conceal it.

‘What’s that patch on your foot?’ she demanded.

‘I don’t know,’ said Maria defensively. ‘Probably nothing.’

‘Come on, let me see it!’ said Anna.

Maria was not going to fight with her sister, who now bent down to have a closer look at her foot.

‘I think it’s nothing, but I am going to have it checked,’ she said firmly, standing her ground.

‘Have you told Father about it? And has Manoli seen it?’ Anna asked.

‘Neither of them knows about it yet,’ answered Maria.

‘Well, when are they going to know? Because if you’re not going to tell them, then I’m going to. It looks like leprosy to me,’ Anna said. She knew as well as Maria what a diagnosis of leprosy would mean.

‘Look,’ said Maria, ‘I shall tell Father tonight. But no one else is to know. It may be nothing.’

‘You’re getting married in less than a month, so don’t leave it too long to find out. As soon as you know the truth, you’re to come and let me know.’

Anna’s tone was distinctly bullying, and the thought even crossed Maria’s mind that she was relishing the thought of her sister being leprous.

‘If I haven’t heard from you within a fortnight or so, I’ll be back.’

With that, she was gone. The door banged shut behind her. Apart from Maria’s pounding heart, a faint whiff of French perfume was the only evidence that Anna had ever been there.

That night, Maria showed Giorgis her foot.

‘It’s Dr Kyritsis we ought to go and see,’ he said. ‘He works at the big hospital in Iraklion. I’ll write to him straight away.

He said little more than that, but his stomach churned with fear.

Chapter Fifteen

BOOK: The Island

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