It wasn't really a bus station, just an area big enough for five buses and half-dozen taxis fifty yards into the old town. Buses going to and from the beaches, outlying hotels, and Ano Mera parked there. Crowds of rushing tourists funneling in and out of town were surrounded here by a bazaar of businesses catering to their holiday needs and fantasies: food shops for a fast meal and booze; kiosks selling cigarettes, postcards, phone cards, film, candy, gum, ice cream, condoms, and more; stands hawking last-minute souvenirs; motorbike and car rentals and ATM's. In quiet contrast to it all — unnoticed behind an unobtrusive wall on a eucalyptus-shaded knoll seventeen steps above the bustle — rested the recent, officially consecrated dead of Mykonos.
The van turned left up the hill. Two hundred-fifty yards later the road turned sharply to the left, then back to the right. As if by magic, the sights and sounds of the bus station disappeared. There was still traffic — and roaring motorbikes — but the crowds were gone and the view was picture-postcard Mykonos. The van slowed as if to take it all in but instead darted to the right through an opening in a low, white-capped stone wall and jerked to a sudden stop. It had to, because the parking area wasn't much deeper than the van and ended flush with the front wall of the hotel. No wasted space here. Four cars were parked in a line along the white-capped wall. Annika noticed that one was a police car.
She knew the hotel had two stories — the maximum allowed — but it was set down along the hillside and looked to be only one story from the road. Even in dim moonlight Annika made out bougainvillea and geraniums everywhere. She'd never been in the hotel, only seen it from the road, but she remembered the flowers and its view of sunsets over the bay by Little Venice, the area named for the dozen or so multicolored, three-story former pirate-captain homes on the northern side of the bay — the only such structures in all of Mykonos.
The gray-haired man quickly jumped out of the driver's seat and slid open the rear door as he said, 'Welcome to Hotel Adlantis. My name is Ilias and I am your host.' He spoke in precise English. Annika realized he hadn't introduced himself before. The Greek couple responded in Greek. Annika said hello in English and reached for her backpack.
'No, please, let me,' Ilias said in Dutch. He took her backpack and lifted the couple's two sizeable bags as if they were empty. 'This way, please.' He gestured with his head in the direction of the lobby and waited, holding all three bags, until his new guests passed in front of him. He followed with the luggage.
The lobby was on the top, street-level floor and at the rear opened onto an open-air verandah overlooking the bay. The inside was unremarkable: standard-issue white stone floor, white walls with blue trim, and a few pieces of furniture upholstered in a coarse, matching blue fabric. A white marble countertop under a white arch on the south wall served as the reception desk. A painting of the hotel's exterior hung behind the counter. It looked like something painted by a guest in exchange for a free room.
A man sitting behind the counter smiled and said 'hello' in English. Ilias put down the luggage and began talking to the man in Greek. Annika could tell from the other man's accent that he was Albanian. Ilias asked about the police car, and the man said that two cops were on the verandah. They wanted to talk to him. Ilias told the man to check everyone in 'by the book' and take the luggage to their rooms. He then excused himself from his guests and went out to the verandah.
Annika gave the man her Dutch passport, paid cash in advance for her room for two nights, and waited for the Greek couple to do the same. She walked toward the verandah and saw Ilias in animated conversation with the police. He was looking at a piece of paper and shaking with his head. She decided not to go outside. Whatever the police wanted was no business of hers, and she didn't want to seem nosy. The man behind the counter said, 'Miss,' and she turned to see him holding her backpack and waving for her to follow him.
Her room was on the lower level. It was small but neat, with glass doors that opened onto a private balcony with the promised magnificent view of a rippling silver sea against far-off shadow-black hillsides. In the distant midst of the bay she saw three towers of the Cathedral of Notre-Dame — or, if you preferred reality, the lit-up riggings of three closely anchored, otherwise invisible sloops. The outside view was far better than the inside. Another of those paintings hung in her blue-and-white room. The artist must have slept here a lot.
The man pointed toward the balcony and said, 'Keep locked at night,' then showed her how to do it. She gave him a euro and, when he left, locked all the doors. She turned off the lights and fell onto the bed. From there, she could see through the glass doors to the sea. Her eyes started tearing. This was not a view she wanted to be seeing alone. She fell asleep.
'Miss, miss.' She heard a man's voice in Dutch and quiet knocking. For an instant she wasn't sure where she was. It was still dark out. She looked at her watch. She'd only been sleeping a few minutes.
'Who is it?' Her throat was slightly dry from sleep.
'Ilias.'
Her instinct was to be pissed, but it had only been a few minutes since she'd checked in, and how was he to know she'd fallen asleep? 'Just a minute.' She stood up, turned on a light, and looked quickly in the mirror before opening the door.
He was holding a basket of fruit and a bottle of wine. 'I am sorry, I think I woke you up.'
She forced a smile. 'That's okay, I didn't mean to go to sleep this early.'
He handed her the items without trying to enter the room.
She placed them on top of the dresser next to the door. 'Thank you, that's very thoughtful.' This time her smile was sincere.
'I wanted to welcome you to Mykonos. Is this your first time here?'
She decided to lie. 'Yes.'
'Ah, then when does your boyfriend arrive?' He laughed.
Even though she knew he was fishing, she was not going to lie about that. 'I have no boyfriend.' She realized that might have sounded as if she had a girlfriend and added, 'We just broke up.'
'I'm so sorry to hear that.'
Somehow she didn't think he was.
He went on. 'So, do you have friends here?'
'No, not yet.'
'Well, now you do. Come, I make some dinner to properly welcome you to this island of my birth. I will answer all of your questions, and we will tell lies to each other of our lives and lovers.'
He could be quite charming, but this was not how she wanted to spend her first night. 'Thank you, Ilias, but not tonight.'
He smiled his usual smile. 'I understand. Perhaps tomorrow. Yiassou — excuse me, I mean good-bye.' He reached to shake her hand. She reached back out her hand and he held it. 'You are very beautiful girl, Annika Vanden Haag, do not be sad. Enjoy yourself.' He then kissed her hand and left.
This is going to be an interesting few days, she thought. They're circling like flies and I haven't even tried to look hot. I wonder what would happen if I did? That's when she decided to go out for the evening. After all, it wasn't even two yet. She walked along the edge of the road, against the traffic, toward the bus station. Though dangerous, the other side was suicide, and besides, over there men could drive alongside her as she walked. As it was, she took hardly a step without hearing some comment. One man on a motorcycle did a U-turn wheelie trying to get her attention. A group of Italian boys walking into town caught up with her and tried getting her to talk. They wouldn't leave her alone but she ignored them and kept moving down the hill. She wasn't upset; after all, she was the one who chose to wear the form-fitting, sequined teal number Peter called her 'second skin.' He said he loved the way it 'fired up the blue in her eyes' and its spaghetti straps fell from her shoulders in a suggestion of more to come. This time there wasn't much more to come. She wore only a thong underneath.