Alan and Yakimov were often at Zonar’s. When Harriet went there, she found only Yakimov. He was inside and had just been served with some unusual shell-fish which were set out on a silver dish with quarters of lemon and triangles of thin brown bread. When she approached, he looked flustered as though he might have to share this elegant meal, and said: ‘Nearly fainted this morning. Lack of nourishment, y’know All right for you young people, but poor Yaki is feeling his years. Like to try one.’
‘Oh, no, thank you. I’m looking for Alan Frewen.’
‘Gone back to feed his dog.’
‘When can I find him in his office?’
‘Not before five. The dear boy seems upset. If you ask me, Lord Pinkrose upset him. The School’s been closed down – ’spose you know? – so Lord P.s’ landed back on us.’
‘And Alan doesn’t want him?’
‘Don’t quote me, dear girl. Alan’s a discreet chap; soul of discretion, you might say. And I’ve nothing against Lord P. Very distinguished man, doing important work …’
‘What sort of important work?’
‘Secret work, dear girl. And he has influential friends. This morning he said there was need here for a Director of Propaganda, so he’s cabled a friend in Cairo – an extremely influential friend …’
‘Lord Bedlington?’
‘Could be. Bedlington! Sounds familiar. Anyway, it looks as though Lord P.’ll be promoted. Sad for Alan. He didn’t say a thing, not a thing, but I thought he looked a trifle huffed.’
‘Understandably,’ said Harriet.
‘Ummm.’ Fearful of committing himself, Yakimov made a neutral murmur. In recognition of Harriet’s presence, he had lifted himself a few inches out of his chair but now cried out piteously: ‘Do sit down. I’d offer you an ouzo but I’m not even sure I can pay for this little lot.’
Harriet sat and Yakimov relaxed into his chair and squeezed lemon over the shell-fish. ‘Why don’t you order some? Give yourself a treat?’
Harriet, convinced she had only to eat a single shell-fish to be laid out with typhoid, asked: ‘What are they?’
‘Sea-urchins. Used to get them along the front at Naples. Quite a delicacy. I suggested them to the head waiter here and he said: “People wouldn’t eat them.” I said: “Good heavens, dear boy, when you think what people do eat these days.”’ Tackling the urchins with avidity, he spoke between sucks and gulps. ‘Try them; try them,’ he urged her, but Harriet, who feared strange meats, ordered a cheese sandwich.
‘Who are those women in the Billiard Room?’ she asked.
‘The Twocurrys. Gladys and Mabel. Mabel’s the batty one. Just a pair of old trouts.’
‘What do they do?’
‘Unsolved mystery, dear girl.’
‘Alan thought he could give me a job in the office.’
‘Why not?’ Yakimov, having downed the urchins as rapidly as Diocletian had downed the squid, mopped the remaining juices with the corners of bread. ‘Excellent idea!’
‘But I wouldn’t want to work for Pinkrose.’
‘War on, dear girl,’ Yakimov dismissed her qualms in a lofty way. ‘Can’t pick and choose who you’ll work for, y’know. Look at me. Must do one’s bit.’
Having eaten, he sat for a while with eyelids drooping, then slipped down inside his great-coat. ‘Time for beddy-byes,’ he said and began to doze.
Harriet, uncertain whether to remain or go, looked round for the waiter and saw Charles Warden descending from the balcony restaurant. He was looking in a speculative way in her direction and came straight to Yakimov’s side. Yakimov opened an eye and Charles Warden said: ‘I have a permit to visit the Parthenon. Why don’t you come with me?’ He turned to include Harriet: ‘Both of you,’ he added.
Roused out of sleep, Yakimov sighed: ‘Not me, dear boy. Your Yak’s not fit … overwork and underfeeding … the years tell …’ He resettled himself and slept again.
Charles Warden looked to Harriet with a smile that seemed a challenge and she got to her feet.
They walked without a word through the Plaka. While each waited for the other to speak first, Harriet observed him from the corner of her eye, seeing his firm and regular profile lifted slightly, as though he were preoccupied with some solemn matter; but she was aware of his awareness. She wanted to say something that would startle him out of his caution, but could think of nothing.
She noticed as they went through the narrow, confusing streets, that he led her with unhesitating directness to the steps that climbed the Acropolis hill. On the way up, he asked abruptly: ‘Where do you live in Athens?’
‘Beside the Ilissus. It’s a classical site.’
This remark amused him and he said: ‘The Ilissus runs right through Athens.’
‘It doesn’t!’
‘I assure you. Most of it’s underground, of course.’
‘We are a long way out. Half-way to the Piraeus. A rather deserted area, but not so deserted as I thought at first. You can see a few little houses on the other side of the river and, of course, people live near the Piraeus Road. They’re quite friendly; they recognize us because we employ Anastea. I like it better now. It’s home of sorts.’
He said: ‘I’d be quite happy to have a home of any sort.’ He told her he had stayed, when he first came, at the Grande Bretagne, but had been crowded out when the Mission arrived. They had had to find him a room at the Corinthian.
‘That’s nothing to complain about.’ From nervousness, she spoke rather sharply and he looked disconcerted, supposing she intended some reflection on young military men who manage to get themselves billeted in the best hotels. He stared into the distance, and she knew they would return to their difficult silence if she could not think of something to say. She said: ‘You seem to know Athens quite well.’
‘I was here before the war.’
‘Did you know Cookson then?’
‘He was a friend of my people. I was staying with him when the war started.’
‘It must be pleasant there in summer?’
‘Yes, but we had the war hanging over us.’
‘I know. And it was a beautiful summer. Were you on holiday?’
‘Not altogether. I came to learn demotic.’
‘You did languages?’
‘Classics.’
‘You’ve got a classics degree?’
‘No. I hadn’t time. I’ll go back after the war.’
She realized he must be two, even three, years younger than she, and not much older than Sasha. His youth had an untouched brilliance like something newly minted. She felt he had done nothing; experienced nothing. The whole of his life lay ahead. To keep him talking, she said: ‘I suppose you were posted here because you speak Greek?’
‘Yes.’ He gave a laugh. She wondered if he found her questions inapposite or naïve? He looked at her, smiling, expectant of more, but she refused to say more.
Walking round the base of the Acropolis, they were conscious of tension that could, in a moment, spark into misunderstanding.
Since Harriet had last climbed up, a change had come over the rocky flank of the hill. The first rains had been enough to bring the earth to life. Every patch of ground was becoming overlaid with a nap of tiny shoots, so tender that to tread on them was to destroy them.
Seen from this height the green spreading over the Areopagus seemed not a composite of yellow and blue but a primary colour, lucid and elemental.