I wondered where this was going.
“Yes, in a loft.”
“With a harbor view?”
“As a matter of fact, yes.” I was in the trendy address stage. “You?”
He shrugged. “I travel all the time. No time for room mates. I don’t keep a permanent address. It’s wherever I’m working at the time.”
“What kind of work do you do?” I asked, intrigued with what kind of job didn’t permit a permanent address.
“Consulting.”
“That covers a multitude of sins. Intelligence, computers, security, home improvements?”
He smiled and changed the subject.
“Where are you staying on Cyprus?” he asked.
I hadn’t made plans past the first night until I saw what would happen with my aunt, and she was being detained in Larnaca where we would land. I hedged. “I’m booked at the Golden Bay Hotel in Larnaca for the first night and after that I haven’t decided. I usually stay with friends. I only have a week. Just wanted a little change of scenery.”
So I lied. I was spinning a nice little web for myself, but something made me hold back telling him the real reason for my trip. It was probably that sneaky little inner voice.
The flight attendant pushed the refreshment cart to our aisle, demanding our attention.
“Excuse me, miss,” said the attendant with the Mediterranean dark eyes lined in black pencil and highlighted with bright blue eye shadow, lots of it. “Would you care for another drink?”
“Yes, please. I’ll have another glass of red wine.” I needed more than these little one glass servings.
The attendant passed my wine, and Zach got another round of bourbon.
“Where will you be staying?” I asked.
“I booked at the Golden Bay for the first night, too. I’m going on to the Coral Beach Resort north of Pafos after that.”
What a coincidence that we’d be in the same hotel for the first night.
“Nice five star hotel, the Coral Beach,” I said. “I’ve stayed there. Pafos is great. I love the west side of the island.”
“Maybe we can get together,” he said. The suggestion I thought I saw in his eyes for an instant obliterated my aunt’s dilemma, and my resolve to swear off men forever.
Turbulence delayed the flight from Athens to Cyprus for two hours, so by the time I got through customs at Larnaca International Airport Saturday night, it was nearly midnight on Cyprus, too late to visit Aunt Elizabeth in jail or locate anyone official who might know something.
Zach and I shared an old black Mercedes taxi to the Golden Bay with a driver who drove like a madman, the normal way to drive on Cyprus. At the entrance to the hotel Zach paid the driver who promptly took off, and the porter trundled our luggage inside. I fumbled in my purse for money to help pay the fare, but Zach shook his head and steered me toward the reception desk, his hand at my back.
The hotel foyer sparkled in white marble. Polished brass railings framed an open stairway that rose from the main floor to the second. A tall vase of bird-of-paradise graced a brass table at the base of the stairs. Off to the left was the reception area, trimmed in trailing plants and imitation Greek statues. A solitary clerk in maroon uniform with gold braid stood at attention to receive us. We checked in, the clerk smiling politely and speaking in Greek-accented English.
At the elevator Zach said, “How about breakfast together in the morning?”
His invitation I found flattering. This looked like more than a one night stand. After all we had spent the night together — me, trying to sleep wrapped up in a navy airplane blanket with my child sized pillow uncomfortably propped against the window, and him, watching movies. But the breakfast proposition posed a quandary. I had planned to try to see my aunt first thing, even though it was Sunday, and I didn’t know if the jail would be open to visitors.
I decided to keep my options open. “Gee, I need to catch up on my sleep. Maybe late brunch.”
“Call me when you get up. After brunch maybe we can do a little sightseeing.”
“Sure,” I said, even though I wasn’t sure about anything.
In my room sounds of the sea drew me to the balcony that overlooked a courtyard below, where a lighted pool glowed aquamarine in the night. Beyond I could make out the gentle white crests of Mediterranean waves. The smell of the sea was thick in the air, and I breathed the exotic, heady fragrance of Cyprus.
I was wide awake. My body was confused as to what time it should be. A seven hour time difference was a lot to acclimate to. My thoughts turned to Zach. After spending twenty four hours with him, I felt like we were old friends, that I had known him a long time. I wondered how it happened that some people I liked instantly upon meeting and others I couldn’t stand.
My mind nibbled around the plausibility of my aunt being a thief. Here was a person I had known and trusted all my life, and thief didn’t fit the picture. This was a person who wouldn’t remove a hairpin from my dresser without asking me first. Of course, given her past behavior, I knew her logic could be skewed at times. I also knew she adored souvenirs, but could she have turned to theft to get them?
I needed to talk to someone.
Even though it was late, I decided to call Yannis, who lived in Pafos and tended to be a night owl. He knew everyone on Cyprus through an intricate web of relatives, most of whom he referred to as cousin. I had long ago stopped trying to figure out the web. Like many of the locals, he spoke excellent British English while my Greek had never progressed past the tourist stage.
“Ney,” I said to the operator, hoping for an English speaking one. “Parakalo, Pafos 357-5-781711.
“Yes, miss. One minute, please,” she said in clipped English.
I heard a vigorous, “Ney, ney?”
“Yannis, darling,” I said, relieved to hear his voice.
“Who is speaking, please?”
“Guess.”
“It sounds like an American Princess I know.”
“It is. It is.” I laughed in delight and relief at getting through to him.
“It is great to hear your voice. How is Boston and when are you coming to see us?”
“Sooner than you think. I’m in Larnaca. I tried to call yesterday before I left the States but couldn’t get through.”
“Larnaca? You didn’t tell me you were coming. You always call ahead. Is everything okay?”
“Not exactly. I got bad news. Something awful has happened.” I jumped right into the dilemma. “Aunt Elizabeth was here on vacation, and she’s been detained in Larnaca on smuggling charges.”
Yannis hooted. “Claudie, you had too much wine on the trip over, I think.” He continued to chuckle, somewhat to my annoyance.
“I know this sounds absurd, but it’s true. I managed to get through to the police before I came. They verified that airport security detained Elizabeth Davies, U.S. citizen, in jail on the charge of smuggling antiquities in her carryon. They suspect she’s the leader of the smuggling ring.”
“No. You aren’t kidding, are you? Your aunt? She is not a criminal. Perhaps her bags got mixed with someone else’s.”
“That’s the obvious explanation. But I’ve been unable to drag any more information out of the authorities, and since it’s the weekend I’ve not been able to get in touch with anyone at the American Embassy.”
I huffed a little sigh, hoping he’d rescue the damsel in distress and jump in with an offer of assistance. It doesn’t hurt to work the male ego when it suits the purpose.
“Do you know if your aunt went to the Turkish sector this time? You know that was the problem one time when she was leaving the country, and the officials saw the Turkish stamp on her passport.”
Cyprus is a divided country since the Turks invaded the North coast of the island in 1974 and refused to leave. Bad blood between Cypriot Greeks and Turks is legendary.