‘Only what you told me earlier.’ The reply was quick. ‘Why? Is it a nest of perverts as well as being Dopeville, Crete?’
‘Not that I know of. Stavrakakis seems like a competent type. I’m sure they’ll have English-speaking shrinks on hand.’
Cara nodded. ‘They do. But-’
There was the sound of voices in the hall. Luke Jannet came in unsteadily, followed by Alice Quincy and Rosie Yellenberg. Presumably the gorilla had admitted them.
‘Two little love birds. . how does that song go?’ the director said, heading for the drinks tray.
Alice and Rosie exchanged a glance and shook their heads.
‘So, Mavros,’ Jannet said, raising a highball glass full of Glenfiddich, ‘whatcha think of the airplanes?’
‘They were cool. Glad I wasn’t on the ground when the 109s’ bullets were real.’
The director laughed. ‘That’s what the old Brit said.’
‘Waggoner? He was wounded during the battle.’
‘Is that right? I heard he took plenty of Krauts out later.’
Mavros sipped his drink. ‘Still, making a film’s not the same as being in a war.’
There was a prolonged silence, broken by Cara Parks.
‘Luke, Maria’s still not talking.’
‘I heard that from Rosie. She’ll come round.’ Jannet’s face tightened. ‘You telling me you’re not going to show up tomorrow? Jesus, Cara, it’s the fucking massacre scene.’
Rosie Yellenberg, who had confined herself to a small glass of red wine, intervened. ‘I’ve spoken to Cara, Luke. She will be on set tomorrow.’
‘Well, thank Christ for that,’ the director said, emptying his glass. ‘Come on, we’re all going into Chania. There’s a restaurant on the harbour-front that does ace lobster.’
Mavros glanced at Cara.
‘I want to talk to Alex,’ the actress said. ‘We’ll find you later.’
Jannet raised an eye and grinned. ‘OK, you two do what ya gotta do. Come on, ladies. I get the feeling we’re cramping their style.’
‘Asshole,’ Cara said, after the trio had left.
Mavros raised his shoulders. ‘I’ve worked for worse.’
The actress held her glass out. ‘Same again, bartender. Have a refill yourself.’
‘Thank you, ma’am.’
She laughed and then a shadow fell over her face.
‘Maria will be OK,’ Mavros said, ‘I’m sure of that.’
‘How can you be sure?’ Cara demanded. ‘You aren’t a fucking brain doctor.’
‘Em, no, I’m not,’ he replied, taken aback by her venom.
‘Oh, shit.’ She bent forward, resting her forehead on her upper arm, and started to sob.
Mavros put her refilled glass on the table. He considered comforting her by word or touch, but decided against it. She was, in effect, his client, and besides, there was something he didn’t fully trust about her — he couldn’t always clearly see the line between her acting persona and her real one.
Cara sat up after a few minutes and wiped her face with a tissue. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just. . I rely on Maria so much. I can’t function without her.’
‘Can I ask a personal question?’
She took a pull of her drink. ‘As long as the answer won’t appear in some showbiz rag.’
He smiled. ‘I take client confidentiality seriously.’
‘Shoot.’
‘Were there any problems between you and Maria before she left?’
Cara stared at him. ‘Problems? What do you mean?’
He was almost convinced, but he needed to be sure. ‘The young man who was killed by your car back in LA. You were driving, weren’t you?’
The surprise on the actress’s face was genuine, but was that because the question was out of the blue or because the accusation was well founded, Mavros wondered. For a time, it looked as if she was summoning up the strength to bawl him out, but then her shoulders slumped.
‘How did you know?’ she asked hoarsely.
‘I didn’t, till now.’ He sipped Wild Turkey. ‘But I had my suspicions when we spoke about it before.’
‘Like you say, client confidentiality. You can’t tell anyone.’
He nodded. ‘Wasn’t thinking of doing so. But I would like to get to the bottom of the case I was hired to handle. Was Maria kidnapped or did she go to Kornaria willingly? What happened to her when she was there? Why isn’t she talking, even to you?’
Cara stood up quickly. ‘I can’t answer any of those questions. Come on, I need some fresh air.’
‘The front in Chania is pollution-free.’
‘Screw that,’ she said, picking up a denim jacket from the chair opposite. ‘I’ve had enough of Luke and Rosie and the crowd. There’s a bar here down by the sea. Come with me?’
The look on her face was that of a little girl asking her father to accompany her. Mavros thought about their ages — she was twenty-four and he was forty-one. At a stretch, he could be her father.
He decided against holding her hand.
From The Descent of Icarus:
In the days that followed the slaughter at Galatsi, everything passed in a blur — perhaps because of my head wound, but more likely because my spirit, my soul, whatever you might call it, was trying to withdraw into a safer, more childlike world.
I must have collapsed, because I came round in what had been an enemy hospital encampment, the British flags in shreds and the swastika on its white and red background flapping in the strong wind.
Although my head was aching, I picked up information from the men around me. Some were silent — either in exhausted sleep or drug-induced oblivion — but others were chattering excitedly.
‘The Tommies are running,’ one wheezed, his chest completely covered in bloodstained bandages. ‘Our fly boys will pick them off on the road south.’
Another one spat noisily. ‘The New Zealanders fought well. I wouldn’t like to face those Maoris again.’
‘They did a lot of bayonet work,’ a loudmouth at the end of the open tent said. ‘But we did more with our MG34s. The crows are eating the black bastards now.’
‘And the peasants who cut our boys up,’ said the first man. ‘Savages! One of them stuck a fork in my friend Willi’s neck.’
‘I hope you executed him on the spot, Private.’
There was a brief silence as the men realized who had spoken. I recognized Captain Blatter’s voice immediately.
‘Yes, sir! Except it was an old woman, sir, and I took her head off with my MP40.’
‘Good man!’ Blatter moved down the passage between the camp beds. I tried to shrink into my bed, but it was no good. ‘Ah, Private Kersten. The hero of Galatsi.’ His tone was ironic in the extreme. ‘Men, let’s have a round of applause for the sole survivor of that disaster.’ He began to clap slowly and the wounded men who were able joined in, fully aware that I was being humiliated.
I saw the doctor standing at the end of the tent. His face was expressionless, but I felt his disapproval of Blatter.
‘So, my hero, are you ready for some more of Reichsmarshall Goring’s work?’ The captain leaned over me, inspecting my bandage with a curled lip. ‘You seem well enough.’ He looked over his shoulder. ‘Doctor, can I have this man?’
I saw the medic raise his shoulders. ‘If you feel it’s completely necessary, Captain.’
‘Indeed I do.’ Blatter seized my arm and pulled me up. ‘Boots on and outside in one minute, Private,’ he ordered, turning on his heel.
I fumbled with the laces of my jump boots and tugged on my jacket.
The captain was waiting for me outside, surrounded by a group of under-officers and sergeants. ‘Gentlemen,’ he said, ‘this is Private Kersten, the heroic survivor of Galatsi. Fortunately, his head wound isn’t severe enough to have prevented him from volunteering for this afternoon’s mission.’
The others regarded me with contempt bordering on revulsion. It was clear that Blatter had told them I was a coward, who had inflicted the head wound on myself. None spoke as we marched out to a line of vehicles, the smaller of which must have been landed by the Luftwaffe. The absence of gunfire confirmed what I had heard in the hospital tent — the battle was over and the enemy absent from the area around Maleme.