The Windmill of Kalakos Read online

  “Whereabouts is this villa situated with regard to the town of Rhodes?” she asked. “I haven’t been able to see a map yet. When I came from the airport in a taxi, I couldn’t see much of the surroundings, and I haven’t yet had a chance to explore.”

  Almost instantly his manner changed and she was quelled before he even spoke. “Oh, I can’t spare you for sightseeing,” he said impatiently. “I thought you understood that.”

  Jacynth looked away and waited a few seconds before speaking. She had imagined that while he was in this rather more cordial mood he might be inclined to give her permission for at least a few hours off duty.

  Yet she was determined to stand her ground. “I didn’t mean time for sightseeing,” she said in an even tone. “But if I’m to have any free time at all, I should like to be able to plan it.”

  His dark eyebrows went up and stayed there. “Oh? And what do you intend to plan?”

  “At least I might want to do a little shopping,” she retorted.

  “Shopping?” The way he repeated the word one would have assumed that she had announced her desire to go out gambling all night at the casino. “You girls think of nothing but how to idle away your time.”

  She gave him such a steely glance that he added, rather grudgingly, “Not that you’ve idled since you came—when you did eventually arrive.”

  He rose from the table and pressed a bell that evidently summoned Caterina, who came in a few moments to clear away the dishes.

  “Now—where did we get to?” He had already moved to the table where Jacynth worked and she had to resume her place opposite him, but inside she was seething with fury. He had ignored the question of free time., but in such a way that she was prevented from making any arrangements. Fleetingly, she thought of Ray and wondered if he would contact her again, in view of the fact that she had not turned up tonight at the meeting place.

  In London before she left she had not been warned that she might be expected to work seven days a week or that the length of a working day extended far into the evening. All right, she vowed, smouldering, if that was the way he wanted it, that was the way he would have it. When she really needed something from a shop, she would ask with elaborate politeness if he would direct her to the nearest likely place, or, better still, ask him to purchase the article for her and see how he liked being errand boy. The corners of her mouth quivered with suppressed laughter and she bent her head over her typewriter

  “What’s amusing you?” he demanded. “A few moments ago you were sulking because I refused to let you gad about the town on the pretext of shopping. Now you’re smiling at some secret joke.”

  She coloured swiftly, appalled at the way he must have been watching her facial expressions. She straightened her face into composure. “It was nothing. I didn’t know I was smiling.”

  For an hour the two continued to work over reports and letters and estimates, but then Jacynth began to make typing mistakes through sheer tiredness. It had been a long day with an early start and now a very late finish. Apart from the lengthy number of hours, there had been these encounters with Mallory and if he were going to alternate hectoring spells with more genial interludes, then she needed to fortify herself against the contrariness of his moods. She sighed as yet again she had to make erasures with an old-fashioned disc rubber instead of the modern correction papers.

  “Yes, we’d better call it a day,” came Mallory’s resigned voice.

  A day? she thought angrily. Only a day and a half! Did he expect her to work like this all the time? He was nothing but a bullying slave-driver and that lighthearted atmosphere between her and her employer was completely dissipated by now. “I’ll retype that page tomorrow morning,” she promised coolly. “I’m too tired to see what I’m doing.”

  Anyone with a grain of consideration would have apologised for working her to death, but not Mallory Brendon, apparently. As she tidied away the papers and folders, covered her typewriter, she was aware of his scrutiny and she dared not look at him.

  She managed to say “Goodnight, Mr. Brendon” and escape from the room before she either burst into tears of weariness or told him flatly to his face exactly what she thought of him. Neither course would probably have made the slightest difference, she reflected, as she undressed and prepared herself for bed.

  The next day was Sunday and this time she was more cautious than to walk about in the garden before breakfast. In fact, she went into the office downstairs just before nine o’clock, ready to martyr herself to an unjust man.

  To her surprise, on top of her typewriter was a map of the island of Rhodes, and a street map of the city. She studied the latter, but without knowing the name of the street in which the Villa Kalakos was situated, she was still uncertain of the distance to the walled city. All she had so far discovered was that the villa was only a few yards from the seashore, but as apparently the city lay on the north-eastern point of the island, she could not be sure which coast.

  She was about to take the map to Caterina and ask for directions, when Mallory came into the room. His eyes were dark and glittering, but whether with anger, irritation or some form of personal triumph, Jacynth could not be sure.

  “You’re free for the day, Miss Rowan,” he barked. “I gather that’s what you wanted, so there’s no need to make a martyr of yourself.”

  She coloured instantly, aware of her own resolve to that end, and she saw his pointed glance at the uncovered typewriter.

  “It’s Sunday,” he continued, “and I also have some engagements of my own.”

  Before she could even thank him, let alone ask for information about the map, he had slammed the door behind him.

  She let out a gasp, then sank down on her chair, for her knees felt like giving way. Of all the unpredictable men! Why couldn’t he have said last night that she could have the day off? But no, he had to ignore her tentative request, then hurl a day’s freedom at her. Naturally, she was aware that today was Sunday, or did he imagine that she was so bemused by his looks, his masterful manner that she had lost count of the days of the week?

  She supposed she must be grateful for small mercies and the fact that he had provided her with a map.

  Now that she was free for the day she went up to her bedroom and changed the neat office-like dress for beige trousers and a sapphire-blue shirt that enhanced the colour of her eyes. With a cream cardigan on her arm, she was ready to explore on her own, but she ventured inside the kitchen door to tell Caterina that she would be out all day and possibly she would not be in to dinner in the evening. She hoped she had used the correct Greek words, but Caterina apparently understood.

  Jacynth hoped to avoid meeting Mallory in the hall or outside the front door, but as she walked towards the gate, a sleek, black car glided behind her.

  Mallory stopped as he drew level. “Do you want a lift? I’m going into Rhodes city.”

  For a moment she stared at him. He was wearing a pale fawn jacket with a cream shirt and dark maroon tie, and the prospect of sitting beside him in the car filled her with both delight and apprehension.

  “I think I prefer to walk if I can find my way,” she said in level tones. “Otherwise, I shall never get my bearings. I haven’t yet been outside the garden.”

  His mouth was a taut line as he contemplated her. “Besides,” she added quickly before he could say anything to puncture her resolution, “I really think one should explore cities on foot.”

  “As you wish,” he said curtly, “but if you lose yourself, I shan’t send a search-party.” Was there just a hint of amusement in the relaxation of his firm mouth?

  “No fear of that, Mr. Brendon,” she assured him with more confidence than she possessed. “I have the map you’ve so kindly provided me with. I shan’t get lost.”

  Without another word he drove forward and through the wide gates which Nikon, Caterina’s husband, had just opened. Nikon smiled and wished her “Kalimera”, to which she replied with “Good morning” in both Greek and Englis
h. He was a burly, strong-looking man with dark hair and rosy cheeks; middle-aged, but he appeared younger than his wife, who was gaunt and sallow-complexioned.

  Jacynth soon realised by the direction of the sun that the Villa Kalakos was on the western side of the island point and when she saw the name of the street, she checked that with the map.

  Oh, it was not very far apparently to the sharp point at the tip of the island. She walked along the railed promenade. On the opposite side a cluster of newly-built hotels faced the sea. In some cases, there were still traces of the old houses and their derelict gardens where the sites had been cleared to build the hotels. Here and there were windmills almost identical with the one in the garden of Kalakos.

  When she reached the Aquarium situated on the extreme tip of the island, she paused, noting the golden beach dotted with lounge chairs and gaily-coloured umbrellas. She was surprised that they were apparently in demand so early in the year, but reflected that the temperature here in March was as warm as it would usually be in England by the end of May. Fringing the beach was a turquoise sea and far away a vague outline of land which must be part of Turkey.

  As she resumed her stroll, she was wondering how she could contact Ray Gurney to apologise for not meeting him last night. She could now telephone his hotel, but he might be out. Perhaps she could leave a message. She found the slip of paper he had given her with his hotel address and telephone number. Hotel Paloma. The main post office was evidently not far off, according to the map, so she could telephone from there.

  She had arrived at the harbour of Mandraki. Two bronze deer on tall columns guarded the entrance and here, it was said, once stood the celebrated Colossus of Rhodes, one of the Seven Wonders of the ancient world.

  In the Post Office she telephoned Ray’s hotel and was fortunate enough to catch him in.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t come to the cafe. I had to go on working.”

  “What? Past eight o’clock on a Saturday?” he queried.

  “Well, Mr. Brendon—my employer—wanted some documents rather urgently.”

  “I hope he pays you overtime.”

  Jacynth laughed. “In this kind of job, you don’t really have fixed hours.”

  “Where are you speaking from now?” Ray asked.

  “The main post office near the harbour.”

  “Oh, in that case, I’ll come along and meet you. I take it that your old slave-driver lets you have Sundays off?”

  “I’ve today off,” she replied. “I wouldn’t guarantee that as a habit.”

  “Right. I’ll be there in about—a quarter of an hour. Walk along the gardens parallel with the harbour. If we miss each other, go to the Cafe Actaeon. You can’t miss that!”

  But by the time she had reached the end of the strip of garden, Ray Gurney was hurrying towards her.

  “M’m. You look marvellous,” he greeted her with enthusiasm. “As a matter of fact, I stayed in the hotel for a while on the offchance that you might ring. Lucky for me!”

  At the Cafe Actaeon there was a choice of tables set under an enormous tree, or those on a raised terrace divided by Moorish arches. Ray ordered coffee and asked about Jacynth’s new job.

  “Has it come up to your expectations?”

  “I don’t quite know what I expected, so that’s difficult to answer. I assumed that the Villa Kalakos was a small house where I’d be staying and that I’d be going to an office each day to work for Mr. Brendon.”

  “And it’s something different?”

  “Yes. It’s fairly large and quite imposing in an Italian style, and it’s his home.”

  “I see. So it’s more of a residential post. That’s bad.” Ray shook his head with mock solemnity. “You’re always at the man’s beck and call. That’s what happened last night, I suppose?”

  She nodded. “But of course, when you begin any new job, there are difficulties.”

  “What’s he like—this employer? Young? Old?”

  “Youngish. A little over thirty, I should think.”

  “Married?”

  Jacynth laughed. “I haven’t asked him. I don’t see any traces of a wife about the place, but that doesn’t rule out the possibility.”

  “Who else lives in the house? Some sort of staff, I suppose.”

  “A married couple. Caterina is housekeeper and her husband Nikon seems to attend to the garden. Perhaps he’s a sort of handyman as well, looks after Mr. Brendon’s car and so on.

  Ray frowned. “Sounds a rather rum outfit to me. Not sure I like it.”

  Jacynth was amused. “Why? What’s it to you?”

  “Well, I feel I ought to keep an eye on you, as a fellow-countryman.”

  “But you won’t be here for a long visit, will you? When do you return?”

  “At the end of next week, but before then I have to go over to Athens. But I shall be back again about Friday, I hope.”

  “Has your business gone well?” she queried.

  “Reasonably. I’ve been out to several potteries, placed various orders and made other enquiries. Would you like to go to a pottery here?”

  She hesitated. “I’d like to, very much, but I don’t know if I could arrange to have the time off.”

  Ray smiled. “Just tell the old slave-driver that you have an important appointment with a fairly presentable young man. If you live in the house, you could offer to make up the time later.”

  Jacynth had a momentary vision of Mallory Brendon’s face if she said just that.

  “No, I don’t think I’d better promise. After all, I’ve been here so short a time. I don’t want to ask for favours just yet.”

  “Is he attractive—this boss of yours?”

  She considered for a moment, visualising again Mallory’s features, the sharp planes of his cheekbones, the dark, sombre eyes, the thick black hair springing from a broad brow, the proud, arrogant tilt of his head.

  “By that long pause,” interrupted Ray, “I guess that he’s a Greek god or something very near. Is he Greek, by the way?”

  “He has an English name, but I believe I was told he has Greek ancestry. But he doesn’t look like Apollo.”

  “That’s something to be thankful for,” was Ray’s slightly acid comment. “Well, let’s plan the day before us. Do you want to see the sights or have you already explored the city?”

  Jacynth confessed that this was her first venture, out of doors since her arrival.

  “My, my! He has caged you up. Come on, then, we’ll stroll around the old city.”

  Ray conducted her through one of the arched gateways in the russet-coloured medieval walls. Jacynth was glad that she was wearing fiat-heeled sandals, for the winding roadways were paved with small smooth cobbles and little pebbles. The streets were a fascinating maze of alleys and squares with shops of all kinds selling wines and groceries, rugs and jewellery, leather and lace.

  On the right, Ray pointed out the famous Street of the Knights, the hostelries of the Crusaders, each inn with its own distinctive design. Jacynth wanted to walk up there and examine the buildings in more detail, but Ray was already beckoning her towards a shop selling painted pottery.

  As they turned a corner, a wider street, paved with large blocks of stone, provided a view up the hill of a mosque with a dazzling white minaret gleaming against the pale blue sky.

  “Is it possible to visit the mosque?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. I’ve never bothered.”

  Jacynth decided inwardly that if she really wanted to explore the old city of Rhodes she had better come by herself, then she could dally wherever she pleased. On the other hand she ought to be grateful to Ray for touring her around today so that she had a rough idea of the geography of the place.

  Ray was naturally extremely interested in the pottery and ceramic shops and stopped to inspect the stocks of almost every one he saw. He pointed out the various traditional designs in colours and styles as well as what he considered would sell best at home in England.

  E
ventually, after a prolonged stroll, he and Jacynth emerged by another gate and walked across what looked like an ancient drawbridge of massive stonework. Peering down at the grassy hollow below, Jacynth saw half a dozen cats with twice that number of kittens playing and leaping among the bushes.

  “Are they wild?” she asked. “Well, I mean homeless rather than uncivilised. A cat colony, perhaps.”

  “I suppose so,” answered Ray. “Apparently they survive on what they can forage for themselves.”

  “Oh, no.” Her sharp eyes had detected morsels of fish and two small kittens were busily stripping the flesh from part of a fish backbone. “People bring them food sometimes.”

  Ray took her arm to lead her away. “You’re more interested in the cats than in me,” he complained. “Let’s go and have lunch somewhere.”

  He took her to a restaurant where an extension had been built out over the waters of the harbour.

  “It’s like being on a ship,” she commented. It was at that moment that the realisation dawned on her. She had come out for the day with only a few drachmas in her purse. True, she had some English money, but she had changed only a small amount into Greek currency before she arrived and had naturally intended to change more at the bank when she needed it. As this was the first opportunity of emerging from the Villa Kalakos, she had not needed money until now.

  She glanced surreptitiously at the prices on the menu and was relieved to find that they seemed moderate, for she did not want Ray to spend money on her that he could ill afford.

  He ordered ouzo as an aperitif. “Have you sampled it yet?”

  She shook her head. “No. But last night we had some retsina at dinner.”

  Ray’s eyebrows lifted. “We? You dine with the boss, then? I thought you said he was a terrible slave-driver and an old curmudgeon.”

  That was a bad slip, thought Jacynth. “Oh, that was only once in a blue moon,” she said hurriedly. “I usually have my meals alone in the room where I work, but last night we were working so late—he might easily have asked for coffee and sandwiches, but Caterina, his housekeeper, had prepared a meal.”