Solo - Jack Higgins [71]
'Then life should no longer surprise you.'
There was a movement in the shadows and old George appeared from one of the buildings leading a mule. It had no stirrups, only a blanket and a traditional pack saddle on its back made of wood and leather.
'And what do I do with that? Morgan asked.
'Mount, my son.' She pointed up through the pines. 'There on the mountain. There is safety, a warm bed.' She stroked his face with the back of one hand. 'You will do this for me, eh? This last thing with all your strength so that we may get thee home?'
For some reason he felt close to tears for the first time in years. 'Yes, Mam,' he found himself saying in Welsh. 'Take me home.'
The shock of a gunshot wound is such, that for most people, it temporarily freezes the nervous system. It is only later that the pain comes as it came to Morgan, holding on tightly to the wooden saddle as the mule started up the rocky path through the pine trees, old Geroge leading it, Maria walking on the left side, one hand grasping Morgan's belt.
'Are you all right?' she asked in Greek.
'Yes,' he said, light-headed now. 'I'm indestructible. Saving myself for that bastard Mikali.'
The pain was sharp and cruel, like a hot iron. Korea, Aden, Cyprus; old scars opening up instantly so that his body jerked in agony and his hands gripped the wooden pommel of the saddle as if he was hanging on to life itself.
And she knew, and her hand tightened in his belt and the old voice was deeper than anything he had ever known, more insistent, cutting through the pain.
'You will hold now,' she said. 'You will not let go till I tell thee to.'
It was the last thing he heard. When they arrived at the small farmhouse, high on the mountain, half an hour later and George tied the mule and turned to help him down, he was unconscious in the saddle, his hands locked on the pommel so tightly that they had to prise his fingers loose one by one.
Katherine Riley was totally exhausted after the night flight and four hours in an Athens hotel where she hadn't slept for a moment, tossing and turning in the heat, rising early to catch the taxi she had ordered to take her to the Piraeus.
Even the early-morning run to Hydra, the sheer beauty of it, had failed to rouse her in any way. She was afraid. What Morgan had suggested was stupid, wicked. Simply not possible. She had given her body to Mikali, he had given her a joy in life denied to her ever since her father's death. Awareness, understanding.
Words, only words. No comfort in any of it, she knew that as she disembarked from the Flying Dolphin at Hydra and Constantine came forward to take her suitcase.
She had never felt comfortable with him, had always imagined that he disapproved of her. He seldom spoke, pretending his English to be worse than it was as he did now when they turned out of harbour and she went into the wheelhouse.
'Nicky?' she said. 'Isn't he with you?'
He made no reply, simply boosted the controls. 'Is he in Athens with his mother?'
They moved out past the point and picked up speed. She gave up then and went and sat in the stern, turned her face up to the morning sun and closed her burning eyes.
When they moved in towards the jetty, Mikali was waiting beside old Anna and the boy. He wore dark sunglasses, a white sweatshirt and faded jeans and waved excitedly, his mouth opening in a smile, showing the good teeth.
She was more afraid than ever, not knowing what she was going to say as he reached out a hand to help her ashore. His smile changed to a look of concern.
'Katherine? What is it?'
She fought to hold back the tears. 'I'm so bloody tired. All that time hanging about at Heathrow and then the flight and that terrible little hotel in Athens.'
His arms were around her then, and he was smiling again. 'Remember what Scott Fitzgerald said? A hot bath and I can go on for hours. That's what you need.'
He picked up her suitcase and spoke to Constantine in Greek. As they started up the path to the villa, she said,