Solo - Jack Higgins [75]
'I'm fifty next month,' Morgan said, 'and for the first time, I really know it.'
Maria laughed out loud. 'The old one there can give you twenty-five years, and still tries to get me into bed Saturdays.'
George offered him a Greek cigarette and gave him a light. 'Last night you said something interesting. You mentioned Mikali. Was he the one who did this to you?'
'Is he a friend of yours?' Morgan asked.
The old man spat and stood up. 'Wait here.' He went into the house and came back with a pair of Zeiss field-glasses.
'Where in the hell did you get those?' Morgan demanded.
'Off a Nazi stormtrooper in Crete during the war when I was with EOK. Come, I show you.'
He went some little way through the pine trees and Morgan followed. The old man stopped and pointed, 'See!'
Below, the ravine spilled down through the pine woods to the bay above which the Mikali villa stood. George focused the field-glasses and handed them to Morgan.
'Look, all the way down. The terraces - every stone carried by mule. Built with the sweat of my own ancestors. All stolen by Mikali.'
The lines of the ancient terraces jumped sharply into life as Morgan examined them. In spite of the olive trees, the ground was overgrown and obviously not tilled.
He glanced at old George. 'John Mikali?'
'His great-grandfather. Is there a difference? A Mikali is a Mikali. Once we of the Ghika clan were substantial people. Once we had respect. But now...'
Morgan raised the field-glasses to his eyes again and the garden below the villa came into view, Kate Riley walking down the path to the jetty where young Nicky was fishing with a handline.
'Dear God!' Morgan said.
The old man took the glasses from him and looked for himself. 'Ah, yes, I have seen her there before. The American lady.'
'Before?' Morgan asked.
'Oh, yes. You know her?'
'I thought I did,' Morgan said hoarsely. 'Now, I'm not so sure,' and before George could stop him he turned and stumbled away down the slope through the pine trees.
It was very hot as Kate moved through the terraces to the garden. The small black dog barked at her as she went past the cottage. Old Anna waved from the kitchen and then she reached the broad concrete steps and found Nicky fishing.
The water was crystal clear, the motor launch perfectly reflected in it. Nicky turned with a smile and she ran her fingers through his hair.
'Yassou!' she said in greeting, using one of the few Greek words she knew.
He pulled in the line, smiling eagerly. He was already twelve, old enough to have left school. His mother, a widow, worked in an Athens hotel and he lived with Constantine and his wife for the moment, helping with the boat, learning how to fish. Kate was his special favourite. Whenever she came, he dogged her footsteps everywhere.
He took a grimy packet from the pocket of his jeans and offered her a piece of his grandmother's Turkish delight. It was so sweet as usually to make her feel slightly sick, but to refuse would have been an insult. She took the smallest piece, popped it into her mouth and got it down as fast as she could.
She sat on one of the concrete steps. He crouched beside her and produced several Polaroid pictures from his shirt pocket.
'Oh, you're still taking those things, are you?' she said.
He passed them over one by one. There was old Constantine, his grandmother, one of Mikali on the terrace.
One of herself sitting in the stern of the boat.
'Good?' he said.
'Very good.'
Then he passed her the photo of Asa Morgan he had taken in the saloon the previous night.
She sat there staring at it and it took several moments for the fact of it to sink in.
'Where did you get this?' she whispered. And then she turned and grabbed him by the arm. 'When?' she demanded. 'When was he here?' He stared at her uncomprehendingly and she pointed at the boat and then at the photo. 'When?'
His face cleared. 'Last night. From Hydra.' He turned and pointed to the villa. 'To house.'
'But that isn't possible. It isn't possible.' Her fingers tightened