Free One Cretan Evening and Other Stories by Victoria Hislop Page A

called up for military service, this was a huge enterprise. He could not employ too many people, or deliver the orders fast enough. Additional quantities seemed to be required on a daily basis.
    He drank his coffee in a single sip and rose to go. Each day he experienced a profound sense of satisfaction from having been awake and working since seven in the morning. Today he enjoyed the idea that he still had another eight hours in his office before leaving for Constantinople. He had important paperwork to do before his departure.
    That afternoon, his wife, Olga Komninos, looked out from their mansion in Niki Street and gazed at Mount Olympus, just visible through a haze. The heat had been building up and she opened one of the floor-to-ceiling windows to let in some air. There was not a breath of wind, and sounds carried easily. She heard calls to prayer mixing with the clatter of hoofs and carriage wheels in the street below, and a ship sounding its horn to signal its approach.
    Olga sat down again and put her feet up on a chaise longue, which had been moved closer to the window to catch the breeze. Since they had never been worn outside, there was no need for her to remove her dainty, low-heeled shoes. Being an almost identical match, her silk dress seemed to vanish into the pale green of the upholstery, and the blue-black of herbraided hair accentuated the pallor of her skin. She could not get comfortable on this languid day, and drank glass after glass of lemonade, poured from a jug that her devoted housekeeper regularly appeared to replenish.
    ‘Can I bring you anything else, Kyria Olga? Perhaps something to eat? You haven’t had anything at all today,’ she said, with gentle concern.
    ‘Thank you, Pavlina, but I just don’t feel like eating. I know I should, but today I simply . . . can’t.’
    ‘Are you sure I shouldn’t fetch the doctor?’
    ‘It’s just the heat, I think.’
    Olga sank back on to the cushions, her temples beaded with sweat. Her head throbbed and she held the icy glass against it to try to relieve the pain.
    ‘Well, if you still haven’t eaten anything later, I will have to tell Kyrios Konstantinos.’
    ‘There’s no need to do that, Pavlina. And besides, he is going away this evening. I don’t want to worry him.’
    ‘They say the weather is going to turn this evening. It’s going to get a bit cooler. So that should help you a little.’
    ‘I hope they are right,’ Olga replied. ‘It feels as though there might be a storm.’
    Both of them heard something like a clap of thunder, but then realised it was the sound of the front door banging shut. It was followed by the rhythmic beat of footsteps on the broad wooden staircase. Olga recognised her husband’s business-like pace and counted the standard twenty crochet beats before the door swung open.
    ‘Hello, dearest. How are you today?’ he asked briskly, walking over to where she lay, and addressing her as though he wasa doctor speaking to a simple-minded patient. ‘You’re not finding it too hot, are you?’
    Komninos now removed his jacket and carefully hung it over the back of a chair. His shirt was transparent with sweat.
    ‘I’ve just come back to pack a suitcase. Then I’ll be going back to the showroom for a few hours before the ship leaves. The doctor will come if you need him. Is Pavlina looking after you? Have you eaten anything since last night?’ Komninos’ statements and questions blended together without pause.
    ‘Make sure you take good care of her while I am away,’ he said, directing a final comment at the housekeeper.
    He smiled at his resting wife but she had looked away. Her eyes fixed on the sparkling sea, which she could see through the open window. Both sea and sky had now darkened and one of the French windows was banging against the frame. The wind had changed and she sighed with relief as a breeze caressed her face.
    She put down her glass on the side-table and rested both hands on her swollen