Free Crowned Heads by Thomas Tryon

urns and the flowers in the boxes. It was Mrs. Balfour. She didn’t look that much different from when I’d seen her at the Louvre, though her hair was considerably grayer. I wasn’t being too careful and she must have noticed me observing her, because she ducked behind one of the urns, then hurried inside. I was more careful with my spyglass after that. I drank my coffee, listening to my cassette player, but remained screened behind the grapevine while I kept watch. Pretty soon I heard the sound of a broom and the servant was out, in a white jacket, sweeping the terrace. Next he had a hose and was watering the plants in the urns, then the flowers in the boxes, and when he finished he coiled up the hose and went inside. Then more music. Mine clashed with it, so I shut off the cassette and waited.
    “Just at eleven, Mrs. Balfour came back on the scene, talking to someone behind her, and immediately the servant appeared, pushing the Countess Sobryanski’s wheelchair. I trained the glass on her as she moved in profile; she was very old, and thin. Her white hair was done up in a tight little pug on top, giving her head a skinned look. Her coloring was not the paleness of the aged, but rather dark, as though she took the sun, though her chair was placed exactly where it had been yesterday, shaded by the canopy. She laid the cane across her lap and sat close to the balustrade, facing the sea below. Mrs. Balfour had a book; she sat and read aloud to the countess for about an hour, and at noon Fedora appeared, in a white blouse and dark-blue shorts and a straw hat. She took Mrs. Balfour’s place with the book and read to the countess while Balfour went inside. Then at one o’clock I heard the bell ring. Fedora shut the book and got up, the servant came to wheel the countess, and they all went in—for lunch, I assumed.
    “I had my own bread, cheese, fruit, and some wine, and ate in the arbor, still watching, and listening to Strauss’s Ein Heldenleben on the cassette player. After lunchtime the villa was quiet and I presumed the women must be napping. I had a doze myself, and when I woke up it was after three. My cassette had stopped. I flipped it over, raised the volume, and went into the bathroom to shave. Then I heard an awful racket, a torrent of music blasting down the hill from inside the villa. I went out to the arbor again and saw Fedora at the terrace balustrade, ringing the countess’s bell for all it was worth. Obviously my cassette player was disturbing her and she was turning the tables on me.
    “I switched off my player and waited. She now had a pair of opera glasses, which she brazenly stuck up to her eyes. She couldn’t see me, since I was hidden behind the grapevine, but she stood swiveling the glasses like a sea captain on the bridge looking for icebergs. Finally she went back inside and turned down the music, which I recognized as the Baltic Symphony. Still later, I heard the car starting up, and I went to the front window to watch it pass. It was going fast, and I saw that Fedora was driving. When Mrs. Vasos came, around four, I tried to question her. Since she had very little English, this wasn’t easy and I didn’t learn much more than I already knew. The villagers were fond of the Polish noblewoman because she contributed money to local charities. Though years ago she had gone to show guests the labyrinth at Knossos and the Gortyna ruins, nobody ever saw her anymore. Her son came sometimes, and sometimes the actress, La Fedora. Yes, Mrs. Vasos had seen her in the movies, but she never had anything to do with the villagers. Nobody did, over there. Mrs. Vasos pointed to the ceiling, saying they might as well be on the moon. Had there been any recent visitors to the villa? Yes, an American woman had lately stayed for a week; I assumed that would be Viola. I wondered about the evil-faced servant, and Mrs. Vasos made a contemptuous sound; he was an off-islander, a Macedonian, called Kritos, who saw to