Free My Brother Michael by Mary Stewart Page B

the sight of olive oil repels, and I love Greek cooking. We had onion soup with grated cheese on top; then the
souvlaka
, which comes spiced with lemon and herbs, and flanked with chips and green beans in oil and a big dish of tomato salad. Then cheese, and
halvas
, which is a sort of loaf made of grated nuts and honey, and is delicious. And finally the wonderful grapes of Greece, bloomed over like misted agates and cooled with water from the spring above the temple of Apollo.
    Simon talked entertainingly through the meal without once mentioning Michael Lester or his purpose in visiting Delphi, and I myself forgot completely the cloud that was still hanging over my day, and only recollected it when a lorry, chugging up past the terrace, slowed down to pass the car which stood parked at the edge of the narrow road.
    Simon followed my look. He set down his little cup of Greek coffee, and then looked across the table at me.
    ‘Conscience still active?’
    ‘Not so active as it was. There’s not so much room. That was a heavenly meal, and thank you very much.’
    ‘I wondered—’ said Simon thoughtfully, and then stopped.
    I said just as thoughtfully: ‘It’s a long walk to Arachova. Is that it?’
    He grinned. ‘That’s it. Well? It’s your car.’
    I said fervently: ‘It’s not, you know. I never want to touch it again. I – I’ve renounced it.’
    ‘That’s a pity, because – with your permission which I take it I have – I’m going to drive down to Arachova in a few minutes’ time, and I was rather hoping you’d come, too.’
    I said, in very real amazement: ‘Me? But you don’t want me!’
    ‘Please,’ said Simon.
    For some reason I felt the colour coming hot into my cheeks. ‘But you don’t. It’s your own – your private affair, and you can’t possibly want a stranger tagging along with you. This may be Greece, but that’s carrying
philoxenia
a bit too far! After all—’
    ‘I promise not to let anything upset you.’ He smiled, ‘It’s a long time ago, and it’s not a present tragedy any more. It’s just – well, call it curiosity, if you like.’
    ‘I wasn’t worrying about its upsetting me. I was thinking only that – well, dash it, you hardly know me, and it
is
a private matter. You said it could be called a “pilgrimage”, remember?’
    He said slowly: ‘If I said what I really want to say you’d think I was crazy. But let me say this – and it’s true – I’d be terribly grateful if you’d give me your company this evening.’
    There was a little pause. The group of Greeks had long since dispersed. Both artist and donkey had vanished. The other English diners had finished and gone into the hotel. Away over the invisible sea the thin moon hung, apricot now among the white scatter of stars. Above us the breeze in the plane trees sounded like rain.
    I said: ‘Of course I’ll come,’ and got to my feet. As hestubbed out his cigarette and rose I smiled at him with a touch of malice. ‘After all, you did tell me I owed you something.’
    He said quickly: ‘Look, I never meant—’ then he caught my look and grinned. ‘All right, ma’am, you win. I won’t try and bully you again.’ And he opened the car door for me.
    ‘Michael was ten years older than me,’ said Simon. ‘There were just the two of us, and our mother died when I was fifteen. My father thought the sun rose and set in Michael – and so did I, I suppose. I remember how dead the house seemed when he was drafted off to the Med.… and Father just sat every day with the papers and the radio, trying to learn what he could.’ A little smile touched his lips. ‘It wasn’t easy. I told you Michael came over here with the SAS – the Special Air Service – when Germany occupied Greece. He was doing undercover work with the resistance in the mountains for eighteen months before he was killed, and of course news came very thinly and not always accurately. Occasionally men managed to get letters out …