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Marika's eyes remained on the old woman's face, examining it in a
new light.
And she knew without any doubt that here was someone she could
trust. The knowledge gave her confidence and a sense of security.
Hadn't Nickolas said that, should his grandmother like her, she'd have
found a staunch and sincere friend? Marika knew instinctively that
there was more than gratitude in those black eyes; the knowledge
brought a smile of satisfaction to her face, and she saw to her surprise
an answering smile come swiftly to the older woman's lips.
Dinner, never a pleasant meal, took place that evening in an
atmosphere of constraint.
Nickolas had heard that Pitsa had been seen talking to Adolphos, her
former boy-friend, in the village. They had met by chance, Pitsa
asserted, frightened by the expression on her cousin's face. He clearly
believed her to be lying, and Marika thought so, too, for she recalled
the occasion.
Pitsa had suggested they go to the museum, but when they were
almost there she made the excuse that she'd some shopping to do.
Marika thought nothing of that until, over half an hour later, Pitsa had
arrived at the museum looking extremely agitated and guilty.
Moreover, she had nothing in her hand but her purse. Although
puzzled at the time, Marika had quickly forgotten the incident, for
Pitsa did not, of course, confide in her.
Even Marika felt herself trembling as she looked across at Nickolas.
He was concerned about protecting his cousin, but she felt his anger
to be out of all proportion. How could any harm come to Pitsa simply
by her holding a conversation with Adolphos down there in the busy
village - in the middle of the day ?
The meal over, they all went upstairs to sit for a while with
Stephanos, but Pitsa soon went to bed. Marika would have loved to
go to her, but as she usually remained until Nickolas himself left his
father, any departure from the routine would have to be explained.
For some time after Pitsa left silence reigned in the room as each
became absorbed in thought. The old man spoke first.
'Little one, I have decided while I am lying here. As you will one day
marry my son I wish that you will begin to call me Father.'
Startled, Marika sought guidance from Nickolas. Tocall Stephanos
Father would surely be carrying the deception too far.
'Marika will certainly do as you wish,' said Nickolas calmly. 'Isn't that
so, my love?'
'Yes - of course.' A flush rose and on seeing it the old man smiled.
'We embarrass you, I see. But you will not find it so difficult, my
child, for already there is an affection between us; don't you agree?'
Yes, she agreed. She had been profoundly aware of it from the first,
for she never felt happier than when sitting by his bed, talking, or
reading to him from one of the books she had brought with her. Most
of all, she enjoyed listening to his numerous tales of ancient Greece,
of the gods and the mythology. He described places she'd read about
in a way that made them live, in a way that filled her with a yearning
to go out and explore their wonders for herself. From him she learned
that the road they had come along from Levadia to Delphi was one of
the most romantic roads in all Greece. Nickolas had pointed out the
mighty barren slopes of Mount Parnassus, and told her the names of
other heights, but little else. He did not mention that they passed the
lonely crossroads where Oedipus had so tragically slain his own
father, thus fulfilling the prophecy given by the Oracle. He had told
her nothing of the ancient history and legend connected with the
region, or even how Apollo came, first to the gulf of Corinth, in the
form of a dolphin, and then to Delphi where, slaying the monster
Python, he snatched the Sanctuary from Ghea, the earth goddess, and
made himself god, of Parnassus and conductor of the Oracle.
The old man, with all the Greek's intense love of his country, had
expressed surprise that Nickolas had apparently taken so little interest
in his fiancee. Marika, aware of her mistake in revealing the
omission, had tried to explain that Nickolas had been extremely tired
by the long journey, so could not be expected to feel in a talkative
mood. While partly agreeing with her, Stephanos still appeared
troubled by his son's lack of interest in her, especially when he
discovered she had never been out of the village, had not, in fact, even
been to the archaeological site.
'He's so busy, and often doesn't get in till late,' Marika had hastily
excused her fiance's conduct, for a frown had appeared on the old
man's brow that gave her a feeling of guilt. 'I can go with Pitsa, or by
myself, for that matter.' Strange, she thought, how it seemed of
tremendous importance that Nickolas should accompany her on her
first visit to the shrine. She recalled the moment when, standing
beside him, enthralled by the infinite scene of towering crags and
untamed heights, of olive groves and dark ravines, she had been filled
with that sense of isolation and timelessness. The moment would live
for ever in her memory, so indelibly had it been impressed upon her
mind ... a moment she would have shared with no one else, not even
David.
The desire to visit the ruins, surpassed only by those on the Acropolis
in Athens, had at times been so strong that to resist it became a
physical and mental strain.
Yet, for some reason which she could not possibly explain, she had to
wait until Nickolas fulfilled his promise and took her there himself.
Unaware now, as she sat by the bed, of her wistful expression, Marika
looked up in surprise when the old man mentioned it.
'You are not all contentment, my child, and that is because Nickolas
has neglected you.' His eyes were anxious as he turned to his son.
'Marika tells me you have not once taken her out, Nickolas, and that is
neither thoughtful nor kind. Remember the little one is a stranger
among us; you must not leave her to her own resources like this.'
It had never occurred to Marika that the old man would fret over his
son's lack of interest in her; much less did she expect him to mention
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