The Wind Whispers Her Name

Prologue-2

Diary Entry (mid May - Some thirty years earlier)

What a view. Uninterrupted right down to the sea. Wonder what that is? Another island? Hardly looks big enough. Must say this is quite acceptable, all in all. For a short while. Definitely won't be staying a year. Hardly seems a week since the 'phone call from that ghastly woman.

On the desk a blank sheet of unlined paper, a blotter on which the sheet lay pristine, a monogrammed fountain pen on an oak stand exactly parallel to the top of the blotter. Kenneth stared at the sheet, as he had for several days. There was nothing coming. The telephone, positioned squarely to the left of the blotter, had been calling with annoying regularity. Kenneth reached for the handset.

'Yes?'

'I've found just the place for you.'

Recognising the silky voice Kenneth was tempted to hang up. He refrained, knowing such an action might result in an arrival on his doorstep. His home was sacrosanct. He definitely didn't want the owner of that voice entering its portals. With her he had produced a four volume set of his family's history, no small feat, grudgingly acknowledged by his father when it achieved academic success.

His agent, who had a strong economic eye and with whom he had a fractured relationship, had urged him to break into the popular market of the detective novel.

Kenneth's travels would allow a very authentic backdrop. He had mockingly brought to life Denny Dee.

The first two books regaling the adventures of this singer-c*m-amateur sleuth on cruise ships had surprisingly achieved success. How such a banal worm had been well-received by a large section of the public was beyond Kenneth. But several books later Denny was still proving popular. Now his agent, whom he less than affectionately thought of as 'The b***h', was getting worried at his failure to produce the next. She had engaged a variety of ploys to get him writing but had so far failed. She obviously thought she had the solution.

He vaguely heard 'Greece', 'small' and 'island' being enthused over. All arrangements had been made, a courier was already on the way with details. He could pack whilst waiting. The implications were clear. He wasn't being given a choice.

* * *

He signed for the package and opened it immediately. A brief note informed him The b***h would see to the flat, utilities, cancellations. She would also send on packages of essentials for his year's stay. Had the woman finally gone over the edge? She wrote she looked forward to receiving the next manuscript a.s.a.p. There was a fat envelope. Inside was an A4 sheet with a detailed itinerary plus an amount of drachma. Other slips of paper proved to be a variety of travel tickets.

The telephone rang. Would 'Sir' please confirm the taxi to the airport, booked to arrive in two hours? Kenneth grabbed the tickets. Five hours to the flight. b****y b***h! The itinerary had given Spetsai as the final destination. He had never heard of it.

Where the hell was it? He reached for his 'Times Atlas of the World'. It suggested Spetses as alternative. Turned out to be a small island in the Argo-Saronic Gulf. Pop c.4,000. One main town, Spetses. Original! Looking quickly through other information its greatest claim to fame seemed to be that it was car-free. Something, he supposed.

* * *

He was in a cramped economy seat, no privileged upmarket area on this aeroplane. Another point scored by The b***h. Her writing was not only on the wall, it was writ large. He had managed to procure an aisle seat so could get up and stretch his legs several times during the flight. A thin, slightly balding, bespectacled man had the window seat and spent most of the time gazing at the clouds. The mountain of flesh Kenneth presumed was the wife overflowed the middle seat.

On being airborne and the seat belt removal sign displayed she had, with a struggle, pushed up the armrest which was Kenneth's only bastion against her physical assault. With a smile that would have made Kaa envious he slowly pushed the armrest back into position. End of discussion. If the lady had wanted or required two seats she should have paid for them. This action also ensured he wasn't addressed by the lady for the remainder of the flight. She did give a running commentary to her presumed husband which is probably why he found the clouds so fascinating.

Kenneth drowsed, vaguely aware of snacks and drinks being sold. No free meals on this cheapy. The b***h had really thought this one through. But, was he wrong? Could he smell cold chicken? And definitely boiled egg. Kenneth peered through the long eyelashes many women envied, even more finding them sensuously appealing, to see the origin of the smell being waved about by the lady next to him. He wrinkled his nose in distaste.

He consulted his watch - two hours to go. The repast finished, the lady heaved her bulk out of the seat. Pleased to be able to stretch his long legs, Kenneth nimbly jumped into the aisle and, gentleman that he was, bent and pushed both armrests into their upright position to facilitate her passage. During her absence he walked up and down the narrow aisle, moving arms and legs in a way that caused some passengers great amusement. Kenneth cared little, being conscious of the dangers of the inactivity of a four hour flight.

The more than Rubenesque lady having returned to her seat he did likewise, noticing she had returned both armrests to the down position. He closed his eyes until a hand was gently placed on his shoulder. Landing was imminent, seatbelts needed to be fastened.

The lady joined her companion in gazing out of the window. This time Kenneth knew they were not looking at clouds but at the sight of the city below. Athens. He had been several times to Athens to visit his friend, Nikki. He loved the city's night life, felt comfortable there. Had even picked up a smattering of Modern Greek.

But this time Athens was not his final destination. He had a wait of several hours before the next stage of his journey. His friend Nikki lived and worked in Athens but one could hardly pay a social call at two o'clock in the morning, not having been given the time to announce a visit. Night flights were considerably cheaper than day ones. The b***h. She probably took great delight in imagining him being stuck in the airport with nothing open but the public loos.

* * *

Having passed through passport control - one very bored officer, and a totally deserted customs control - Kenneth collected his luggage and strolled to the furthest end of the airport where buses and taxis for Athens and Piraeus were to be had. There were also coaches waiting to collect package tourists. As he approached the ticket office he saw his flight companions in the queue. He heard them ask for tickets to Piraeus. Kenneth did not do buses. He crossed the road and got into a waiting taxi.

They were straight out into the suburb of Glyfada. The coast road was fairly quiet, it being midweek. Mostly taxis ploughing between airport and ports, buses transporting tourists to their hotels or to the port to wait for ferries to islands with no airport. The lights of bars, restaurants and night clubs, which would glare till late at the weekend, were non-existent but he knew where to look for the beauty of Athens. It was just a brief window of opportunity but he was ready. There she was standing proudly, in ghostly illumination - the Parthenon. A flash and she was gone.

Kenneth heard the driver speaking. He made out the word 'limani' so deduced he was being asked which port was wanted. Coming out with one of his stock phrases, 'Ena leptouli', Kenneth consulted his fat envelope. Yes, he was booked on the hydrofoil - known locally as the Flying Dolphin - which left from Marina Zea. Now he realised why! Zea was totally deserted during the early hours - not even a toilet open. If he remembered correctly there wasn't even anywhere to sit. That was why she'd opted for the Dolphin rather than the ferry. A serpentine smile crossed his face. Another chance to get one over the baptised, confirmed and practising b***h. He launched into his limited Greek.

'Signomi, to limani megalo, parakalo.'

As he settled back smugly he saw one of the driver's hands being raised into the air. The splayed fingers were thrust heavenwards and the hand appeared to rotate from the wrist, although on closer observation it only turned halfway and then back again. This was the sort of Greek he understood. Again he consulted the envelope, just to make certain.

'Spetses.'

The driver's hand changed shape. The tip of the fingers met the tip of the thumb to receive an enthusiastic smack of his lips, the fingers then snapping open.

'Poli oraia.'

The taxi veered off the main road, taking side streets until Kenneth began to wonder if he were being taken the 'scenic route'. However, they soon drew up at the bottom of some stone steps that reached up to a very large and architecturally ornate church. The taxi driver barely paused as he removed Kenneth's two large valises from the boot, crossed himself - surely the 'wrong' way - and laid his right hand reverently on his breast, which hand then reached out to receive the fare. By the time he'd finished adding on the extras, from the airport, to the sea port, two cases, night charge, the fare was considerably more than the meter stated. Still cheaper than all the other European cities Kenneth had visited.

The ferries to the islands were across the road about two hundred metres down from the church. He crossed the road carefully, checking for stray traffic. At this time of night the traffic lights were switched off to conserve energy. The dockside was totally deserted. The water appeared still, yet the giant ferries swayed gently at their moorings.

Ticket offices were not yet open and the ships had their barriers in place.

He saw the ship he wanted. 'Saronic Express' proclaimed in large letters that its destinations were Æegina, Methana, Poros, Hydra, Ermione and Spetses. It also sported a clock attached above the stern stating it left at 8 a.m. It was just after three. He saw a dim gleam of light past the Saronic ferries. He headed towards the gleam. It proved to come from a small cantina selling tea, coffee, soft drinks, beer and the ubiquitous Seven Day Croissant. Kenneth shrugged.

'Mia beera parakalo.'

His smile as he handed over the money was met with a blank stare. Lady obviously didn't get job satisfaction. Walking back to his ship he settled on a bollard, staring out to sea, waiting for the first sight of Homer's rosy-fingered dawn. But other lights attracted his attention. Dull lights appeared over the boarding areas. The initial quietness and peace were now broken.

Barriers were removed and there was a lot of movement. A closed lorry drew up to his ferry. Bundles of newspapers were transferred from lorry to ship. The lorry then moved on to other ferries. More vehicles began to arrive, a private courier firm, catering companies, private cars. Traffic queues began to build up. The large ferryboats still bobbed serenely, patiently awaiting their human cargoes. The first of these descended on the now-opened, single ticket booth serving all the ships.

The ferries sprang into life. Stern doors were lowered, crews appeared, vehicles began embarking. A trickle of people boarded. Others were buying koulouria - sesame-crusted bread rings, and bottles of water from the street traders who had suddenly appeared. Dawn had arrived without warning. Not Homer's dawn but a lightening suddenly bursting into a surprisingly bright sunlight.