“Tell that to Mrs. Garlopis. Hitherto, it’s only the one part that has been of concern to her.”
I clapped him on the shoulder. “Marriage is hell but loneliness is worse.”
“True.”
“I’m not saying we should bribe that cop. But we ought to have the means to do so at our disposal, just in case it proves necessary. So go ahead and make the arrangements to get the check cashed.”
“A wise precaution, sir.”
“Can I see that map of Greece in the drawer?” I asked.
“Which one, sir? We have several.”
“The Peloponnese. I’m taking a day trip to Ermioni. Maybe I can pick up some information on what happened to Witzel and his party when they came ashore after the Doris sank. At least that way I can make Leventis believe I’m actually making inquiries. Perhaps you’d be kind enough to tell him that’s where I’m going tomorrow.”
“Good idea.”
I hadn’t yet told Garlopis that I’d recognized the description given by Kalliopi in front of the cinema, that Max Merten was the Sydney Greenstreet lookalike, and that I knew him. After what Leventis had said about Garlopis I thought it best to keep him in the dark on that one—for the time being anyway. He took the map out and handed it to me. I unfolded it and spread it on the desk.
A cursory glance at the map was explanation enough for the wars of antiquity. Greece was mostly two areas of land—a peninsula on a peninsula—separated by the Gulf of Corinth. Until 1893 and the completion of the Corinth Canal, these two peninsulas had been connected by a piece of land about six kilometers long that resembled nothing quite so much as the union of two sexually reproducing animals—the north mounting the south, or Athens mounting Sparta, depending on how you looked at these things. The rest of Greece was just hundreds of islands, which gave the country one of the longest coastlines in Europe and probably one of the most independent and ungovernable populations in the world. How Nazi Germany had ever thought it might control a country like Greece was a mystery to me and likely to the High Command, as well, which was probably why, until the fall of Mussolini, they had ceded control of the Peloponnese to the Italians. The invasion of Greece was, arguably, even greater evidence of Hitler’s madness than the invasion of the Soviet Union.
“Ermioni,” I said, trailing my finger along the meandering coastline. “Looks like a two- or three-hour drive from here.”
“We’d best get an early start,” said Garlopis.
“I’ve made other plans. No, I think maybe you should stay here and speak to your cousin at the bank.”
“But you’ll need someone to translate, sir. Ermioni is only a small port town. They still eat kokoretsi. Believe me, you don’t ever want to know what that is. They’re peasants. I doubt you’ll find anyone who speaks English there, let alone German.”
“That’s all right,” I said. “I’ll be taking someone who speaks German. Someone Greek. Someone who’s a lot better-looking than you.”
“You intrigue me, sir.”
“I don’t mean to. And you can park that intrigue somewhere quiet, Garlopis. We’ll be back before dark, I expect.”
“This wouldn’t be the woman from the Ministry of Economic Coordination, would it? Miss Panatoniou? The very good-looking lady who was at Brettos who, you told me, wishes to improve her German?”
“Yes.”
“I must say, teaching a foreign language never looked like such fun.” Garlopis grinned. “She’s a beauty. You’ll forgive me if I say so, sir, but I’m impressed.”
“No need to be.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, sir, does she know that you’re under open arrest? That Leventis has threatened to throw you in jail unless you help him investigate Witzel’s murder?”
“No. She doesn’t. She knows I’m investigating the loss of the Doris. And I imagine Mr. Papakyriakopoulos must have told her that I’ve asked to see his client, Arthur Meissner, but as of this moment she hasn’t mentioned that.”
“So on the face of it, she’s going for the sheer pleasure of your company. Interesting.”
“Isn’t it? To be perfectly honest I have absolutely no idea why she’s agreed to spend the day with me. But I’m planning to have a hell of a lot of fun finding out.”
THIRTY-THREE
–
“It was the left that formed the backbone of the resistance to the German occupation,” said Elli. “And for this reason it was the left that earned the right to govern Greece after the war. But out of respect for his allies, Stalin ordered the KKE to avoid a confrontation with the Greek government in exile, led by Georgios Papandreou. The British, however, encouraged Papandreou to move against the KKE, and even sent tanks and Indian infantry units to support him against the population of Athens, which had supported the left and the KKE. As relations between the Allies deteriorated, Greece became a kind of British protectorate. The king returned to Athens, and the American CIA set about re-equipping and training the Greek army with the aim of destroying Greek communism, which was itself betrayed by Tito, in Yugoslavia.”
The interior of the Rover P4 was all red leather and walnut veneer, quietly ticking clocks and plush thick carpets, like an exclusive English gentleman’s club. Elli Panatoniou looked good seated on the Rover’s red leather. She’d have looked good seated on a heap of worn-out car tires. I tried to keep my nice blue eyes on the twisting road to Ermioni but they kept twisting their way back to her shapely knees, the chiaroscuro edge of her black stocking tops, and the Corinth Canal that was her cleavage. The surreptitious enjoyment of all that makes a good-looking woman good-looking is perhaps the only pleasure remaining to man that is neither illegal nor unhealthy, and it’s a wonder we stayed on the road at all. It didn’t help that her Shalimar perfume was my favorite because it seemed somehow to encapsulate the delightful difference that existed between men
