Hearts of Stone by Simon Scarrow

lightly on the chest. ‘You’re teasing me!’
    ‘No.’
    She shook her head in wonder and turned abruptly to Peter. ‘He’s mad. Tell him so.’
    He wanted to agree, to spare him from any dangers that might befall Greece. It was a small country, on the fringes of diplomacy. Peter knew that well enough from the news he read from home. Yet if Andreas was to attend the academy of the Royal Hellenic Navy then he would be far removed from Eleni. Far enough and for long enough for Peter not to have to share her attentions should he one day return to Lefkas.
    ‘Andreas is right. It is the duty of everyone to protect their country. I would do the same if I were him.’
    ‘See?’ Andreas nudged her. ‘Peter understands.’
    ‘You’re both boys. What is there to understand? You all like uniforms and weapons and the idea of being brave. That’s all you think about . . . No. Not quite all.’ she concluded with a shy expression, then shot her hand out. ‘Look!’
    Fifty metres ahead the sea churned and turned white and flashes of silver darted above the surface as a school of sardines was forced to the surface as they were hunted by larger, stronger fish. The three watched transfixed as the prey tried to escape amid the spray of violently disturbed water. Athena passed close by and Stavakis spared the spectacle a cursory glance as he steered with the tiller between his knees and opened his tobacco tin to roll another cigarette. Ahead, the long silhouette of Meganisi opened up before them. The sun had risen well above the mountains on the mainland and spread its warmth over the Ionian Sea. Stavakis eased the tiller to starboard a fraction as he altered course towards the channel between Meganisi and Lefkas. As he had anticipated, from the clearness of the sky, the air remained still and the water flat. The poet and his guests would have a fine day of it, the fisherman thought contentedly.
    In front of the pilot house the three men had taken off their jackets to be more comfortable, and were sitting on the hold cover. They had finished their small talk and were enjoying the pleasure of being out at sea on such a fine day. At length Thesskoudis stirred and nodded towards their children.
    ‘It does a man’s heart good to see the youngsters so happy. It is truly a golden age to be. With everything to look forward to for the first time. Before experience begins to spoil the pleasure of it all.’
    Katarides looked at him with a surprised expression. ‘My dear Inspector, I had no idea you had the melancholic soul of a poet.’
    The other man shrugged. ‘We are no different, my friend. We feel the same about life, joy, sadness, beauty. Like all Greeks. The difference is you possess the skill to set it down in words. That is a gift I shall never have. While you write poetry, I write reports. I suppose both serve their purpose. Besides that, I have all that I could wish for in life. And I pray to God that my Eleni has the same.’
    ‘She’s a fine girl,’ said Katarides. ‘No. A fine young woman. I am sure you are proud of her.’
    The policeman smiled self-indulgently and then, as Greeks do, he returned the compliment. ‘As you must be, about Andreas. A handsome lad. I know Eleni likes him, though she does not say so. But then, I am sure she is not the only girl in Lefkada who feels the same about him.’
    Katarides stared at his son. The broad shoulders were hunched forward slightly as he sat wedged up against the girl, the fringe of his hair stirring in the air. ‘He reminds me of his mother. I see her in his face. Now he is all that is left of her, besides memories. If I lose him, I lose everything.’
    ‘Come now! There is no danger of that. He is strong and healthy.’
    ‘He is that. Just the kind of young man required by governments for their wars. And that makes me fearful.’
    ‘That is the kind of fear shared by all parents, in every age. That is life, my friend.’
    ‘But this age worries me.’
    ‘Why