A Separation(22)

The contempt she felt for the man who held her in his arms! And yet there were plenty of women who would have been only too delighted to love the driver, he was handsome and not without charm, and evidently he was capable of loyalty. There was of course the problem of his temper, but women could be surprisingly accommodating, as well as optimistic, one could live in the hope that his anger would subside, especially once he was loved in return, it was not impossible. Yes, it would have been better if she let him go—if she told him that she would never love him, that they had no future together.

But I saw, it was clear, that she had no intention of doing so. As I watched, she slowly raised one arm and stroked his back, a caress of sorts. The gesture was a lie, totally insincere, I could see her face from where I sat, the disjunction between its rigid expression and the gentle, intimate motion of her fingers was disturbing, her hand seemed to have a life of its own, like something from a horror movie. But Stefano, who could not see what I could see, took the gesture at face value, its effect was instantaneous. His features illuminated with such hope. He reached a hand up to stroke her hair and then hesitated, he didn’t want to push his luck. She pulled away immediately, that was enough of that, her manner seemed to say.

Of course, Stefano was disappointed but he remained pleased, the situation was better than he thought, it was not, as far as he was concerned, entirely a lost cause. Maria still appeared disgruntled but at least she was not crying, or shouting, or even glaring at him, she merely looked as if she wished to dismiss him, she had things to do, she had wasted enough time talking with him in this way. In an instant, she had transformed herself into a professional woman, a busy one, she even looked down at her watch and frowned, she had lost track of the time, it was far later than she’d thought.

She said something to Stefano—abruptly, a terse good-bye, perhaps—he nodded and stepped back. She opened the door to the staff room, it was probably the start of her shift, she would need to change into her uniform, brush her hair, collect her thoughts. But then she turned and looked, not at Stefano, but at me. Her gaze was direct and unequivocal, it had an uncanny effect—as if an actor you have been watching on television suddenly turned to acknowledge you, the spectator. I was disconcerted, she nodded coldly, perhaps it was a necessary acknowledgment—we both knew that she knew that I had witnessed the scene. I admired the gesture, it was more than I would have done in her position, undoubtedly she was formidable in her way.

The door closed behind her. I looked to see where Stefano had gone, to my surprise I saw that he was now walking toward me. Abruptly, I took out my phone and peered down at it—as if I had been in the midst of writing an e-mail or reading my messages, the pretense was stupid and futile, it would have fooled no one. But I didn’t know what else to do as I sat in the chair, waiting for him to approach, which he did with surprising rapidity. Within moments he was standing before me, his expression was friendly, a little sheepish, entirely unprepossessing.

His voice, when he spoke, was uncertain, he bore no similarity to the raging male, the passionate lover, I had seen only moments earlier. He spoke in English and while his control of the language was excellent, he naturally lacked the fluency he possessed in Greek. Listening to him, I realized that one of the reasons why he had seemed more appealing, more masculine, even when unsuccessfully wooing Maria, was his linguistic control. Even in that most undermining of situations, fluency had allowed him to be more assertive than he was in situations that called for English.

I came here looking for you, he said.

I looked at him with surprise, I had been listening to how rather than what he was saying, nonetheless the content of his words, the direct address of this statement, spoken in a flat and matter-of-fact tone, was impossible to ignore. It was obviously untrue, he had come to the hotel looking for Maria, in order to comfort her (she had been upset to learn that Christopher had been seen with another woman), or confront her (why must she be so upset?). I continued to look up at him blankly, without replying, I could not imagine what he could have to say to me, or the purpose of this lie.

Would you like to have dinner with my great-aunt this evening? he asked.

I hesitated, I did not understand, why would his aunt wish to see me again? When I did not respond, Stefano continued.

I can drive you.

He sounded hopeful. The invitation seemed genuine, it might have been a simple instinct for hospitality—I wondered if perhaps, after our day together, I was no longer simply a customer, my interest (borrowed from Christopher) in the traditions of the area having somehow stood me in good stead. It was as though he now felt an obligation to aid me in my mission, however poorly conceived and articulated, if he scratched only a little further, the pretense would collapse, I knew nothing about the subject.

I confess I felt a small wrench—I would need to decline, tell him it was impossible, that I was about to go upstairs and book my return flight to London, I had just been looking at flights on my phone. I had no reason to feel guilty but on the whole I was not good at disappointing people, even and especially people I did not know. I tried to avoid this type of interaction but generally only succeeded in postponing what was, from the start, clearly inevitable—wasn’t that why I was here in Gerolimenas in the first place? No, when you were going to let people down it was better to do it as quickly as possible.

The only problem, I said, is that I am leaving, immediately. There has been a change of plan, I no longer need to stay.