Secrets Under the Sun Read online

  Secrets Under the Sun

  Nadia Marks (née Kitromilides, which in Greek means ‘bitter lemons’) was born in Cyprus, but grew up in London. An ex-creative director and associate editor on a number of leading British women’s magazines, she is now a novelist and works as a freelance writer for several national and international publications. She has two sons and lives in North London with her partner Mike.

  By Nadia Marks

  Among the Lemon Trees

  Secrets Under the Sun

  Nadia Marks

  Secrets Under

  the Sun

  PAN BOOKS

  First published in paperback 2018 by Macmillan

  This edition published 2018 by Pan Books

  an imprint of Pan Macmillan

  20 New Wharf Road, London N1 9RR

  Associated companies throughout the world

  www.panmacmillan.com

  ISBN 978-1-5098-1568-5

  Copyright © Nadia Marks 2018

  The right of Nadia Marks to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  Photograph on p. ix by Leopold Glaszner from the archives of the Glaszner family with thanks and gratitude to Irma and Panayiotis Vulgari, great-grandchildren of Leopold Glaszner.

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  To Mike

  Larnaka promenade – Finikoudes – c. 1930s

  Prologue

  Larnaka, 1961

  The sound of crying came from one of the bedrooms. Through the half-open door Olga saw her sitting bent over on the edge of the bed, head in hands, sobs wrack-ing her body. She had never seen her cry; the sight was confusing. For a moment she stood by the door watching, unsure how to act. Finally, she crossed the room and sat by her side.

  ‘What is it?’ Olga asked, arms around the shaking shoulders. The woman raised her head, eyes pleading.

  ‘I didn’t mean to love him,’ she said and covered her face with both hands. ‘Please forgive me.’

  1

  Larnaka, 2010

  Eleni stared into the open casket. Peaceful was the first word that came into her head. Then no words, just an overwhelming feeling of sadness. She placed a small bouquet of violets on the old woman’s breast over her heart and wiped her tears with the back of her hand. When she was a child the mere thought that this woman might one day not be there had been inconceivable.

  ‘Please don’t die, Tante mou,’ she’d cry, clinging onto the woman’s legs.

  ‘I won’t. I promise. Not just yet, anyway,’ she’d laugh, and kiss the top of Eleni’s head. Death had already played a prominent role in the young girl’s life. Her mother and father, both gone all at once before she could even remember them, and she couldn’t bear for anyone else to leave her. Tante’s laughter, a throaty chuckle, would always make her worries fade away, and for someone so young she had a few.

  *

  That morning Eleni had woken to the clatter of dishes. A beam of light was escaping through a crack between the shutters onto her legs sprawled on top of the tangled sheet. The heat was already filling the room. There was no air conditioning in the house; the two old women who had lived there had had no need for it, they always told her. This was a villa, with thick stone walls and high ceilings built to withstand the summer heat, they insisted, but Eleni thought otherwise. She opened her eyes very slowly; her head was throbbing. ‘How can I have a headache while I’m asleep?’ she thought, pressing her palm against her forehead for relief. ‘I wonder if Adonis has a headache too … and Marianna …’ The thought faded away as her eyes closed again. She lay motionless for a while, willing the headache to go, trying not to think about the previous night’s events. Finally, she opened her eyes again and fixed them on the ceiling, letting her brain wander. There was so much to take in, so much to digest. She felt overwhelmed. Slowly she sat up and her feet found the floor. First there is the funeral to deal with. Then I can think about everything else.

  She declined her cousin Adonis’s offer of a lift, and braving the inferno that was the July sun, made her way on foot through the narrow streets of the old town. Given it was mid-morning, it was probably a foolish move. Her head was heavy from the previous night’s revelations and drinking but she wanted some space alone.

  Larnaka in 2010 was very different from the Larnaka of her youth, she thought, but in some respects it was getting better. At last, there were signs that some of the old buildings left to ruin were being renovated. There had been a time before she left when it seemed anything with character and history had to be replaced by oversized concrete mediocrity. She was thankful that St Lazarus’s bell tower was still soaring above all the buildings that surrounded it in the square.

  She was first to arrive at the church; she needed some time alone. The modest coffin stood by the altar, its simplicity a contrast to the opulent interior of the Byzantine cathedral. St Lazarus, named after the patron saint of Larnaka, was no larger than an average church, yet once inside, the magnificence of the iconostasis, chandeliers and frescoes left you in no doubt of its importance. Christ’s friend had apparently fled to Cyprus for safety after his resurrection, and was ordained by St Paul as the first bishop of the island. He lived there for the rest of his life. Now deep in the catacombs of the church stands a sarcophagus bearing the inscription ‘The friend of Jesus’, in which the saint’s holy relics are believed to be stored. Every year on his name day they are brought up to the church in a heavy silver casket so that the faithful can pay their respects.

  The cathedral was always Tante’s preferred place of worship and she would take young Eleni there for the Sunday service. Eleni would sit obediently beside the older woman, anxious not to lose her in the crowd. Later, when Eleni was older and rebellious, the girl would reject the ‘oppression’ of religion and argue fiercely about it. ‘I don’t want to be told what to believe by anyone,’ she’d sulk; nevertheless, whenever she felt the need for solitude she too would seek it in St Lazarus rather than in the Catholic church where her grandmother and aunt went to pray.

  She didn’t hear the other two tiptoe into the church, rather sensed them. It was always like that with the three of them. They seemed to know instinctively when one or the other was near. Now, they all needed to sit together for a while before people arrived and the service began.

  The news of Katerina’s death had come as a sad shock to Eleni, Adonis and Marianna. Tante, as they called her – a variation on the German word for auntie – was neither their aunt nor their blood relati
ve, yet all three loved the old lady like family. They felt deep respect and gratitude towards her; her influence on them had helped to shape who they’d become. For her part, she’d adored all three; they were the children she never had.

  They hurried back to Larnaka for her funeral: Eleni from London, Adonis from New York and Marianna from Nicosia. Unlike the other two, she didn’t have far to travel, just a mere forty-minute drive, a journey which she had lately been making at least twice a month in order to visit the old woman.

  For Eleni, Katerina was almost a mother. She was hardly more than a year old when her parents, Sonia and Nicos, were killed together in a car crash and it was Katerina who took care of her and cherished her as her own. It wasn’t difficult: Eleni was an adorable child left traumatized by the loss of both parents. Besides, Katerina had also helped to bring up the little girl’s mother and aunt years before, when the Second World War was still raging in Europe. The sisters, six and eight, were only a few years younger than Katerina when she came into the house as a maid at thirteen, but her natural maternal and domestic skills shone through.

  As the Greek Orthodox Church buries its dead immediately, Eleni had had no time to lose and had left London in quite a rush. Her main concern, which proved to be relatively easy to address, was to organize someone to take over her lectures at the university where she was teaching. Home was fine: Simon, her husband, was more than capable of looking after himself and the dog. The kids, Christopher and Anthony, were both away studying – finally out of their hair, as the saying went, although if anything, Eleni liked having her boys ‘in her hair’.

  Even so, it was easier to have only one person to think about instead of three at the same time. In fact, she hardly had to think about Simon at all – he was very independent and an even better cook than she was, so he was going to be fine while she was away. They’d all wanted to come to the funeral – both boys and Simon were fond of Katerina – but there was no time to make arrangements at the last minute.

  Eleni knew Tante had been ill but the last time she had hurried back for a flying visit, only a few months earlier, it looked as if she was recovering well.

  ‘Don’t worry, my lovely, I’ll be fine,’ she had told Eleni. ‘You know me … I’m a tough old mountain nut, it takes a lot to crack me,’ she joked, and her laughter had filled the room as usual, reassuring Eleni that all would be well once again.

  Now she bitterly regretted that she had not stayed longer. But Katerina had never been one to dramatize, so Eleni had flown home, reassured.

  This time Simon was insisting that she should take her time.

  ‘Stay as long as you need,’ he’d said when the news arrived. ‘Don’t hurry back, your aunt will probably need you. And you need to be there … plus, since Adonis is coming from New York, you must spend some time with him.’

  ‘You’re right, I must,’ Eleni agreed, knowing very well that she would need time, and that the trip was going to be an emotional one. ‘I haven’t seen Adonis for two years – in fact I can’t remember the last time Marianna, Adonis and I spent time together. I know we Skype but it’s not the same as meeting up and spending time with them.’

  ‘The last time you saw Adonis was in London, wasn’t it? When he came to visit us,’ Simon said, handing Eleni a cup of coffee.

  ‘I just don’t know why we always leave it so long. Life slips by and we hardly notice.’ She reached for the cup. ‘We should all make more of an effort. When was the last time you saw your friend Mark in Sydney? Honestly, Simon, life is so short …’

  They had delayed the funeral for a day to allow Adonis time to arrive from New York. Eleni drove out to the airport in her grandmother’s old sports car to collect him. She parked the car, walked into the terminal and waited, reflecting how they both loved to drive that car, a host of childhood memories tied up in its fabric. Recently she had missed her cousin more than ever. They were so close in age, and though they were cousins, considered each other more as siblings. After growing up under the same roof in their grandmother’s house, with Katerina looking after them, their connection was deep.

  The wait for his flight to arrive and disgorge its last passengers seemed an eternity, and when Adonis eventually appeared he looked shattered and puffy-eyed. They fell into each other’s arms and both burst into tears.

  ‘Don’t take any notice of me,’ he finally said, tears turning into an embarrassed giggle. ‘I’m just tired and emotional, and besides it doesn’t do here for a grown man to be seen crying in public.’ He darted a furtive glance around him.

  ‘Don’t be silly – who cares about them!’ Eleni scolded him and gave him a bear hug. ‘I bet you anything that all these macho Cypriot men would be the first to cry if anything happened to their mama or their favourite auntie!’ And picking up his flight bag from his feet, she ushered him towards the exit.

  ‘Let’s go and see your mama, she’s at the house waiting for you. Marianna is waiting to see you too.’

  ‘So, how is my mother?’ Adonis asked his cousin as they drove across town to the old house.

  ‘Rather broken, I’d say,’ Eleni replied. ‘I don’t think she knows how she’s going to live without Katerina.’

  ‘We all thought Tante was going to live forever … how are any of us going to manage without her?’

  ‘I know …’ Eleni replied. ‘Just knowing she was there made me feel safe …’

  ‘We all did,’ he said and let out a sigh.

  ‘Did Robert mind your leaving so suddenly?’ Eleni asked. Adonis’s African-American partner, Robert, whom he had wed in a civil partnership three years previously, was a psychiatrist, and as Adonis told his cousin when he announced their partnership, ‘he’s the most supportive life partner a person could ever wish for – and he’s good for the soul, too.’

  ‘No, he was fine, of course!’ Adonis replied. ‘He was a darling as always, and as you know he adored Tante too – he’d have come along if he could have. But it was all such a rush.’

  ‘I know … the same with Simon and the boys. Anyway, if it’s OK with you, we’ll drop your bags, see your mother briefly and then meet Marianna for a coffee. I asked her to meet us before we all go back to the house. She can’t wait to see you.’

  ‘I’m in your hands, whatever you want to do,’ Adonis replied, closing his eyes and sinking back into the seat.

  ‘I know you’re exhausted and probably want to lie down,’ Eleni continued, ‘but I’ve been in the house for the last twenty-four hours consoling your mother, and I need to breathe.’

  ‘It’s OK, Eleni mou,’ Adonis laughed. ‘I can use some caffeine … I’ll sleep later, and besides I can’t wait to see Marianna either; I can’t remember when we were last all together.’

  They met their old childhood friend in a cafe on the long stretch of promenade – The Finigoudes, ‘little palm trees’, named after the long row of palms planted along the seafront some hundred years ago, was a popular meeting place. Now the mop-heads of the little palm trees tower over most of the tall buildings on the strip.

  No sooner had they sat down than Marianna came running across the road towards them, waving wildly. It had been some time since the three of them had met there.

  The Finigoudes of their youth was quite different to how it was now. When they were growing up it was still a sleepy promenade, a place for families to stroll along the seafront, with many of the old buildings still standing and only two or three family restaurants. But sometime in the 1990s globalization hit the area with a vengeance. In a few years, reconstruction and modernization totally transformed it with bars, restaurants and cafes turning the promenade into any fashionable Mediterranean resort found in Italy, Spain or France.

  ‘At least now we can get a decent cup of coffee,’ Adonis said settling down next to a massive fan, after finally releasing Marianna from his bear hug.

  ‘Exactly!’ Eleni added. ‘For those of us who don’t like Nescafé or don’t always feel like a Turkish coffee.’
r />   ‘You mean Greek coffee!’ Marianna corrected her.

  ‘Oh please, don’t you start being politically correct!’ Adonis protested. ‘The coffee is as Turkish as it’s Greek as it’s Arabic! It’s ridiculous to insist on calling it Greek coffee.’

  Eleni was amused to observe how quickly her two friends reverted to their childhood tactics of winding each other up.

  ‘You’ve lived in America too long, that’s your trouble,’ Marianna retaliated.

  ‘Come on, you two! Stop arguing about nothing,’ she butted in. ‘You know what Katerina would have told you … Stamatate! Stop! Anyway, we have bigger things to talk about.’ She reached for her black Americano. ‘Tonight, Auntie Anita wants us all at the house for supper. Apparently she wants to talk to the three of us about something, before the funeral!’

  ‘Supper! My mother? Talk?’ Adonis looked at the others in amazement. ‘When has she ever done any of that? Especially cook!’ He laughed. ‘Perhaps Tante has left some food in the freezer!’

  ‘Don’t think it hasn’t crossed my mind,’ Eleni said. ‘It’s all very mysterious.’

  True to character, Katerina had indeed left the freezer as she always did, full of her home cooking. She had actually alerted Anita to the fact that in the event of her demise she was leaving her with enough food to last a month and she was also bequeathing to her the cookery book she had inherited from Olga.

  ‘There will be enough food for a while,’ she’d said as she folded pastry one day, ‘and after that,’ Katerina looked at Anita and gave a little chuckle, ‘I suggest you start studying your mother’s bible … and by that I mean her gastronomic bible.’

  ‘Don’t talk such nonsense, you’re as fit as an ox,’ Anita had replied in a state of panic, denying the inevitability of Katerina’s fate. ‘You are much fitter than me.’