A Man Called Alexias
He unpacked his bag and then washed and shaved and put on a clean shirt. He was pulling on his jacket when the knock came at the door and a small, balding man entered.
He carried a stiff-backed ledger under one arm and smiled ingratiatingly, exposing bad teeth.
“Excuse me. I hope I’m not disturbing you?”
Lomax took an instant dislike to him, but he managed a smile. “Not at all. Come right in.”
“I am the proprietor, George Papas,” the little man, said. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you arrived. Mornings J work in my olive grove.”
“That’s all right. Your daughter looked after me fine.”
“She is a good girl,” Papas said complacently. He placed the ledger oa the table by the window, opened it and produced a pen from the inside pocket of his jacket. “If you wouldn’t mind signing the register. A legal requirement, you understand? The local police sergeant is fussy about such matters.”
Lomax examined the book with interest. The last entry had been made almost a year before. He took the pen and entered his name, address and nationality in the appropriate columns.
“You don’t seem to get many visitors here.”
Papas shrugged. “Kyros is a quiet place with nothing much to attract the tourists-especially Americans.”
“As it happens, I’m English,” Lomax said. “Perhaps my tastes are simpler.”
‘ùEnglish!” Papas frowned. “But my daughter assured ane you were an American.”
“A mistake the young boy who brought me here from the boat made,” Lomax said. “I only live there. Does it matter?”
“No, of course not.” Papas looked distinctly uncomfortable as he swivelled the register to examine the entry.
“Hugh Lomax-California,” he mumbled. “Nationality English,” and then his whole body seemed to be racked by a violent spasm.
For a moment, Lomax thought the man was about to throw a fit. He took his arm to lead him to a chair and Papas jerked it away as if he had been stung.
His face had turned a sickly yellow colour and his eyes were staring as he backed to the door.
“For God’s sake, man,” Lomax demanded. “What is it?’.
Papas managed to open the door with one hand and crossed himself mechanically with the other. “Holy Mother of God,” he breathed and stumbled into the corridor.
Lomax stood there for a moment, a frown on his face, and then picked up the register and followed him.
When he went into the bar, Anna was polishing glasses. She looked up and smiled. “Can I get you anything?”
He shook his head and placed the register on the bar. “Your father left that in my room by mistake. I’d like to have a word with him if I may.”
“I’m afraid he’s just gone out,” she said. “I saw bin. crossing the square a moment ago.”
“It can wait till later. Tell me, is there still a tavern on the waterfront called The Little Ship? It used to be owned by a man called Alexias Pavlo.”
“It still is,” she said. “Everyone knows Alexias. This year he is mayor of Kyros.” She frowned in bewilderment. “But how could you know of Alexias and The Little Ship?”
“Remind me to tell you some time,” he said, and went out into the bright sunshine.
2 17
As he crossed the square towards the street that led down to the harbour, Yanni emerged from it and ran towards him, the dog yapping at his heels He was wearing a scarlet shirt, khaki shorts and a pair of white rubber shoes.
He halted a few paces away, held out Ms arms and pirouetted. “Don’t I look beautiful?”
“What’s the idea?” Lomax said
Yanni spread his hands “If I’m working for such a rich and important man I must look the part These are my best clothes.”
“That makes sense,” Lomax said. “Where did you steal them from?”
“I didn’t steal them,” Yanni cried indignantly. “They were a present from a very good friend of mine The best friend I’ve got.”
“All right,” Lomax said. “Have it your way.”
He moved down the cobbled streets towards the harbour and Yanni trotted beside him “Where do you want to go first?”