MERSA MATRUH
11 “The Greek was a feeler. Elene did not like feelers. She did not mind straightforward lust; in fact, she was rather partial to it. What she objected to was furtive, guilty, unsolicited groping. After two hours in the shop she had disliked Mikis Aristopoulos. After two weeks she was ready to strangle him. ‘nie shop itself was fine. She liked the spicy smells and the rows of gaily colored boxes and cans on the shelves in the back room. The work was easy and repetitive, but the time passed quickly enough. She amazed the customers by adding up their bills in her head very rapidly. From time to time she would buy some strange imported delicacy and take it home to try: a jar of liver paste, a Hershey bar, a bottle of Bovril, ,a can of baked beans. And for her it was novel to do an ordinary, dull, eight-hours-a-day job. But the boss was a pain. Every chance he got he would touch her arm, her shoulder or her hip; each time he passed her, behind the counter or in the back room, he would brush against her breasts or her bottom. At first she had thought it was accidental, because he did not look the type: he was in his twenties, quite good-looking, with a big smile that showed his white teeth. He must have taken her silence for acquiescence. She would have to tread on him a little, She did not need this. Her emotions were too confused already. She both liked and loathed William Vandam, who talked to her as an equal, then treated her like a whore; she was supposed to seduce Alex Wolff, whom she bad never met; and she was being groped by Mikis Axistopoulos, for whom she felt nothing but scorn. 137 138 Ken Follett
They all use me, she thought; it’s the story of my life. She wondered what Wolff would be like. It was easy for Vandarn to tell her to befriend him, as if there were a button she could press which made her instantly irresistible. In reality a lot depended on the man. Some men liked her immediately. With others it was hard work. Sometimes it was impossible. Half of her hoped it would be impossible with Wolff. The other half remembered that he was a spy for the Germans, and Rommel was coming closer every day, and if the Nazis ever got to Cairo … Aristopoulos brought a box of pasta out from the back room. Elene looked at her watch: it was almost time to go home. Aristopoulos dropped the box and opened it. On his way back, as he squeezed past her, he put his hands under her arms and touched her breasts. She moved away. She heard someone come into the shop. She thought: I’ll teach the Greek a lesson. As he went into the back room, she called after him loudly, in Arabic: “If you touch me again rn cut your cock off!” There was a burst of laughter from the customer. She turned and looked at him. He was a European, but he must understand Arabic, she thought. She said: “Good afternoon.” He looked toward the back room and called out: “What have you been doing, Axistopoulos, you young goat?” Aristopoulos poked his head around the door. “Good day, sir. This is my niece, Elene.” His face showed embarrassment and something else which Elene could not read. He ducked back into the storeroom. “Niecel” said the customer, looking at Elene. “A likely tale.tg He was a big man in his thirties with dark hair, dark skin and dark eyes. He had a large hooked nose which might have been typically Arab or typically European-aristocratic. His mouth was thin-lipped, and when he smiled he showed small even teeth-like a cat’s, Elene thought. She knew the signs of wealth and she saw them here: a silk shirt, a gold wristwatch, tailored cotton trousers with a crocodile belt, handmade shoes and a faint masculine cologne. Elene said: “How can I help you?” He looked at her as if he were contemplating several pos- THE KEY TO REBECCA 139
aible answers, then he said: “Lefs start with some English marmalade.” “Yes.” The marmalade was in the back room. She went there to get a jar. “It’s him!” Aristopoulos hissed. “What are you talking about?” she asked in a normal voice. She was still mad at him. “The bad-money man-Mr. Wolff-that’s him!” “Oh, Godl” For a moment she had forgotten why she was here. Aristopouloe panic infected her, and her mind went blank. “What shall I say to him? What should I do?” “I don’t know give him the marmalade-I don’t know–” “Yes, the marmalade, right . . .” She took a jar of Cooper’s Oxford from a shelf and returned to the shop. She forced herself to smile brightly at Wolff as she put the jar down on the counter. “What else?” “Two pounds of the dark coffee, ground line.” He was watching her while she weighed the coffee and put it through the grinder. Suddenly she was afraid of him. He was not like Charles, Johnnie and Claud, the men who had kept her. They had been soft, easygoing, guilty and pliable. Wolff seemed poised and confident: it would be hard to deceive him and impossible to thwart him she guessed. “Something else?” “A tin of ham.” She moved around the shop, finding what he wanted and putting the goods on the counter. His eyes followed her everywhere. She thought: I must talk to him, I can’t keep saying “Something else?” I’m supposed to befriend him. “Something else?” she said. “A half case of champagne.” The cardboard box containing six full bottles was heavy. She dragged it out of the back room. “I expect you’d like us to deliver this order,” she said. She tried to make it sound casual. She was slightly breathless with the effort of bending to drag the case, and she hoped this would cover her nervousness. He seemed to look through her with his dark eyes. “Deliver?” he said. “No, thank you.” She looked at the heavy box. “I hope you live nearby.” “Close enougIL” 140 Ken Follett