Read Online Hearts of Stone by Simon Scarrow - Free Book Online Page A

stroked his jaw wearily. ‘There always is too little time, my boy. You will come to appreciate that later in life. For now, enjoy the pace that is granted to youth. Later the years will rush past. As they have for me ever since you were born.’
    He glanced at his son and smiled fondly to himself.
    Peter brushed the words aside. In two days he would have left the island where he had begun to feel at home. This villa with its extraordinary views, the islanders and most of all his two friends. He could already picture himself on the deck of the ferry, gazing forlornly over its creamy wake at the receding outline of Lefkas. It would all go too fast, leaving him only memories. It already felt like a bereavement.
    ‘Will we be coming back?’
    ‘I hope so.’
    ‘When?’
    His father shook his head sadly. ‘That is out of my hands, Peter. It will be decided by wiser heads than mine. I’m sure Herr Hitler and his ministers will find a peaceful way out of the crisis. He’s proved himself adept at handling these things before now.’
    Peter did not reply. He had only the vaguest grasp of politics and diplomacy. He was not really interested in such affairs. They did not yet impinge on him, and there were more pressing things to consider.
    His father fished his watch out of the fob of his linen waistcoat and arched an eyebrow before easing himself up on to his feet. ‘I’d better get ready. Katarides is expecting us by seven.’
    He stretched his back and then walked into the villa, leaving his son alone with his regrets.
    The poet’s house was on a steep hill overlooking the town and the sea beyond. During the winter a stream flowed close by, filling the cisterns beneath the house, thereby providing a ready supply of water when the stream dried out in the summer months. Dr Muller drove through the gate and down the small drive to the house with headlights on as the last of the light faded from the sky. Even though Spyridon Katarides had been ostracised by his family, the stipend they had deigned to pay him provided him with enough to live comfortably compared to the majority of the islanders. The house was a neat two-storey building, painted white and blue. It sat in a large garden that had once been carefully cultivated but had been left to grow wild in the main. A wizened old retainer struggled to keep nature at bay when he was not catering to the needs of his master and Andreas. His wife, equally antique, served as cook and maid to the Katarides household.
    At the sound of the car the front door opened and Katarides appeared, framed by the light from within. The poet was a slender man with dark features and a finely trimmed beard that lined his jaw. He came out to greet them with a warm smile as they climbed out.
    ‘Herr Doktor. Good to see you and your son, as always.’ He paused very briefly and nodded to Heinrich. ‘And you of course, Herr Steiner. Andreas says you are abandoning your dig on the island.’
    ‘For a while, yes.’ Muller sighed. ‘I hope to be able to return before too long.’
    ‘Good, good. Please come inside.’ Katarides waved them ahead of him. The door led into a hall with a tiled floor, furnished with a number of cabinets, one of which contained a selection of shotguns and a rifle. A door at the back gave out on to a large terrace that seemed to hang above the town below, now a sprawl of lights in the darkness. The loud voice of Eleni’s father, the island’s chief of police, came to their ears. Demetrius Thesskoudis was a short, corpulent man with thinning hair, oiled and carefully combed across his scalp. He was standing with his back to the stone balustrade, facing the table where his wife, daughter and Andreas were sitting. A single electric light provided the illumination. Already it was surrounded by a halo of insects. The policeman was regaling them with a tale about an incompetent pickpocket who had been arrested. He turned as his host and the last of the guests emerged from the