Read Online The Collectors Book Two: Full Circle (The Collectors Series 2) by Ron Sewell - Free Book Online Page B

realised his friend expected a response. “Can you imagine the chaos in and around Famagusta during the invasion?”
    “No?” snapped Georgiadis. “I lived in England.”
    “That’s right. Those who survived the humiliation of the Turks understand. I, like so many, ran away. Many of those who stayed, the old and infirm, perished under a hail of bullets. I can assure you the temptation for a Turkish trooper to loot from abandoned houses was never greater. Let’s face it, there was no one to stop them.”
    Costas gazed at Georgiadis, a man who could memorise the full works of Shakespeare, but not repair a fuse.
    “What are you trying to tell me?”
    Costas hesitated. “I’ve lived with this for too long.” His eyes focused on his friend and he continued. “During the attack on Famagusta, I hid many precious icons. My dilemma is, did the invaders find and sell them? Private collectors will buy stolen property.”
    A crash of thunder vibrated through the room and both men listened to the rain falling like a raging torrent from overfull gutters and onto the road.
    Costas shook his head. “Rain and more rain. Maybe God is trying to tell me something.”
    “I understand you need to buy an umbrella. Your problem is you don’t know if they’ve been found, and if they haven’t – how to retrieve them?”
    Costas became weary. “Finding out is the first step but how would I recover them.”
    “Do you want to know?”
    “Yes.”
    “It’s late and we’ve both drunk too much,” said Georgiades. “Tomorrow I’ll give thought to your dilemma. I’m going to bed.”
    Costas thanked his friend and followed him up the stairs.
    At the top, Georgiadis turned. “Goodnight.”
     
    *  *  *
     
    Georgiadis pondered the recovery of lost icons before sleep surrounded him.
    On the stroke of nine the next morning, the school day began. Georgiadis sat in his office studying the programme for the following term. They now had over one hundred Greek Cypriot students whose parents wanted them taught in their native language. These same parents paid huge sums to English tutors so their sons and daughters spoke English without a Greek accent.
    He opened his file and searched for a name, Zena Dunn Kyriades.
    Zena’s son Petros joined the school in 1988. A remarkable student in Greek and English. He pressed the digits on the phone and waited. A cheerful voice answered, “Good morning, Jack Dunn – you break, I’ll fix.”
    “Good morning, Mr Dunn. This is Georgiadis Stamati, Headmaster of the Greek Secondary School. I wonder if you can help me. Have you the telephone number of your son, Petros.”
    “Of course. Can I ask why?”
    “I understand he may be able to find something for me.”
    “Can’t see how. He’s in the property business. Tell you what; are you still at the old school? I’ll tell him you called. Can’t do better than that.”
    “You’re most kind, Mr Dunn. Yes, it’s the same number. Thank you for your help.”
    “Okay, George, no doubt he’ll contact you when he’s not busy. ’Bye for now.” The line went dead.
    The following morning at breakfast, Costas took his knife and sliced the top of his boiled egg.
    Georgiadis ate his toast in silence.
    “You are distant, my friend,” said Costas.
    “Costas, with regard to your missing icons, remember every action has a reaction. Are you prepared to go along that road?”
    Costas raised his head. “I want those icons recovered.”
     
    *  *  *
     
    Petros listened to the message on his answering machine and remembered old Georgiadis, his headmaster. He entered the number his stepfather had given him and waited.
    “Georgiadis Stamati, Headmaster.”
    Without thinking, Petros said, “Good morning, Sir. Petros Kyriades. You spoke to my stepfather yesterday.”
    “Hello, Petros, how are you? It’s been a long time.”
    “I’m fine, Headmaster.”
    “Petros, I’m informed you help people.”
    “Headmaster, when I left university, I did a few