Read Online This Rough Magic by Mary Stewart - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Mary Stewart
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Nobody paid any attention to us.
Adoni, who apparently knew the car, shouldered his way purposefully through the groups of people, and held out a hand to me for the keys.
Almost as meekly as Miranda (who hadn’t yet spoken a word) I handed them over, and our escort unlocked the doors and ushered her into the back seat. She got in with bent head, and sat well back in a corner. I wondered, with some amusement, if this masterful young man intended to drive us both home – and whether Phyl would mind – but he made no such attempt. He shut the driver’s door on me and then got in beside me.
‘You are used to our traffic now?’
‘Oh, yes.’ If he meant was I used to driving on the right-hand side, I was. As for traffic, there was none in Corfu worth mentioning; if I met one lorry and half a dozen donkeys on an average afternoon’s excursion it was the most I had had to contend with. But today there was the packed and teeming harbour boulevard, and possibly because of this, Adoni said nothing more as we weaved our way through the people and out on to the road north. We climbed a steep, badly cambered turn, and then the road was clear between high hedges of judas trees and asphodel. The surface was in places badly pitted by the winter’s rain, so I had to drive slowly, and the third gear was noisy. Under cover of its noise I said quietly to Adoni:
‘Will Miranda and her mother be able to keep themselves, now that Spiro has gone?’
‘They will be cared for.’ It was said flatly, and with complete confidence.
I was surprised, and also curious. If Godfrey Manning had made an offer, he would surely have told Phyllida so; and besides, whatever he chose to give Maria now, he would hardly feel that he owed this kind of conscience-money. But if it was Julian Gale who was providing for the family, as Phyllida had alleged, it might mean that her story of the twins’ parentage was true. I would have been less than human if I hadn’t madly wanted to know.
I put out a cautious feeler. ‘I’m glad to hear that. I didn’t realise there was some other relative.’
‘Well,’ said Adoni, ‘there is Sir Gale, in a way, but I didn’t mean him or Max. I meant that I would look after them myself.’
‘You?’
He nodded, and I saw him throw a half-glance over his shoulder at Miranda. I could see her in the driving-mirror; she was taking no notice of our soft conversation in English, which in any case may have been too rapid for her to follow, but was staring dully out of the window, obviously miles away. Adoni leaned forward and put a finger on the radio button, a gadget without which no Greek or Italian car ever seems to take the road. ‘You permit?’
‘Of course.’
Some pop singer from Athens Radio mooed from under the dash. Adoni said quietly: ‘I shall marry her. There is no dowry, but that’s no matter, Spiro was my friend, and one has obligations. He had saved to provide for her, but now that he is dead her mother must keep it; I can’t take it.’
I knew that in the old Greek marriage contract, the girl brought goods and land, the boy nothing but his virility, and this was considered good exchange; but families with a crop of daughters to marry off had been beggared before now, and Miranda, circumstanced as she was, would hardly have had a hope of marriage. Now here was this handsome boy calmly offering her a contract which any family would have been glad to accept, and one in which, moreover, he was providing all the capital; of the virility there could certainly be no doubt, and besides, he had a good job in a country where jobs are scarce, and, if I was any judge of character, he would keep it. The handsome Adoni would have been a bargain at any reckoning. He knewthis, of course, he’d have been a fool not to; but it seemed that he felt a duty to his dead friend, and from what I had seen of him, he would fulfil it completely, efficiently, and to everyone’s satisfaction – not least Miranda’s. And
Adoni, who apparently knew the car, shouldered his way purposefully through the groups of people, and held out a hand to me for the keys.
Almost as meekly as Miranda (who hadn’t yet spoken a word) I handed them over, and our escort unlocked the doors and ushered her into the back seat. She got in with bent head, and sat well back in a corner. I wondered, with some amusement, if this masterful young man intended to drive us both home – and whether Phyl would mind – but he made no such attempt. He shut the driver’s door on me and then got in beside me.
‘You are used to our traffic now?’
‘Oh, yes.’ If he meant was I used to driving on the right-hand side, I was. As for traffic, there was none in Corfu worth mentioning; if I met one lorry and half a dozen donkeys on an average afternoon’s excursion it was the most I had had to contend with. But today there was the packed and teeming harbour boulevard, and possibly because of this, Adoni said nothing more as we weaved our way through the people and out on to the road north. We climbed a steep, badly cambered turn, and then the road was clear between high hedges of judas trees and asphodel. The surface was in places badly pitted by the winter’s rain, so I had to drive slowly, and the third gear was noisy. Under cover of its noise I said quietly to Adoni:
‘Will Miranda and her mother be able to keep themselves, now that Spiro has gone?’
‘They will be cared for.’ It was said flatly, and with complete confidence.
I was surprised, and also curious. If Godfrey Manning had made an offer, he would surely have told Phyllida so; and besides, whatever he chose to give Maria now, he would hardly feel that he owed this kind of conscience-money. But if it was Julian Gale who was providing for the family, as Phyllida had alleged, it might mean that her story of the twins’ parentage was true. I would have been less than human if I hadn’t madly wanted to know.
I put out a cautious feeler. ‘I’m glad to hear that. I didn’t realise there was some other relative.’
‘Well,’ said Adoni, ‘there is Sir Gale, in a way, but I didn’t mean him or Max. I meant that I would look after them myself.’
‘You?’
He nodded, and I saw him throw a half-glance over his shoulder at Miranda. I could see her in the driving-mirror; she was taking no notice of our soft conversation in English, which in any case may have been too rapid for her to follow, but was staring dully out of the window, obviously miles away. Adoni leaned forward and put a finger on the radio button, a gadget without which no Greek or Italian car ever seems to take the road. ‘You permit?’
‘Of course.’
Some pop singer from Athens Radio mooed from under the dash. Adoni said quietly: ‘I shall marry her. There is no dowry, but that’s no matter, Spiro was my friend, and one has obligations. He had saved to provide for her, but now that he is dead her mother must keep it; I can’t take it.’
I knew that in the old Greek marriage contract, the girl brought goods and land, the boy nothing but his virility, and this was considered good exchange; but families with a crop of daughters to marry off had been beggared before now, and Miranda, circumstanced as she was, would hardly have had a hope of marriage. Now here was this handsome boy calmly offering her a contract which any family would have been glad to accept, and one in which, moreover, he was providing all the capital; of the virility there could certainly be no doubt, and besides, he had a good job in a country where jobs are scarce, and, if I was any judge of character, he would keep it. The handsome Adoni would have been a bargain at any reckoning. He knewthis, of course, he’d have been a fool not to; but it seemed that he felt a duty to his dead friend, and from what I had seen of him, he would fulfil it completely, efficiently, and to everyone’s satisfaction – not least Miranda’s. And
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