The Right Path Part 16

"I don't know if any of these people think much about satisfaction. It's simply what they do. They fish or work in Nick's olive groves. They've been doing one or the other for generations." Toying with his own drink, Andrew studied them too. "I do think there's a contentment here. The people know what's expected of them. If their lives are simple, perhaps it's an enviable simplicity."

"Stil , there's the smuggling," Morgan murmured.

Andrew shrugged. "It's al part of the same mold, isn't it? They do what's expected of them and earn a bit of adventure and a few extra drachmas." She shot him a look of annoyed surprise. "I didn't expect that att.i.tude from you."

Andrew looked back at her, both brows raised. "What att.i.tude?" "This-this nonchalance over crime."

"Oh, come on, Morgan, it's-"

"Wrong," she interrupted. "It should be stopped." Morgan swal owed the innocently clear but potent ouzo. "How do you stop something that's been going on for centuries in one form or another?"

"It's current form is ugly. I should think the men of influence like Alex and ...

Nicholas, with homes on the island, would put pressure on whoever should be pressured."

"I don't know Alex wel enough to comment," Andrew mused, fil ing her gla.s.s again. "But I can't imagine Nick getting involved in anything that didn't concern himself or his business."

"Can't you?" Morgan murmured.

"If that sounds like criticism, it's not." He noted he had Morgan's ful attention, but that her eyes were strangely veiled. "Nick's been very good to me, lending me the col age and the money for my pa.s.sage. Lord knows when I'l be able to pay him back. And it irks quite a bit to have to borrow, but poetry isn't the most financial y secure career."

"I think I read somewhere that T.S. Eliot was a bank tel er."

Andrew returned her understanding smile with a wry grimace. "I could work out of Nick's California office." He shrugged and drank. "His offer wasn't condescending, just absentminded. It's rough on the ego." He looked past her, toward the docks. "Maybe my s.h.i.+p wil come in."

"I'm sure it wil , Andrew. Some of us are meant to fol ow dreams."

His gaze came back to her. "And artists are meant to suffer a bit, rise beyond the more base needs of money and power?" His smile was brittle, his eyes cool.

"Let's order." Morgan watched him shake off the mood and smile with his usual warmth. "I'm starved."

The evening sky was muted as they finished their meal. There were soft, dying colors flowing into the western sea. In the east, it was a calm, deep violet waiting for the first stars. Morgan was content with the vague glow brought on by spiced food and Greek ouzo. There was intermittent music from a mandolin. Packets of people shuffled in and out of the cafe, some of them breaking into song.

Their waiter c.u.m proprietor was a wide man with a thin moustache and watery eyes. Morgan figured the eyes could be attributed to the spices and cook smoke hanging in the air. American tourists lifted his status. Because he was impressed with Morgan's easily flowing Greek, he found opportunities to question and gossip as he hovered around their table.

Morgan toyed with a bit of psomaki and relaxed with the atmosphere and easy company. She'd found nothing but comfort and good wil in the Theoharis vil a, but this was something different. There was an earthier ambience she had missed in Liz's elegant home. Here there would be l.u.s.ty laughter and spil ed wine. As strong as Morgan's feelings were for both Liz and Alex, she would never have been content with the lives they led. She'd have rusted inside the perpetual manners.

For the first time since that morning, Morgan felt the nagging ache at the base of her skul begin to ease.

"Oh, Andrew, look! They're dancing." Cupping her chin on her hands, Morgan watched the line of men hook arms. As he finished up the last of a spicy sausage, Andrew glanced over.

"Want to join in?"

Laughing, she shook her head. "No, I'd spoil it-but you could," she added with a grin.

"You have," Andrew began as he fil ed her gla.s.s again, "a wonderful laugh. It's rich and unaffected and trails off into something sensuous." "What extraordinary things you say, Andrew." Morgan smiled at him, amused. "You're an easy man to be with. We could be friends."

Andrew lifted his brows. Morgan was surprised to find her mouth briefly captured. There was a faint taste of the island on him-spicy and foreign. "For starters." At her stunned expression, he leaned back and grinned. "That face you're wearing doesn't do great things for my ego, either." He pul ed a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket, then dug for a match.

Morgan stopped staring at him to stare at the thin black box.

"I didn't know you smoked," she managed after a moment.

"Oh, not often." He found a match. The tiny flame flared, flickering over his face a moment, casting shadows, mysteries, suspicions. "Especial y since my taste runs to these. Nick takes pity on me and leaves some at my cottage whenever he happens by. Otherwise, I suppose I'd do without altogether." When he noticed Morgan's steady stare, he gave her a puzzled smile.

"Something wrong?"

"No." She lifted her gla.s.s and hoped she sounded casual. "I was just thinking-you'd said you roam al over this part of the island. You must have been in that inlet before."

"It's a beautiful little spot." He reached over for her hand. "Or it was. I guess I haven't been there in over a week. It might be quite a while before I go back now."

"A week," Morgan murmured. "Don't dwel on it, Morgan."

She lifted her eyes to his. They were so clear, so concerned. She was being a fool. None of them-Alex, Dorian, Andrew-none of them were capable of what was burning into her thoughts. How was she to know that some maniac from the vil age hadn't had a taste for expensive tobacco and backstabbing? It made more sense, a great deal more sense than her ugly suspicions.

"You're right." She smiled again and leaned toward him. "Tel me about your epic poem."

"Good evening, Miss James, Mr. Stevenson."

Morgan twisted her head and felt the sky cloud over. She looked up into Tripolos's pudgy face.

"Hel o, Captain."

If her greeting lacked enthusiasm, Tripolos seemed unperturbed. "I see you're enjoying a bit of vil age life. Do you come often?"

"This is Morgan's first trip," Andrew told him. "I convinced her to come out to dinner. She needed something after this morning's shock." Tripolos clucked sympathetical y. Morgan noted the music and laughter had stil ed. The atmosphere in the cafe was hushed and wary.

"Very sensible," the captain decided. "A young lady must not dwel on such matters. I, unfortunately, must think of little else at the moment." He sighed and looked wistful y at the ouzo. "Enjoy your evening."

"d.a.m.n, d.a.m.n, d.a.m.n!" she muttered when he walked away. "Why does he affect me this way?

Every time I see him, I feel like I've got the Hope diamond in my pocket."

"I know what you mean." Andrew watched people fal back to create a path for Tripolos. "He almost makes you wish you had something to confess." "Thank G.o.d, it's not just me."

Morgan lifted her gla.s.s again, noticed her hands were trembling, and drained it. "Andrew," she began in calm tones, "unless you have some moral objection, I'm going to get very drunk."

Sometime later, after learning Andrew's views on drinking were flexible, Morgan floated on a numbing cloud of ouzo. The thin light of the moon had replaced the colors of sunset. As the hour grew later, the cafe crowd grew larger, both in size and volume. Music was al strings and bel s. If the interlude held a sheen of unreality, she no longer cared. She'd had enough of reality.

The waiter materialized with yet another bottle. He set it on the table with the air of distributing a rare wine. "Busy night," Morgan commented, giving him a wide if misty, smile.

"It is Sat.u.r.day," he returned, explaining everything.

"So, I've chosen my night wel ." She glanced about, seeing a fuzzy crush of people. "Your customers seem happy."

He fol owed her survey with a smug smile, wiping a hand on his ap.r.o.n. "I feared when the Mitilini captain came, my business would suffer, but al is wel ."

"The police don't add to an atmosphere of enjoyment, I suppose," she added slowly, "he's investigating the death of that fisherman."

He gave Morgan a quick nod. "Stevos came here often, but he was a man with few companions. He was not one for dancing or games. He found other uses for his time." The waiter narrowed his eyes. "My customers do not like to answer questions." He muttered something uncomplimentary, but Morgan wasn't sure if it was directed at Stevos or Tripolos.

"He was a fisherman," she commented, struggling to concentrate on the Greek's eyes. "But it appears his comrades don't mourn him."

The waiter moved his shoulders eloquently, but she saw her answer. There were fishermen, and fishermen. "Enjoy your evening, kyrios. It is an honor to serve you."

"You know," Andrew stated when the waiter drifted to another table, "it's very intimidating listening to al that Greek. I couldn't pick up on it. What was he saying?"

Not wanting to dwel on the murder again, Morgan merely smiled. "Greek males are red- blooded, Andrew, but I explained that I was otherwise engaged for this evening." She locked her hands behind her head and looked up at the stars. "Oh, I'm glad I came. It's so lovely. No murders-no smuggling tonight. I feel marvelous, Andrew. When can I read some of your poetry?"

"When your brain's functioning at a normal level." Smiling, he tilted more ouzo into her gla.s.s.

"I think your opinion might be important." "You're a nice man." Morgan lifted her gla.s.s and studied him as intensely as possible. "You're not at al like Nicholas."

"What brought that on?" Andrew frowned, setting the bottle back down again.

"You're just not." She held out her gla.s.s. "To Americans," she told him. "One hundred percent pure."

After tapping her gla.s.s with his, Andrew drank and shook his head. "I have a feeling we weren't toasting the same thing." She felt Nick begin to push into her thoughts and she thrust him away. "What does it matter? It's a beautiful night."

"So it is." His finger traced lightly over the back of her hand. "Have I told you how lovely you are?"

"Oh, Andrew, are you going to flatter me?" With a warm laugh, she leaned closer. "Go ahead, I love it." With a wry grin, he tugged her hair. "You're spoiling my delivery."

"Oh, dear ... how's this?" Morgan cupped her chin on her hands again and gave him a very serious stare.

On a laugh, Andrew shook his head. "Let's walk for a while. I might find a dark corner where I can kiss you properly."