Crying Blue Murder (MIRA) by Paul Johnston Read Free Book Online

anyone. He squared it with the Party by putting up penurious students and visitors—often on the run from other countries—which meant that life in the old mansion was never dull. But Dorothy had never felt at home there, despite her adoration of Spyros, so it came as no real surprise when she used her own money to buy a modern flat. The house Mavros spent his formative years in was now an official Party hostel. He reckoned that was as good a use for it as any.
    ‘It’s all right, Alex.’ Anna was in the hall of the flat as soon as he opened the door. ‘It’s only a heavy bruise.’
    ‘I told you it was nothing to worry about,’ came a triumphant voice from the lounge.
    Anna Mavrou-Chaniotaki raised her brown eyes to the ceiling and mouthed imprecations.
    Mavros put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her lightly on both cheeks. ‘Calm down,’ he said, shaking her slender frame gently and hearing the material of her pale pink blouse rustle. As usual his sister was dressed in the best that the designer outlets of Athens could offer, her short skirt displaying perfectly tanned and exercised legs. Her stockbroker husband, Nondas, liked her to look her best at all times. ‘So the doctor’s been?’
    ‘And gone,’ Anna said, the nodding of her head making her gold earrings rattle; her jet-black hair, drawn back in a clasp, didn’t make any false moves. She was five years older than Alex and had two teenage children, as well as columns in several of the capital’s fashion and gossip magazines. Organisation and method were her watchwords, much to her husband’s approval.
    ‘Nondas all right?’ Mavros asked as they moved towards the saloni . Despite his brother-in-law’s dedication to the money markets and his behind-the-scenes involvement with the conservative Nea Dhimokratia Party, Mavros couldn’t find it in him to dislike Nondas Chaniotakis. He was a lively, well-educated Cretan who liked to eat in neighbourhood
tavernes
and who regarded his rich man’s toys—the BMW, the motor launch, the home cinema—with only passing interest. He loved his wife and his children too much to be engaged by the status symbols required by his profession and his party.

    ‘Mmm,’ Anna said distractedly. ‘I really ought to be getting over to the Ena office, I’ve got a piece to outline to them.’ But she followed Mavros into the spacious room where their mother was sitting in an armchair, the older woman’s left leg bandaged and stretched out straight. ‘Honestly, Mother, you were lucky I happened to drop in. You must be more careful, you’ll—’
    Dorothy Cochrane-Mavrou raised an arm. ‘Leave me be, Anna. I can manage perfectly well on my own.’ Her dark brown eyes flashed as she turned towards her children, the pure white hair with its natural waves catching the light filtered through the half-closed blinds. ‘When I break my leg, then you can be worried.’
    Anna stepped to the window impatiently, her dark red lips set in a tight line.
    Mavros bent over Dorothy and kissed her. ‘She’s right, Mother. You should be more careful. These floors are—’
    ‘Stop it, Alex,’ the old woman interrupted. ‘You know she only does it to annoy me.’ Dorothy and Anna had spent years perfecting the ultimate mother-daughter routine. They were devoted to each other, but were incapable of exchanging more than a few sentences without irritation flaring.
    ‘I’m not getting involved,’ Mavros said, assuming the neutral position he’d established when he was at primary school—he’d had the examples of his father and his brother Andonis to follow. ‘Anna’s only trying to be the dutiful daughter. You know that’s the way in this country.’
    His mother made a dismissive sound. ‘They’re far too obsessed with family here,’ she said firmly. ‘People should learn to cope as individuals.’
    Mavros took in her long, spare form, then found his eyes drawn irresistibly to the black-and-white photographs in