My Brother Michael by Mary Stewart Read Free Book Online

person to deal with the car. Then, when you told me you came from Delphi, Iguessed you might be Simon – my “Simon”. They …’ I hesitated … ‘they seemed to assume you were the right one, too.’
    There was an infinitesimal pause before his hand went to the ignition. ‘Ah well,’ he said smoothly, ‘the sooner we get to Delphi and find your man the better, don’t you think?’
    ‘I do indeed.’ I laughed. ‘After all this, we’ll probably find him watching beside the road and dancing with impatience; that is, if the little man was right and it really is a matter—’ I stopped. Until I repeated the words, half-automatically, I’d forgotten them myself.
    ‘It is what?’
    I said slowly, looking at him: ‘A matter of life and death …’
    We were moving again, quickly now. Below us the sea of olives flowed and rippled like smoke. Above, the pitiless sun beat down on the rock with a heat like the clang of brass.
    He said: ‘Is that all he told you?’
    ‘Yes. But he repeated it.’
    ‘“A matter of life and death”?’
    ‘Just that. Only of course we were speaking in French. The phrase was “
il y va de la vie
”.’
    ‘And you got the impression he meant it seriously?’
    I said slowly: ‘Yes. I believe I did. I don’t know if I took it in really urgently at the time, but you know, I think that’s really why I did this silly thing with the car.’
    ‘You took the car, and the risks with it, because of some subconscious feeling of urgency about the affair?’
    I said: ‘That makes it sound more definite than it was, and there were – other reasons … But yes. Yes.’
    The car roared up a long incline, swept round and down a curling hill. I leaned back against the hot leather, folded my hands in my lap, and said, not looking at him: ‘If the little man was right, it’s just as well you’re not “Simon”, isn’t it?’
    He said, quite without expression: ‘Just as well. And here we are. What comes first? Simon, or the hotel?’
    ‘Both. I imagine the hotel people are as likely to know of him as anyone, and at least I expect they speak English. My six words of Greek won’t get me very far alone.’
    ‘On the other hand,’ said Simon gravely, ‘they might get you a good deal further than you intended.’

4
    And thou camest to Chrissa under snow-clad
Parnassus, to its foot that faces west, and rocks
overhang the spot, and a hollow, stony, wood-
clad vale stretches beneath it
.
    Homeric
Hymn to Apollo
.
    To my relief the hotel had a room to offer.
    ‘But only for tonight, I’m afraid,’ said the proprietor, who spoke, after all, excellent English. ‘I deeply regret, but I cannot be certain about tomorrow. I have had a – what do you call it? – provisional booking. Perhaps I can take you, perhaps not. If not, there is the Kastalia further along the street, or the Tourist Pavilion at the other end of Delphi. It has a magnificent view, but,’ he smiled charmingly, ‘it is very expensive.’
    ‘It couldn’t have a better view than this,’ I said.
    This was true. The village consisted only of two or three rows of flat-topped houses, washed ochre and pink and dazzling white, set in their tiers along the steep side of the hill. At the beginning of the village the road divides into a Y that makes the two main streets, and at the junction stands the Apollon Hotel, facingover the valley towards the distant gleam of the Corinthian Gulf.
    Outside the hotel, on the edge of the road which was used as a terrace, two big plane-trees made a deep island of shade for some wooden tables and chairs. Simon Lester had parked the car just beyond these, and was waiting there. When I had completed the formalities of booking I went out to speak to him.
    ‘It’s all right. They can take me for tonight, and just at the moment that’s all I care about.’ I held out my hand. ‘I have to thank you very much, Mr Lester. I don’t quite know where I’d have been without your help. I’ve a feeling