Aphrodite’s Smile. Stuart Harrison

      STUART HARRISON

       Aphrodite’s Smile

       DEDICATION

       For Dale, who has to put up with me

      CONTENTS

       Cover

       Title Page

Dedication

Prologue

Part One

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

       Seven

       Eight

       Nine

       Part Two

       Ten

       Eleven

       Twelve

       Thirteen

       Fourteen

       Fifteen

       Sixteen

       Seventeen

       Eighteen

       Nineteen

       Twenty

       Twenty-One

       Twenty-Two

       Twenty-Three

       Twenty-Four

       Twenty-Five

       Twenty-Six

       Twenty-Seven

       Twenty-Eight

       Twenty-Nine

       Keep Reading

       Acknowledgements

       About the Author

       Author’s Note

       Also by the Author

       Copyright

       About the Publisher

       PROLOGUE

      French was drunk, which wasn’t in itself an extraordinary event. He wobbled slightly as he stood at the bar and, raising his hands in the air, surveyed the assembled crowd.

      ‘My friends,’ he began loudly, ‘in gratitude for the welcome you have extended to me during the years that I have been privileged to live among you, I will make a gift to the people of Ithaca.’ He paused for dramatic effect, and waited until he was sure that he had everybody’s attention before he continued. ‘This year the Panaghia will once again take her place at the head of the procession to Kathara.’

      There were murmurs of surprise from those who had not heard the Professor, as he was known among the locals, make this same claim two nights earlier. Everybody on the island knew that the statue of the Holy Virgin had been stolen more than sixty years ago, and the Professor’s claim was greeted with interest or scepticism, depending on the listener’s point of view.

      The bar was in a narrow street at the far southern end of the harbour around which the town of Vathy had been built, separated from the wharf by a row of run-down houses. Half a dozen zinc tables lined the footpath outside where old men played checkers and drank ouzo. Inside the air was thick with cigarette smoke.

      French leaned against the bar to steady himself and peered around at a blur of faces, wagging a finger at nobody in particular. ‘I know there are those among you who will doubt me. I confess that for a time I myself thought that all of these years I have spent searching had been in vain.’ A slight wave of nausea momentarily overtook him and French belched softly.

      Some of those present crossed themselves or briefly touched the crucifixes they wore around their necks, silently praying that the Professor’s claims weren’t merely the result of drinking too much wine. Before she was stolen, the statue of the Panaghia had been at the centre of the festival. After the procession to the monastery, the people would approach her one by one and silently pray for her blessing for the coming year. Perhaps if she was returned, the Holy Mother might send more tourists to the island so that it could prosper as its neighbour Kephalonia had. All summer long the charter jets disgorged their cargoes of package holiday-makers across the strait, though distressingly few of them made the ferry trip to Ithaca.

      Spiro,