“Good Lord. Let me get you another gin.”

I stood at the bar waiting for the drinks and watched myself in the mirror; gave myself the smallest wink.

“Sygeia. Well you can imagine, I moved in poly fast. Consolidated position. Found out who they were. Old boy’s godchildren up at the villa. Bang out of the top drawer, both been to Roedean, finished in Switzerland. All that. Said they were there for the summer and that the old boy would very much like to meet me, why didn’t I come up for tea. Nuff said. Off we trotted. Meet the old boy. Tea.”

He had the same old habit of stretching his neck up, as if his collar was too tight; to make himself look a man of the world.

“This what’s-his-name spoke English?”

'Perfect. Moved round Europe all his life, best society and all that. Well, actually I found one of the twins a shade off. Not my type. Rather marked the other for my area of ops. Okay, the old man and the not-on twin faded away after tea and this girl, June, that was her name, took me round the property.”

“Nice work.”

“Didn’t actually get round to unarmed combat at that point, but I sort of felt she was ready and willing. You know how it was on the island. Full magazine on and nothing to shoot at.”

“Rather.”

He flexed his arm, caressed the back of his hair. “Right. I trotted off back to the school. Tender farewell. Invitation to dinner the next weekend. Week passes, I present myself over there in my number ones. Other necessary equipment. Drinks for dinner, girls looking smashing. But then.” He gave me a taut, suspenseful look. “Well as a matter of fact the other girl, not June, got stinkers.”

“Christ.”

“I’d got her number the week before. One of these bloody intellectual girls. Pretend to be as tough as nuts, but a couple of gins put 'em out stone cold. Well, it got pretty bloody dicey during dinner. Damned embarrassing. This Julie girl took against me. Didn’t take much notice at first. I thought, well, the girl’s a bit squiffy. Time of the month or something. But… actually she began, well she began to make fun of me in a damn silly sort of way.”

“How?”

“Oh… you know, copied my voice. Way I say things. I suppose she was quite good at it. Damned offensive, all the same.”

“But what was she saying?”

“Oh a load of stupid cock about pacifism and the bomb. You know the type. And I just wasn’t having any.”

“Didn’t the others join in?”

“Hardly said a word. Too damn embarrassed. Well anyway suddenly wham this Julie girl shouted a whole string of really bloody nasty insults. Lost her temper completely. And then all hell broke loose. This other June girl got up and went for her. The old man flapped his hands like a wounded crow. Then the Julie one rushed away. Then her sister. I was left sitting there with the old man. He started talking about them being orphans. Load of guff. Sort of apology.”

“What were these insults she shouted?”

“Old boy, I can’t remember now. The girl was pissed.” He dredged his memory. “Called me a Nazi, actually.”

“A Nazi!”

“One of the things we were rowing about was Mosley.”

“You’re not a—”

“Of course not, old boy. Good God.” He laughed, then fficked a look at me. “But let’s face it, not all Mosley says is rot. If you ask me this country has got bloody sloppy.” He stretched his neck. “Bit more discipline. National pride…”

“Maybe, but Mosley?”

“Old man, don’t get me wrong. Who the hell do you think I was fighting against in the war? It’s just that… well, take your Spain. Look what Franco’s done for Spain.”

“I thought all he’d done was build a lot of dungeons in Barcelona.”

“Ever been to Spain, old man?”

“No, I haven’t, as a matter of fact.”

“Well, till you have I’d keep quiet about what Franco has and hasn’t done.”

I silently counted five, and shrugged.

“Sorry. Forget it. Do go on.”

“As it happens I’ve read some of Mosley’s stuff, and a lot of it makes sense.” He articulated the words with curt clarity. “Quite a lot of sense.”

“I’m sure.”

He metaphorically preened his ruffled feathers and went on.

“My twin came back, old boy left us for a few minutes and actually she was, seemed, damn sweet. Course I played up the hurt line and sort of indicated that a little stroll in the moonlight later would help me get back to normal. And then, she said wham—Stroll? How about a swim? And believe me, old boy, you only had to hear her say it to see swimming might lead to very interesting other activities. Midnight on the dot, at the gate. Okay, we go to bed at eleven, I sit round waiting for zero hour. Slip out of the house. No problems. Get to the gate. Five minutes later, along she comes. And old man, I can tell you, I’ve been in some clinches in my time, but that girl lit up like a bomb. Lit me up like a bomb, too. Began to think Operation Midnight Swim was going to be canceled for a more important exercise. But she said she wanted to cooi off for a while.”

“I’m glad you didn’t tell me about this before I went. The disappointment would have killed me.”

He grinned condescendingly. “We get down to the beach. She says, I haven’t got a costume, do you mind going in first. I think, well maybe she’s shy, maybe she wants to do the necessary. Fine. Operation undress. She retires into the trees. Charley does exactly what he’s told, swims out fifty yards, treads water, waits two minutes, three, four, actually in the end about ten, begins to feel damn cold. Still no girl.”

“And your clothes had gone.”

“You’ve got it, old boy. Stark naked. Standing on that bloody beach hissing the damn girl’s name.” I laughed, but his smile was very thin. “So. Big joke. Message received. You can imagine how damned angry I was by then. I gave her half an hour to come back. Searched round. No go. So I marched off to the house. Didn’t do my feet much good. Tore a bit of pine branch off to cover the old privates if necessary.”

“Fantastic.” I was beginning to find it difficult not to grin all over my face; but I was clearly meant to share the outrage. “Through the gate, up the drive thing, towards the house. Go round the front. What do you think I see there?” I shook my head. “A man hanging.”

“You’re joking.”

“No, old boy. They were doing the joking. Actually it was a dummy. Like one of those things you use in bayonet practice, yes? Filled with straw. Strung up with a rope round its neck. And my clothes on. Head painted to look like Hitler.”

“Good God. What did you do?”

“What could I do? Pulled the bloody stupid thing down and got my clothes off it.”

“And then?”

“Nix. They’d gone. Hooked it.”

“Gone?”

“Caïque. Heard it down at Moutsa. Thought it was a fisherman. Left my bag out for me. Nothing pinched. Just that bloody fourmile walk back to the school.”

“You must have been furious.”

“Was slightly chokka. Yes.”

“But you didn’t let them get away with it.”

He smiled to himself.

“Right. Quite simple. I composed a little report. First about the thing during the war. Then a few little facts about where our friend Mr. Conchis’s present political sympathies lay. Sent it to the appropriate quarters.”

“Communist?” Since the civil war ended in 1950, Communists had been hounded relentlessly in Greece.

“Knew some in Crete. Just said I’d seen a couple on Phraxos and followed them to his house. That’s enough, that’s all they want. A little bit goes a long way. Now you know why you never had the pleasure.”

I fingered the stem of my glass.

“And so you had the last laugh.”

“Habit of mine, old boy. Suits my complexion.”

“Why on earth did they do it in the first place? I mean, all right, they didn’t like you… but they could have given you the brush-off from the beginning.”

“All that stuff about their being the old boy’s godchildren. All my eye. Course they weren’t. They were a pair of high-class tarts. Language the Julie one used gave the game away. Damn funny way of looking at you. Suggestive.” He glanced at me. “It was the sort of setup you run across in the Mediterranean—especially your Eastern Mediterranean. I’ve met it before.”