Mortal Remains Read Online Free PDF Page B

image of a slight, dark girl floated into his mind.
    It was ridiculous. He’d got over it months ago. It was just the effect of this place – the sun and the surroundings, and the sight of at least four honeymoon couples in the hotel restaurant.
    It was better to think about Felix.

 
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    Patrick slept for an hour, and woke feeling heavy-headed. He put slacks and a shirt on over his swimming trunks and went outside.
    The hotel beach was strewn with toasting bodies. Some slept, some read; a few heads bobbed in the sea. A fat, middle-aged woman spread oil on the back of her still fatter husband. A few people glanced up as Patrick passed. He felt a sharp revulsion from so much naked flesh and walked on towards the promontory below which Felix’s body had been floating.
    On the cliff top, there were patches of shrivelled grass and scrub. He was no botanist, but he knew that these withered bushes must be bright with blossom in the spring. Close to the sea’s edge, the ground was bare, just grey rock above the water. At the tip of the small peninsular, there was an old wartime pillbox set into the rock. It was easy to imagine sentries inside it, watching for the submarines that brought supplies to the andartes. Patrick wondered why it had not been demolished. It was still a solid structure. Perhaps it served as a warning. More likely it was a refuge for local lovers, since the present chaste regime forbade public display. There were some cigarette ends on the ground inside it, and various graffiti scratched on the stones of the inner walls, but nothing of interest. Patrick strolled slowly on, and soon, seeing a flat rock beneath him, climbed down to it. It made a secluded retreat, so he stripped to his trunks and stretched out there for a while, reading. When he grew too hot he dived off the rocks into the deep, clear water, and swam for a long time.
     
    He dried out in the sun, and then went back to the hotel. The evening yawned ahead, full of empty hours. He would invite Ursula Norris to join him for a drink.
    But when he came down later to the terrace bar she was with an elderly couple and did not seem to notice him. Patrick, sulking slightly, ordered an ouzo, and sat with his back to her, facing an enormous amphora which was securely cemented into the flower bed among the geraniums. One of the honeymoon couples appeared, each partner totally absorbed in the other; they looked about eighteen years old. Patrick felt old and bitter. There were three girls chattering together at another table. They glanced at him, then very obviously began to discuss him; one girl stared at him boldly. Patrick turned away from them and opened his book.
    Once he’d started his programme he’d be all right. An expedition to somewhere of interest each day, that was the thing, and enquiries about Yannis; then he would leave Crete. In Athens there was plenty to do; he had met people at the Embassy when he was there before and might renew contact with them. And he wanted to explore the Pelponnese.
    He decided to go down to the town for dinner. It would be more amusing than the hotel restaurant, where there were only the other guests to watch. Hotel life was not for him.
    He had a second ouzo, which made him feel better, then drove down to Challika. The lights were coming on now: darkness swept down suddenly out here; there was no twilight. He parked the car and went to the paper shop. Today’s Times had arrived. Tomorrow’s might carry a paragraph about Felix; he would surely merit a few lines. He tucked the paper under his arm and went for a stroll.
     
    The little town, which had seemed half-asleep earlier, had come alive. People wandered about the streets; the shops and harbour were brightly lit; tourists examined embroidered fabrics, jewellery, woven bags, and other attractions. Patrick saw a flight of steps leading steeply away from the water-front between the houses that faced it, and climbed them. A dark-eyed child clasping a scrawny