Mrs Pargeter's Package Read Free Page B

a time I could be of any assistance.'
    Mrs Pargeter smiled fondly. It was always heartwarming to find out the careful provisions the late Mr Pargeter had made for her before his death. Not every widow had the benefit of such assiduous long-term protection.
    'He was the best,' Larry Lambeth asserted. 'The very best, a real prince.'
    'Yes,' Mrs Pargeter agreed, a trifle mistily.
    The coach drew up once again outside the taverna, having distributed luggage to the various villas of Agios Nikitas. Ginnie, a clipboard and a mess of papers clutched to her bosom, leapt lithely off the vehicle, calling out some pleasantry in Greek. The driver laughed at this parting shot, and drove off in a scream of metal. Mrs Pargeter decided that the previous noisy gear changes had not been dictated solely by the corkscrew roads; they were just part of his driving style.
    At the sight of Ginnie, Mr Safari Suit, seated over pork chops with Mrs Safari Suit, called something out, but she resolutely pretended not to hear and strode towards the interior of the taverna. In her haste, she did not notice a couple of papers dislodge themselves from the bundle in her arms and float to the ground.
    Mrs Pargeter picked them up, stopping Larry Lambeth who made to rise. 'Don't worry, I'll give them to her,' she said and followed the rep into the stone building.
    The atmosphere inside the taverna was markedly different to that outside. It was dark and, in an indefinable way, primitive. This impression did not derive from the facilities. The gleaming aluminium refrigerated counter, through whose glass front slabs of meat, fish and lobsters could be seen; the CD-player with its attendant racks of boxed CDs; these, and the spotlessness of the marble floor, attested to the taverna's recent creation or refurbishment. In corners of the mirrored bar were tucked overflashed snapshots of giggling tourists dancing with Spiro and his waiters.
    It was the faces inside that gave the primitive feeling. Through a hatch to the kitchen a black-eyed woman looked up at the newcomer's entrance with an expression of studied vacancy.
    The men whose small table by the bar Ginnie had joined also turned their eyes on Mrs Pargeter. There were three sitting there with glasses of ouzo in front of them – Spiro, another, balding man with blue eyes but unmistakably Greek features, and a third dressed in uniform.
    Mrs Pargeter's first impression was that he was the Customs officer who had stopped Joyce at Corfu Airport. The likeness was striking, but a closer look showed differences. The uniform was not the same, either; this man was dressed in light grey. His moustache formed a perfect black isosceles triangle over his mouth, and an upturned peaked cap lay on the table by his glass.
    The ancient, slightly deterrent, curiosity in the men's eyes was echoed in the expression of a photograph over the bar. Though their owner looked old and ill, the dark eyes in the faded picture seemed to dominate the scene like some household god. The photograph's central position and lavish frame gave the impression of some kind of shrine, and the family likeness left no doubt that its subject was Spiro's father.
    Mrs Pargeter was only allowed to feel like an intruder for a millisecond before Spiro's customary smile reappeared. He rose to his feet and spread his arms expansively. 'Can I help you?'
    Mrs Pargeter proffered the dropped papers, which had turned out to be car-hire agreement counterfoils. 'You dropped these, Ginnie.'
    'Oh, thank you so much.'
    She must still have been looking at the photograph, because Spiro confirmed her conjecture. 'My father. It was taken just before he died – thirty years ago – but still he keeps an eye on his taverna. Spiro brings good luck to Spiro. The photograph keeps away the Evil Eye.'
    The two other men chuckled, as if this had been rather a good joke. Mrs Pargeter gave a little grin and said, 'Oh, isn't that nice?'
    The whole episode had taken less than a minute, and