Chapter One
FOR SOME WOMEN, pregnancy is a period of good health and joyful expectation, but for Anna Vandoulakis it was a time of misery and nausea. The doctors insisted that she was confined to her bed for the first three months, telling her that it was the only way to save the baby. During these interminable weeks, she lost her vitality along with her porcelain-smooth complexion and her long, glossy curls, which fell out in handfuls.
Once the obstetrician had confirmed that the pregnancy was stable, Anna’s husband, Andreas, invited all the estate workers to enjoy a glass of his best wine. More than a hundred of them gathered in front of the house in the Elounda hills to toast the forthcoming baby. Everyone was aware that the arrival of an heir was long overdue and the continuing health and prosperity of such a vast estate as owned by the Vandoulakis family was dependent on the continuation of the line. It was a matter of concern to them all that Andreas and Anna Vandoulakis should produce some offspring.
Anna did not make an appearance. Instead she watched through the fine gauze of her bedroom curtains, noting that her husband’s cousin Manolis was the first to arrive and the last to leave. She could not take her eyes off him even for a moment and was certain that he regularly glanced up towards her. Even this did not allay her greatest fear: that he had forgotten her.
Except for those glimpses from an upstairs window, Anna had not seen Manolis even once during the pregnancy. How could she be seen by someone she wanted to impress when she looked so plain? She resented all that the baby was taking away, even before it arrived.
In the final few weeks she became ill again and was confined to bed. The baby was lying the wrong way round in the womb, her back against Anna’s spine, and the birth itself was painful and traumatic. The scrawny infant did not make herself any more welcome when she screamed, almost without pause, throughout the day and into the night. The exhausted Anna then declared that she found breastfeeding repellent, and a wet nurse had to be found.
The birth brought Anna no relief from her self-loathing. Almost overnight, she went from being bulky to looking gaunt, and she could not bear the sight of herself in the mirror. For someone who had previously spent several hours a day admiring herself in one, this was a significant change. Anna was unrecognisable from the radiant and beautiful woman she used to be. Andreas was dismayed by what had happened to her, and when he asked his mother, Eleftheria, whether this catatonic state of depression was normal after pregnancy, she had to admit it was not. It was not so long since Andreas’s two sisters had given birth, and both of them had been immediately caught up in the joys of motherhood. Eleftheria had expected Anna to be the same. She was particularly surprised that her daughter-in-law had turned down the idea of inviting her father to come and see the new arrival. Although they had never really extended any hospitality to him, Eleftheria found it strange that Giorgos Petrakis was not being given the opportunity to see his first grandchild. Surely, she thought, he deserved a little happiness, given that his other daughter, Maria, was a leprosy patient on Spinalonga, the island where his wife had died some years before. It was Anna’s choice, however, and she was not going to intervene.
When the baby was around ten days old, Andreas came in one evening a little later than normal. As usual, Anna turned her head away when he leant to peck her on the cheek.
‘I went to see the priest,’ he announced. ‘To fix the date of the baptism.’
Anna could not object. She had been refusing to leave the house, so Andreas had been obliged to make the arrangements alone. In the Vandoulakis family, a child was always baptised within a few weeks of birth. Any later than that broke with tradition.
‘I have also been considering who should be her godparent,’ he said bluntly. ‘I think we should ask Manolis. He’s already part of the family and I can’t think of anyone else who will always be there for our daughter.’
Manolis was the obvious choice for nonós, given that neither Anna nor Andreas had any close friends, but Anna had been reluctant to suggest it herself. She could scarcely suppress her joy.
‘That’s a lovely idea,’ she said. ‘Will you ask him tomorrow?’
It was the first time Andreas had seen his wife smile for many months.
That night, she steeled herself to look in the mirror. She recoiled. Her skin was dry and sallow and the shadows under her eyes were purple. The hair that she had once been so proud of was thin and matted, and her body had lost its contours. It was a shock, but now that she had an incentive, she resolved to regain the looks that she had prized so much, the looks that had made her such a prize. The baptism would be the first time she would encounter Manolis after many months, and also the first time that she would be seen by other acquaintances and family members.
It was more than enough to motivate her. She began to eat better, to take fresh air, to apply the best face creams, to massage olive oil into her hair until it gleamed again, and quickly summoned the dressmaker to make her a new outfit for the occasion.
As soon as she began once again to pause in front of mirrors rather than avoid them, her vanity returned in full. Although she was still slightly slimmer than she had been in previous years, her breasts became plump again and she enjoyed the contrast with her new, smaller waistline.
She threw herself into the practical preparations for the baptism, organising the feast, the flowers, the music, the various robes for the child and favours for the guests. It was to be a grand event, with as many people as could be crammed into the Elounda church for the service and hundreds more invited to the festivities afterwards.
When the date finally came in late September, Anna felt ready. She was renewed and excited about the day. The dress she had had made accentuated her hourglass figure and flattered her regained curves. It was made of crimson silk.
She and Andreas arrived with the baby to an already full church. In the front rows sat all the members of the Vandoulakis family. The patriarch, Alexandros, upright and dignified; Eleftheria, his wife, elegant and expressionless, determined not to betray the slightest emotion, even on this special day for her granddaughter. Olga, the elder of the two sisters, and her husband, Lefteris, sat with their four unruly children between them. Eirini, the other sister, sat with her two-year-old daughter on her lap, nervously looking around for her husband, who eventually arrived halfway through the service.
The others at the front of the church were the numerous lawyers who serviced the needs of this wealthy family, the bankers who managed their riches, and the mayors and town councillors of Elounda, Agios Nikolaos and Neapoli, effectively the capital of the region. This contingent was formally dressed, the men in suits and the women in tailored dresses. Behind them were those who worked on the estate, the land managers, the suppliers of agricultural equipment and livestock and so on. There was an almost visible line to be drawn between the two groups. They were differentiated by the quality of cloth, the fineness of the fabrics worn by those in the front rows being in stark contrast to the rougher weaves at the back.
The only member of the family who was talking animatedly to various guests was the nonós himself. Unlike other members of the family, Manolis was as happy chatting with the bankers’ wives as to the workers on the farm.
As soon as Anna entered the church, all eyes turned to look at her.
‘Panagía mou, what is she wearing?’ Olga whispered behind her hand to her sister.