Engrossed in the diary, Naomi was fretting about the teenagers when an almighty hammering on the door made her jump. She slammed her hand against her chest as if to stop her heart leaping right out.
‘Who is it?’ she called as she moved to the door. Nobody replied, so she unlatched the top half and pulled it open. Two men in suits, each with a briefcase, stood on her doorstep.
‘We’ve come to speak to Pandora Cohen,’ the taller man said.
‘She’s poorly, recovering from a stroke.’
The younger one dropped his shoulders and sounded sympathetic. ‘Sorry, lady. We’re here about the court case.’
The other stood firm, chin thrust forward, staring eyes.
‘Ah, I see. I’m her granddaughter. Can I help?’
‘May we come in?’ the first one asked.
Naomi nodded and opened the door.
They introduced themselves. Mr Gianakopulos, tall, very overweight, flabby-faced, perhaps in his sixties; the other, Mr Despotakis, half Mr Gianakopulos’ age, neat, clean-shaven and ordinary. Naomi indicated for them to sit at the kitchen table, telling herself she really must try to save the money for a sofa.
Despotakis pulled a sheaf of forms from his briefcase. ‘We need some details. First, Mrs Cohen’s birth certificate, ID, and deeds for the property you’re claiming.’
Naomi shook her head, remembering the diary. ‘I don’t think she has any documents. The Nazis confiscated our family papers in L’Aeronautica, many decades ago, before they transported everyone to Auschwitz.’
The two officials glanced at each other.
Gianakopulos, dark circles under his eyes and several warts on his face and neck, frowned and then smiled, snake-like despite his fatness. ‘No papers, no claim,’ he said brusquely. ‘No point in going any further. Nothing we can do.’
Naomi clenched her fists. Who did he think he was?
‘Are there any living relatives besides yourself and Mrs Cohen?’ Despotakis persisted.
Naomi dragged her eyes away from the fat bastard. ‘I have a younger sister. I think Pandora Cohen was the only survivor of all my ancestors. The rest were transported to the death camps, Bergen-Belsen and Auschwitz. As far as I understand, nobody else survived.’
The fat man turned his eyes towards the ceiling like he’d heard it all before.
Naomi, seething, squinted at him as she continued. ‘You know what I mean, Mr Gianakopulos, after being handed over to the Nazis by Rhodians who then looked the other way.’
Gianakopulos’s eyes flicked up from the forms and glared at her before playing his spiteful card. ‘And Mrs Cohen’s daughter, father unknown, it says in our records.’ The words came with a sneer.
‘Then I’m sure it also says “in your records” that my mother, maiden name Sonia Phoenix Cohen, died in 1980, when I was ten years old.’ Naomi matched his glare. ‘And my Uncle, Jacob Cohen, one of the few survivors of that hell-hole called Auschwitz, died in Italy ten years after my mother, and his wife followed him some months later.’ Naomi thought it best not to mention her nieces, as they had long lost touch.
Despotakis lowered his eyes. ‘I’m sorry. How come Mrs Cohen . . .’ he glanced at the forms, ‘Pandora, wasn’t taken to Auschwitz too?’
Naomi took a breath, pushing back her frustration and concentrating on Despotakis. She exhaled and said, quietly but forcefully, ‘Because my grandmother escaped deportation on those disgraceful ships, the vessels that took all the Jews from this island. I’m proud to say my grandmother joined the Andartes and risked her life for the liberation of Rhodes and her people.’ Her words were choked with emotion. She stared from one to the other, taking a moment to recompose. ‘Pandora Cohen fought for a country that didn’t fight for her. The least Rhodes can do is give back what’s rightfully hers.’
Gianakopulos snorted. ‘You mean her boyfriend was hiding with the bandits and draft dodgers in the mountains? That’s more like the truth.’
His mockery was galvanising, and for a moment it left her speechless. But Gianakopulos had pushed her over the edge. She banged her clenched fists on the wooden table top.
‘No, I do not mean that! My grandmother was an assassin who executed Nazi informers. Countless Rhodian lives were saved through her actions, possibly the lives of your parents and grandparents too. And while she fought and risked her life for the island of Rhodes, the local thieves and cowards trembled behind their closed shutters! Or should I say, the shutters of the Jewish homes they stole hoping and praying the true owner didn’t escape the gas chamber or crematorium, and return!’
She’d gone too far, she knew it. The men looked past her, and Naomi turned to see Bubba in her socks, nighty, and cardigan, standing in the doorway looking bewildered.
Naomi stood and pointed a stiff finger at Gianakopulos’s face. ‘Don’t ever let me hear you speak disrespectfully of Pandora Cohen again, or you’ll have me to deal with. Now, get out of my house!’
Gianakopulos narrowed his eyes and Naomi knew she had an enemy before her.
The door opened and Papas Yiannis rushed in. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked, looking from one to the other. ‘I could hear the shouting across the street.’
Naomi didn’t take her eyes off Gianakopulos. ‘Leave! Get out of my house before I reward your ignorance with words I might regret!’
Gianakopulos looked smug. ‘Your house . . . I don’t think so, madam.’ He hauled his bulk out of the chair.
Papas Yiannis stepped forward. ‘Actually, it’s my house. You can check your records: Papas Yiannis Voskos, Orthodox priest of Paradissi. Now I think you had better leave the building, as this lady requested.’
Despotakis cleared his throat and handed Naomi a card. ‘If you find any papers, would you contact me?’
Naomi nodded.
*
‘Sorry,’ Naomi said when the officials had gone and Bubba returned to her room. ‘He was rude and insulting, that Gianakopulos. A horrible man. Still, I shouldn’t have lost my temper. He’s the type that will make me pay for my words.’
‘Never worry about what’s said in haste, Naomi,’ the priest said. ‘There’s no point. Now, what will we do about Rebecca? Have you heard from her?’
‘Actually, I phoned her.’ She told him her concerns about the diary being destroyed. ‘She promised to read it, then post it back.’
‘Good. I came over because I believe they’re bringing the court case forward, again.’ He shook his head. ‘A little devious, as people living in distant lands, Canada, Australia, and so on, have already bought their expensive plane tickets and booked time off work.’
‘What can we do?’
‘There’s the European Parliament, but time’s a problem. Perhaps we can lobby the press. At least that would publicise your situation. Most people have no idea what really happened, and it may harm the lucrative tourist industry of this island if they did.’
He folded his arms across his broad chest and thought for a moment. ‘Your case will set a precedent. I suspect they’ve chosen you because they know you don’t have the finances to hire substantial legal aid. The whole thing’s devious and underhanded, and now I’m retired, I have nothing to lose by supporting your cause.’
‘You’re an incredibly kind man, Papas Yiannis. I wonder if any rabbi or imam would support a poor Christian woman against their own people.’
‘I’m sure they would. You read about the Turkish consulate. He was certainly a Muslim, and he risked his life for the Jews, far beyond the call of duty. There are good people everywhere, Naomi. Anyway, it doesn’t do to analyse people or religions too deeply. It simply comes down to justice and respect.’
‘Papas, what did you mean when you told them it’s your house?’
He smiled. ‘The day I took over this parish, the old priest, the one who sheltered Dora when she returned from Filerimos, gave me the deeds to this place. When your family and all the others were taken, the locals were moving into the Jewish houses, even before the ships had left port. The old papas went straight to the records office that had been set up to register property and had your house put in his name. He hoped your family would return.’
He lowered himself into Bubba’s armchair. ‘When he retired, he made me swear to make a will that on my death the property would return to your family.’ The priest lowered his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. After an emotional moment, he drew a shuddering breath and continued. ‘He hoped by the time he reached retirement age, there’d be tolerance between religions. Unfortunately, the bigotry and narrow-mindedness are worse than ever.’
‘What a kind man,’ Naomi said.
‘A saint, in my opinion.’ He tilted his head back and sniffed. ‘What’s that delicious smell?’
Naomi smiled. ‘Lamb with beans. Can I interest you in some for supper?’
His eyes twinkled. ‘Oh, before I forget, I’m sprucing up the house, hoping Marina will bring her boyfriend home.’
‘Sounds like a plan.’
‘I bought a new sofa, very modern. They’re delivering it tomorrow, but the painters can’t start until next week. I wondered if you’d allow it to stand on your patio, until the decorating is done. My front terrace isn’t deep enough.’
Naomi recalled his traditional wooden-back sofa. ‘On condition I can have your old one?’ she said, grinning.
‘Of course. How’s the diary going? I can’t help wondering where you got to.’
‘Dora and Irini are going into town for Evangelisa’s things.’
‘A brave thing to do for her sister, don’t you think? Shows how much Dora loved Evangelisa, something that didn’t always come across in their day-to-day life.’ He paused. ‘But that’s quite common among siblings, isn’t it?’
Naomi felt the priest was telling her something important. ‘It’s obvious there was a strong bond between them,’ she said absently, thinking of Rebecca.
The old priest nodded, seeming content that Naomi understood Dora’s situation. The moment he had gone, she picked up the diary.