Chapter 10: Debra comes to the dig.

'So you're all fine and happy?'

Emily recognised the slight frisson of anxiety in her father's voice.

'Dad,' she said patiently,' I keep telling you we're fine. It's beautiful here. It really is. Toula, Petros, the old yiayia are all as sweet as can be to us both. Stop worrying.'

'OK.' He changed his voice to a more upbeat note at once. 'No, I'm just asking. Not worrying. I'm glad you're all settled there. I know Toula is one of the most hospitable people I've met – I've no fears on that score.'

So what fears did he have? Emily smiled to herself.

'Petros,' she said, with a guess that this might be his concern, 'is determined to show me everything. He very kind to me and goes to a lot of trouble.'

'Hmm,' said her father in a non-committal voice that didn't fool his daughter for a second. 'That's good. That's very nice of him. So what's David doing? I'll have a word with him if I may.'

'You can't. He's gone off with Petros to one of the beaches up the coast as he likes those best. He and Petros go off on a scooter and generally stay down there most of the day. But Petros has promised to go diving with him later today. They're going to hire a small boat because Mr Souliotakis doesn't like Petros going out on his own in his boat. I think Petros is annoyed about that, he says he can manage it perfectly well.'

'Savvas is like all fathers,' Martin said, 'doesn't trust his son.'

'Don't you trust David?'

There was a pause and then Martin replied, 'No, not a lot. Not in some things. He can certainly manage a boat and swim like a fish. But he's so impulsive, I do worry. Mostly because I remember being like that myself and getting into hot water many a time.'

'Aha! Well, Dad, it's all your genes then.'

Martin laughed. 'Yes, all my genes, I'm afraid. But how are you keeping occupied, Emily? Don't you go to the beach?'

'Yes, when I'm in the mood. There's a lovely little cove that is just a walk away and Petros showed me where it was. It's sort of hidden and private and I love having it pretty much to myself. But you know I can't abide lying about sunbathing all the time. I hate too much sun like that, it makes me stupid and lethargic.'

'So what are you doing with yourself, then?'

'Going for long walks about the hills to look at the plants, the wildlife, the views. I read a lot, sit on the porch here and listen to Jane Eyre on the radio with old Frosso. Not that I can understand a word of it; everyone seems to be screaming and yelling a good deal of the time and it sounds more like mad Greeks doing Electra than sober Victorian Yorkshire folk! But Frosso loves me to listen with her so I do my best to understand. I'm learning Greek fast.'

Her father chuckled. 'I'll bet. You're a good kid and the old lady must appreciate your keeping her company. But I hope you aren't always alone. Does Petros go with you on your walks? I'd hate you to get lost.'

Dad was fishing for information as usual. Not with much subtlety either.

'Oh God, no, he'd drive me mad if he did. You know I like to be alone, Dad. Greeks just can't seem to understand the concept of the peaceful loner. He thinks I'm being polite. The boys are diving in the afternoon and then they're supposed to be going out to some nightclub up the coast later on as David's desperate to meet some girls.'

'As long as you don't feel left out.'

'You're joking. When did I ever fancy going to noisy nightclubs? I can hear the awful music up here in the hills some nights. That's more than enough. I'd rather read a book any time.'

You're so like your mother, Martin thought and for a moment was silent.

'Don't strain your eyes, Emily.'

'Stop fussing, Dad.'

'I know - sorry. But it isn't often we're apart for so long and I want to be sure you're feeling fine.'

'I'm not sleepwalking, if that's what you're worried about. I won't disgrace you.'

'You never disgrace me, darling,' he said sounding hurt. 'That's my least worry. I worry that you might hurt yourself.'

'You haven't told Toula or Petros . . .?' The thought just struck her and she sounded mortified in her turn. 'They'll think me really odd.'

'Erm ...well, I had to mention it to them just in case, Emily. They're all very understanding and it's best they know.'

'Oh, Dad!' she wailed. 'Anyway, I'm not and I won't. I haven't been seeing Mum here. It's all right. Well, as long as I stay at the house and in the village and don't look at that island too much.'

'Which island?'

'It's a place in the bay, used to be a home for lepers, Petros says. He really hates it and I don't blame him.'

'I think you're talking about Chrysonissos. There's no lepers there now, sweetheart. There's nothing to be afraid of. It's out of bounds anyway, as it's in a dangerous state of dilapidation.'

'Good, I don't like the place. Don't like it at all. You'll never catch me going there. If David wants to, let him.'

Martin was alarmed. 'Tell that damn stupid brother of yours to keep away. It might be dangerous there, falling masonry, anything ...I'll speak to him tomorrow.'

'If he's up. Doubt either of them will be very sober tonight,' said Emily with a shrug. 'Don't worry. We're all fine here. Honestly.'

Martin was unsure if this conversation with his daughter relieved or troubled him. She had always loved her own company since childhood. He knew in his heart that he was clinging to Emily because she was so like his beloved Anne. He felt a sadness and resentment that some other man would one day come and take his lovely daughter from him as Death had taken his beautiful young wife. Yet he had to let both things happen. Death he could not stop from reaping its harvest and Emily falling in love he should not stop. It would be wrong of him to interfere. If chance had it that she and Petros got together, what was so wrong with that? Petros was a nice lad.

He made his way to the field office and on the way passed the young American student who had found the faience figure. He smiled at her and she looked flattered to have been remembered.

'Found anything else in your plot, Suzi?' he asked and she smiled back and shook her head.

'Nothing very exciting, Dr Kelso. But I'm working on it.'

'Good girl.'

Barnaby Inchbold was waiting for him at the door of his field office. With him was a tall, slim woman with thick flaming-red hair. The colour was a trifle over the top and Martin regarded it with some distaste. She wore dark jeans, thick clumpy boots and a black T-shirt that hardly covered her belly; her hands were thrust into her pockets and she had a mannish slouch about her. Who the heck had Barnaby got in to help them now?

Barnaby called out to him. 'Come and meet my friend, Debra.'

So this was Debra Hammond. Martin had often heard Barnaby speak of her and knew these two had been friends since Cambridge days. He knew too that she'd had an early marriage and a quick divorce and, as far as he knew, now had a current partner. It certainly wasn't Barnaby. Barnaby had never fancied Debra or any other woman for that matter; his inclinations lay elsewhere. However, he was dearly fond of her. Her opinions were often sought after and quoted.

'She's a Jungian therapist,' Barnaby had told him, 'one of the wisest people I know. She really looks into people's souls and helps them. But she isn't easy to know. A very private person.'

Martin extended his hand and Debra took it, giving it a brief but strong shake. She had an interesting face, full of character. Not beauty in the conventional manner yet attractive with its strong bone structure and the calm, quiet look of her fine grey eyes. You needed sunglasses to be near that red hair; Martin wasn't a great fan of unnatural colours. He wondered what her real hair colour was. She would look much more attractive without the dye, he thought speculatively.

'Nice to meet you, Debra. Heard a lot about you.'

She looked surprised, 'Who's been telling tales?'

'I have,' said Barnaby, regarding her fondly. 'I'm proud of you and what you do.'

She smiled at him. A full generous smile. Her face suddenly altered from hard to radiant. Martin was surprised at the transformation.

'You talk too much, that's your problem.' She gave him a punch on the shoulder and he pretended to wince.

'I know I do,' said Barnaby. He opened out his palms and said to Martin, 'Not my fault. She tells me it's because I'm a puer and they can never keep their mouths shut.'

Martin looked amused. 'What the hell's a puer?'

Debra regarded him with her slow thoughtful look. It was quite a strange feeling, as if she was looking right into him. There was something very magnetic and fascinating about her and he felt interested and irritated by her all at the same time. She wasn't the sort of woman he could really be attracted to, not this fierce-looking creature. He liked women that were feminine and sweet.

'Puer Aeternus, Barnaby – get it right. That,' she explained to Martin, 'is a term used for the type of man who never grows up – the Peter Pan syndrome, if you prefer, or the Eternal Youth.'

'Are there Eternal Girls or is it only men who never grow up?' asked Martin. His tone was mildly sarcastic. He hated these psychiatric labels as if people were like specimens in jars. They had a soulless detached ring about them and he suspected that they were used in order to distance the therapist from the patient. Put them in a box. He's not human, he's a Manic-Depressive. Or bipolar or whatever they called it now – never content with even the original simple and perfectly descriptive terms. You behaved in a manic manner or acted depressed. That said a lot more than bipolar.

He offered her a cigarette and was surprised when she took it. She ignored both his tone and his expression as if she was used to fending off other people's lack of comprehension.

'Of course there are,' she said, accepting a light from him and drawing deeply on the cigarette. 'They're termed puellae. Plenty of both types around today.'

And here's you trying to look like a teenager, thought Martin, when you must be in your late thirties by now. If not more.

As if reading his mind, she smiled and again her face changed dramatically. He suddenly felt he wanted to bring that smile there as often as he could just to see the amazing change it made to her.

'Do any of us want to grow up?' she said, 'Don't we all want to be young and beautiful and active forever? Moving to old age is moving toward our coffins.'

'Only to be dug up centuries later by nutcases like ourselves,' said Barnaby with a laugh, 'which brings me to the fact we've unearthed another far older little cemetery over to the north, Martin, just outside the city walls. You've lots of lovely bones to study. Come and look.'

'Bones is your thing, is it?' said Debra, puffing forth a stream of smoke as she gave a little snorting laugh. 'Ah, quite the opposite to Barnaby the puer – Saturn, the old Senex, that's you, Doc Martin.'

More labels. Martin wasn't sure if he liked that epithet very much and wasn't sure if he liked Debra either. Yet at the same time, he found her intriguing and knew one thing. He wanted to meet her again, preferably without Barnaby around so that they could have a good old argue.

Barney said I'd find you here.'

Martin looked up and saw Debra standing in the doorway of the laboratory where he was working. Her red hair flamed in the bright sunlight behind her, casting her face in shadow. She moved forward a little hesitantly.

'May I come in, or is this the Holy of Holies?'

'Come in, by all means. There's a stool over there. Have you been taken on a Barnaby tour?'

'I have,' she said with a little throaty chuckle. Her voice was warm and deep and she looked young and attractive when she smiled. He paused in his work and looked up at her. Her eyes he noted now were a dark grey with black-ringed irises, lashes thickened with black mascara and masses of grey-purple eye shadow around them. However, it suited her, made her eyes look smoky and mysterious. He bent back to his work and Debra watched him brushing gently at a small skull with what looked like an old toothbrush.

Some small particles of mud and other detritus flaked off under his careful and skilful hands. He began on the small delicate little teeth. She liked the care and attention he gave, the love he seemed to feel for these ancient old bones.

As if reading her mind he said, 'These were once people just like you and me. I feel a certain reverence for the fact that they lived, loved and died in obscurity, the obscurity of time that's to say. We can't really be sure who she was. Maybe this little lady was someone in her day.'

'It's a tiny skull, isn't it? Was she a child?'

'Strangely, no, it's an adult woman's skull but yes, very small, almost childlike. I'd say she was about thirty when she died. '

'Are they all proving to be small people like this?'

'No, I've a sample of skeletons over there from the cemetery they discovered,' said Martin pointing to a table where various skeletons were laid out with care, all neatly labelled. 'They vary in size and are average on the whole.'

'I enjoyed the tour,' said Debra. 'Barney really loves it all, doesn't he? He took me to see the dancing platform.'

Martin looked up again at this and smiled. 'It's lovely, isn't it? I keep imagining my daughter dancing on it, like some ancient Ariadne. She's such a wild spirit, such an ancient goddess – my daughter, I mean, as well as Ariadne.'

'Interesting way to describe your daughter,' mused Debra.

'She's an interesting girl.'

'How old is she?'

'Eighteen this June.'

'A Cancer crab? A homebody and a mother type.'

'Why, yes,' said Martin, surprised, 'she's all that. Are you into that kind of thing?'

'I keep an open mind about it. It does seem that the twelve psychological types of the Zodiac work on the whole.'

'There can't just be twelve types of people, though, surely?'

'The Zodiac types are archetypes and therefore pure types. No one is a pure type. All sorts of factors make a difference; environment, genes, the time of day you're born, the year, generational influences and so on. I see the signs as simple recipes for twelve different types of cake but each cake will be that bit different depending on how it's cooked, where it's cooked and who cooks it.'

'Like the seed that fell on good ground or stony ground, type of thing?'

'Mmm – exactly like that.'

'Well, it's a new viewpoint. Emily would like to talk with you, she's into all that stuff: Tarot, astrology, you know – New Age things.'

'So Emily's your daughter? She sounds wise.'

'Oh, she is,' said Martin. Debra heard the pride in his voice and thought Daddy's girl to herself. 'She just finished her A levels and did very well at Art, History and English. Her favourite subjects.'

'Is she having the famous “gap year”?'

Martin looked up at Debra and considered the question. 'I'm not sure what she wants to do. She isn't a bit ambitious. She isn't very worldly.'

'Do we need to be worldly to go to university?' asked Debra with an amused smile, 'Isn't education for its own sake good enough?'

'Of course. Maybe she'll take up psychology like yourself.'

Debra grinned, 'I hope so. I'd love to meet her. Maybe I can give her some direction. Is she here with you?'

'She's staying near Merounda with the wife and son of a friend. David, my son, is there too, but he sounds as if he's already getting bored. He has a restless nature, bit like I used to be at his age.'

He sounded a little weary when he spoke of his son, Debra noted, as if he didn't quite live up to his hopes and expectations. Parents! She too had a son and felt glad he was with his father miles away in the States. She loved him dearly but their personalities had always clashed and he had been a drain on her both emotionally and financially.

'Sons can be a problem,' she admitted.

'He's all right, really. In some ways, Emily's more the problem. She's so deeply sensitive. David can sort himself out and he'll get what he wants by hook or by crook. But Emily ...'

Martin's voice trailed off and he looked up from his work to stare out of the window for a moment. Debra watched him and felt a sudden sense of loss and loneliness in his voice at that moment that made her move towards him from within.

'I'm sure it's teenage stuff, Martin. You shouldn't worry. She'll grow out of being too sensitive as she goes along. Life has a way of toughening us up. Is your wife supportive of her?'

'Anne died some years ago. That's half Emily's problem. She adored her mother.'

She felt moved by his sadness and gently laid a hand on his. He looked up and seeing the kindness in her eyes, let her warmth and unspoken compassion move into him, flowing like a stream of goodness into his heart. Barnaby was right. This woman did have a healing presence.