Foreign Relations -- a Novella

By Ellen Boneparth

How does a female university professor become a people-smuggler? How does a recent widow become the dear friend of the woman who had an affair with her husband? Strange things happen in the atmosphere of the Balkans -- rescuing refugees in Istanbul, producing American and Greek children in ways the mothers could never have imagined.
This novel brings Lydia Barnes, an American professor, to Aegean shores where unfulfilled dreams come true. All it takes is her openness to new and trusted foreign relations,whether they be Greeks, Iraqis, or Kurds. Settle down for a suspenseful and ultimately heartwarming read.

"Once the Mediterranean gets into a writer's blood, it keeps flowing off the pen," Eleni Fourtouni, poet, and author

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Apr 24, 2012
• ISBN: 9781468581249

Ellen Boneparth

In her many novels, Ellen Boneparth usually features a woman who discovers a social problem and becomes embroiled in ways to confront it. Boneparth draws on her experiences working in government, academia and diplomacy. She also frequently draws on her domestic and overseas travels to provide foreign locations and unusual environments. In NOA's ARC, the heroine's journey to confront drug addiction takes her from New York to Washington, D.C., to the Cherokee reservation in Oklahoma, and to drug programs in the Northwest and Canada.

Book preview

FOREIGN RELATIONS

A Novella

ELLEN BONEPARTH

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AuthorHouse™

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Bloomington, IN 47403

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© 2012 Ellen Boneparth. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 4/19/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4685-8124-9 (e)

ISBN: 978-1-4685-8125-6 (sc)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

This book is printed on acid-free paper.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 1

Sleep wouldn’t come despite exhaustion from her ten-hour flight from New York to Athens. She’d almost dozed on the long Metro ride from Athens airport to Syntagma, then trudged slowly with her suitcase to the old-time Poseidon Hotel. Lydia examined herself in the ancient oval mirror in her room, ran her fingers through her blond hair, oily and stringy from travel. Definitely time for a shower. The weak spray of the lukewarm water reminded her this was a hotel she’d used back in her college days.

Now, lying in bed in her small room, staring at the dingy ceiling, the thoughts she’d been suppressing seeped into her mind. She was there to see Gabriela. She could put it off, procrastinate for days, but that wouldn’t help. She reached for her watch on the night stand. Noon. Gabriela would be at the Aegean Center office. Lydia flexed her tense hand, reached for the notebook with the Center’s number and picked up her cell.

A business-like female voice answered in Greek. Lydia understood the woman to say, Aegean Center. Director’s Office. She tightened her grasp on the receiver. Is this Gabriela Symeonidou?

Yes, she answered in English. Who is calling, please?

Lydia Barnes. She took a deep breath. I’m in Athens.

After a delay of a few seconds, Gabriela said, Oh, Professor Barnes. I’ve wanted to be in touch but...it has been so hard. I know the office sent you condol–

Naturally.

Yes, well, I wanted to write something personal but...but I couldn’t find the right words. It was such a terrible shock to get back to Athens from Washington and learn that your husband...that Professor Goldstein had–

Lydia grimaced. I want to talk to you about that...and other things. I’d like you to have dinner with me. Perhaps this evening.

Oh. Gabriela paused, sighed, then said, Could we possibly meet tomorrow? Tonight I have a family obligation that I can’t–

"Tomorrow, then. Do you know the Platanos restaurant in Plaka?"

Yes.

"Fine. Eight o’clock at the Platanos. I’m blond. I’ll be wearing a navy blue pantsuit."

Professor Barnes, I’ll be there.

It’s Lydia, she said and hung up.

She bit her lip. She’d been abrupt. If she wasn’t more gracious, she’d never learn anything. If she came on too strong, Gabriela would go into denial. Diplomacy first. Afterward you can let out your rage.

Rage. That was the emotion that overcame her so often, yanking her out of grief. It had started with that sickening phone call a month ago. She gritted her teeth at the memory. She’d been in the kitchen in her New York apartment fixing a cup of tea when the phone rang.

Mrs. Goldstein, a man had said.

"Yes. No. I am Lydia Barnes. I am Dr. Goldstein’s wife. Was his wife."

Excuse me. Yes, Miss Barnes. I’m Dave O’Neill from the Coroner’s Office in Washington. The official cleared his throat. We have completed our investigation of your husband’s death here. The cause was sudden cardiac arrest.

Lydia sank into a kitchen chair. I know that.

Yes. Well, there are certain other findings I’m required by law to discuss with you. Do you have anyone there with you?

No. Could you wait a moment? Lydia got up and retrieved a pad and pencil from the kitchen counter. Okay. I’m ready. She wondered if anyone was ever ready for a call from the coroner.

Good. I must tell you that in addition to the heart incident, we also learned your husband had prostate cancer.

Cancer? She clutched the phone tightly. He never said a word about that.

Well, the cancer was at an early stage. He may have been waiting to tell you. Some prostate cancer progresses very slowly.

I see. Well, thank you for calling.

O’Neill rushed on. Miss Barnes, I’m afraid there’s more. He coughed, cleared his throat again. This part of my report is strictly confidential between my office and you. We believe your husband died during sexual activity.

Lydia gasped. He was masturbating?

Actually, in examining his corpse and the hotel room, we found evidence of a female presence – a wine glass with lipstick marks. And on his body were traces of semen and a long female hair. O’Neill exhaled heavily. In the bathroom we also found a tissue with lipstick marks and several long black hairs.

Lydia felt a rush of anger. Why are you telling me this? It doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t bring Josh back.

Miss Barnes, the law requires the Coroner’s Office to do a complete investigation and report all the results to the survivor.

A chill ran through her. Are you putting this in writing?

The antecedent to cardiac failure must appear on the final death certificate. What you do with it is entirely your decision.

I don’t want it, she declared.

At some point you may need a death certificate. O’Neill hesitated, as if he didn’t know what else to say. So, we’ll mail the certificate today.

Remembering, Lydia shivered, then lay back on her hotel bed. The coroner’s call had been horrible enough, but her own behavior afterward had been irrational and distressing. She’d become obsessed with finding the woman in Josh’s hotel room.

Arbitrarily, she’d decided it was a call girl, someone Josh met at the hotel bar during the seminar. She’d called the Intercontinental’s manager and demanded he produce the woman. Crazy. And off-base. Josh didn’t need casual pick-ups. All his life he’d found impressive women at the drop of a hat.

That hadn’t stopped her from obsessing. She’d next decided Josh had been involved with one of his graduate students at Princeton. She violated their unspoken agreement and searched through his emails for the student’s identity. She found nothing to suggest a personal relationship with any student.

Shaking her head, Lydia pushed up from her lumpy hotel bed and drew aside the heavy, olive green curtain covering the door to her tiny balcony. When she opened the door to the outside, she saw the Parthenon blazing in the morning sun, reflecting the light of golden Athena, the sacred symbol of the city. She had to escape this shabby hotel despite its fine Acropolis view. She needed air and light and the bustle of streets.

She threw on a black tee shirt and pair of jeans, grabbed a sweater and rode the ancient elevator, a glass box enclosed by a wrought iron grill, to the ground floor. Backpacks cluttered the lobby. Young people, studying tourist brochures, lounged on the same old ugly orange armchairs. She asked for a map of Plaka at the Reception counter, studied it and decided to stroll through the back part of the ancient neighborhood, away from the tourist shops and in the direction of the northeast base of the Acropolis.

Lydia loved the way Plaka had been renovated. Two-story homes boasted neo-classical architectural touches and, between them, smaller homes had been spruced up with new plaster and paint on doors and shutters. Lydia constantly looked up as she walked to catch a glimpse of the massive rocks that upheld the ancient ruins. Occasionally, she caught sight of the pediment of the Parthenon in the distance.

The streets climbed gently, with small restaurants popping up to attract tourists who had wandered around from the official entrance to the Acropolis. She found a small fish taverna that specialized in cod fish and skordalia, a garlic potato sauce she adored. She took a tiny table on the sidewalk and reached for a Greek newspaper on a nearby chair. She couldn’t read Greek but knew the alphabet and could sound out words. Unfortunately, the newspaper wasn’t much of a distraction. Despite her desire to forget about Gabriela, she kept thinking about the strange journey she was making.

When she’d been searching for the woman who had been with Josh, Lydia had eventually concluded it was someone at the Aegean Center seminar he was attending in D.C. She found the seminar program on his computer and noticed repeated messages from Gabriela, Josh’s part-time assistant, who had come to Washington as the Communications Director for the seminar. Curious, Lydia opened Gabriela’s most recent messages to Josh and found one in which Gabriela spent paragraphs describing her son at a family gathering.

Peculiar. She checked the date, switched to Josh’s outbox. On the previous day, Josh had asked for news of Gabriela’s son, Filippos, except Josh called him by his diminutive, Filippaki. Lydia immersed herself in Josh’s outgoing messages. He often sent kisses to Filippos and asked Gabriela about family matters, her health, her vacation plans. He sounded more like a personal friend than a boss or colleague. She began to feel suspicious. While Gabriela’s attendance at the meeting didn’t mean anything per se, Lydia wondered what kind of relationship had evolved between the professor and his research assistant.

Upset, she turned to her closest confidante, her brother Brad. Over Chinese take-out at her place, she’d laid out her suspicions. Initially, Brad tried to persuade her it didn’t matter who the other woman was. He advised her to let go of the past and remember Josh for who he was, a great partner and dear companion. Lydia had persisted, insisting angrily she had to know why Josh had been involved with someone else, especially when their own relationship had been working so well. She’d persuaded Brad that confronting Gabriela was a necessary part of moving on.

She’d once asked Josh if he thought he’d ever get involved with another woman. He’d claimed he was long past flirtations. If there were ever any problems between them, he’d told her she’d be the first to know. She’d believed him – mistakenly. Even though she’d loved Josh deeply and missed him incredibly, she had to know why infidelity had happened.

Now she was in Athens, seeking the answer.

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The following evening Lydia got to the restaurant half an hour early and chose a table under the large plane tree, as far as possible from the kitchen and other tables. A string of soft white lights wound through the trees at the edge of the eating area. The platanos in one corner had a commanding presence, its curving branches extending over the tables, its lustrous leaves shaped like verdant emerald spades fluttering in the gentle breeze. In the past, Lydia had loved eating there, but this night would be an ordeal. She ordered a half kilo of retsina and sipped a glass to take the edge off her nerves.

At exactly eight p.m., a small woman, her long dark hair tied back, walked toward her table and, offering her hand, said, Professor Barnes. Lydia was surprised by Gabriela’s appearance. She’d been expecting a sexpot – curvaceous, showy clothes, dramatic makeup. Instead, before her stood a slight, rather plain woman with a mole on her chin, wearing a simple white blouse and conservative gray skirt. Lydia couldn’t imagine why Josh had been attracted to her.

Reminding herself to be gracious, Lydia rose to shake her hand. You must be Gabriela.

The two women sat down. Lydia poured Gabriela a glass of retsina. They began awkwardly, with Gabriela again trying to express her sympathies about Josh and Lydia shaking her head. Say no more.

Gabriela stared at the tablecloth. So you are in Greece to...

Research. I’m a sociologist at NYU, specializing in refugee studies. From here I go to Turkey.

Josh was working hard on expanding non-governmental connections between Greece and Turkey.

I hope someone continues his work.

Oh, yes, we have a team at the Center working on these things.

Lydia clasped her hands on the table. I gather you were in Washington.

Yes. I’m the Communications Director for the Center, and I also translate from Greek to English.

At that moment, a waiter came over to take their order. Lydia asked him to come back later. She fixed her eyes on Gabriela’s dark hair and said, What were you doing in Josh’s room?

Gabriela’s eyes blinked rapidly. What do you mean? I was never in Josh’s room.

Lydia said coldly, You were.

Her face suddenly flushed, Gabriela twisted her hands nervously. Well, I...I went to pick up some papers...

Lydia glared. And as long as you were there, you decided to have sex.

Oh no, never. That would never happen.

Lydia had steeled herself for Gabriela’s lie. I know it happened.

How could you possibly--

The police found traces of a woman with black hair. Anxious about manufacturing her own lie, Lydia took a deep breath. They also found your seminar identification badge in Josh’s room. The coroner confirmed sexual activity.

Gabriela buried her head in her hands.

Lydia pounded the table. You can cry all you want. You ought to. You should cry for the rest of your life. To leave a dying man in his room, sneak away, and never call for help? It’s evil. Criminal.

No, Gabriela shouted. No, I would never do that. Tears coursed down her cheeks. Please, listen to me. When I left Josh’s room, he was fine. I went back to my room to sleep. I left early the next morning for Kennedy Airport and then Athens. I found out about Josh only a day later when I got back here.

You expect me to believe someone who was sleeping with my husband? Are you crazy?

Gabriela’s hands came together as if she were praying. "Please. I’ll tell you the whole story of my relationship with Josh. Going back five years. But don’t think I knew about his heart attack. The news