Odyssey of the Heart

By E. A. Stillwell

She was returning to England to get married. He had come to Greece to start a new life.

 

A chance encounter and an unintended figure of speech launches them on a nine day romantic journey.

 

But the curve ball of life unintentionally opens doors to suppressed memories of their respective pasts.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Book Vine Press
• Release date: Oct 3, 2018
• ISBN: 9781949574159

E. A. Stillwell

E. A. Stillwell first caught the writing bug in college but then realized he couldn’t write about life if he hadn’t lived it. After a lengthy career as an architect, Stillwell is happy to be nurturing his passion for writing once again. He and his wife are avid travelers who divide their time between homes in Mexico and Florida. This is his fourth book. Visit his website at www.eastillwell.com.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Her name was Tricia Lynn Sherwood. She had arrived at Athens Venizelos Airport on a Monday afternoon after nineteen and a quarter hours of excruciating travel from Uganda. After the formalities of passport control, baggage reclaim, and customs she had made her way to the Metro, as the Athens subway system was called, where she entered one of the cars of the blue line train which took her to the Syntagma Square station. From there it had been a short taxi ride to her hotel where within moments of her arrival, she was thoroughly enjoying the relaxation of a hot soapy bath and attempting to forget the five-hour layover in Nairobi and the ordeal of changing planes in Bahrain.

The mystic of the Son et Lumiere lights playing on the Acropolis in the distance her first evening in Athens buoyed her briefly as she enjoyed dinner alone at the hotel roof top restaurant. She had felt sad about having to eat alone, but; after all, she told herself, she was more fortunate than a lot of people she knew. It wasn’t everyone that got such an opportunity to travel as she had. As she ate, plans developed for her days ahead. Ten days were not enough, but that’s all she could spare. Fred and Pamela had told her that before she left Uganda. It would have been nice if they could also have been in Athens as planned, but Pamela had become ill and their trip was postponed, leaving Trish to spend ten days by herself in a city she did not know, but a city of which she had heard so much. Tuesday was to be a day of learning. Rather than rush to do the touristy things first, she would wait. She would walk the city, look in the shops, sit in the parks, and soak up the atmosphere. Too dangerous for a single girl alone in a big city some would say. What would you do if you got lost would say others?

As she left her hotel Tuesday morning, she doubted very much if it really would be dangerous and as for getting lost, she would simply ask someone for directions. She was bound to meet someone that spoke English.

Her first stop was a cafe on Syntagma Square a few blocks away from where she planned on having breakfast. Fred and Pamela had advised her to do this first before attempting anything else. There’s an outdoor cafe on Syntagma Square Fred had said. Just a few blocks from the hotel turn left as you leave, you can’t miss it. Each time I go to Athens I go there first, sit, have something to drink, and unwind as I watch the world go by. You can sit there forever and they won’t disturb you and as you sit you can feel yourself becoming a part of the city.

Fred was right. She could have sat there forever watching the early morning hustle and bustle of people as she enjoyed her coffee and pastry. With each new sound of the traffic moving in a counterclockwise fashion around the square she could feel herself slowly becoming a part of the city. She was sure Tuesday would be a fun day, even if she must spend it alone.

When she finally left the Dionysus Cafe, she began to slowly walk around the square. Her first stop was at the Post Office to mail some postcards to family How silly she thought as she asked the man behind the counter for stamps for four postcards to England, but her parents and uncles didn’t have computers so the old fashion way was the only way.

Her next stop was at the Parliament Building where she photographed the guard in his white stocking tight uniform, trimmed with blue pom poms attached to his shoes and hat. The rifle at his side was taller than he was. As she watched the guard go about his ritual, she could not help but notice the hundreds of pigeons that dotted the building concourse. Perhaps there were more than hundreds. In some areas, they were practically standing on top of each other as they vied for the food cast by many willing tourists. The scene was reminiscent of the pigeons at Trafalgar Square and for a brief moment, she felt homesick.

Continuing counterclockwise around the square, she headed down Stadiou Street towards Omonia Square looking in the shop windows as she went. From Omonia, she walked towards the Athens’ Museum on Patission. She had not intended to visit the museum at that time. She had only intended to note its whereabouts for a later date; but, upon arrival, she went in, and to her surprise spent two and one-half delightful hours. Forgotten in the excitement she was feeling was the fact that she had had nothing to eat since breakfast.

It was late afternoon when she wandered into the flea market section of the city. The narrowness and meandering of the streets and sidewalks flanked by a myriad of shops that displayed their wares practically on the sidewalks fascinated her. After what seemed like several hours of window shopping, she finally acquired a feeling for the type of gifts she would purchase for her mother, father and other family members and confidently entered the shops one by one. In one, she bought a copper plate for an aunt and uncle. In another, two small vases for her mother. With the purchase of a belt and a shirt for her father and a similar belt for a favorite uncle, it became time to find her way back to the hotel. With a sense of mission accomplished, she opened her black leather handbag to retrieve her map but it wasn’t there. Surely there was some mistake. She looked harder, further checking her handbag and each package, but still no map. She must have set it down in one of the shops and foolishly walked out without it. But which one? Where? She seriously doubted if she could find her way back to each shop she had visited. Angry with herself for her stupidity, but nevertheless undaunted by her bit of carelessness, she told herself she would just have to purchase another or take a taxi back to the hotel. However, as with so many things, timing and circumstance are often instruments of fate. Perhaps it was because of the urgent need that maps were unavailable in any of the shops that she subsequently passed; and, of course, there were no taxis in sight.

His name was Lawrence, Jeffrey Owen. Everyone called him Jeff instead of Larry because he preferred it that way. He had arrived at Venizelos airport via British Air flight 640 from London Tuesday afternoon after a twelve hour and twenty-three-minute journey from Washington. The chauffeur for the vice president in charge of the firm’s Athens office was there to greet him after he cleared customs and took him directly to his hotel. He had ten days freedom before starting work, one of which, no doubt, would be a courtesy call to Mr. Mitchell. He thanked the chauffeur upon arriving at the hotel, asked that he extend to Mr. Mitchell his sincere appreciation and said that he would be stopping by to say hello either tomorrow or the next day when he felt more rested. After all, it might be Tuesday afternoon in Athens, but his body still said almost seven in the morning and he felt as though he had been up all night.

Tired from more than thirteen hours of travel, he had intended on having a shower and a nap when he entered his room, but to his surprise, as he started to unpack, he had felt a second wind emerge. It’s already past mid-afternoon he told himself as he showered, shaved and changed into fresh clothing oblivious to the fact that only moments ago he had arrived. There was much to see, much he had read about. Ten days would pass very quickly he thought as he left the hotel and turned left.

Now that he was here in Athens and could see the real Acropolis and all its ancient buildings rather than some photo in a college textbook or a picture on any computer screen he was impatient to make it his first stop. He had been able to see it from his hotel room at the Astor and It had seemed quite close so he felt he would have no trouble finding it. In his impatience, he had headed straight to Syntagma Square, turned right at the Dionysus Cafe, walked two more blocks along the square, then turned right at the post office. This was an error he was to compound several times within the next several minutes of his late afternoon dash. As he walked and walked getting more confused, he skirted Plaka, the old city of Athens and ended up near Monastiraki in the Flea Market where hundreds of tourists crowded the narrow sidewalks and streets. It was at one of the busy little shops where he finally swallowed his pride and asked the shopkeeper how to get to the Acropolis. He had delayed asking directions, not only as a result of stubborn pride in his sense of direction; but, he was sure he would have trouble in this strange city where he was the foreigner and a different language was spoken. But he had heard some of the shopkeepers speaking English, so he asked one, only to discover that by the time he would get there it would be closed for the day. He would now have to wait until Wednesday morning. Perhaps you would like to purchase a map the shopkeeper had asked. So he had purchased a map. He had then proceeded to walk a few blocks to get his bearings, observing the street names on the sides of the buildings, strange names that he couldn’t even begin to pronounce. Still disappointed, he was studying his map at the intersection of three small alley-like streets, with his digital camera hanging from his shoulder, looking the typical tourist he was sure when he heard her voice for the first time.

Excuse me. Could you tell me how to get to Syntagma Square? she asked, but there was no answer. He was so intently studying the map he held in his hands, he was oblivious to her presence.

Excuse me, she repeated in a louder tone of voice. Startled by the sudden sound of her voice, he jerked straight upright from his slouched position, almost dropping the map.

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you, she continued hesitantly. But could you tell me how to get to Syntagma Square?

Syntagma Square? He echoed her question almost unaware that he had responded to her request.

Yes, she replied to his question.

Hmm –- Let’s see, he responded as he raised the map to study once again. Hmm. Yes. Here. This is it here, he said nobly, pointing to a small piece of green on the map. We’re here, I believe, he continued, shifting his finger several inches to the left to a confluence of several lines. We’re only about ten blocks away. Not too far really."

She watched the movement of his finger studiously, although not completely comprehending what he was saying. It all looked very confusing, but she certainly would not let him know that. Map reading was not her forte. She could do so and had done so commendably in the past when left to her own devices and certainly, her accomplishments of the day had lent credence to her abilities, at least until she had carelessly lost her own map. Now she had to ask a complete stranger to give her directions in a strange city.

We’re here, she said, reiterating his remarks as she pointed to the spot he had just touched, and we need to go here, she continued, moving her finger and pointing to the small green spot on the map. Accidentally she had used the word ‘we’ and it triggered an offer, an offer of the type when made in the past would most certainly have been rejected; but, now an offer gratefully accepted. She was cognizant of her error immediately after it occurred but said nothing. After all, an incidental slip of the tongue did not always require an explanation; but, was it an accidental slip of the tongue or a purposeful act on her part, caused by some mysterious force or longing from within?

We! Syntagma! I— uh—. She had seen the penny drop as comprehension materialized. That’s where I’m going. Syntagma I mean. Perhaps we could walk together. Two heads are better than one. That is if you don’t mind.

She thought of all those unrecognizable names written in an alphabet she didn’t understand and hoped he was right for she had not that much confidence at the moment in her own sense of direction, but she would not tell him that.

No, I don’t mind, she responded demurely, and then smiling, almost laughing, Two heads are better than one aren’t they?

Two heads proved to be better than one, and more fun too, as they walked, looking at the strange street names painted on the sides of white and tan stuccoed buildings. She, to her surprise, found herself learning the Greek alphabet as he spelled out the names of the streets.

The W on its side is the letter sigma, he said at one time. The zero with a horizontal line through it is theta and the zero with the vertical line through it is phi, he said at another. She was impressed with his knowledge of the Greek alphabet and said so.

When I saw those funny looking letters, she said, I couldn’t even begin to guess.

Well, I don’t know how to pronounce the words, but I do know the alphabet, at least the upper case letters anyway.

You’re American aren’t you? she said inquisitively as they continued walking the narrow streets, stepping occasionally to a sidewalk, no larger than a curb to allow a car to go by.

Yes, I am, he replied. You’re British aren’t you?

Yes, she replied, now, sorry she had asked any questions because she was afraid she had initiated the beginning of a personal conversation and that was the last thing she wanted.

What part of England are you from?

Kent, she said almost defensively.

I understand it’s beautiful there. It’s one of the counties isn’t it?

Yes, it is, she said, surprised at his seeming knowledge. Have you been there? England I mean.

Just the airport. I changed planes there on route here. Someday, perhaps. Why?

The fact you knew that was the name of a County. Usually, it’s only when people have been to England they know things like that.

Oh. I’ve two English friends; one is from Kent, the other from Nottingham. They live in the States now.

After 15 blocks, or was it 30, of weaving up and down narrow alley-like streets, they finally found Syntagma Square. At last, he said to her as he spotted the familiar scene coming into view.

The end of a mystery tour, she said with a laugh as they reached Georgiou Street bordering the square.

Well, mission accomplished, although I’ll bet you thought at times we’d never make it.

I’ll admit there were a few moments when I felt concerned.

How could you? he retorted. Why, we were never in doubt for a moment.

Then there was a silence, that period of momentary awkwardness when two people wanting to speak were at a loss for words. It was she that finally dismantled the barrier, extending her right hand in a gesture of friendship and appreciation.

I must go now, she said. My hotel is not far from here. Thank you very much for your help. She suddenly realized how tired she was and how much she longed for a soak in a nice hot bath followed by a quiet dinner and an early to bed.

As he grasped her proffered hand and gave it a short gentlemanly shake, she felt a momentary thrill run through her as his large masculine hand engulfed hers.

My pleasure, was all he said as he looked into her eyes. He had a pleasant smile on his face as he spoke, but it was his serious dark green eyes she found disturbing. There was a depth to them that she found involuntarily appealing. He had wanted to say something else but refrained.

It has been a long day. Thank you again ever so much, and with that, she turned and headed in the direction of her hotel.

Chapter 2

After Trish had gone, Jeff turned and headed toward the Dionysus Cafe thinking that a cold beer at six in the afternoon would hit the spot after his walking adventures. By the time he started pouring his second chilled bottle of Amstel into his glass he had dismissed thoughts of the afternoon from his mind. Kathy was over here somewhere with her mother. Sweet, innocent little Kathy. She would be almost seven now. He wondered how she was and tried to picture in his mind how she would look, but it was difficult to conjure up a vision of a little girl going on seven years of age. All he could see was the pudgy face of a five-year-old. He wondered where she was and what she was doing, but he knew he would never know. Phyllis had taken care of that. She had gotten blood from a stone and then got the stone too. Europe was not that big a place and even if they did go back to the States the world was getting smaller. He would run into Kathy some day he was sure, for if he didn’t find her, she would find him. He was enough of a child psychologist to know that. She would be curious and he would show her the copies of the letters and Phyllis would lose in the end. Of that he was certain. Poetic justice, he hoped. Only time would tell and he was sure a long time would pass before he would find out. Better than not to torture himself. Think about other things, he said to himself as he ordered a third bottle of beer, more pleasant things.

With that, his thoughts turned to the woman from England and he became angry with himself for letting her go, or at least for not attempting to prolong her presence. He could have suggested a drink. She had said she was tired. Perhaps she could have used one. They could have had dinner. He could have escorted her to her hotel. A hundred thoughts had flashed through his mind as he shook her hand, and then watched her disappear from sight but he had said nothing. Why had he said nothing? It would have been nice to have dinner with her this evening. Why didn’t he ask? Why all of a sudden, at the last moment had he kept quiet? He was sure in their brief moment of awkward silence, she was waiting. Waiting? Perhaps. Most probably it was just wishful thinking on his part. Then it dawned on him. He didn’t even know her name. If only he had