flourish she laid before them fried squid and goat cheese and stuffed grape leaves and octopus and wooden bowls of melidzanosalata, her baked eggplant puree flavored with garlic, onions and herbs, not forgetting her speciality, pink taramasalata made of mullet roe and olive oil.
"Incidentally, we were just out at Knossos, the palace, this afternoon." Vance took a bite of kalamarakia while she looked on approvingly.
"Ah, of course, the palace," Zeno smiled. "I love it still. I probably should go more myself, if only to remember the days of my childhood, during the restoration. But with all the tour buses. ..." He chewed on a sliver of octopus as he glanced out toward the music in the street. "Perhaps it should be better cared for these days. But, alas, we are not as rich now as King Minos was." He shrugged and reached for a roll of dolmadakia. "Still, we are not forgotten. To¬day, perhaps, we count for little in the eyes of the world, but your book brought us fleeting fame once again. Scholars from everywhere came—"
"Hoping to prove me wrong." Vance laughed and took another sip of raki.
"What does it matter, my friend. They came." He brightened. "Even today. Just to show you. Today, there was a man here, right here, who was carrying your famous work on the palace. He even—"
"Today?" Vance glanced up. Had he been right?
"Yes, this very day. Outside in the arbor. He even sam¬pled some of Adriana's meze." He nodded at her. "I did not like him, and only our friends are welcome inside, book or no book."
"Was he going out to Knossos?" Eva interjected sud¬denly, staring. "To the palace?"
"He asked about it. Why else have the book?" He shrugged again, then examined the octopus bowl, search¬ing for a plump piece. "You know, Michael, I could never finish that volume of yours entirely. But your pictures of the frescoes—" He paused to chew his octopus, then smoothed his gray mustache and turned again to Eva, "the frescoes of the women. I love them best of all. And every now and then I see a woman here in life who looks like them. Not often, but I do. And you are one of those rare
creatures, my Eva. I swear you are Minoan." He turned back. "Look at her, Michael. Is it not true?"
"Zeno," Eva reached for his gnarled hand. "It's not like you to forget. My people are Russian, remember. From the Steppes."
"Ah, of course. Forgive me. But you see,