We spent the night in a hospital room, where my bruised ribs and shoulder, dislocated but not broken, were dealt with. The doctor reassured us that our baby was unharmed.
I told Angelo everything: about the dragonfly necklace, and how important it was for me to get it back.
He confessed that his brother was a compulsive gambler. ‘Most weekends he goes to the casino on the island of Rhodes. I guess dealing antiquities feeds his habit.’
We were leaving the hospital when Angelo said, ‘I’ve been thinking, it wasn’t Damian who got the dragonfly necklace from this Splotskey, he would have been too young then. But I’m guessing he knows the collector who bought it. If we handle this carefully, we still might be able to trace the dragonfly necklace.’
‘I don’t see how. Why don’t we just tell the police everything?’
‘Look, Damian will most likely go to prison, or at least have a huge fine to deal with for excavating the site. I’m in a difficult situation – he’s my brother. Besides that, your mother would be discredited. Imagine how the archaeology world will react if they discover she sold some antiquities.’
‘But she didn’t . . . it wasn’t like that at all.’
‘Do you think the press will care why she did it? The name of Bridget McGuire would be damned around the world of archaeology.’
‘So you think we should . . . what?’
‘Let the police deal with Damian. Meanwhile, we could try to find out who buys antiquities from him.’
‘How come he’s allowed to build on an archaeological site?’
‘He isn’t, it is forbidden, Irini, but if you know people, and you hand over enough cash, you can get a building licence, or an illegal building made legal, almost anywhere in Greece.’ He scowled and stuck his jaw out, then his face softened. ‘Don’t think too badly of us. We live in a corrupt society, and sometimes it’s the only way to get things done. Most of us would prefer it if everyone kept to the rules, but that is, how you say, the wishful thinking.’
*
I used the hotel shampoo on my hair, in the shower. The bathroom door swung open, startling me.
‘Your phone is ringing,’ Angelo said, holding it out. I stepped onto the bathmat, answered the call, and recognised Paula’s voice.
‘Hi, Irini. Sorry this is short notice, but we need you in the London office tomorrow afternoon. Can you get yourself a flight? I’m up to my eyes here.’
‘Yes, I guess so.’
‘Good. Keep all your receipts and we’ll organise an expense account when you get here. Let me know your arrival details and I’ll get someone to pick you up at the airport.’
I glanced up to see Angelo leaning against the bathroom wall, his arms folded. He grinned, rolled his eyes, and then watched the shampoo suds slide down my body. I couldn’t resist doing a little shoulder shimmy, but then winced with pain and almost dropped the phone.
‘Irini! Are you there?!’ Paula cried.
‘Yes, sorry, I’m in the shower. I’ll do my best to be there by noon.’
‘Good, see you then. Ciao.’
I turned to Angelo, who was still grinning. ‘That was Paula. I have to be in London tomorrow afternoon.’
‘Then you must stay with me. I have an apartment in the city, above our office. Anyway, I want to go through the portfolio with you.’ He started unbuttoning his white shirt.
I stepped back into the shower with a smile on my face. ‘You mean my portfolio?’
He bit his lip, eyes narrowing as he slid his jeans zip down. I turned my back on him, anticipating his touch under the streaming water.
*
Our flight from Crete to London was a journey of discovery. Angelo and I talked incessantly, exchanging parts of our lives, ambitions and dreams. Despite his family’s wealth, I learned Angelo was a self-made man. We enthused about fabric, style, drape, cut, and buttons with the excitement of children in a sweetshop.
On the subject of our baby, there were long silences filled with joy and hand holding. Neither of us had experience of a baby in the family. Angelo had been twenty and living in London when his nephew, Michalis, was born. We gazed into each other’s eyes, smiling as we imagined how it would be. I thought about my mother’s notebooks, how thrilled she was to be pregnant, and how she loved me.
I wanted to share my joy with her so badly.
‘You look a little sad . . . tell me,’ Angelo said, breaking my thoughts.
I smiled, but inside I was weeping for my mother, all that I’d lost, and how it could have been. ‘Oh, I was just thinking about Mam. I wish . . . you know?’
‘Yes, I do know. I was six when my mother died.’ He swallowed hard and stared out of the window for a moment. ‘I’ll tell you about it one day, but not now. They are always with us, Irini. I was so afraid I would forget her, I started drawing simple pictures of her and the things she did. But I never forgot. She is as real today as she was all those years ago. Only the pain has faded. At the moment, you feel as though it never will, don’t you?’
I nodded.
‘True love never dies,’ he said simply. ‘Anyway, those drawings led me to take up photography when I got older, and that’s my other passion!’
I was so uplifted by his words, I wanted to kiss him right there in the plane. ‘Would you be looking for a model, for your photography then?’ I quipped.
‘Ah, the fees are too expensive, but I have a cunning plan to marry one.’ Then Angelo’s grin fell and his questioning eyes met mine. ‘While we’re in London, I’d like to buy you a ring.’
Caught by surprise, I stared at him and, after a breathless moment, I chose my words carefully.
‘Angelo . . . working for you has changed me. I’m no longer the person you got to know in Crete.’
His smile fell, replaced by a slightly worried look.
‘I’m stronger now, more determined, self-confident, thanks to the modelling,’ I said. ‘So, I want to ask you something.’
He nodded, although his frown deepened. ‘Anything.’
‘Will you marry me, darling?’ I said, already knowing the answer. His grin and the relief on his face made me laugh out loud. ‘But will you wait until after our baby’s born, because I have to get into my wedding dress.’ It felt strange, old-fashioned, calling him darling, yet I couldn’t find another loving word that fit so well, and from the smile in his eyes, I guessed he liked it. I was reminded of my father – he always called my mother ‘darling girl’ – and I found myself smiling too.
I thought of Dad all alone in the home and couldn’t remember the last time I’d spoken to him. ‘I must call my father the moment we land, darling.’ He nodded. ‘And I have to tell Paula I’m pregnant as soon as possible. I don’t want her planning this advertising campaign thinking I’ll be working for your company. I’m disappointed that I won’t be the model she wants. It’s been an amazing experience, but I have to face facts.’
‘I’ll speak to her.’
‘Actually, I’d rather deal with it myself. It’s very kind of you and all, but I don’t want any favours, Angelo.’
*
The following Monday morning, I sat in the boardroom of Retro Emporio.
‘So you see, Paula, I thought it best if I told you as soon as I could. There’s no problem to rip up the contract and take your money back.’ I’d eaten every flavour of humble pie.
Paula, and James who was head of publicity, and their photographers Nick, Simone, and Andrew, exchanged stern glances.
‘Would you leave the room for a moment, Irini?’ Paula asked.
‘Sure.’ I left them to decide my fate and sat in the corridor, my mouth clamped shut and so dry I could hardly swallow. I placed my hands on my belly and thought about the baby inside. She would grow into my beautiful daughter. Yet how did I know I was having a girl? A broken dream, intuition, something in the back of my mind that I could not put my finger on . . .
I didn’t want to lose my job. I loved it, and felt terrib
le about letting everyone down, especially after the Santorini shoot. However, there seemed no option.
The office door opened and Nick stuck his head out. ‘Irini, come in, please.’
I approached my chair and held on to it while my heart sounded a drum roll. It had all been wonderful. The modelling had brought me to Angelo and I was having his baby. The job had made me good money for a short time, not that I’d had a chance to spend much, and now I would have to give it back. But my life had changed dramatically with the adventure. I had matured, experienced how different some people’s lives are. I understood the pressure of Paula’s job, the dedication of Simone, and the risk they had taken by employing me. I had lost my shyness, the cursed blush, and learned to be confident in my body.
‘Sit down, Irini,’ Paula said.
I took a breath to compose myself and then turned to my boss. ‘Paula, may I say something before you sentence me?’
She nodded.
‘I just want to thank everyone, especially Nick for teaching me so much on that first shoot, and also Simone for her incredible patience on the beach. I’m sorry for letting you all down.’ That was enough. A lump in my throat told me perhaps I hadn’t hardened as much as I’d thought.
The room was silent for a moment, everyone exchanged glances, then Paula spoke. ‘We’ve considered everything, and have a few questions.’
‘Anything. Anything at all.’ I stared at the tabletop, not wanting to meet their eyes.
‘Irini.’ Paula pushed paper and pen over. ‘We want to know the date you expect the baby, when you’ll be unable to work, and any special requirements you might have.’
I looked up. Was I dreaming? ‘I don’t understand. You mean I’m not sacked?’
Paula rolled her eyes. ‘The fact is, Irini, I told you we were bringing out two ranges for the mature woman of thirty to fifty. There is a huge gap in the market – nobody designs maternity wear for this group, even though the age of pregnant women has increased dramatically. This new breed of mothers-to-be, executives and businesswomen, want to look good and dress in high end fashion. We plan to ensure they can continue to do that while they’re pregnant. We’re actually delighted.’
Shocked, I stared around the table. Not only was I still a model with my money worries over, but also pregnant myself. Everyone was happy.
‘We’ll reschedule your work to fit the confinement,’ Paula said. ‘But if you’ll sign a new contract, allowing us to follow your pregnancy, you’ll be highly rewarded for the extra publicity. How many people know?’
‘My doctor of course, and Angelo. That’s all.’
‘Angelo . . . You told Angelo before you told me?!’ Clearly Paula was taken aback and annoyed.
‘Well, yes, sorry, but you see, he’s the father.’
Jaws dropped and there was a moment of stunned silence before Paula resumed, businesslike as ever.
‘Right, well . . . we must keep this out of the press for another month while we prepare the campaign.’
‘So, mum’s the word?’ I quipped.
‘Exactly.’ She reached out and took the pen from me. ‘Actually, we could do this later. Be in my office in an hour.’ She stood. ‘Come, I’ll see you out. Oh, and congratulations, by the way.’
*
The next Friday evening I was back in Dublin, loving the tranquillity of my little house. My father seemed to have found a new lease of life in the home. I had taken all our photographs from Istron on a memory stick, and he was busy analysing them and writing a paper for the Archaeological Society. I spared him the details of my accident, nor did I mention it was Angelo’s brother who had opened the illegal dig.
The fact that Damian may have been responsible for my mother’s death still twisted in my gut. After a lot of soul searching, I agreed with Angelo. If my father got to hear our suspicions, it might well kill him too. Damian was locked up, awaiting trial in Crete. He would be punished severely without the need to discredit my parents’ good name.
I was in the process of a good old spring clean when the phone rang.
‘Hi, Irini,’ Aaron said. ‘How’s the homeland treating you?’
‘Hi. Life’s good, Aaron. Lovely to hear from you.’
‘Ah, you might not think so when you hear my news, but don’t shoot the messenger, right?’
‘Oh no! What’s wrong?’ A feeling of trepidation rose in my chest.
He sighed into the phone. ‘We’ve been burgled. Your house was broken into, and also the site. Nothing seems to have been taken. Well, not at the site, anyway. They didn’t even bother to open the till.’
‘Bugger! Poor you. Is the house in a mess?’
‘Yep, they really turned it over. The police seem to think they were searching for something. There was nothing of value to steal, so God knows what the bastards were looking for. You might want to come over. I’ve put a new lock on, but it’s an absolute tip inside.’
I had just ended the call when Angelo phoned.
‘Any news about the artefacts?’ Angelo said, after asking me how we were, and me standing there with the phone in my hand, grinning like a lovesick eejit.
‘Unfortunately, both the house and the archaeological site have been broken into. I have to go over as soon as I can. Aaron said they trashed the house, and I suspect they were searching for the necklace. Will you come with me? Can you spare the time?’
‘I’ll call Paula. We can go tomorrow morning, yes?’
‘Great. I was a bit nervous about going on my own. Aaron’s had a new lock fitted. They smashed the old one, so I need to call him and get the key.’
*
The next afternoon, Aaron met us at the airport and drove us to the house.
‘Sorry about the chaos, guys. I haven’t had a chance to clean it up at all. Whoever did it, well, they seemed intent on searching every centimetre of the house.’ He unlocked the door and stood back.
I stood in the doorway and stared at the mess. ‘My God, look at the state of the place! Thanks, Aaron, I know you did your best. Great that you got a new lock fitted and called the police. Did they come up with anything?’
‘No, except that they were sure it wasn’t a local.’ He lifted the tin table and two chairs out of the room and placed them in their usual spot on the patio. ‘If you need anything else, let me know, okay?’
‘Actually, I wanted to ask you something. I’ve been looking at your book. Why isn’t there an area twenty-one at the site? I couldn’t find one on the map.’
‘Twenty-one?’ He scratched his head, frowning for a moment. ‘Ah, there is, but it’s only a small store room.’
‘Can we investigate this afternoon?’
‘Sure. I’m back in town later so I’ll pick you up. What’s going on?’
‘We’re not sure, Aaron. I’m still trying to solve a puzzle, a clue my mother left, something to do with the number twenty-one. I’ll explain everything this afternoon,’ I said. ‘First, we need to get this place cleaned up.’
*
The house was a mess. Everything strewn about. But apart from the smashed door lock, nothing was damaged.
‘How would the police know it wasn’t somebody local?’ I asked Angelo as we started picking up the debris.
‘A local would have searched for the key of the door outside first. There aren’t many places on the patio to look, but it seems they didn’t bother.’
It hit me like a thump in the chest. ‘That’s it! Bingo! The bingo ticket! Twenty-one, the key of the door!’
Angelo stared blankly. ‘I don’t understand?’
I pressed my hand on my thudding heart. ‘What was she telling me?’ There was a bingo ticket in the Oxo tin with a red circle around twenty-one. There were two playing cards, an ace and a king – twenty-one. Over twenty-one, Mam wrote in red on the back of her shopping list.
I recalled my twenty-first birthday. Sausage rolls and crisps in the pub, my friends singing: ‘She’s twenty-one today! Twenty-one today! She’s got the key
of the door, never been twenty-one before.’ My mother was telling me . . . yes, that’s it! Over the key of the door!’
Angelo glanced at the new lock.
‘The spare key, Angelo! The key of the door, it was under the urn. Now I remember – there was soil on the patio when I first arrived at the house. Aaron thought it was cats. He stuck souvlaki sticks in the pot to keep them from using it as a toilet. My mother had arrived back from Crete in the evening. She must have known the danger she was in so long as the artefacts were in her possession, so she hid them and left me those clues, just in case.’
We stared at each other for a moment, then rushed outside.
The terracotta urn stood waist-high. We pulled out the sticks and the dried-up geranium, and then we tilted it over until the urn rested on its side.
Angelo slipped his posh shoes off and put them safely to one side, then got on his knees. ‘Let’s hope you are right, and also that there is not too much cat kaka in here.’ He thrust his hands into the soil and scooped it out.
About one third of the way in, he stopped and got to his feet. ‘Nothing yet. I just need to straighten my back for a moment.’
‘Move over,’ I cried impatiently, dropping to my knees. I delved into the urn. The soil was dry and warm. After a couple more scoops I felt something solid. ‘I have it!’ Holding my breath, I eased the object out, but it was only a rock and I tossed it aside.
‘They put stones in the bottom to make the pot stable, and for the drainage,’ Angelo said.
The artefacts had to be in the pot. I plunged in again, scooping out more dirt and stones, and then my fingers touched plastic. I got a grip and retrieved a sizable lunch box.
‘This has to be it!’ Suddenly afraid, I glanced around. My mother had been killed for this, now I was sure of it. We were in danger.
‘Angelo! Oh hell, do you think we’re being watched?’ I whispered. ‘I’ve got a strong feeling . . .’ A horrible thought struck me. ‘And they knew the house was empty, that’s why they broke in. So whoever it was must have been watching the place . . . I’m afraid.’
Secrets of Santorini Page 40