by Malia Zaidi
"At her daughter’s birthday celebration." Daniel’s voice is flat, and he is trying hard to keep any judgement out of it.
"Really?"
"Yes, really." Briony sounds almost elated at this scandal. "Nothing happened for a while." She glimpses over at Daniel and blushes. "Sorry, Daniel."
"Go on, I can cope. I am more or less an adult."
"Right, apparently they met coincidentally a week later at the market. I don’t recall Caspar ever having taken an interest in the market," she shakes her head, and I fear her drifting off in a completely different direction.
"Briony, what else did she mention?"
"Oh, they simply talked a lot, sat down in a café and chatted for hours. She said he understood her, and that they were connected somehow. She couldn’t ignore that."
"Poor Laria."
"She does seem quite stricken. I honestly do not know how she hides it from Nikolas. I think Kaia keeps her busy and reasonably distracted, but she isn’t happy."
"Did she explain why she ended the affair?"
"No, she only vaguely hinted that she felt too guilty about it all and didn’t want to ruin her marriage."
"Sensible enough, I suppose." I comment, not at all satisfied with this answer. "There is something she isn’t telling, don’t you agree?"
"Perhaps she is embarassed. I know I would be," Briony hastily adds, "not that I would ever—"
"Of course not," I reassure her. "Now that you, Daniel, and I know, and there is a murder investigation, she must realize that candor is important. Whatever she is keeping secret may be a vital clue to the murderer’s identity."
"I have told you all she said. Still, I got the strongest impression all was not right between her and Nikolas."
"Did you note her tensing when Daniel mentioned her husband?" "Did she?" Daniel asks, now sliding the car through the town gate. I didn’t even notice passing down the main road. Daniel must be a better driver than I was willing to credit.
"I didn’t pay attention. I was chatting with Kaia. Isn’t she darling?" Briony beams.
"Very. What about the story of Helen? Do you thing Laria was simply shielding her child from the truth of its rather unhappy ending, or was she telling her own tale?" I shake my head, wondering aloud.
"If she was, it’s not very subtle." Daniel doesn’t take his eyes off the narrow, dusty road as he answers.
"No, I don’t suppose it is. Even if she loved Caspar and wanted to run away with him, she broke it off, and her husband has an alibi. I would say that chapter can be closed." Briony leans back in her seat, quite satisfied at having made her point.
"Nikolas and Laria can be ruled out, I think, as can your staff, and the four of us. Who else did Caspar know here? Did he have many acquaintances, or did he perhaps do business with anyone?" I shake my head as one question after another floods into my mind. Daniel sighs. In the distance I already see the gleaming ivory of the villa, a striking contrast to the gray clouds crowding the sky.
"We can’t assume each and every person he had contact with wanted him dead. How can we possibly know where to begin?" He sounds distressed, though there is spirit in his tone. He is sad, upset, grieving, but spirited nonetheless. He is waking up again and hunting for the truth.
"There must be a few people who had arguments with him or some he did not like. Can you think of anyone?"
"No, not really." Daniel slows as he turns into the driveway. The wet gravel has turned a dark gray, mirroring the clouds above, and I hear as much as feel the heavy tires crunching over it.
"Well …" Briony’s voice sounds uncertain. Both Daniel and I turn our heads. Thankfully Daniel has halted the car by now.
"What is it?" I ask.
"I don’t know, perhaps it is nothing. Probably."
"Out with it!" I plead at the edge of my seat.
"Darius had an argument with him a while ago. You remember, Daniel."
"That was weeks ago, surely things had been smoothed over sufficiently by now?"
"What happened?" My eyes dart from Briony to Daniel.
"Caspar and I joined Jeffrey to have a look at the dig a few weeks ago. Darius was there and very proud, too. They had only just discovered a new set of rooms, and everyone was excited. Caspar was a little careless, picking up priceless bits of terra-cotta and Darius got angry. He said, or rather implied, Caspar was incapable of understanding their value, he had no business there, that he was basically an ignorant snob. Well, Caspar thought Darius was arrogant, and he was insulted, so he took a copper vase from the dig home to the villa."
"Was it found out?"
"Of course," Daniel lets his hands fall into his lap in a gesture of resignation. "Darius immediately discovered the object’s absence and deduced it must have been Caspar who took it to spite him."
"Did he return it?"
"Yes, it was a very silly situation. Darius in one corner stamping his foot, and Caspar in another tossing about a priceless antique. In the end, it was resolved once the vase was returned. Darius and Caspar hardly had any contact afterward, for all I know. I kept a close eye on him. I didn’t want him going around offending people. Didn’t want us to be run off the island, or cause Jeffrey or Briony any trouble."
"You’re a good man, Daniel, but we would have been all right." Briony smiles sweetly.
"I don’t think Darius is a likely candidate—"
"No, Evie, leave it to the police, please. Don’t go digging about upsetting yourself or anyone else, and I don’t want you to put yourself in any danger." Briony’s smile from a moment ago has faded, and she is looking at me with a stern, pleading expression.
Oh, all right. "I will let the police do their job."
She gives me a scrutinizing look, knowing full well what a vague promise I have made, but seems in no mood to argue. "Good. Now, let us get inside, it looks as though we haven’t seen the last of the storm, and you two need a wash and some clean clothes."
We climb out of the car as the first splatters of rain begin drumming against the windshield and run for the house. Once inside, we slip off our sodden shoes and hurry to our rooms to make ourselves a little more presentable again.
"I’ll send Niobe to draw you a bath!" Briony calls up after me. A nice hot soak will be just what I need to cleanse me of the remaining traces of the fire. True to her word, Briony sends up the maid within moments. Niobe, dark circles below her eyes, disappears into the bathroom.
Glancing into the mirror I am not entirely thrilled with what I see. Beyond the dirty, crumpled clothes and dissheveled hair, I look gray. Perhaps it is a nasty trick of the light, filtering through the thick cover of clouds and barely illuminating the inside of the room. I turn away. There are bigger things to worry about. What Dymas told us of the alibis provides only minimal reassurance. Whoever committed this crime had easy access to the grounds and must have been familiar with Caspar and therefore probably with Daniel, Briony, and Jeffrey as well. I contemplate this, tensely feeling the muscles in my forehead pull together. Whoever it was must have known Caspar was alone, mustn’t he, or for that matter, she? Yes. This thought rouses me, and I begin pacing about the room. Who could have known he was alone?
Then again …
The murderer, if he was known to Caspar, would not necessarily have needed him to be alone. Rat poison or strychnine is easily transported. If he had found several of us in residence, he might have simply changed his plans to wait for a better opportunity. Poisoning is not a spurof-the-moment vim. Not that I can speak from experience.
"Miss Carlisle?" I spin around, my hands on my hips in frustration.
"Niobe, yes?" I drop them, opting for a friendlier stance. The poor girl looks done-in, and I am tempted to send her off to enjoy the bath herself. She certainly gives the impression she might profit from a good long soak.
"Your bath is ready, Miss. I added some lavender oil. I hope it is to your satisfaction."
"Thank you, lovely." I begin removing my bracelet and the pins from my hai
r. Niobe turns to leave, but half-way to the door she stiffens and slumps forward, clutching the top of the dresser, toppling over a small vase of pink flowers.
"Oh!"
"Niobe, what is it?" I stride across the room to her. "What is the matter? Are you in pain?" A silly question, her face, as I now see, is contorted in misery.
"I am fine …"
I shake my head.
"You’re not. Come and sit down." Carefully supporting her by the elbows, I lead her over to the chair. Her face has relaxed again, the pain subsiding, unless she is simply putting on a brave face.
"I am better, thank you."
"We must stop meeting like this," I smile in an attempt to put her at ease, while remembering her fainting spell a few days ago. "Perhaps you should see a doctor? Shall I call for one?"
"No!" Anxiety tugs at her features. "It is fine."
"Niobe," I crouch down beside her on a footstool. "Honestly, is everything all right? You can tell me. I might be able to help. Briony and Jeffrey wouldn’t want you to suffer. They won’t dismiss you if you aren’t feeling well."
Niobe swallows, bites her lower lip and shakes her head.
"I am not ill."
"But surely this isn’t normal. You should at least see a doctor. Is it money? I can lend you money to see him, if you need it."
"No, it is not that."
"I can’t force you to tell me what is wrong, but I promise you can trust me. I want to help." She hesitates, eyeing me with her dark scrutinous gaze.
"I am with child. I am not ill." This takes me by surprise, though I could kick myself for my naïveté. I mustn’t say anything to make her regret this confidence.
"I see," I say slowly, "are you certain?" This seems like a safe thing to say, while my mind races.
"Yes. I went to the doctor two weeks ago."
"To doctor Zarek?"
She seems puzzled for a moment at this enquiry and shakes her head. "No, a doctor in Heraklion. I didn’t want anybody I knew."
"How do you feel?" The question surprises her as though nobody has asked it yet. On second thought, considering how secret she has kept this news, it is likely nobody has. I feel a stab of pity for her, all alone with her frightening, exciting news.
"I do not know." In a gesture that appears unconscious, she lays a hand on her flat stomach.
"I may be overstepping, but Niobe, does the father know? Does Yannick know?"
"Yannick?" The surprise on her face is genuine and leaves me puzzled.
"Yes, Yannick. You two are a couple, are you not?"
"How do you know this, we were so careful?"
"I’m afraid Yannick is your alibi and you his, that is how I know. "You do not understand." As if only now noticing her hand, she lowers it onto her thigh.
"What do you mean?" I am not getting very far in my understanding of this woman. Again, I notice her wavering before giving an answer.
"Many people here do not like me marrying a Pole. They think I should marry a good Greek boy, but … but he is very kind, and he will be a good husband." If only she didn’t look so worried, this arguement would be far more convincing.
"Forgive me for being blunt, however, if there is something upsetting you, you can tell me. I am not scandalized so easily."
"Scandalized?"
"Shocked." Niobe nods and takes a slow breath, shifting her gaze to the open window where the sky is dimming ever so slightly, and a pair of birds are singing a cheerful song.
"Yannick is not my child’s father. He knows and still wants to marry me. I cannot tell this to the people in my village, so they cannot understand that he is a much better man than any of them. It is very difficult, yet I must keep it secret, and you must, too." She returns her focus to me, locking her eyes on mine, extracting a promise that goes beyond spoken words.
"I will not breathe a word." As I make this promise, I worry about facing Briony while protecting Niobe’s secret. We normally confide in each other on most matters. I ease my conscience by telling myself it is in her best interest to be spared the news that even those out of wedlock have greater luck in conceiving children than she herself has had thus far. Oh, it is all such a balancing act, pleasing one without offending another.
"Thank you. I do not want to cause any trouble." Niobe looks down at her hands, folded in her lap, and I wonder whether she knows what her news may do to her mistress.
"It will be all right." I hope. "When will you marry? It should be sooner rather than later, for the sake of propriety." I am sadly aware of the harsh societal judgement an unmarried mother faces, even in these modern times.
"My family is not happy about it. I cannot explain the truth to them. They would be disgraced and my father … No, I can never tell him." She hugs her arms around herself miserably.
"Niobe," I lower my voice ever so slightly, "tell me to mind my own business, but are you in love with Yannick?"
The bluntness of the question clearly catches her unawares, and her eyes widen in surprise, not disguising a flicker of fear. "Of course. Yannick is a very good man. I care for him very much." Not exactly a resounding declaration of her affection, though one I am able to believe.
"I hope you will be happy together." I smile, suddenly very tired and eager to sink into the bath, by now lukewarm at best. Not wanting to be rude, I stand, unable to feel entirely at ease with this young woman and her plans. "Are you better now?"
Niobe nods and gets to her feet, looking less fraught. I hope unburdening herself, even to a stranger, has helped her. I have great sympathy for her situation, but there is something in her manner that unnerves me. Suddenly, as I walk her to the door, a memory of her wearing an anxious expression and speaking in hushed tones with Caspar the eve of the dinner party returns to me.
"Niobe, may I ask you one more question?" I say before I can stop myself.
"Of course, what is it?"
"How well did you know Caspar Ballantine?" I watch her carefully, trying to for innocence in my voice, to disguise my roused curiosity.
"What do you mean? I saw him here. I knew him only a little." Her tone is even, and I chide myself for attempting to detect signs of distress or dishonesty in her delivery.
"I was simply curious as I saw him speaking to you at the dinner party. Do you recall? I was worried he might be bothering you and thought about stepping in, but I did not want to interfere. I hope I did not make a mistake in staying back?" I emphasize this last comment as a question, careful not to alarm her by sounding harsh or suspicious.
"I can’t remember, perhaps he wanted more wine. He did not bother me."
Liar. I would stake my grandmother’s diamond bracelet on it. She has something to hide, this lady of mysteries. I will not get it out of her tonight. She will already be questioning her wisdom in confiding in me at all. I can tell from the set of her jaw, she will reveal no more.
"Good," I reply with pretend relief. "I had best get myself cleaned up now. I hope you are better, and if there is anything I can do to help, please let me know."
With that we part. I leave the door a fingerswidth ajar to hear her footsteps descend the stairs, then close it firmly. Somehow I do not trust her. I know she has an alibi, and I am being absurd, but I believe, with some conviction, that she is lying about Caspar. There was an intensity to their conversation that had nothing to do with wine. Perhaps he is the child’s father? He certainly enjoyed the attentions of more than one lady, whether appropriate or not. Or am I simply allowing my riotous imagination too loose a reign to run where it pleases?
Shedding my dress, I toss it over the chairback and enter the bathroom. The air is warm and scented with lavender and the bathwater is still pleasantly warm. As I ease into it, the tension in my weary body begins to ease. It has been a long day, and I am sorry for everyone I have encountered.
Sinking further into the large tub, leaving only my face floating above the surface, my normally auburn hair turns a deep coffee brown as it dances around my face in the water. I
enjoy the sensation of my ears being submerged, unable to register the reality of sound. Do fish hear? I wonder. Or do they swim about in an endless fog of non-sound. The silence is pleasing. Soon enough, the voices in my mind will beckon again, and I will be forced to listen.
Raising my head, I experience a slight pop as my ears adjust to the change in pressure. My body is more relaxed now, but I cannot find a place of calm inside myself. It is strange how at odds body and mind can be, and still they work together by some peculiar almost unfathomable mechanism.
I rest my head on the small towel folded against the rim of the bathtub and stare up at the swirls in the plaster ceiling, wondering, not for the first time, whether it was a mistake to come here. At least being here, I can help Briony cope with this difficult situation. She will inevitably soon discover that Niobe is pregnant. How will it affect her? I exhale a heavy lungful and close my eyes.
When I was younger, alone or afraid, I often tried closing my eyes, telling myself I must think of something entirely frivolous. I would focus my mind on the pretty dress I had seen on a mannequin in Selfridges or what I would like to have for pudding; only such matters would be allowed. Building a wall in my mind, I barred all serious concerns, protecting myself. It was a high wall, thick and sturdy, but still it failed too often to count. Through some gap the ugly thoughts slipped inside, memories, fears and gnawing anxieties, and I would wrench open my eyes as though escaping a waking nightmare.
Today I do not even try this evasion. I am not a child anymore, even though, at this moment, I feel remarkably small and vulnerable. I allow my mind the freedom to wander down the dark alleys and the shadowed recesses that cause my skin to crawl. I have been here less than a week, yet so much has happened. I have trouble believing it.
Images flash before my eyes of the ferry, of Yannick and the Delage, the dinner party, the Agora, the dead, dead body of Caspar. Normality and horror. Isn’t that the way of the world? Goodness is so often overshadowed by the dark. Light always the more fragile entitity.
We all have a shadow following us wherever we go. Is this duality of light and dark in human nature simply something we must learn to accept? We all harbor some unattractive qualitites within ourselves, should we simply expect them on some occasions, to manifest themselves as something truly horrendous? If this were the case, life would be hardly worth living. What would life be if it was not treasured, loved, protected, mourned by somebody? Lazily accepting evil in the world as status quo cannot be an option. No, the day I stop being shocked and saddened by tragedy and evil, is the day I lose faith in humanity, and that day is not today.