by Malia Zaidi
"She is also greatly comforted that Laria and Nikolas had nothing to do with it."
"Still, it is very sad for Rosie."
"Do you think she understands? It would almost be better, if she did not."
"We may never know. Dymas mentioned they have contacted her brother. She will return to Holland."
"They will place her in a hospital, don’t you think?" I wonder sadly, kicking at a small stone, sending it skittering down the dusty road.
"It depends on her brother, whether he can afford to hire a nurse, or whether he already has a large family to provide for. Finances will play into it. Paul may have money saved. I hope she will be well cared for."
"As do I." A cloud has drifted into the horizon of my mind, though the sky above remains untainted.
"I hope Nikolas isn’t home."
"It could be somewhat … uncomfortable," I agree.
Turning around another bend, we see the familiar façade of the village in the near distance. We walk the rest of the way in companionable silence, each doubtless rehearsing the coming conversation playing out the scene in our minds, until we find ourselves in front of the pretty house of the Zarek family.
"Well, here we are."
"Ready?"
He nods and raps the doorknocker loudly. We wait for a moment, soon hearing the sound of footsteps approaching behind the door before it swings open to reveal the lady of the house.
She looks surprised to see us and opens the door widely to let us in.
"Hello, come inside. What brings you here?" Laria’s manner is friendly, but vaguely suspicious as she ushers us into her light-filled parlor. I am quick to dispell her anxiety and begin to explain.
"Inspector Dymas has arrested Caspar’s murderer."
Laria gasps and brings a hand to her mouth.
"Who? Who did it? It wasn’t Darius, was it? He has been arrested, but that was two days ago and—"
"No," Daniel raises a calming hand, "it wasn’t Darius. It was Paul. Paul Vanderheyden."
"Paul? But why? Why would he do such a thing? What business did he have with Caspar? They barely knew one another."
"Caspar was blackmailing Paul. Paul wished to keep an event in his life private. I cannot go into the details. Needless to say, this prompted Paul’s action."
"Oh, no. This is dreadful. Why did Caspar do such things?" Laria’s eyes begin to swim with tears, which quickly spill down her cheeks in salty torrents.
I place a comforting arm around her shoulders and make soothing sounds. Daniel looks exceedingly uncomfortable and his expression, in other circumstances, would be rather amusing.
"This is a dreadful shock," I try to soothe. "At least we have some resolution. At least we know."
"I just don’t understand," Laria sobs. I notice, with a shameful stab of envy, that she is one of those people who look even lovelier with tears staining their cheeks, no pink blotches around her nose or red-rimmed eyes.
"No one can really understand, not even Paul, I think. He seemed almost as shocked as we were by his confession."
"Tell me what happened," Laria straightens up slightly, and I remove my arm. With a nod from Daniel, I begin to tell our tale, or as much of it as I can.
"Paul and Niobe, I can understand that much at least. And of course Paul had to keep it quiet to prevent Rosie’s family from discovering the truth." Laria says more to herself than us.
Daniel and I throw each other vaguely puzzled looks.
"I suppose he wanted to keep it from them. Though I doubt this was his highest priority."
Laria frowns at us. "You do not know?"
A sudden curious anxiety makes the hair on the back of my neck stand to attention, and I straighten in my chair.
"Know what?" asks Daniel, his eyes narrowed, tense body leaning forward.
"Rosie has a large fortune! Her family owns vast amounts of land. They more or less pay Paul to take care of Rosie. I should not really know this, but one evening when everyone had a lot to drink, he came out with it all."
"And if Rosie’s family got wind of his infidelity—" Daniel begins cautiously.
"He would have been cut off!" I interrupt.
"It doesn’t make sense," he folds his arms across his chest. "He didn’t live extravagantly.
He claimed he coulnd’t pay Caspar’s demands …"
"Maybe he used most ofthe money for Rosie’s benefit. The nurse must command a decent fee, being on hand all the time. Do they own the house?" I wonder aloud.
"It should be easy to discover."
"He claimed he did it to protect Rosie?" Laria wrinkles her nose in contempt.
"He said he worried she might become aware of his affair, it would set back her recovery. Yet if your theory is accurate, it further explains why he would not leave Rosie for Niobe."
"As we suspected, he was mostly protecting himself. Perhaps he thought after a time he could amass enough money to take himself off … without Rosie."
"Poor woman," Laria states sadly, dabbing at her now-dry eyes with the corner of a starched white hankerchief.
"Yes, poor Rosie. At least we can be certain her family has the means to give her the care she needs. Some small comfort."
"We have to take what comfort we can. Still, nothing will bring back Caspar," Laria sighs and crushes the hankerchief in her fist.
"No," Daniel unfolds his arms and clasps his hands together in a solemn gesture, "nothing will."
CHAPTER 47
Daniel and I stay only a short while longer before taking our leave. Laria is stunned, not shattered by the news, and I hope she will be able to be happy again. She loved Caspar, and even the unveiling of his sometimes dispicable behaviour to others did not change that. He must have been very different with her as he was with Daniel. I will never truly know. My own mind is too thickly clouded with the unsavory aspects of his character, and he will never be able to disprove them by any kindness or attention.
Together side by side, we walk towards the main street. As if on tracks, we somehow find our way to Hector’s Café where we slump into our usual chairs and are promptly given a basket of sweet buns and tiny cups of strong brew.
"We should tell Dymas." Daniel announces wearily. He appears well and truly unenthusiastic faced with the prospect of seeking out the inspector again, of even setting foot inside the police station, a sentiment I wholly echo.
"Later. Paul is in custody. Whatever motive he had, he made a full confession. Claryfications can be added in time." I take a sip of the scalding, fortifying brew and crumble one of the buns onto a plate.
Daniel appears relieved at the reprieve, taking a large bite of the sweet pastry. I watch him and a thought comes to my mind, no doubt brought on by the ludicrous conversation with Briony. Try as I might, I cannot push it aside.
"Daniel," I begin, faltering with hesitation.
He turns his head. "Yes?"
"What will you do now, after the funeral?" I watch his expression in response to my query, his chest rising, expanding, then collapsing again before he finds an answer.
"I haven’t decided. I can’t say I’ve given it much thought."
"You will leave?" I ask, aiming for a neutral tone to mask my disappointment at this possibility.
"Leave Crete? Perhaps. Though I have grown quite fond of this place, of the people."
The people.
"You could stay."
Again he pauses before answering, and I glance at his face to see his eyes narrowed as if in confusion. "I could. Do you plan on staying?"
"Yes, at least some time longer, as long as Briony and Jeffrey will tolerate me."
"Then you will stay forever!" Daniel smiles, and I join in.
"No, no. Jeffrey will grow tired of being outnumbered. Besides, they should have their privacy. It is only for a while. Briony still feels a bit overwhelmed, and I want to be here until that changes"
"You two are very close. I’ve noticed how protective you are of her, like a sister."
&nb
sp; The comment pleases me, and a warm glow rises in my cheeks.
"We always pretended to be sisters when we were children."
"Why, if you don’t mind my asking, did you not go to live with her family?"
"Oh, my aunt, well she—"I shake my head and shrug. "To be honest, for most of my life I have wondered about just that. My guardian—Aunt Agnes—and I do not have the closest of relationships. A few days ago, I received a letter, a rather unexpected one." With a surprising lack of restraint, I tell him about the contents of the letter. He does not interrupt, waiting instead, hands in his lap and eyes on mine, for me to finish.
"It is always nice to know one is wanted?" he comments with a note of curiosity turning his remark into a question.
I slowly take a sip of the cooling coffee before replying. "Of course it is."
"You are not entirely pleased, though?"
"It isn’t that," I protest half-heartedly. "I just do not understand her. Even now."
"Many people struggle with showing affection. Especially people of a certain generation and upbringing who have had a stiff-upper-lip attitude instilled in them from an early age."
"That must be it. In part at least," I concede.
"And the remaining parts may always remain a mystery. Especially if you let them be."
I narrow my eyes. "What do you mean?"
"I think you understand my meaning quite well."
"I have tried," I counter defensively, aware of this being only a half-truth.
"Maybe you have. Still you are no longer a child, it may be easier now."
"I doubt it. I will not go back to live with her."
"Probably a wise decision, if you are intent on improving your relationship," he grins.
"Yes, safer for us both."
With this we get up to make our way back to the villa, and I realize he never answered my question at all.
CHAPTER 48
We decide it is only right to tell Dymas of Paul’s possibly darker motives for his crime from the telephone in the Farnham home. Daniel makes the call, and I leave him to do so in private, seeking out Briony instead. On my way to the sitting room, I pass the kitchen, catching a glimpse of long and curly black hair. Niobe.
Hesitating only a moment, I open the door and step inside. She is alone and does not notice me until I make an awkward coughing sound at which she veers around skittishly like a frightened animal.
"Oh, it is you." Her tone is neither cold nor kind, wavering somewhere in the purgatory that is indifference.
"Niobe."
She regards me with dark eyes, arms crossed, a stance both defiant and disinterested. "I am leaving. You need not worry. I will be gone in an hour, before Mr. Farnham returns."
"That is for the best, do you not agree? My cousin has been very fair."
At the mention of Briony, her expression softens ever so slightly. "Mrs. Farnham is a good lady."
"She is."
"She does not hate me."
"Niobe, none of us hate you." I step nearer. "After what has happened, you must realize, we cannot trust you. Not after what you kept from us and from the police. Heavens, you would have let Darius or someone else take the blame, would you not? Did you wish to protect the man you loved? Was it money, money Paul had promised you to keep your secret? Or did he promise to run away with you?"
Niobe unfolds her arms, resting her hands on top of the gleaming counter. As if she hasn’t heard my questions, she answers simply, "I loved Paul."
"Loved?" Not undying devotion after all. Probably for the best.
"I did not want him to be guilty, but if he was …"
"Then you weren’t going to betray him?"
"He is the father of my child."
"A child he knows nothing about."
"It is best this way." She frowns and twists a strand of hair around her finger.
"Does Yannick know about Paul?"
Her answer comes with a firm resolution I did not expect. "No. Nothing. He is a good man. He would not have kept silent. Besides, he has no reason to protect Paul." "Will you marry him?"
Niobe nods, no change in her expression, her eyes dry and unblinking. "Next weekend. On Sunday." She takes her hands from the counter and steps back to the door. "Goodbye, Miss Carlisle."
"Goodbye, Niobe."
Leaving the kitchen somewhat dazed by this encounter, I run into Daniel.
"Oh, it’s you! Did you speak to Dymas?"
He shakes his head. "No, I left a message for him to ring me back or come to the house. I want it all sorted and the case truly concluded before the funeral."
"I understand. You need not talk to him, I can do it."
"No, no. It doesn’t matter." The lines across his brow tell a different story, but I will not push him.
"All right. If there is anything you need …?" "Nothing, thank you."
"Evie?" I hear Briony’s voice calling from above. Reflexively, both Daniel and I tilt our heads to see where her disembodied voice is coming from.
A moment later, Briony is on the stairs in a daydress of lavender cotton with a delicate lace collar. "Oh good, you’re back. How did she take the news?" she descends the last step and joins us.
"Come, let us sit in the conservatory, and we will tell you." I gently take her elbow and lead her with Daniel at our heels. He appears somewhat lost at the moment. He wanted so badly to find Caspar’s killer and may be confused or disappointed that true closure is much harder to come by, especially after learning of the more unsavory aspects of his friend’s character.
The conservatory is bathed in sunlight, and we sit in our customary seats. In turns, Daniel and I tell Briony about our day.
"Poor Laria, though I am most troubled by the notion that Paul’s motives were even more sinister than we thought."
"He led us to believe he was acting almost nobly, protecting Rosie. Doing right by Niobe and his wife, when in truth, he was probably doing it for financial gains."
"… to protect his allowance from Rosie’s family," Daniel finishes my sentence.
"Altogether tragic," is all Briony has left to say, and we can add nothing except to nod in absolute agreement.
CHAPTER 49
We stay a while longer in the gentle light of the sun as it filters through the broad glass panes. It feels as though we are trapped within a crystal. Outside the trees, small and young, sway back and forth in the mild breeze blowing in from the sea. A group of starlings, lively brown specks, make a habit of settling on the patches of grass and then, as if startled by a shotgun, lurch back into the air, turning into even smaller dots on the horizon until they disappear. The scene could be one of utter serenity, were it not for the old oak tree at the edge of the garden. A plain reminder of what it gave shade to, what I found, whom I found. One day, perhaps, this event will sink into history. Still, the past is the past. All the same, it has a far reach, warming us or burning us with an onslaught of memory.
Briony asks the cook to make us sandwiches when we realize, with rumbling bellies that we forgot all about lunch. The day’s events have shaken our sense of normality and routine, and we are still trying to find our way back onto a familiar path.
When Jeffrey comes home in the evening, he is accompanied by Dymas. He towers over Briony’s husband, yet both wear the same mask of tired resignation. Not to reapeat our story again and again, we let both of them sit down, fill their glasses with cool lemonade and only then inform them of Paul’s likely darker motive.
Neither man is terribly shocked. Jeffrey groans, probably considering this new development just another nasty imposition on his previously peaceful life. Dymas raises his expressive brows and says little, making quick notes in a small book and soon afterwards takes his leave, reminding us he will be attending the funeral tomorrow.
"How was your day, darling?" Briony asks her husband once Dymas has departed.
"As I expected. Everyone was mystified. We do not know how to proceed. We have lost a curator and archaeologist, and
with them two brilliant minds we believed to be two good friends. It will be a hard process to move froward and think about replacing them."
"Replace them …" Daniel repeats the words slowly.
"Daniel?"
"Is everybody replaceable?" he asks the question with neither guile nor judgement, more like a curious child waiting for an answer.
"No, of course not, I only meant—" Jeffrey stammers when Daniel interrupts.
"I know what you meant, and of course their labor and their skill must be replaced. I am thinking of the person. During the war, soldiers were taught to regard themselves as part of a greater whole, though admittedly not that this whole could function even after we were gone. Valuable, yet far from priceless; our finger on the trigger could be replaced by that of another poor, brave, foolish soul. What do we truly mean to others? In a world where murder happens every day and everywhere, where life is too often under threat not only by the elements, illness, misfortune, but at the hands of our fellow people, what hope is there for the future? What do our lives count for in the grand scheme of things?"
Jeffrey shrugs helplessly, looking at his wife and me. It is Daniel himself who comes to his rescue. Waving his hand in a dismissive gesture he says, "Oh, I am sorry. I am being morose. Let us try to talk of better things, better times ahead, yes?"
No one disagrees, though his words have taken root. We all have lost people, family, and friends and have filled their void however we could to keep ourselves from falling to pieces. I remember my parents, out of this world for many years, longer than I ever knew them. They have stayed alive in some vast pocket of my heart and mind where they will remain as long as I am here as long as I can remember or imagine. So many of my thoughts are not memories, but fantasies and imaginings, which have seen me through my blackest days.
"Will Laria attend the funeral?" asks Briony, back on the subject we cannot avoid.
"Yes, but I do not know if Nikolas will," says Daniel.
"Can’t blame him," Jeffrey comments wryly. "I wonder how he found out. If he did. Maybe husbands can sense these things."