by Malia Zaidi
Dear Jeffrey, overly crediting the power of the husband’s insight into the mind of his wife. I glance at Briony, who is mirroring my amusement.
"We will offer refreshments after the funeral for those who wish to attend." My cousin informs us, smiling kindly at Daniel, taking control of the little in this affair she can.
After some time, we disperse to perform our little chores or close our eyes for an hour before dinner. Back in my room, a nervous anxiety tugs at my insides as I think of tomorrow. My mind’s eye conjures up images of a group of black-clad mourners clustered around the polished coffin; the sealed casket disappearing into the empty pit in the ground; and the lonely marker of the grave reading Caspar’s name and his youthful age. I crouch down on the edge of the bed, wrapping my arms around my raised knees. Somewhere ouside the open window, I hear the cries of seagulls, shrill and keening. Closing my eyes, I imagine them flying in circles above the villa. Higher and higher they swirl and spin, gliding through the air, nearly weightless, gray and white streaks in the violet sky. To be able to fly. To drift away as one pleases …
Maybe one day I will experience what it is like. Men are flying aeroplanes now; even women have tried. We are competing with nature. I do not know if we can ever truly best it, or if we should. For all the energy we expend into advancing our race, an equally powerful might always looms nearby, readying to force our retreat. This is how it has always been. Humans are capable of great goodness and tremendous cruelty. To maintain a balance, we must keep one eye on each and learn from wickedness as well as wonder. One to avoid and one to aspire to. All far easier wished for than done.
Hopefully, once tomorrow’s trials are behind us, we can move forward. With this thought comes my sudden need to read my aunt’s letter once more. I turn to the side and fish it from the bedside drawer. After reading it, I peer at the clock. One hour till dinner. With effort, more mental than physical, I drag myself off the bed to sit on the dainty wicker chair before the oval writing desk. Taking a clean sheet of paper, simple and plain, I begin to write.
After three attempts and three crumpled pages, lying sad and discarded on the floor, I have composed a satisfying reply.
Dear Aunt Agnes,
I thank you for your letter and good wishes. I have conveyed them to my kind hosts and send theirs in turn.
This is a slight exaggeration of the truth, for neither Briony nor Jeffrey have done any such thing. Yet it is a good way to start, and I am sure my cousin and her husband will not mind me using them to ease my way into this difficult communication.
Crete is a lovely place and Miklos, the village near my cousin’s home, very dear. Perhaps, one day you shall see for yourself.
Too challenging, condescending …? I nibble the end of my pen, forcing myself to continue onto harder parts.
Much has happened recently, good and bad. Still, you need not worry. I am thankful for the candor you show in your last letter. We have always had our differences, you and me, have we not? I recognize my own fault in the matter and offer sincere apologies. You and Uncle Brendan gave me a home, and I do not like you to think me ungrateful, though undoubtedly I acted carelessly on many occasions. As time goes by, we move on, not forgetting the past, instead accepting it, encouraged that happier times are ahead. I have the greatest hope that our relationship, dear aunt, will much improve as we learn to understand one another better with time. At the moment I am happy to be with my cousin, to experience the ways of a different culture. Times are such that a woman of my age and position can do so quite freely. Thank you for the kind offer of your continued hospitality when I return to London. I will look forward to our next meeting and to a conversation long overdue.
Wishing you continued health and happiness.
Yours truly,
Evelyn
PS: Please send my regards and good wishes on to Harris and Milly and tell them, if you will, I think of them often.
There. Done. Rather exhausted from the effort, I set down the pen just as bell rings for dinner. Still wearing my dayclothes, I quickly get up, toss them aside and step into a freshly pressed blue and purple silk dress with a low waist and narrowly beaded hem. Casting a glance in the mirror I run the brush through my hair, and bolt from the room. I have a compunction not to be late. Not for anything. The curse of good manners!
CHAPTER 50
Dinner is a delightful affair of steamed white fish in lemon sauce, thick slices of aubergine roasted with goat cheese and drizzled with fruity olive oil, ripe apricots and kumquat ice cream. We speak of books, Jeffrey taunting Daniel about his writer’s block; of travel, future journeys down the Nile or up Mount Kilimanjaro. Put simply, no topic is barred, none but Caspar’s funeral.
It is a pleasant evening with some laughter and a deep sense of contentment to be in good company tonight. Tomorrow will doubtless be a trying day. I feel a little less afraid, a little less small and ineffectual, surrounded by people who will stand beside me, offer me a hand in friendship or a shoulder for support.
After the table has been cleared, save for our glasses of sherry or brandy, no one is able to call an end to the day, fearful, no doubt, of allowing the next one to begin. After Briony stifles her third yawn, however, and my eyes begin to droop, we grudgingly bid each other goodnight and make for our beds to toss and turn until dawn arrives.
Before I enter my room, I turn once more to Daniel, a forlorn figure in the low light of the hall.
"Tomorrow it will be over," I know it isn’t true, but hope he believes me.
He shrugs sadly, not deceived. "Until tomorrow. Goodnight, Evelyn."
"Goodnight, Daniel." So much more should be said, yet I can find no words to say it.
My room is dark and instead of turning on the light, I wander over to the window. The waning moon sends silver light through the translucent curtains, and a soft breeze drifts in through an opening in the delicate fabric. The air is fresh against my skin as it felt on the first night I was here. The night before the murder, before I ever could have known what awaited us all. Not much time has passed, and still much has changed. That is the way of life. Like the hungry flames eating away my childhood, so quickly can our world be turned on its head. We must learn to walk on our hands … or break our necks.
EPILOGUE
Despite my prediction of sleep evading me, I awake surprisingly rested. The day begins drenched in sunlight, birds chirping outside my window, oblivious to the woes befalling the humans inside. Altogether, this scene is unbefitting the day of a funeral. Hopefully, I can take it as a sign of lighter days to come. When we assemble at the gravesite, shivering with the eerie chill that accompanies all such occasions, the warm rays will be a welcome comfort in our backs.
Breakfast is a somber affair, none of us willing to mention where we are going in an hour’s time. We make ill-disguised attempts to mask our anxiety with chatter, soon evolving into silence, to eating and drinking up as quickly as we can.
At a quarter to ten our congregation of dark-clad figures bundles into the car. Yannick, silently absorbed in his duty, drives us into Miklos and down an alley towards the ancient church and cemetary, which have been built a distance away from the village.
The priest is a small, stooped man of indeterminate age, who cannot speak or understand much in the way of English. He places one of his hands on Daniel’s arm, the universal sign of comfort and compassion, needing no spoken words.
We join them in entering the church. Laria, Nikolas and two men I do not know have come as well. They are muscled and deeply tanned, and I realize they are the grave-diggers.
The service is performed in Greek and Latin, and I understand only small bits here and there. Yet I need not speak the language to understand what is being said. I have attended too many funerals in my lifetime already.
Afterwards, we file outside to the grave. The two burly men stand beside the coffin, around which they tie two thick ropes and begin lowering it slowly into its final resting place. Again the priest spe
aks, but when the casket has settled at the botttom and the ropes are pulled up, Daniel moves to the head of the opening in the ground. His face is pale even in the sunlight, which makes the blades of grass glow with late morning dew and the tops of our heads gleam. He clears his throat and looks out at us.
"Thank you for coming today to say goodbye to Caspar Ballantine, a man some of you never really knew. In the past few days, we have learned things about him, about his character that have shocked and appalled us, myself as well as you. In spite of all of this, I will remember him as the man who stood beside me in a mud-filled trench and shared his last cigarette, the boy who helped me reel in my first fish, the friend who was there beside me on my worst days and my best. We lay him to rest today, too early, far too early. He will not be forgotten." His voice, which had begun hoarse and quiet, has grown in strength, and I feel tears pricking in my eyes for the man before me and for the man in the casket he is describing, who I will never now know. Whatever his faults, he gave his friendship to Daniel, and for that he must have been, at least in part, a decent man.
"Goodbye, Caspar. Rest in peace." Daniel smiles sadly and tosses a handful of damp earth onto the wooden coffin. We leave flowers, and the priest places a candle in a blue glass jar next to the grave as we slowly take our leave. In our stead, the two men begin their task, grunting under the weight of the earth-laden shovels and the heat of the day.
Laria and Nikolas agree to follow us to the villa in their own car, to eat with us. One last commemoration for the dead. Our cook, unfazed by murder and the loss of a maid, has managed to create a lovely buffet of delicacies ranging from tea sandwiches to spanakopita and, being a favorite of the deceased, small rum cakes.
It is a pity that none of us have much of an appetite. Even the cake receives only cursory attentions. Laria told Nikolas of Paul’s guilt and he mentions it, sadly shaking his head. I think he laments the loss of the murderer more than that of the victim. Perhaps understandably so.
"Do you have any idea what will happen to Rosie?" Briony asks the doctor.
"Her brother is coming to get her. He sent a telegram informing the police that he booked passage and is expected to arrive in a week’s time. He has asked her nurse to stay on until then. I went to the house last night to inquire about her and the situation as it is."
I lean forward in my chair. "How is she coping?"
Nikolas twists his features into something unreadable. "To be honest, I do not notice a difference. She has asked for him, to be sure, but she seems content enough."
"Poor woman." Laria’s tone reveals her distress.
It must be an ordeal for her to sit here with her husband, having just buried her lover and manage to maintain her social graces. I give her a sympathetic smile and hope she can read its intent. She returns a tiny, grateful nod.
"What will you do now, Daniel?" Nikolas asks, taking an olive from the tray.
Daniel looks uneasy, replying, "I do not really know yet."
The chatter goes on for quite a while longer until Laria and Nikolas leave for home. At the door, when Nikolas has turned his back, Laria approaches Daniel and squeezes his hand. She is probably one of the few people who recognized the Caspar Daniel spoke of at the cemetary. It is a small bond they share and one I am oddly envious of.
After the guests leave, Briony takes me aside. She is wearing a surprising expression of excitement and anxiety, and I immediately feel a pang of concern regarding the cause of this shift in her mood.
"What is it, Briony?"
"Evie, you mustn’t think me callous for being a little happy right now, but I spoke to Jeffrey last night."
A light of understanding dawns. "About Areta?"
"Well, about her, about the orphanage, about us." She smiles shyly, and her cheeks turn pink.
"And? What did he say?"
"He was a bit, oh, you know, a bit awkward at first. Typical Englishman. Typical Jeffrey. Still, I was persistent." She looks proud, and I feel a rush of relief to finally see her this way.
"How did he react?"
"He is not convinced about the idea of adoption. However, I have made it quite clear that I will be a mother one way or another, and since it simply hasn’t happened in the three years we have been married …"
"Did you ask him to go with you and visit the orphanage?"
"I did."
"And? Come now, don’t make me beg!"
"He said he will come with me on Sunday. He wasn’t happy about it, but I wore him down. Once he meets the children, he will be as enchanted as I am, don’t you think?"
I am not at all certain, so I smile noncommittally and she is content.
"I am happy for you. Truly, I am."
"I know," Briony gives me a quick hug. "And now I must attend to finding a new maid, our cook has been a rock, but she’s struggling a bit."
"You go on." I encourage, the words encompassing more than wishing her success in replacing Niobe.
She huries off with a distinctive bounce in her step entirely unfitting for a day such as this, yet lovely nonetheless. Anytime we have reason to skip, we should count ourselves lucky. Spirit has returned to her at a time of mourning through the prospect of hope.
I wander over to the conservatory, not wanting to go to my room and face my thoughts alone. Entering, I can barely trust my eyes. A tall figure is standing on the veranda, gazing out. Daniel has ventured into the garden again.
I open the door and step into the mild evening air. Daniel turns around. His expression is serene, peaceful.
"Hello." He gives me a flicker of a smile.
"May I join you?"
"Please." His smile widens. "Would you care to take a stroll around the garden with me?"
I take a small breath, my eyes reflexively darting to the oak tree at the far right. Gathering courage, we saunter onto the dry grass. The earth is so hard and baked, the heels of my sandals do not sink while we make our way around the garden. We stop at the edge, steps away from where it happened, where the nightmare began. Daniel takes a deep breath, his chest rising underneath his white shirt. He has rolled his sleeves up to the elbows and unbuttoned the top.
There is an ease about him I have not seen before. It seems as if he has laid more than one ghost to rest today.
The sun, bright and orange on the horizon, bathes our surroundings in a soft, becoming light. We stand there side by side, watching its slow descent as the clouds float by, purple and pink and blue. Seagulls drift across this vivid canvas, thin streaks, their cries carried by the wind. It is Jeffrey who interrupts this tranquility, beckonging us in for dinner. I call back that we are coming, and he disappears indoors. We take one last look at the sight before us and as we turn to go, Daniel takes hold of my hand, which fits like the missing piece of a puzzle into his, and leads me back to the house.
Pandora has closed her box again, just in time. When Hades walks among us, in times of darkness and despair, we are left with the infinite gift of hope. Hope for a better tomorrow, for change, for humanity. Treading this stage that is life, we are fragile, vulnerable, flawed, human, but we are not alone. The sun falls below the horizon, and our world is dipped into darkness, until it returns, dependable and true, warming us and lighting our way.
Acknowledgements
There are many people to thank for helping this book become a reality. Before all others, my mother - first reader, editor, best friend - who was on Evelyn’s journey from the very start, thank you. To my dad and sisters, too, thank you for your kind support and perpetual understanding, even when it may have seemed as though this book was just some endless project I snuck off for every evening. I am grateful for all those whose patience and support made these words a real book, and for all of those who will read it. Lady Evelyn’s adventures do not end here, and I hope you will stick around to see what is around the next turn (or rather page). Thank you!
For more information or to get in touch, you can contact me at [email protected], or follow me on Twitte
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