The Lost Coast

by Jane Kindred

  When he’d gone, I succumbed to the siren call of the purple coverlet and the overstuffed mattress—with a featherbed on top, I discovered—and took a nap. I dreamt of Lukas leading Aravella about naked on a leash at a party where everyone else was fully clothed. As was so often the case with dreams, I moved from observer to participant, only now I was holding the leash, while Lukas watched from the circle of voyeurs. He wore the same outfit I’d seen in Lumi’s photo album—leather pants and boots, and bare-chested—his hair in the little tail behind his head.

  “She’ll do whatever you tell her to,” said Lukas. “Even jump out a window.”

  I woke with a start, flushed from anxiety mixed with reluctant desire, uncertain what role in the dream I would have preferred.

  * * * * *

  Instead of the formal meal we’d had my first night here, Karolina came to my room later to ask what I’d like to have for dinner. Whether I was banished from the dinner table or whether no one was in the mood to socialize over food, I wasn’t sure.

  I answered vaguely, saying I’d be happy to have whatever she was making, while I studied her and contemplated whether she was capable of poisoning Konstantin, and why she might want to.

  “Is Koste on any kind of medication?” I asked before she turned to go.

  There was a definite, subtle reaction before Karolina’s features went neutral. “Medication? Why, no, not that I’m aware of.”

  “I just wondered, because I accidentally ate Koste’s meal a few nights ago, and it made me pretty woozy.” I smiled sweetly. “Must have been a coincidence.”

  Karolina’s forehead wrinkled with displeasure. “Maybe it was something you drank.” She flicked an eyebrow at me. “Or smoked. I’m sure there was nothing wrong with the food I prepared. He has a wheat gluten allergy. That’s the only thing different about his meals.” From the look she gave me as she left, I was pretty sure my dinner was going to be spiked with something.

  So much for trying to confront the problem head-on. Lukas wasn’t willing to hear it, but I hadn’t imagined the effects. Karolina was definitely up to something. I suspected it must be on someone else’s behalf. Now all I had to do was figure out whose. And why.

  I kept an eye on Koste when his dinner arrived—apparently none of us were eating in the dining room—taking mine into his room and asking if he wanted company. He gave me a noncommittal shrug that wasn’t exactly a “no”, and picked at his food, which I could only believe was fortunate, given my conviction that it was being tampered with. When I asked if he wanted to watch a movie with me, he nodded more decisively. New Moon again. I didn’t complain.

  And I managed not to yell at the screen when Alice said she couldn’t be the one to go to Edward’s rescue because he would read her thoughts and know she was trying to stop him from destroying himself, but didn’t make the leap that she could just think, “Dude! Bella’s alive! Seriously! I’m not making this up!” It was enough that Bella got to charge in to save the day while Edward was being self-destructive for a change. Little things.

  Konstantin fell asleep on my shoulder before the movie was over, but it seemed a natural enough sleep. I moved his tray off the bed, put a pillow under his head and covered him with a blanket before heading back to my room.

  My phone and laptop, which I’d left charging on the desk, were gone.

  I glanced around, thinking I must have been wrong about where I’d plugged them in, but they weren’t anywhere in the room. No one at the Strand would have stolen my property. The idea was absurd. But they had been right here, and now they weren’t.

  I tried to imagine what kind of mistake could have prompted someone to move them. Was there a cleaning person who’d straightened my room and put them away for safekeeping? Not likely at nine o’clock at night. I checked the desk drawers and the other built-ins, including the closet. Nothing. There had to be a reasonable explanation. I wasn’t quite sure of my way around the meandering house and I wasn’t comfortable wandering about trying to find someone to ask. I’d just have to check with Roger tomorrow.

  * * * * *

  By morning, I’d convinced myself I must have imagined plugging them in and had left them at the cottage. But the mystery and inconvenience of my missing equipment was soon forgotten. The Apostolous had arrived from Thessaloniki.

  Chapter Fourteen

  A pair of sedans pulled into the circular drive in front of the house as I was heading out for the cottage, and there was no mistaking who the occupants were as they emerged from the dark interiors.

  From the first, two men who bore a striking resemblance to Aravella stepped out, one perhaps Lukas’s age, in his mid-thirties, while the other looked much younger. And from the second, a woman who made me do a double take to be sure she wasn’t Aravella herself, slid gracefully from the backseat. Her hair was cut in a short Louise Brooks bob, and her gray tailored suit and skirt were clearly not off the rack. From beside her, another man emerged whose cocoa skin and tight curls sheared close to his head said he wasn’t an Apostolou, but he was striking nonetheless. Tall and exceptionally graceful for a man, he was even more impeccably tailored than the woman beside him.

  Cole would have fainted dead away. I thought about it, but swooning was so Bella Swan.

  The woman fixed her Aravella-like gaze on me and gave me a cool smile that seemed calculated to affect an appropriate air of grief and polite interest. “You must be Millie Lang.” She approached me with her hand extended, and I saw that she was somewhat older than Aravella, but equally sculpted to perfection, like a precious porcelain doll. “I’m Alexis Apostolou.” Of course she was.

  “I’m so sorry for your loss,” I said sincerely as I shook her hand.

  Her nod said she didn’t believe I was sorry at all. “This is my husband, Basil.”

  Basil stepped in and enclosed my hand between both of his, pressing warmth against my skin. When he spoke, a rich accent that hinted at somewhere in the South Pacific gave his words a gentle, soothing tone. “I wish we were meeting under happier circumstances.”

  Before I could respond, the door slammed open above me and Lukas came striding down the broad steps projecting an air of intimidation as if he were a much larger man.

  He pinned his gaze on the elder brother. “You’ve got some fucking nerve showing up here after accusing me of abusing Aravella.”

  The other man’s eyes flashed with anger, and he opened his mouth to speak, but Signe’s unexpectedly sharp voice came from behind us.

  “Lukas. They are family. They are welcome here. We’re all grieving.”

  Alexis gave a sharp laugh, but Basil took her hand and shook his head in warning.

  Signe came down the steps, graceful as a willow, and held out her hands with a nod toward each of the men. “Ares. Aristos.” Respectfully, both men took a hand. “My agreement with your father still stands.”

  Lukas turned on his heel and returned to the house without another word.

  Signe glanced toward the cars. “Is Costas not with you?”

  “He wanted to be, very much,” said the elder one, whom she’d addressed as Ares. “I’m afraid he’s too ill to travel.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Signe glanced at me as she released their hands. “Have you met my grandniece?” It was all I could do not to stare openmouthed at her. She certainly did know. Her expression gave away nothing.

  “We were just making introductions,” said Ares.

  “Emilie,” said Signe smoothly, “these are Ares and Aristos Apostolou and their sister Alexis—”

  “We’ve met,” Alexis interjected.

  “Pleased to meet you, Emilie.” Ares’s warm handshake wasn’t what I expected. It was disconcerting to find him pleasant and agreeable. I would have preferred his sister Alexis’s cool hostility.

  “Millie,” I said automatically, shaking Aristos’s hand in turn, somewhat ho
rrified at myself for acting as if I knew nothing of their history. Aristos was quiet, but instead of cool and hostile, he struck me as incredibly shy, which made him seem even younger than his appearance. I tried to gauge his age. He couldn’t be more than twenty-two. So Ares, then, was the one whose seed—I stepped back with my eyes on him, unable to completely still the shudder that went through me. A troubled look crossed his face, but he said nothing else.

  “The services are tomorrow afternoon,” said Signe soberly. “I’ve had Roger arrange for your rooms.” She started back up the stairs and paused to give me a quizzical look as I remained where I was. It was clear that she wanted to speak with me now that my identity was out in the open, and she was used to having her significant glances obeyed as if they were verbal orders. “Are you coming, Millie?”

  “I left something at the cottage,” I said. “Just heading up to get it.” I started toward the path, and to my surprise, Ares flanked me.

  “Do you mind if I accompany you? I understand the cottage is where the accident happened.” There was only the slightest emphasis on “accident”.

  I hesitated, bemused. “It is, but…did you want to see it?”

  His cheeks went slightly red, and he lowered his voice. “It’s just that it’s a crime scene, is it not? Still under investigation? I’d prefer that you not go there alone.”

  It was my turn to go red. “Suit yourself,” I said and started walking without looking at him. “I wasn’t planning on scrubbing any of my fingerprints off the handrails.”

  He fell into step beside me. “I didn’t mean to imply—well, yes, I did. My apologies. It’s nothing personal. You have to understand, we don’t know you at all, and we don’t understand what happened to Aravella. I’m only trying to protect her, even if it comes too late.”

  I couldn’t stand the game we were playing a moment longer. We were out of hearing distance of the house, and the others had gone in. I whirled on him. “From what I understand, your idea of ‘protection’ is a little warped.” I was surprised—and slightly alarmed—at my own nerve. We were, after all, out of yelling distance as well.

  Ares stopped, his smooth Apostolou features crumpling into a frown. “I thought that was the vibe I was getting from you. Has Lukas claimed that I harmed her?”

  “Lukas didn’t tell me anything. Aravella did. And if you want to understand what happened, how she could possibly take her own life, maybe you should consider what effect sexual assault by her own brother had on her.”

  Ares actually managed to look pained. “No, it wasn’t like that—” He stopped in mid-sentence, his expression changing to one of dismay. “Did she say that? That she’d been…assaulted?”

  My initial fury-fueled bravery was slipping away, and my knees were beginning to shake. I hated confrontation under the best of circumstances. I’d never had to confront anyone about something like this. “She said you ‘insisted’.” I swallowed. “That sounds like an assault to me.”

  “I—?” Ares blanched. “No.” He shook his head. “No, you misunderstood her.”

  “She said she had to take ‘the Apostolou seed’. Her brothers’ seed.” My voice was shaking horribly. I glanced back at the house.

  “Aristos,” he said, looking genuinely upset.

  “Aristos?” Was he really passing the buck onto his younger brother? “He couldn’t have been more than—”

  “Fifteen.” Ares was grim. “And Aravella was eighteen. Aristos had to. The families insisted. It nearly killed him. And now…” He shook his head, his eyes sparkling with unshed tears. “Now you say it’s killed Aravella.”

  I stared at him, uncertain what to believe. If he was lying, he was one hell of an actor. “The families?” I repeated, feeling a chill at the base of my spine.

  “We come from a very old line.” I’d heard that one before. “It’s a very old—very foolish—tradition. One our generation has been trying to change, and yet the elders won’t let it die. They’re convinced the family itself will die with it.” He regarded me sadly. “Do you know why you’re here?”

  “Why I’m here?”

  “Someone, long ago, helped you escape. Out of love—or possibly hate. And now you’ve come home. The line is dying out. They need you.”

  “No.” I took a step back and nearly tripped over a root, throwing out my hands and raking my nails across against the smooth bark of the tree behind me as I grabbed for it. This was bullshit. The Apostolous were out of their minds, every one of them. I had not been brought here to—to take the Strand seed.

  Foolishly, I’d walked here with him, a man who, at worst, had either raped his own sister or was complicit in it, and at the very least was mentally unbalanced. We were alone on the path between the house and the cottage.

  Yet someone—something—whispered behind me. Millie, get away from him. The trunk seemed to pulse beneath my fingernails.

  I pushed away from the tree and darted past him, running for all I was worth back to the house and stumbling up the steps. At the door, I looked back, but Ares hadn’t moved. It was too far to make out his expression, yet I felt the warm brown Apostolou eyes looking back at me with the same impossible certainty with which I’d heard the voice. And they were full of pity.

  * * * * *

  Inside the manor, the Apostolou entourage was gathered across the hall from my room, greeting Konstantin. I paused at my door. He looked slightly alarmed at the fuss, but instantly taken with his Aunt Alexis. You could hardly blame the poor kid. And she was instantly taken with him, curled up on the bed beside him, holding him in her arms and cooing comforting sounds to him, apparently in Greek. Basil stood to the side, watching her with an expression that conveyed both sorrow and deep affection. Aristos, on the other hand, looked more frightened than anything else. If Ares hadn’t been lying, I supposed he must be wondering if Konstantin was his own.

  At a noise behind me in the hallway, I turned with a sinking stomach to see that Ares had followed me. He paused at a respectful distance, glancing in around the doorsill before stepping back and turning to me.

  He took out a gold cigarette case and offered me one, taking one for himself when I shook my head. “Life is rather cruel, don’t you think?” he murmured, cupping his hand around a monogrammed lighter as he held it to the tip. “Alexis always wanted to be a mother, and yet she was denied that, while Aravella dreaded it but had motherhood thrust upon her.” He tipped his head back and exhaled the smoke into the air and then gave me a grim look. “We all do what we’re called upon to do.” For a moment, I wasn’t sure what he was getting at, and then I realized…it must have been his “job” to impregnate Alexis.

  Nauseated, I slipped past him down the hall, not wanting him to know which room was mine, and kept going through the meandering levels and passages of the manor until I found myself at the threshold of a fantastic indoor garden.

  A sprawling, open atrium had been built into the heart of the house, its ceiling a vaulted series of glass panes, and the walls between the various passages leading into it glass as well. Great trees surrounded it, branches arching over the glass roof, so that it was like stepping into the forest, and within were smaller trees planted in containers, along with other greenery in a variety of stands and planters. In the center, a long trough displayed a profusion of tall rosebushes in a bed of moss, and pale tea roses peeked from among the various clumps of green.

  I stepped down into the garden and wandered among the terraced rows, stopping to admire an unexpected cluster of flowering sage, velvety purple blossoms nearly weighing it down.

  “That was Sebastian’s favorite.”

  I turned with a start at Signe’s voice and found her watching me from the other side of a row of ornamental fruit trees, where she was transplanting one of the seedlings into a larger pot.

  “It’s beautiful,” I said, not sure what to expect from her. She continued working in t
he dirt without looking up again. I figured a direct approach was best. “How long have you known who I was?”

  “Lukas told me after your mishap on the hillside.”

  “Well, you’ve known longer than I have.”

  Signe paused and glanced up, a pair of reading glasses sliding down her nose. “I find that hard to believe. What a tremendous coincidence that you happened to take the job as Koste’s therapist.”

  I stood my ground. “I received an anonymous link to the job offering and a vague message saying my last name was Petty. I couldn’t very well ignore it after spending my life thinking my mother had thrown me away.”

  “An anonymous link.” She managed to say those three words as if she were accusing me of being a prostitute.

  “It turned out to be from your sister Clara.”

  Signe’s eyes, almost the shade of the sage leaves, narrowed at me through the foliage. “Clara? How did she—?” Her gaze seemed to turn inward. “Oh, of course. And what else did Clara tell you?”

  Though I wasn’t sure I could trust anyone in this household, I was mindful of Clara’s warning about Signe. “You’ll have to ask her that.”

  She sighed and went back to her potting. “I see. I would have expected more from Sebastian’s daughter. But perhaps you are your mother’s daughter after all.”

  I bristled, about to defend the memory of a woman I’d never even met, but a sharp admonishment from Lukas came from the step above me. “Aunt Signe. Is that really necessary?”

  Signe shrugged without looking up. “One hardly knows what’s necessary anymore, dear. Apparently, all I know is tradition.”