The Forty Column Castle

by Marjorie Thelen

  He had the rest of my clothes off in no time. He had a devastating way of overcoming my defenses with his mouth.

  A while later he said, “I take it that was to your liking.” He stroked my thigh and sipped Wild Turkey.

  I blew out a breath. I was the love slave. “I can’t move.”

  “As soon as you recover and feel up to it, we’ll have a look around and see if we can find your aunt.”

  I dozed off. And awoke snuggled up on the couch with a white soft-as-silk blanket over me with bright sunshine pouring into my eyes. And no Zach.

  I groaned. My head was pounding from hitting it on the concrete pavement. I inched up on my elbow, shielding my eyes, trying to figure out where the bright sunlight and breeze were coming from and discovered French doors wide open onto a balcony. Beyond the bars in the balcony rail floated the beautiful blue, dazzling Mediterranean Sea.

  I could live like this. I could also use some orange juice for my dry mouth, so I threw off the lovely soft blanket and padded my way to the wet bar in search of refreshment. And yelped. There stood a man I had never seen before. I tried to cover my naked body with my arms but that didn’t conceal anything, so I ran back to the couch and retrieved the blanket and wrapped it around me. Only then did I dare look at the man who stood at the wet bar, watching me.

  “Who are you?” I asked in my most commanding voice. “What are you doing in my room?”

  “I am Rodolfo. I have brought you something to eat.” He spoke in a good English butler I-see-naked-women-all-the-time tone.

  That was the problem with having servants. You never knew where they were going to turn up and at what embarrassing moments.

  “Thanks,” I said, trying to sound casual and cool and not at all mortified that he had seen me naked. Me naked with observers was becoming a too frequent occurrence.

  “I will leave it here. Is there anything else you will need?”

  “Yes, could you tell me what time it is?”

  “Lunch time. Twelve noon.”

  “Holy Smokes.”

  The man walked stiffly across the room to exit through the massive white doors we had entered sometime last night.

  “One other thing, sir. Could you tell me where my friend, Mr. Lamont, is?”

  “I believe he left early this morning. Is there anything else, madam?”

  I didn’t reply, and he left. I didn’t reply because my brain was in a tail spin. Zach left? How could he leave me? But if he left, then I was free to go and find Aunt Elizabeth.

  Thirteen

  I ran around looking in every corner of the suite to make sure no one else was there. Satisfied I was alone, I headed for the shower. I’d find my aunt and get us both out of the palace before Zach came back. I wasn’t sure how I would do that, but it was worth a try.

  The bath room, a term that didn’t do it justice, was a thousand times more sumptuous than the Amathus Hotel with a fabulous in-ground Jacuzzi that I was dying to try. But I made do with a quick shower in a pearl gray marble stall. Those might have been solid gold shower fixtures. Mirrors abounded on three sides of the room. Four sinks. I wasn’t sure what you could use all those for. Group teeth scrubbing maybe.

  I let the hot water steam over me, all the while thinking over why Zack had left when we were supposed to be looking for my aunt. Maybe he had found her. I hoped he hadn’t kidnapped her and gone off in search of those stupid, non-existent jewels.

  The shower revived me. Exotic creams stood in alluring rows along the sink. I treated myself to “Ancient Breezes”, helped myself to toothpaste and fresh never-out-of-the-package tooth brush, and dragged a comb through my wet hair. No time to dry it.

  Clothes. I shook out the little black dress. At least Zach hadn’t locked up my purse again. I searched and found my cute sandals. The aroma of food overcame me, and I hurried over to the tray Rodolfo left, ate a few grape leaves, downed a glass of orange juice from the frig.

  Now to find my way out. I slung my purse over my shoulder and stopped. Take my other pants and top or no? Maybe I’d be back, maybe not. A scary thought hit. I was on my own. No Zach to protect me, although I couldn’t commend him much on his protective skills. I shook my head. I couldn’t let fear find a foothold. I squared my shoulders and marched to the door.

  Gently, I pushed the handle down and pulled. The door opened. Success. I peeked out. Luigi was sitting on a chair by the door, dozing. At the sound of the door, he sputtered awake and glared at me.

  “Hi,” I said. “Nice day. I thought I’d go for a walk.”

  He shook his head and waved that great, shaggy appendage in the direction of the room. I got the message, backed in and shut the door. No sense making Luigi mad. He was bigger than I was.

  Now what?

  Zach had mentioned the balcony if he couldn’t get out the door. I’d give it a try. The sound of the waves said the beach was not far away. I looked over the balcony. The beach was directly below. Far below. We were on the second floor, and the house seemed to sit on an outcrop of rock. Under me was nothing but rock. I looked to see if there were any other balconies.

  One. There was one about a half a mile from mine, or so it seemed. I had a corner room. Along the smooth, white wall from my room to the other with the balcony were several large windows, the crank out kind. Some were open. On more careful study, I saw that a ledge ran the length of the building between the balconies. A ledge that maybe one foot would fit on. If I did the unthinkable and walk to the next balcony on that skinny ledge, what guarantee did I have that there would be a friendly face in the room?

  I studied the landscape below. If I did the bed sheet thing like in the movies, my homemade rope would drop to sharp, black volcanic rock and a narrow beach, one washed by waves right up to the rocks. Where would that leave me? I wished I knew where I was and looked around for landmarks. Nothing. This side of the house sat on rock looking out to sea. Maybe the front of the house had more beach. I recalled the drive and entrance gate and tried to place where they were. But I couldn’t remember well, seeing how I wasn’t in a conscious condition when I entered the house.

  I focused my attention on the balcony. The rails were polished stone. Three potted palms stood to one end. My eye followed the palms upward to the roof which appeared flat and maybe six feet above the balcony door opening. A flat roof a person could walk across. The tops of the palms cleared the roof.

  Great. Now how to get to the roof without killing myself. Who knew what other rooms I could access if I could get to the roof. I looked over the side of the balcony again. It was a long way down. If I was going to be doing any scaling to get to the roof, I was going to have to be darn sure I made it. If not, I’d end up as hamburger on those black rocks below.

  I eyed the palms. I wondered how strong palms were, especially rooted in pots. I read in National Geographic, my favorite magazine, that palms had shallow roots and not an extensive root system. Did that mean that they toppled over easily? As a child I had never been a tree climber. It didn’t appeal to me. Nor did heights. They still didn’t.

  I surveyed the three palms, trying to decide which one looked the sturdiest. I walked closer looking for hand holds, touched the bark. Rough and jaggy. I wished I had been more of a monkey as a kid. This endeavor might be more palatable to me if I had.

  I decided the palm nearest the wall would be my best bet, but climbing a palm in a dress wouldn’t do it. I recalled in the movies little boys sort of shimmied up the trunk of the trees after coconuts.

  Back inside I hurried and changed into the blouse and Capri pants. Thank the stars I had pants so that the probability of my legs getting ripped to shreds would be lower. I decided to abandon the purse and lamentably my black dress. I stuffed what money I had, ID and credit cards in my pants pocket. I considered my cute sandals and decided to leave them behind.

  Of course, even after I got to the roof there might not be much of anything up there. But I couldn’t think about that now. There was no other escape from t
he room. I had noticed that when I was scurrying around after Rodolfo left to see if there was anyone else in the room. I had checked for phones in my search. None. Zach had a way of thinking of everything. Except the palm trees. I chortled to myself. He had underestimated my resolve.

  Back out on the balcony I studied my chosen palm, calculating my hand holds. I glanced over to the other balcony. There were about as many palms as here, and they cleared the roof, too. I spit on my hands and rubbed them together because that seemed to be the thing to do and mounted the pot. It held my weight. I tried a hand hold on the palm. It was jaggy. I gritted my teeth and put my foot on one of the frond cuts at the base of the tree. Painful. I jumped down and rushed back inside and slipped on my cute sandals. They were at least some protection for my feet. I rushed back out and climbed up on the pot.

  Stop thinking, I told myself and climb, even if it hurts. You got to get out of here. So up I went. Painful frond by painful frond. Maybe I should have put on a lifeline rope in case I fell.

  Stop thinking and climb.

  Sweat was running between my breasts and down from my armpits. I should have pulled my hair back because it kept falling in my face.

  Stop thinking and climb.

  How did those monkeys do it anyway? I must say the cute sandals didn’t work out as bad as I thought. They had rubber soles and at least gained me purchase on the palm cuts.

  Up I climbed. Where was Zach anyway? Why did he leave? Did he think I’d be around when he came back?

  Stop thinking and climb.

  My muscles started shaking. I wasn’t exactly in the greatest shape in the muscle department. I wasn’t one of those work-out-in-a-gym types.

  Stop thinking and climb.

  Finally, I was level with the roof and peered over. Flat as far as the eye could see and populated with water tanks. My palm tree was about a foot from the edge of the roof. It was going to be tricky getting from the palm to the roof. I tried not to look down, but out of my peripheral vision I caught glimpses of pounding waves and sharp rocks. It was breezy, and I was far enough up the tree that palm fronds waved around me and whacked me in the face a time or two. My muscles were starting to give out.

  I took a deep breath and shimmied up high enough to get my butt even with the roof ledge. The palm creaked back and forth in the breeze and as it leaned toward the building, I heaved myself onto the roof, rolled away from the ledge and lay there gasping for breath.

  I stayed on my back until my breathing quieted, and my muscles stopped shaking. The blue sky stretched horizon to horizon. My eyes drifted shut, and I pretended I was on Lara beach without a care in the world. But it didn’t work. My mind was in extreme frantic mode, plunging about trying to find a way out of my predicament.

  I struggled to my feet and stood for a moment trying to get my bearings. The view went on forever, most of it sea. The house was on the edge of a rock cliff and looking back toward land there were few homes, all of them large and walled. We were at the end of a cul-de-sac. That would make it hard finding a taxi or using other houses as cover.

  I’d have to steal one of Mr. Bellomo’s cars. If I could get to a phone, I could call Yannis to come get me, but I hesitated to do that because I didn’t want to pull him into this mess. Yannis would be at work. Knowing him, he would drop everything to help me out.

  I walked the perimeter of the house, which was a feat in itself, keeping careful watch that no one would be peering back at me. On two sides rock met sea. On the third and fourth were gardens with several acres of swimming pool, sloping down to beach area complete with dock. A yacht was moored at the end of the dock which extended out a considerable distance into the water. A large gazebo sat on an extensive deck area about half-way out. The fifth side of the house was the main entrance and driveway, gated, of course. The house was a pentagon, two story, flat roof. Why one man needed so much square footage was beyond me.

  There were two balconies each on the sea side of the house. An extended balcony swept the garden and beach sides of the house and columns stretched the height of two floors on the entrance side.

  I scurried around half bent in my reconnoitering, then lay down on the entrance side of the house and peeked over the edge. A white van stood in the semi-circular drive on the entrance side. Maybe a delivery vehicle. No other cars in sight although there was a separate garage removed from the house with eight doors. Did that mean eight vehicles? For one man? I could borrow one of those.

  A stakeout was in order. I watched the front entrance. When I had almost decided the effort was an exercise in futility, a silver SUV pulled up at the entrance gate and passed through, stopping below me. The windows were tinted, but I could make out two figures inside. I flattened down as best I could but with enough eye showing to catch what was going on.

  Out of the driver side stepped Luigi’s twin. I didn’t think there were two men that big on the island. He opened the passenger side and helped Zach out. He was ruffed up. Hair mussed, shirt tail out in the back. This was not Mr. Neat and Cool. As the pair passed below me, the driver helping Zach, I caught sight of the red welt under Zach’s eye and what looked like blood oozing from his lip. One sleeve of his shirt was ripped nearly off. Great Zeus and all the Greek gods. What had happened?

  I shrank back from the edge of the roof and hid until I thought they were inside then peeked over. A boy drove the SUV to the garage and parked. I wondered if he left the keys inside. One thing I did know. I had to determine if my aunt was in the palace, since she wasn’t with Zach. I hoped he hadn’t taken her anywhere. Then I’d find out what happened to Zach.

  Crouching as low as I could, I ran along the edge of the roof. The best approach, I figured, was to check out all the balconies to see if any of them looked different than mine. What I expected to find, I couldn’t say. Maybe my aunt would hang her undies out to dry on the balcony or something. I didn’t think she’d be in the front on the garden and beach side of the house, but I ran along those two sides of the pentagon first, just to make sure. More potted palms and smaller shrubs adorned these balconies. I scanned them and found nothing that caught my eye to tell me human beings inhabited the rooms.

  That left the two sides facing the sea. I checked the one opposite our rooms. On closer inspection the long balcony on that side displayed a virtual forest of palms, an awning, lounge furniture and table. No one was outside but it didn’t take much imagination to figure that was Mr. Bellomo’s room or the master bedroom suite. The palms cleared my roof top viewing platform. That would be my second choice in the event that they would be sharing a room. Perish the thought. I didn’t see any ladies undies hanging anywhere on that balcony.

  I decided the balcony closest to mine was the most likely place for my aunt, if she were here. I crouched and looked over the edge of the roof onto a balcony that looked identical to mine. Small, with potted palms, no awning, no table, one lounge chair. On the lounge chair a paperback book lay open, like someone had been reading and gone inside for iced tea. I strained to read the title. I could make out a man and woman in the clutches on the cover. A positive sign there was a woman in this suite.

  I nearly fell over myself trying to get down the palm tree. It scraped the roof’s edge. I hugged the palm, holding on to the edge of the roof, and inched down the trunk. I was getting the knack of palm tree climbing. My feet touched down on the pot, sandals still in tack. I jumped the rest of the way to the deck of the balcony and ducked behind the potted palms on the outside chance that this might be a female relative’s room.

  After a glance at the paperback I knew. It was a title from the collection of Zazora Deville, my aunt’s favorite romance author, and it looked like a new copy. At least she wasn’t tied up. Maybe she was even enjoying herself. Wouldn’t that be funny if, after all this worrying, she were having a good time?

  I dared a peek into the interior of the room but the glare from the window glass made everything inside look black. I inched to the open door and peered in. There standing
not five feet from me was Aunt Elizabeth, hand over her mouth and eyes wide.

  “Lordie, Claudie, you nearly gave me a heart attack. Why on Earth are you on my balcony and how on Earth did you get here? Why didn’t you come in by the door?”

  I rushed over to give her a hug and a squeeze then stepped back for a once over to make sure arms and legs and other body parts were intact and unscathed. She wore a black and gold caftan decorated with Greek gods and goddesses, some in rather suggestive positions. Her bright white hair was neatly coiffed in a French twist and gold bangles danced from one wrist. The other held an iced drink half the contents of which were now on the soft, white carpeting. The real eye opener was the huge rock on the third finger of her left hand. She saw me staring at it, blushed and stammered and sighed but no words of explanation made it from her lips.

  “You aren’t … you didn’t … he didn’t …” I wasn’t doing much better.

  “Oh, Claudie, Salvatore Bellomo is the nicest, kindest man I have ever met. He gave me this lovely diamond.” She held up the huge thing. It sparkled in its gold setting. A lot of gold was in that setting.

  “You mean …”

  “Yes, he proposed, but we haven’t set a date yet.”

  I stood shocked into silence. She was lost in admiring the rock. It was gorgeous. I was not expert on diamonds but it looked real. It had a carved gold setting, giving it an antique look. It gleamed and shone brighter than any diamond I ever saw.

  “I need to sit down. Do you have anymore of that?”

  She glanced at the glass in her hand. “Of course, here take what’s left of this one. I’ll get another.”

  Her room was a carbon copy of mine but in a different color scheme. Hers sported mauves and turquoise and lots of gold trim everywhere. Definitely a Cypriot decorator. But the huge couch and wet bar and room layout looked the same.

  I followed her to the bar. “Aunt Elizabeth, how did you get out of jail?”

  “Oh, that.” She waved her bangles. “Salvatore came to see me early Monday morning. It was odd because it was so early, and I was expecting you. But he came with an official looking gentleman, I didn’t catch his name, who opened the cell door. Mr. Bellomo offered me his arm and off we walked. We were over here by nine in the morning about the time I was expecting you.”