Truth and Lies

by Marguerite Valentine

  Seb was silent, and then he said, ‘What about you? What will you do?’

  ‘I’ll go back to London.’ She smiled at him, ‘Cheer up, it won’t last forever.’

  He sighed. ‘I’d like to believe you… but I’ll miss you. Know that song? I’ve grown accustomed to your face…He smiled at her. ‘Is all this really necessary?’

  ‘I’ll come back and yes, it is. We’re in this together. The stakes are high.’

  ‘How’s it going to end?’

  ‘I dunno. Maybe the police will eventually pick up who ever’s behind it.’

  ‘Who do you think?’

  She shot a glance at him. ‘People known and unknown, the accomplices, the ones who’ve benefited in one way or another, they’ll get their comeuppance. So far they’ve kept a low profile. They may think they’ve got away with it, but they’ll catch up with them. I can guarantee it. ’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘I just do.’

  Seb turned to look out of the window. An image of his father’s arrest came to him, his mother crying ─ a rare feeling of guilt for causing her pain passed through him. It made him feel bad. It didn’t last long. He switched to thinking about what lay ahead, like living under the same roof as Matt, even if it was for a short time.. Through the course of his research on Nixie and his own background, he’d found out more about him, stuff that Matt wouldn’t be too pleased that he knew. He’d been an activist in the local environmental pressure group, a member of Greenpeace, the international environmental pressure group, and a constant thorn in the side of the authorities. He’d passed this onto Gimp. What he hadn’t said was that he had suspicions that it was Matt who’d helped Flori get to Scotland. He had no definite proof, so he kept his suspicions to himself, but living under the same roof and accepting his help would be awkward. He decided not to dwell on it.

  Three hours later, they arrived in Pembrokeshire. Nixie swung into the farmhouse yard. Matt was working, balanced on a ladder just outside the porch to the front door. He climbed down when they arrived.

  Nixie ran forward and hugged her father. Turning to Seb, he said, ‘Things are tough, I hear.’ It was more of a statement than a question.

  Seb nodded, and side stepping this comment, he said, ‘Yes and it looks like you’re fixing more security lamps.’

  ‘I am and this one has CCTV. Best to be on the safe side.’

  ‘Nixie told me about the break-in, was anything taken?’

  ‘No, it was some crazy, not a burglar, but whoever it was, might strike again. Maybe someone with a drug problem − nasty, vindictive bastard.’

  ‘Really sorry to hear about it.’ There was an awkward silence.

  ‘Well, let’s go in, Seb. Coming, Dad?’

  ‘When I’ve finished, go ahead. I won’t be long. You know, mum isn’t here?’

  ‘Yeah, she told me. She said she’d be in Cardiff at a conference.’ She turned to Seb, ‘Okay. Seb, let’s have something to eat first.’

  He picked up his holdall and followed her into the house.

  ‘What’s the conference, the one your mum’s going to?’

  ‘The usual…psychopathy.’

  ‘Nice.’

  ‘Don’t be sarcastic.’ She took a quick glance at him. ‘Want something to eat?’

  ‘Please, it’s been a long drive. Anything will do.’

  ‘Why don’t you go for a quick walk? It’s a lovely day, and I’ll get something together. I’ll be about half an hour.’

  ‘Fine, thanks, Nixie.’

  He felt uneasy but her suggestion to go for a walk made things easier. He gave her a perfunctory kiss and taking the by now familiar path, crossed over the fields towards the sea. When he returned, Nixie and her father were sitting at the table. They looked serious.

  ‘Seb, have a seat.’ She pushed across a quiche towards him. ‘We’ve been going through your itinerary, where you’re going to be staying, and roughly, for how long. Obviously, we can’t tell you. It’s better you don’t know. They’re all safe houses, people we’ve known over the years, activists in one way or another. They’re not all environmentalists, but they know the score.’

  ‘I’d rather know where I’ll be.’

  ‘We can’t tell you.’ She glanced at him, ‘What’s the problem? I’ll be in touch all the time.’

  ‘It’s going to be disorientating, nothing will be familiar, all the time knowing someone’s out to get me…’

  ‘I understand that, Seb. But you’re in danger.’

  Matt was looking at him long and hard. His intensity made him feel uncomfortable. ‘You’re right… look, do you mind, I need some space. Need to chill out.’

  Nixie glanced at her father, then sprang up. ‘I’ll show you upstairs.’

  He followed her, uncomfortable and keenly aware that not long ago, in the deep of the night, he’d broken into the farmhouse. He hoped Nixie couldn’t mind read or pick up how he felt. He desperately needed to be alone, before he became totally paranoid. She came to a halt outside one of the bedrooms.

  ‘You have a choice, Seb. You can sleep alone, or with me.’

  He glanced at her, searching her face, wondering what she was thinking. She seemed unsuspecting, guileless, and she was smiling. She reminded him of the time when he’d first seen her standing at the bottom of the steps in Canary Wharf with her leaflets. There was something sweet about her. He took a step towards her, drew her to him, traced the outline of her mouth, kissed her tenderly and whispered, ‘What do you think?’

  — 15 —

  The constant moves were getting him down. From one day to the next, he didn’t know where he might be taken and how long he’d be there. Terraced houses in old mining towns, bed and breakfast accommodation in the faded affluence of traditional Welsh seaside towns, suburban semis on the edge of Cardiff, he’d stayed in them all. Today, he was in Snowdonia on a small windswept sheep farm somewhere near Capel Curig. His hosts were Welsh speakers, and hadn’t the slightest interest in talking in English, or so it seemed.

  He had to be on his guard 24-7, watch what he was saying every waking minute, all the time listening to the endless conversations of the environmentalists. He’d tried reminding himself they were there to help, but it didn’t work. He’d tried contacting Gimp, but it was difficult. It meant disappearing into the wilds of the Welsh countryside and inevitably he was asked where he was going. His hosts’ endless curiosity wore him down and only increased his paranoia.

  He trusted no one, and that included Nixie, even though using a different mobile each time, she contacted him regularly by phone or text. When he texted her, he had no idea whether someone, somewhere was monitoring him or whether she was the sole recipient, so eventually he’d given up contacting her. It was too unsafe. He only spoke to her if she rang. Today, it felt as if he was reaching some kind of breaking point. He stared moodily out of the window across the valley. It was Autumn, moving towards winter and the weather that day was atrocious. He felt he had to get out into the hills before night fell. Waiting for the weather to change might mean waiting forever. How much longer could he tolerate this isolation?

  He pulled on his Gore-Tex and stepped outside. Immediately he felt the cold, biting wind and the rain lashing his face. A narrow lane ran behind the farm, and pushing aside the wet foliage hanging in his path, he headed towards an old drovers’ path. Stony and overgrown, it offered little protection. He’d had enough of mountain weather, with its constant low temperatures, swirling mists and low grey skies. He was trapped, he felt claustrophobic, and he was angry. There must be another way of hiding from his enemies.

  His mind switched to the past, to the holidays he’d enjoyed on the Greek islands. That’s what he wanted; the sun and the warm waters of the Aegean. He wanted to go somewhere where he was unknown and no longer had to watch what he was saying. Moodily he contemplated
where that might be. An image of one island in particular came to him. It was Karpathos, a place he’d visited two or three years ago. Mountainous and remote, it was one of the Dodecanese islands, and situated off the coast of Turkey. He’d liked its hidden bays, its simplicity, its stunning harbour, and its lack of commercialisation. Now, as he thought more of it, the idea of escaping and leaving North Wales seemed irresistible. He reached the end of the path, and stopped to take his bearings. Endless clouds of rain drifted across the bleak, grey, wet landscape of the mountains. Even the sheep had taken cover. They sat huddled together along the dry stone walls.

  What was stopping him from travelling to Greece? It would be a break and one he desperately needed. He began to walk back, stopping to shelter under a tree, planning how he could do it, until he arrived at a decision. He would go and the next time Nixie rang, he’d tell her. She rang the following morning.

  He came straight to the point ‘Nixie, I have to get away. This constant moving around, it’s getting me down. I’ve got to get away and I’ve thought where I could go. Want to hear it?’ Silence. She didn’t say a word. He continued, ‘I’ve decided to go to Karpathos, a Greek island off the coast of Turkey. I’ll be there for a little while. Maybe you can come too.’

  ‘You have to be joking.’

  ‘No. I’m serious.’

  ‘You can’t leave. You’re crazy.’

  ‘I will be crazy, if I don’t get away. I’ve had enough.’ Another silence. ‘Well, aren’t you going to speak to me?’

  ‘I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘Do you know the Greek Islands?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Karpathos. It’s remote, but not so remote a newcomer would attract attention. It’s beautiful, wild, with steep cliffs and secluded beaches, and it’s what I need. The rain is driving me mad. It never stops.’

  ‘It’s too sudden.’ She was wary. ‘It’ll disrupt our plans. I’ll have to check it out with Dad.’

  A flash of irritation passed through him. He was determined to go and no one, and that included Nixie’s father, was about to stop him. ‘With all due respect, Nixie, while appreciating all your father has done to protect me, I’m responsible for myself.’

  ‘You’re also responsible to the cause,’ she snapped. ‘Anyway, what about me?’

  ‘What about you? I’d like you to come too.’

  ‘I was planning to visit you in Wales’

  ‘Well you still can, but not Wales. What I want are warm seas, sun, swimming, and making love whenever we want.’

  There was a long silence. She said, ‘If you go, I’ll miss you, Seb. I can’t afford the cost and the time.’

  ‘I’ll pay. It’s my present. Give yourself a break. Go wild with me.’

  ‘You really want me?’

  ‘Doesn’t it sound like it?

  ‘I need to think about it.’

  ‘There’s nothing to think about. You’d love it… It’s a thank you, for how much you’ve helped me.’

  ‘You mean it?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.’

  ‘I’ll think about it.’

  ‘Don’t take too long.’

  She was pleased, he could tell, and he knew she’d say yes.

  He wasted no time. His plan was to disappear, vanish without trace. First, he had to work out a way of getting to Karpathos without being tracked down, and it had to avoid the obvious routes. For this, he would need anonymous access to the internet since if his hosts realised he wanted the use of a computer, they would surely ask what it was he wanted to look up. An internet cafe would be best and after reading through the local press for tourists, he found that Bangor, a university seaside town, a few miles away, had several such cafes.

  He told his hosts he wanted to explore the coastline, hired a car, a rather flashy red Toyota to drive to Bangor, and spent most of the day glued in front of a computer screen. The time he spent working out a route was successful; firstly, using the services of a small powerboat company it involved crossing the Channel to mainland Europe. From there he planned to cut across to Eastern Europe, and head down towards Turkey, occasionally double backing and meandering, with no apparent particular aim. Only the last stage, travelling from Turkey by boat to the Dodecanese, followed the traditional tourist routes. It would take days, if not weeks, to reach Karpathos, but time was now of little consequence. He yearned for a period of total anonymity and solitude. A place where he had nothing to do, except enjoy the sun and blue skies in the sole company of Nixie.

  He thought about his contacts with Gimp. Since he’d been under constant surveillance by the people he was staying with, the regularity of contact with him had faded. There hadn’t been much to tell him. He’d been forced to juggle constantly, with who knew what, what he could say or not say, and the thought of not having to contact him for a time, would give him a break. He’d already told Gimp, he’d gone ‘in deep’ which gave him almost total freedom to do what he wanted. Gimp apparently had accepted this. He was trusted, as long as, Gimp reminded him, not to ‘go native.’ But even so, he knew he should pass on that he was about to take time out.

  Using a coded message via a work website, he told him he was taking a long holiday, and that he’d be back in touch as soon as possible. One less person to lie to, he thought, and even if it was only a temporary break, it felt good. All in all, it had been a productive day and feeling pleased with himself, he walked back to the harbour where he’d parked the hire car. He rather liked the car, and had left it by a renovated square stone building. The building, a restaurant, stood on the quay side close to the water.

  He paused. It looked like a smart restaurant, and good food in a stylish setting seemed very attractive right then. Besides, he deserved it. He strolled across to look at the menu displayed outside. He’d give it a go. He pushed open the door and entered the restaurant. It was half full, the music and lighting low, the ambience good. He was led to a window table and presented with the menu.

  He made a quick decision, decided on the halibut. It was a good choice. Prepared by a creative chef, together with a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc from the Loire, it was the best meal he’d had for months. He sat for a further twenty minutes, finishing his wine, thinking how it used to be when he’d worked in the City. Waves of nostalgia passed through him. He’d left all that behind. It was light years away.

  He gazed out of the window watching the passers-by, trying to place them by the clothes they wore. Some were obviously students; accompanied by their proud parents, probably about to start their degree. Apart from them were the casually dressed, heavily tanned, possible yacht owners, and a smattering of professionals and businessmen. He glanced back into the restaurant, distracted by loud laughter. A woman stood in the entrance, flirting with one of the waiters. Her manner was easy, informal. She must be a regular. His curiosity was aroused. She was in her mid-thirties, and on her own. Elegant, tall, slim with a tan, she looked well heeled. She wore wide leg, white jeans, a black, long-sleeved tee shirt and gold bangles round her wrist.

  The waiter brought her to the table next to his own and as she passed, he noticed her perfume. It was expensive. She sat down, briefly took a look at the menu, and glanced across at him. ‘What do you think of the fish?’ She smiled. It was a warm, friendly smile, one that reached her eyes. Her eyes were grey blue, but there was something watchful about her. He was intrigued; a moment’s indecision, should he leave or should he answer her question? He’d been around the block enough times to know it was an opening gambit.

  ‘The halibut’s good.’

  ‘Yes, the fish here is always fresh. But I’ve decided. I’ll just have a quick snack and drink. I like the ambience and it gets me ashore.’ She called the waiter across, and asked for a gin and tonic, then turning again to speak to him, she said, ‘These tables have the best view in the restaurant.’ Seb nodded. She co
ntinued, ‘I haven’t seen you before. Do you live round here?’ She spoke with a slight London, almost estuary accent, reminding him of his city days.

  ‘No, just passing through.’

  She gave him another smile. ‘I thought so.’

  He stood up. He wasn’t in the mood to be picked up.

  ‘Going already?’

  ‘That was my plan.’

  ‘What about a drink? It’s on me, before you go. A quick one.’

  Her forthrightness took him aback; it had been a long time since he’d talked with someone other than an environmentalist, especially an attractive woman. He hesitated, but before he’d given an answer, she’d called over the waiter. ‘What would you like?’

  He shrugged. She didn’t wait. ‘Same again, a Sauvignon, wasn’t it? It’s for my friend here.’

  She pulled a chair out for him. He moved across, watching her carefully.

  ‘Do you smoke?’

  ‘No, used to, packed it in some time ago − with the help of nicotine gum.’

  ‘I’ve tried that, it didn’t work for me. I’m dying for one right now, but I’ll have to wait… what are you doing here?’

  ‘Walking in the hills.’

  ‘Thought so. I guessed that you were either a climber or a walker. You have the physique. Mind you, they’re not usually the type found in smart restaurants. Where are you from?’

  ‘The south east.’

  ‘Where in south east?’

  ‘London.’

  ‘You’re not giving much away, are you?’

  ‘I’m wondering why you’re so interested.’

  She laughed. ‘Well, you know how it is, boredom, primarily. My hubby has business interests around here and he’s away for a day or two, leaving me on my own.’ She looked him straight in the eye. ‘So I thought, being as you’re sitting at the table right by me, I’d chat to you.’

  ‘Really? A case of while the cat’s away?’ She gave a tinkling laugh, and took a sip from her drink. He continued, ‘So, are you a local?’