by Lucy Gordon
Somehow she forced herself to speak.
‘No, Nikator, that’s not true. I know you want to believe it, but it’s not true.’
‘You’re deluded,’ he said contemptuously.
‘No, it’s you who are deluded,’ she retorted at once.
‘Have you no eyes?’
‘Yes, I have eyes, but eyes can deceive you. What matters isn’t what your eyes tell you, but what your heart tells you. And my heart says that this is the man I trust with all of me.’ She lifted her head and spoke loudly. ‘Whatever Lysandros tells me, that is the truth.’
She stepped close to him and took his hand. It was cold as ice.
‘Let’s go, my dearest,’ she said. ‘We don’t belong here.’
The crowd parted for them as they walked away together into the starry night. Now the onlookers were almost silent, but it was a terrible silence, full of horror and derision.
On and on they walked, into the dark part of the grounds. Here there were only a few stragglers and they fell away when they saw them coming, awed, or perhaps made fearful, by the sight of two faces that seemed to be looking into a different world.
At last they came to a small wooden bridge over a river and went to stand in the centre, gazing out over the water. Still he didn’t look at her, but at last he spoke in a low, almost despairing voice.
‘Thank you for what you said about always believing me.’
‘It was only what you said to me first,’ she said fervently. ‘I was glad to return it. I meant it every bit as much as you did. Nikator is lying. Yes, there was a book, years ago, but I told you about that myself, and about the reissue.’
‘And the new version?’
‘I knew they were thinking of bringing it out again, but not in detail. And it certainly isn’t going to be anything like Nikator said. Lysandros, you can’t believe all that stuff about my “working on Achilles” and pursuing you to make use of you. It isn’t true. I swear it isn’t.’
‘Of course it isn’t,’ he said quietly. ‘But-’
The silence was almost tangible, full of jagged pain.
‘But what?’ she asked, not daring to believe the suspicions rioting in her brain.
‘How did they discover what we said?’ he asked in a rasping, tortured voice. ‘That’s all I want to know.’
‘And I can’t tell you because I don’t know. It wasn’t me. Maybe someone was standing behind us at the Achilleion-’
‘Someone who knew who we were? And the grave? How do they know about that?’
‘I don’t know,’ she whispered. ‘I don’t know. I never repeated anything to anybody. Lysandros, you have got to believe me.’
She looked up into his face and spoke with all the passion at her command.
‘Can’t you see that we’ve come to the crossroads? This is it. This is where we find out if it all meant anything. I am telling you the truth. Nobody in the world matters more to me than you, and I would never, ever lie to you. For pity’s sake, say that you believe me, please.’
The terrible silence was a thousand fathoms deep. Then he stammered, ‘Of course…I do believe you…’ But there was agony in his voice and she could hear the effort he put into forcing himself.
‘You don’t,’ she said explosively as the shattering truth hit her. ‘All that about trusting me-it was just words.’
‘No, I-no!’
‘Yes!’
‘I tried to mean them, I wanted to, but-’
Her heart almost failed her, for there on his face was the look she’d seen before, on the statue at the Achilleion, when Achilles tried to draw the arrow from his foot, his expression full of despair as he realised there was no way to escape his fate.
‘Yes-but,’ she said bitterly. ‘I should have known there’d be a “but”.’
‘Nobody else knows about that grave,’ he said hoarsely. ‘I can’t get past that.’
‘Perhaps Nikator does know. Perhaps he had someone following us-’
‘That wouldn’t help them find the grave. It’s deep in the grounds; you can’t see it from outside. I’ve never told anyone else. You’re the one person I’ve ever trusted enough to…to…’
As the words died he groaned and reached for her. It would have been simple to go into his arms and try to rediscover each other that way, but a spurt of anger made her step back, staring at him with hard eyes.
‘And that’s the worst thing you can do to anyone,’ she said emphatically. ‘The more you trust someone, the worse it is when they betray you.’
He stared at her like a man lost in a mist, vainly trying to understand distant echoes. ‘What did you say?’ he whispered.
‘Don’t you recognise your own words, Lysandros? Words you said to me in Las Vegas. I’ll remind you of some more. “Nobody is ever as good as you think they are, and sooner or later the truth is always there. Better to have no illusions, and be strong.” You really meant that, didn’t you? I didn’t realise until now just how much you meant it.’
‘Don’t remind me of that time,’ he shouted. ‘It’s over.’
‘It’ll never be over because you carry it with you, and all the hatred and suspicion that was in you then is there still. You just hide it better, but then something happens and it speaks, telling you to play safe and think the worst of everyone. Even me. Look into your heart and be honest. Suddenly I look just like all the others, don’t I? Lying, scheming-’
‘Shut up!’ he roared. ‘Don’t talk like that. I forbid it.’
‘Why, because it comes too close to the truth? And who are you to forbid me?’
If his mind had been clearer he could have told her that he was the man whose fate she held in her hands, but the clear-headedness for which he was famed seemed to have deserted him now and everything was in a whirl of confusion.
‘I want to believe you; can’t you understand that?’ He gripped her shoulders tightly, almost shaking her. ‘But tell me how. Show me a way. Tell me!’
His misery was desperate. If her own heart hadn’t been breaking, she would have been filled with pity for him.
‘I can’t tell you,’ she said. ‘That’s one thing you must find for yourself.’
‘Petra-please-try to understand-’
‘But I do. I only wish I didn’t. I understand that nothing has changed. We thought things could be different now. I love you and I hoped you loved me-’
‘But I do, you know that-’
‘No, even you don’t know that. The barriers are still there, shutting you off from the world, from me. I thought I could break them down, but I can’t.’
‘If you can’t, nobody can,’ he said despairingly. Then something seemed to happen to him. His hands fell, he stepped back, and when he spoke again it was with the calm of despair. ‘And perhaps that’s all there is to be said.’
There was a noise from the distance, lights; the party was breaking up. People streamed out into the garden and now the laughter could be clearly heard, rising on the night air.
And the derision would torture him as well as the loss of his faith in her. Bleakly she wondered which one troubled him more.
‘I’ll be in touch,’ he told her. ‘There are ways of getting to the bottom of this.’
‘Of course,’ she said formally, waiting for his kiss.
Briefly he rested his fingertips against her cheek, but apart from that he departed without touching her.
The detective work was relatively easy. It didn’t take long to establish that the ‘newspaper copies’ were forgeries, specially printed at Nikator’s orders, the text written to Nikator’s dictation.
But that helped little. It was the overheard conversations that were really damaging, the fact that they couldn’t be explained, and the fact that hundreds of people at the party had read them.
Calling her publishers, Petra told them to abandon plans for a reissue of her book. They were dismayed.
‘But we’ve heard such exciting stories-’
‘None of them are tr
ue,’ she snapped. ‘Forget it.’
She and Lysandros were still in touch, but only just. They exchanged polite text messages, and she understood. He was avoiding her and she knew why. If they had met face to face he wouldn’t have known what to say to her. He was back stranded again in the sea of desolation, unable to reach out to the one person who’d helped him in the past.
Or perhaps he just didn’t know how to tell her that the break was coming and there was no escape.
It might have been different, she knew. By quarrelling, they had done exactly what Nikator had wanted.
But it went deeper than that. However it looked, Nikator hadn’t really caused the chasm between them; he’d merely revealed its existence. Sooner or later the crack in their relationship would have come to light.
Sometimes she blamed herself for the anger that had made her attack him when he was wretched, but in her heart she knew it changed nothing. He was the man he was, and the hope she’d briefly glimpsed was no more than an illusion.
In her present bitter mood she wondered how much of her view of him had been real, and how much she’d shaped him to fit her own desires. Had he really needed her so much, or had she just refused to see that he was self-contained, needing neither her nor anyone else? It was suddenly easy to believe that, and to feel alone and unwanted as never before in her life.
‘Surplus to requirements,’ she thought angrily as she lay in bed one night. ‘A silly woman who reshaped her image of a man to suit herself. And got her just deserts.’
In a fury of despair and frustration, she began to bang her head on the pillow and only stopped when she realised that she was mirroring his movements. She wished he were there so that she could share it with him.
But would he ever be with her again?
In Homer’s library she found her own volume, the one on which Nikator had built his attacks.
‘Now I know where he got the idea,’ she thought wryly, turning to the Achilles section and reading her own text.
His name had been linked with many women, but the one for whose love he’d given his life was Polyxena, daughter of King Priam of Troy. His love for her had held out the hope of a peace treaty between the Greeks and the Trojans, and an end to the war. But Paris was enraged. Such a treaty would have meant he had to return Helen to her husband, and that he was determined not to do.
Through his spies he knew that Achilles could only be destroyed through his heel and he haunted the temple, waiting for the wedding. When Achilles appeared Paris shot him in the heel with a poisoned arrow.
In a further twist to the tale, Achilles’ ghost was reputed to have spoken from the grave, demanding that Polyxena be sacrificed and forced to join him in death. Whereupon she was dragged to the altar and slain.
And what happened after that? Petra wondered. Had he met her in a boat on the River Styx, ready to convey her to the underworld? Had she told him that he couldn’t really have loved her or he would have behaved more generously? Or had he accused her of betraying him, giving that as his reason for condemning her to death? One way or another, it had ended badly, as many love affairs did.
Or was the story wrong? Had he not forced her to join him in death, but merely implored her, knowing that she would be glad to join him? When they met at the Styx had he held out his arms to her, and had she run to him?
I’m going crazy, she thought. I’ve got to stop thinking like this.
Stop thinking about him. That was all it would take.
It would never happen unless they could find some point of closure. And she could think of nothing that would provide a definite answer.
Unless…
Slowly she straightened up in her seat, staring into the distance, seeing nothing but the inspiration that had come to her.
That’s what it needs, she thought. Of course! Why didn’t I think of that before?
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE text message was simple and heartfelt.
I need to talk to you. Why have you stopped replying? L
He hesitated before sending it, afflicted by a feeling that the world had turned on its head. He’d received so many texts like this, but never before had he sent one. Would she reply to him as he had so often replied to the others? The thought sent him cold with alarm. But he must do this. He could no longer endure the silence between them. He pressed the button.
Her reply was quick.
I’m sorry. I needed to be alone to think. P
He answered, I thought that, but it’s a mistake. We must do our thinking together. L
She texted back, We only hurt each other.
This time he sent her only one word. Please.
She called back and he heard her voice.
‘Please, Lysandros, it’s better if we don’t talk for a while.’
‘No,’ he said stubbornly. ‘It isn’t. There’s a way out of this-’
‘Not if you don’t believe me. And in your heart you don’t. Goodbye-my dearest.’
As she hung up he passed a hand over his eyes, troubled by something he’d heard in the background, something he couldn’t quite place-something-
He bounded to his feet, swearing. A tannoy announcement. That was what he’d heard. She was at the airport.
Frantically he called back, but she’d switched off. Neither speech nor text could reach her now. She was on her way back to England.
The world was coming down about his ears. Once she was gone he’d lose her for ever; he knew that well. And then everything would end.
He moved like lightning, calling his private pilot. A moment later he was rushing through the grounds to the landing stage where his helicopter waited, and a few minutes after that they were in the air.
While the pilot radioed ahead to the airport, arranging for a landing and a car to meet them, he called Information to check the next flight to England. It would take off in half an hour. He groaned.
The pilot was skilful and made Athens Airport in the fastest possible time. The car was waiting, taking him to the main building. As he stared out of the window he prayed for a delay, something that would give him the chance to get her off the plane. But then he saw it, rising into the sky, higher and higher, taking his life with it.
Even so, he clung to hope until the last minute. Only the word Departed on the board forced him to accept the brutal truth. She had gone. He’d lost her. His life was over. He almost reeled away from the desk, blinded by misery, wanting to howl up to heaven.
He was pulled up short by a collision. Two arms went around him, supporting him as they had so often done before. He tried to pull himself together.
‘I’m sorry, I-Petra!’
She was clinging to him, staring up into his face, hardly able to believe what was happening.
‘What’s the matter?’ she asked quickly. ‘Why are you here?’
‘To stop you leaving. I thought you’d be on that plane for England that just took off. You can’t go like this.’
‘Like this?’ she asked hopefully.
‘Not until we’ve settled things.’
She didn’t know what to make of that. It might almost have been business-speak, but he was trembling in her arms.
‘I’m not going back to England,’ she said. ‘That’s not why I’m here. Please calm down. You worry me.’
He was taking huge gulps of air as relief shuddered through him.
‘Let’s find somewhere to sit,’ she said, ‘and I’ll explain.’
Over a drink she said quietly, ‘I was going to Corfu. I’ve been thinking a lot about how Nikator knew what we said, and it seems to me that he must have known a lot more about Priam House than he’s ever let anyone know; enough to have bugged the place, even long ago. So I was going to see what I could find.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘That’s it. We’ll find the answer. But why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I wasn’t sure how you’d-well, anyway, I meant to go alone, but when I got here I realised I should tell you first. Because if I fin
d bugs, I need you to be there, don’t I? Otherwise-’ she gave a wan smile ‘-otherwise, how will you know I didn’t plant them, to clear myself?’
‘Don’t,’ he whispered.
‘Anyway, I was just about to leave the airport. I was going to come to you and tell you what I was thinking, but here you are. What brought you here?’
‘You. I heard an announcement in the background and I thought you were leaving the country. I had to come and stop you. Look, it doesn’t matter about all the other things. I can’t let you go.’
‘Even though you still doubt me?’ she asked wryly. ‘No, never mind. We’ll worry later. We can’t tell how this is going to work out.’
‘My helicopter’s here. It can take us straight on to Corfu, and we’ll find all the answers we need there.’
Petra didn’t reply. She knew that everything was far more complicated than he’d understood. They might find some answers, but not all and there were still obstacles to overcome. But this wasn’t the time to say so.
For the moment she would enjoy the happiness of seeing him again, even though that happiness was tinged with bitterness and the threat of future misery.
An hour later the helicopter set them down on Corfu. As they covered the last few miles she wondered if this was just a forlorn hope and they were chasing it to avoid facing the truth.
‘Does anyone know where Nikator is?’ he asked suddenly. ‘I’ve been looking for him, but he seems to have vanished.’
‘Nobody’s seen him for days.’
‘How wise of him to avoid me. It was always the way when he was in trouble,’ Lysandros said. ‘He never did stick around to face things.’
‘You do know that he did this, don’t you?’
‘I’ve been finding out. And when we know this last thing-’
Then you’ll trust me, she thought. But not until then.
Was she making too much of it? she wondered. He’d come looking for her, desperate to stop her leaving him. Wasn’t that enough?
But it wasn’t. What still lived in her mind was the look that had fleetingly been on his face when disaster had struck. It had been a look of appalled betrayal, saying that she was no different from all the others. Now something must happen to wipe it out, but she had a terrible fear that nothing ever could.