Miranda put the ingredients for the salad dressing into a glass bowl and beat them lightly, added some smoky Greek honey and a few spoonfuls of orange juice. In the fridge she found some feta cheese, the white goat’s cheese you found everywhere in Greece, and with which she was already very familiar from eating it in the hotel. She chopped it into cubes and sprinkled them over the salad before pouring the dressing over it, adding a handful of stoned black Kalamata olives and a few capers.
‘There’s some fresh bread in the wicker bin here,’ Alex told her over his shoulder.
She got the domed golden-brown bread out. The smell was delicious, she felt as if she had never smelt bread before. By the time she had cut some slices the bream was cooked. Alex put it out on warmed plates, and added the stir-fried vegetables. They sat down at the kitchen table. Alex poured her another glass of Greek wine. She was suddenly very hungry, inhaling the scents of the food.
‘Don’t add any salt,’ he said. ‘The fish isn’t too salty, but the capers and olives are.’
‘And the feta, a little,’ she said, putting a white cube into her mouth along with a fragment of fish. ‘You’re a very good cook.’
‘Thank you. I can do any job in the hotel, from portering to cooking, doing accounts and reservations, or waiting at table.’
‘Like Milo.’
He smiled. ‘Exactly. He trained me. He’s a wonderful teacher; patient and long-suffering. He was my father’s closest friend.’
‘And now he’s yours?’
Alex nodded. ‘Now tell me about the murder – you were in an office nearby and overheard Sean with a girl?’
She put down her fork. ‘They were arguing – the girl said she was pregnant and the child was Sean’s, and he must break off his engagement with Nicola to marry her. Sean flew into a rage, then I heard . . .’ She stopped, swallowing convulsively, staring down at her plate, at the red of tomatoes, the white flesh of the fish.
‘Heard her drowning?’ Alex gently prompted.
‘Yes,’ she whispered.
‘Then what?’
‘Afterwards . . . it went so quiet. Sean came to the window and saw me. He looked . . . horrified. I fainted. Because I knew I hadn’t imagined it, I could see from his face that he realised I’d heard everything. When I came to, I’m afraid I panicked and rushed out. I was so desperate to get away that I never thought of ringing the police. I just had to escape. I drove away, then my head sort of cleared and I started to think. I parked and sat there, realising I had to go back, had to call the police. Which was what I did.’
‘But the body had gone, the bathroom was empty, there was no evidence to back up your story?’
She stared at him. ‘Who told you all that?’ Surely Terry hadn’t talked to him about the murder? She knew Alex was close to the Finnigans. Just how close? Was he entirely in their confidence? Was he involved with them in hushing up the murder?
‘The police. A Sergeant Neil Maddrell. He interviewed me after your accident, and told me the whole story.’
Her face lit up. ‘Oh, he’s a nice man, he’s been very kind to me.’
‘Has he?’ Alex coolly said. ‘You don’t surprise me. I gathered that he fancied you.’
A flush kindled in her face. ‘That wasn’t what I meant.’ Changing the subject she quickly asked, ‘Did you tell him you planned to bring me here?’
Alex nodded.
‘So he knew?’ Neil had advised her to go to Greece, he hadn’t warned her who was behind the offer of a job here. Why hadn’t he said anything? Did he trust Alex? Could she trust him, too? It disturbed her to feel distrust of everyone around her – yet how could she dare risk trusting? She would have sworn that you could trust Terry Finnigan, but he was prepared to have her killed to save his son.
‘We talked about it for some time. I promised him I wouldn’t say a word to Terry, so that Neil could be sure you would be safe here.’ His dark gaze fixed on hers. ‘I meant it. You are safe here, Miranda.’
She wanted to believe him, but over the last few terrible weeks she had learnt fear and distrust. When Tom drowned her distress had been compounded by her own underlying sense of guilt, her uncertainty about the wreck of the boat, her dread that Alex was somehow responsible, and was guilty too. She had never shaken off her grief and guilt, and from the day she heard that girl drowning her anxiety had grown worse; her mind was awash with dark emotions and fears. How could she feel safe, anywhere?
Even Charles, who had seemed so nice, and so deeply in love with his wife, had turned out to have secrets.
Terry took his plane up for a brief trip, flying from the airfield to the south coast, to pick up some small components which had been left out of a recent delivery. It only took half an hour to land, load the boxes, drink a cup of coffee and take off again. He had used the collection as an excuse for a flight; a courier could have picked the boxes up easily enough, but Terry wanted to fly for a few hours.
He did not often manage to get up, he was always so busy, and the weather today was so fine and clear. It was a pity to waste a morning like this, he thought, gazing into the cloudless blue sky. There had been so much on his mind lately; he was frequently in a state of depression. Up here he felt more alive, more optimistic.
When he got back home he was surprised to see a dark blue Rolls Royce parked on the drive. He could hear the voices before he walked into the sitting room, one dominating, a husky, flirtatious, laughter-filled voice.
Sandra! Was she alone or had she brought that waste-of-space, Jack, with her?
The question was answered for him a second later when Jack said ‘We’re on our way to Southampton, going on a Mediterranean cruise. Starting at Toulon, flying back from Istanbul. Twenty wonderful days. Ever been on a cruise, Sean?’
‘We went to the States one year, on the QEII.’ Sean’s voice was apathetic. ‘It was OK.’
‘How did your engagement party go?’ Sandra asked. ‘Any piccies, Sean? I can’t wait to see your girl.’
‘In the top drawer of my desk,’ Terry flatly said from the doorway and they all looked round at him.
‘Oh, hello, Tel,’ Sandra said, looking him up and down.
Jack gave him a placatory grin. ‘Hi, there, Terry, how’re you?’
‘Go and get the photos, Sean, don’t just stand there gaping!’ Terry ordered. He got angrier every time he set eyes on his son.
‘Don’t snap at the boy!’ Sandra bristled.
Her hair was a brighter gold than ever; courtesy of a recent visit to the hairdresser, noted Terry. It suited her, though; he had to admit he liked it, especially when it had just been done and her dark roots didn’t show. She wore twice as much eye make-up as she needed, looking like Elizabeth Taylor as Cleopatra; a very blonde Cleopatra, of course, but with the same sultry stare, the same red mouth, the same long, dangly Egyptian earrings which chimed and shimmered every time she turned her head. The leopard-skin clinging dress she wore was heavily sexy, too.
To his own irritation, Terry wanted her. Bitch. Why did he still feel like this? What was it about her that got him even now? The over-the-top allure, the come-hither smile? Or just plain sexiness? Whatever women needed to have, Sandra had it. In spades. It really bugged him that Jack had her in his bed.
Why had she left him for that loser? He would never know, couldn’t fathom it. It couldn’t have been money. Terry had more money. What did Jack have? He was a crook; obvious where his money had come from. He and Sandra threw the stuff around as if it would last forever.
But if you spend it, you haven’t got it any more. When it was all gone what could Jack do but go back to the old life; to crime and risk. Sandra couldn’t have fallen for Jack’s looks, either. He wasn’t anything special. Just a big, noisy git.
Am I still jealous? Terry asked himself angrily, and knew the answer was yes. He had never got over Sandra leaving him for a man he despised.
Sean came back with the photos, handed them to his mother who began flipping through them, excla
iming.
‘She’s a lovely girl. You’re a very lucky boy. And her father’s got all that money, too! Jammy little bastard, aren’t you?’
‘How’s your business?’ Jack asked Terry.
‘Great. What are you doing?’
Jack’s eyes shifted. ‘I’m retired, you know that. We’ve just been up to Manchester to see my family. My nephew’s wife had a baby a month ago, it was being christened. I was godfather.’
‘You were?’ Terry said, brows lifting. ‘I didn’t know you had even been into a church.’
Jack glowered. ‘It’s just a ritual, you don’t have to be religious, my bro said. It was a terrific party. All the family there. And while we were in Manchester we visited a few old friends.’ He gave Terry a quick, searching look. ‘Someone told me you had just been up there. Rumour was you had called in to see Bernie. I saw him, myself, but he was as tight-lipped as a clam about your visit. He’s looking old, isn’t he? He’s paralysed, you know; shot in the spine, a turf fight with the Yardies. He never recovered properly. Don’t suppose he’s got long.’
‘Bernie’s tough. He’s a survivor.’
Sandra suddenly chimed in, staring across the room at them, ‘Why were you up there? You always said you’d never go back, you were out of everything. What’s changed?’
Sean moodily swung away, stood with his back to them, staring out of the window, his hands stuck in the back pockets of his old jeans.
‘We’ve got ourselves into some trouble,’ Terry carefully said. ‘I needed Bernie’s help, that’s all.’
‘Me,’ Sean grated without looking round. ‘I’m in trouble, that’s what he means.’
His mother went over to him, put her hand on his arm, stroked her long, red-nailed fingers up and down. ‘What sort of trouble, boysie? Anything we can do to help? We’d be glad to, you know that.’
Terry was silent. If Sean wanted to talk it was up to him. After a minute Sean said, ‘Girl trouble. Look, she drowned, somehow; the police haven’t found the body, but there was a witness. The police have stuck her away somewhere, we have to find her. Dad thought this guy Bernie might be able to help, might get a cop to tap into the police computer, find her address.’
‘She drowned?’ Sandra repeated. She had gone pale under her tan. She looked at Terry, who stared back without expression. ‘Does he mean what I think he means?’ Terry didn’t answer. Sandra broke out, ‘My God, Sean, how could you be so stupid? If her body turns up they’ll put you away for years.’
‘It won’t turn up, it went into the sea from Dad’s plane. If it goes anywhere it will be to Ireland, the Irish coasts were nearest.’ Sean looked sulkily at her. ‘I know it was a mistake. I lost my head, right? She was blackmailing me, the bitch. She got herself pregnant, then tried to ruin my life. What was I supposed to do? Just give her what she wanted, even if it made my life hell?’
Sandra looked at her ex-husband. ‘Couldn’t you have paid her off, Terry?’
‘I didn’t know about her.’
Sean made an angry face. ‘And she wasn’t after money. Do you think I didn’t try to buy her off? No, she wanted me. She wanted marriage, nothing else.’
‘Cunning little bitch. So, who was this witness?’
‘Dad’s PR girl. You’ve seen her in the office, must have done. She worked for him for three years. Mousy girl. Goody-goody. That’s why she was working on a Sunday. I thought the offices were empty, but no, she was there, spying on me. She shopped me and the police have stuck her in a witness protection scheme.’
Sandra frowned. ‘I think I remember her. Milly Molly Mandy, I called her; a milk-faced nobody. Butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. And she’s the only evidence against you?’
He nodded. ‘The police haven’t got anything else.’
Sandra looked at Terry, her eyes wide and fierce. ‘Then you must find her and make sure she never gets into the witness box. You can’t let Sean down. However silly he’s been, he’s our boy. We have to stand by him.’
‘You’re a bit late with your mother love,’ Terry angrily told her. ‘I’ve taken care of the boy since you walked out on him. I’ll take care of this. Bernie’s working on it. As soon as he comes up with an address I’ll deal with her, don’t worry.’
‘Jack has friends in the force, he can ask around, too,’ Sandra said. ‘And sooner or later this girl has to surface, whether they find the body or not. Then you’ll have a chance at her. Just make sure that this time there are no witnesses.’
Terry walked out of the room. He had tried so hard to build a good, decent life for himself and Sean, but here he was, being dragged back into the world he had escaped from, and he couldn’t see a way out, except by allowing Sean’s life to be ruined, and he could not do that.
He couldn’t let his boy go to prison for life, Sandra was right. He had to save him. Children were hostages to fortune. Once you had them you went on paying for the rest of your life. Even if he had to sacrifice his business, or his own life, he had to save Sean.
Alex insisted on walking Miranda back to her bungalow after lunch. ‘I hope you’re comfortable? The staff bungalows were furnished to a high standard. In the hotel there are hundreds of videos, by the way. If you want to borrow one, ask Milo. And before you start work you ought to take a couple of trips to other islands. It only takes three hours to Delos or Mykonos, you can do both in one day, and another day you should take a trip back to the mainland to see Athens.’
‘I’d love to do both – are there boats from here? Does the ferry go to Delos?’
‘Yes, but you don’t want to take the public ferry, it is always very crowded. The hotel boat can take you. Look, I’ll take you myself, I haven’t been to Delos for quite a while, I love it, there’s a very special feeling there.’
Miranda felt a confused mix of emotions – excitement, alarm, resentment. He was like so many men, who feel they can order a woman around as if she were a housemaid, or something – it must be their testosterone. She wished he did not make her senses riot, her blood run faster, excitement burning through her veins.
Chapter Ten
Pandora anxiously apologised next day when Miranda went to see her. ‘Alex asked me not to mention him, and I knew you had no need to worry, he only wants to help you, he wouldn’t hurt you, but I was afraid you would be upset if you knew he was my brother and owned the hotel.’
‘I would have been. Did he tell you anything about me?’
‘He said you used to work for Terry Finnigan and you had seen a murder and needed to get away for a while.’
‘He didn’t tell you about my husband’s death?’
‘No. Oh, how terrible – was it your husband who was murdered?’
‘No. He drowned at sea.’ Miranda took a deep breath and went on huskily, ‘On one of your brother’s ships.’
‘Oh.’ Pandora stared at her, mouth open. ‘Not that one? A few years ago? I remember somebody drowned – was that . . .?’
‘Yes. And that’s why I wouldn’t have wanted your brother anywhere near me, that’s why he didn’t want you to tell me you were his sister.’
Tears welled up in Pandora’s wide eyes, slid slowly down her pale cheeks. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry, so very sorry, how dreadful, but it really wasn’t Alex’s fault, you know. The captain got drunk, he steered on to some rocks, that was what caused the wreck. Alex was very upset about it at the time. I remember how he changed, he wasn’t himself for months. Very moody, always flying into tempers. But he’s come out of that now, thank heavens. Please . . .’ She laid a hand on Miranda’s arm. ‘Please, don’t go on blaming Alex. I know you’re unhappy about your husband’s death, but it isn’t fair to hate Alex for it.’
Watching her anxious, colourless face Miranda quickly said, ‘I don’t any more. Don’t worry.’ Pandora was so frail, so vulnerable; she did not want to lay any more burdens on those slender shoulders.
Face lighting up, Pandora said, ‘Really? Oh, good, I’m so glad. I realise it must remind you, seeing
him, but he will be going back to Piraeus next week, so you won’t have to see too much of him.’
‘He has offered to take me to Delos this weekend, before I start work – is it worth seeing?’
‘Oh, absolutely, you must see it, it’s the most important place in the Cyclades. The birthplace of . . .’
‘Apollo. I know, Alex kept saying so.’
Charles came into the room, smiled at Miranda. ‘Settling in?’
She was self-concious in his company, remembering the woman Elena, wondering if Pandora suspected anything. ‘Oh . . . yes, thanks.’ How could he betray his wife, who was going through so much just to bear his child?
That Sunday, she and Alex sailed to Delos, leaving very early in the morning, before the sun was too hot. Alex took the helm, Miranda sunbathed on deck for a while, in brief shorts and a tiny midi-top which left her midriff bare, but as the sun rose in the cloudless blue sky she felt it was safer to move under the shadow of the awning which ran out from the back of the wheelhouse. She had brought a detective story with her and read it in a desultory fashion, half-asleep in the heat. She still had not acclimatised; but she knew her skin was taking on a flush, a pale apricot colour, even though she had to stay out of the fierce sun in the middle of the day.
The sea was calm, a light spray blown over in her direction whenever Alex changed course, altering the wash of the wave along the side of the boat.
‘There’s Delos!’ Alex shouted suddenly and she got up and stared forward at a spot of green on the horizon. It grew steadily as they came closer.
A cruise ship flying the blue-and-white Greek flag was anchored in the sea just off the island; as they passed it sailors leaned over the rails to watch them. Alex lifted his hand and greeted them in Greek.
‘Ya soo!’
Their cries came back. ‘Ya soo, ya soo!’
She knew now that that meant both hello and goodbye, just as ciao does in Italian.
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