‘Is anything wrong?’ Miranda anxiously asked.
‘Not at all, I was out in the garden, that’s all, shutting the hens up for the night, and had to run when I heard the phone ring. You know, they’re laying very well, I’ve had seven dozen eggs this week, and sold them all to the village shop. Organic eggs get snapped up, especially if they’re brown, and my hens lay lots of brown eggs, it’s the feed they get. I’m going to get some ducks, Freddy has put a pond into the garden, feeding off the little stream that goes through the village, he’s out there now, finishing off. I do love a duck egg for my supper. Scrambled, on toast. Lovely colours, duck eggs; very bright yokes and blueish whites. The flavour is a bit salty, but if you mix some cream with the egg before you start scrambling it helps.’ She paused. ‘So, how are you, love? Everything OK?’
‘Fine, I’ve finished my first week in the job, and everything has gone well. I like it here very much, and I’m starting to get used to the heat.’
‘Sounds blissful. Lucky you. I was thinking maybe I might come to Greece while you’re there, spend a few nights in this hotel.’
‘That would be wonderful,’ Miranda said eagerly. ‘I miss you, it would be great to see you. And staff can get better terms for relatives, so let me know if you do plan to come, and I’ll see what I can do.’
‘I will. Maybe in a month or so. When the heat dies down a little. I wouldn’t want to be there while it is so hot. Have you heard from the police in London? That nice Sergeant whats-it?’
‘Maddrell.’ Miranda’s voice took a dive, she sighed. ‘No, not yet. They can’t do much until they find the body.’
‘Well, no, obviously – but why is it taking so long to turn up? What did they do with it?’
‘Neil Maddrell seems to think they put it in Terry’s plane and dropped it in the sea, but it hasn’t come ashore yet.’
‘Maybe they weighted it; it may have sunk to the bottom of the ocean, may never come up.’
‘Then they will never be able to prove what happened,’ Miranda said bleakly, shivering.
‘I hope that doesn’t mean you will have to stay out of the country for good!’
‘Mum, I hope so, too. But at least I should be having my cast removed tomorrow. That will be a relief.’
‘I’m sure it will be.’
She was driven to the local doctor’s surgery next morning. With the cast gone the air felt wonderful on her bare leg. She used a stick for the rest of the morning, but by lunchtime felt able to walk without it.
She was in reception when the hotel bus began depositing new arrivals picked up from the harbour. Miranda waited to see if her services were required. Milo, handing out keys at the desk, smilingly shook his head at her, indicating that the guests did not need a translator, but one of the waiting queue waved at her.
‘Hello, Miranda!’
She gasped in surprise. ‘Sergeant Maddrell!’
‘Neil, please,’ he prompted.
The way he was looking at her made her blush. ‘N . . . Neil,’ she stammered. ‘What are you doing here? Has something happened?’
‘No, afraid not. I’m here strictly for pleasure, on holiday.’
Milo watched and listened, his dark eyes moving from the man’s face back to Miranda.
‘Could we have dinner?’ asked Neil and she nodded, smiling.
‘I’d love to, thanks. What time?’
‘Seven thirty, in the bar?’
‘OK, see you then.’
That evening as she was on her way to the bar she met Milo who looked her over with raised eyebrows, taking in her tight-fitting blue silk dress, which had a low neckline, the navy blue high-heeled sandals which gave her more height.
‘You look delightful, Miranda. Your friend is in the bar – I saw him go in there ten minutes ago. Is he your boyfriend?’
Shaking her head, she casually said, ‘Just someone I know.’
Faintly cynical, Milo told her, ‘I saw the way he looked at you. He likes you a lot.’
‘He’s a very nice man but we hardly know each other,’ she fenced, rather flushed. ‘But if he’s been waiting for ages, I’d better join him. See you, Milo.’
She walked into the bar and saw Neil at once as he stood up to greet her.
His roving eyes told her he liked the way she looked before he smiled at her. ‘Thank you for coming. I’m very pleased to see you looking so much better. You were so pale and stressed last time I saw you, in London. Now you’ve got a nice tan and you look far more relaxed and happy.’
‘It’s a lovely island and the people I’m working with are lovely people.’
She sat down; the barman came over and she ordered a glass of sparkling mineral water.
‘Tell me how far your investigation has got,’ she asked Neil.
‘We’re still waiting for the body to turn up. Without that, we can’t prosecute.’ He hesitated, then brusquely told her, ‘My bosses have told me to shelve the investigation until the body does surface.’
Biting her lip, Miranda said, ‘They don’t believe me, do they? Terry has convinced them I’m nuts.’
‘No, no, they just want proof of murder before they act.’ Neil’s face was sober. ‘But you must be very careful, Miranda. Until we find that body you could be in danger, even here.’
She shivered. ‘I know. I’m very careful, don’t worry.’ She hated thinking about it, so she changed the subject. ‘How long are you staying here?’
‘Not sure – a week, a fortnight. It depends on events. If the body shows, they’ll call me back to London.’
After a leisurely, candlelit dinner he walked her back to her bungalow through the gardens, under rustling trees, the sound of cicadas all around them.
‘Thank you for tonight,’ he murmured huskily, ‘It was a wonderful evening.’
Sensing that he meant to kiss her, and reluctant to go too far down that road, she bolted through her front door, muttering, ‘Goodnight, Neil.’
In bed in the dark she thought of Tom and was shaken to realise he no longer haunted her the way he had for the past three years. Was she beginning to get over his death at last? But she had had the old dream only the other night. Yet the cause of that had not been her guilt – she had had the nightmare because of jealousy and misery over Alex, not because of Tom. A realisation that made her guiltier than ever and made her sleep badly again.
Next morning, at seven o’clock, she put on her swimsuit and a towelling robe and carried her towel under her arm to walk through the hotel grounds to the beach.
The sun was rising on the horizon, a burning golden ball, the sky was streaked pink and deep blue, sending shimmering lines across the blue sea.
She had spent half the night restlessly tossing, her mind occupied with memories of the murder, of Tom’s death, of Neil, of Alex, and her helpless, stupid jealousy over that woman, whom she saw every day, around the hotel, looking exclusively streamlined in her designer clothes, gold around her neck and on her fingers and wrist. Miranda despised herself for feeling as she did but couldn’t stop herself. Her heart was in turmoil – if they never found the body what should she do? Stay here? Watch Alex with that woman? She wished she knew how he really felt about Elena. Maybe she should go home? But that would mean risking Terry or Sean’s vengeance.
It sounded so melodramatic, using a word like that, with its overtones of operatic threats, she wished she could laugh the idea off, but Sean had drowned that girl, and someone had tried to run her down in the street.
Reaching the top of the sweep of beach she stripped off her white towelling robe, draped it over a gorse bush growing at the edge of the sand, laid her towel on top, kicked off her flip flop sandals, and began to walk down towards the sea.
As she entered the waves and began to swim a body rose up in the warm blue water right next to her and grabbed her.
Miranda gave a terrified scream.
‘I know,’ he murmured, holding her closer. ‘Poor girl. But I’m watching out for you. Milo and I
take it in turns to be on sentry duty, at night, checking that no strangers are in the grounds, that nobody tries to get into your bungalow, or the hotel. I promise you, you aren’t in danger while we’re here.’
She was astonished, staring at him, lips parted, eyes like saucers.
‘You and Milo . . . keep watch on me?’
He nodded. ‘Day and night, somebody is there, making sure you’re safe every minute of the day. When you’re in the office, in your bungalow, in the sea here. One of us is always on guard.’
‘I’ve never noticed either of you around.’
‘The last thing we want is to be noticed – by you, or anyone else. If we’re easy to spot it would warn off anyone trying to get to you. We want to catch them and have them locked up. There’s no other way of stopping these attempts on you.’
She shivered and he frowned.
‘You’re cold. You need to get indoors, get dressed. Forget your swim this morning.’ He stood up, lifting her, and she clutched at him, her arms going round his neck. Her fear had somehow drained away; suddenly she trusted him, felt safe with him.
The swing of her emotions was bewildering: one minute she was terrified, under threat; the next she was soothed into a belief that nothing was going to happen to her with Alex around. She would give anything for a little stability; to have solid ground under her feet for a while, to forget her fears for ever.
Alex carried her to her bungalow, unlocked the door, took her into the bedroom, laid her on the bed and knelt beside her, gazing down at her with an intensity that made her head swim.
‘Don’t look at me like that!’
‘You’re so beautiful,’ he whispered, then he began kissing her. She drowned in the depth of emotion running between them. His hands touched her, fire scorching her skin, his body moved closer and closer. But never close enough. She yearned to be part of him, to take him into herself, melt into him. This was how she had felt from the first moment she saw him – this need, this desire, had been instant and overpowering. Why else had she felt so guilty when Tom died?
Shuddering, she pushed him away. ‘No, Alex, don’t.’ She rolled off the bed and stood up. ‘I must get some breakfast before I start work, but first I have to have a shower and get dressed – would you mind leaving?’
Slowly he got up too. ‘Are you still fighting the way you feel, Miranda? Your husband’s been dead for three years. It’s time you stopped refusing to move on. You’re still young, you have a long life in front of you.’
She walked to the door and opened it, silently inviting him to leave but as he came towards her Neil appeared in the doorway, wearing swimming trunks, a large towel over one shoulder.
‘I’m going down to the sea for a swim – will you join me, Miranda?’
Alex’s face tightened into a cold mask. He walked past Neil, nodding to him curtly.
‘Oh, hello, I didn’t see you there,’ Neil said, startled. Alex walked off without replying. Neil gave Miranda a grimace. ‘Did I come at the wrong moment?’
‘No, he was leaving anyway. I’m sorry, Neil, I’ve already had my swim. Maybe I’ll see you later?’
‘Lunch?’
‘That would be nice. My lunch break is at one o’clock today.’
‘I’ll see you then.’
As Neil swam in the blue sea, under a blue sky, he envied Miranda waking up every morning to weather like this in this lovely place. He would have to go back to dreary, grey, autumnal London, leaving her here.
He wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about her, he knew that. Every day she came into his head, he couldn’t shut her out. He had never been this obsessed with anyone. Her image was burned into his brain.
Back in his bungalow, he was nearly dressed when the phone rang, making him jump. He reached for it automatically. ‘Hello.’
‘Hello, Maddrell. Sergeant Cordell here, missing persons. Just had a fax from the Met. They’ve had information from some fishing port down the coast from Dublin. Port St Patrick.’
‘Never heard of it.’
‘Me, neither. But, seems a body came ashore there yesterday . . .’
Neil stiffened, heart racing, his knuckles gripping the phone going white. ‘A woman’s body?’
The other man chuckled. ‘Thought that would make you sit up. That’s right, a woman’s body. Been in the sea a long time, wrapped in an old bit of carpet, weighted down with gym weights, I’d guess from a private gym, they’re too small to have come from a public gym, from the sound of it.’
‘How the hell did it come up if it had been on the bottom of the sea all these weeks?’
‘Came up in a trawl net, Japanese fishermen out in the deep sea, fifteen miles off the UK coast, nearer to Ireland, fishing for mackerel and herring, brought it up in their nets, and put into port with it at dawn. The pathologist hasn’t taken a look at it yet, but it could be what you’ve been looking for. The photo you faxed us isn’t any help, I gather. No hair left, no eyes, either, so we can’t match them. But the general weight, colouring, could be right, and she has all her own teeth – although some work has been done not too long ago, so if you get hold of your girl’s dentist that might help with identification. Shall we send someone else, or d’you want to come back and take a look?’
‘Yes,’ Neil said fiercely. ‘I certainly do.’
‘Rather you than me. Remember, she’s been in the sea for weeks. Not pretty. And it will screw your holiday up.’
‘If this is my missing body it will break the case wide open. It’s worth it. I can take a holiday later. Thanks, Cordell. I owe you one.’
‘Buy me a drink next time I see you.’
‘You’re on.’
Neil packed and booked a flight back before going over to the hotel to arrange for transport back to Athens. He then walked through to Miranda’s office to say goodbye.
‘I’ve been called back to London urgently.’
Her eyes sharpened. ‘Has the body been found?’
He smiled at her. ‘You’re sharp. Maybe. We’re not sure yet, that’s why I have to get back at once, to check it out.’
‘You will let me know, won’t you?’
‘I promise.’ He bent to kiss her and she lifted her face to meet his.
‘Goodbye for now,’ he whispered. ‘See you soon, I hope.’
He left and she turned to go back to her desk but paused, startled to find Alex in the corridor, watching.
Icily, he said, ‘Please keep your private life for your own time.’
When Neil got back to London, he went to Inspector Burbage’s office. She listened, head to one side, watching him with wry amusement from under those ginger eyebrows.
‘OK, Neil, go for it. I hope it’s the right girl, I know how hard you’ve worked on this case. Let’s hope you’re going to be able to charge young Finnigan.’
‘I can’t wait. I want him so much I can taste it. The cocky little bastard thinks he’s above the law. He’s been laughing at us all along, certain he had got away with it. Well, he’s in for a shock.’
She laughed. ‘You really don’t like him, do you? Let’s hope this is the right body. I’ll have a word with Merry Christmas, leave him to me. He’ll have to let you open the case again if we’ve got a body. You’d better take care of that witness of yours, we don’t want her ending up in the sea.’
‘Don’t worry, if this is the missing girl, I shall fly back to Greece to see Miranda, make sure she’s safe, and that she will come back to give evidence when we need her.’
She grinned at him. ‘Better make it an official trip, then they’ll fork out with the cost of the flight, and maybe even a cheap hotel.’ She tapped the side of her head with one stubby finger. ‘Think canny, Neil. This is business, not pleasure. Even if you do fancy this witness.’
Neil went red. ‘I didn’t say . . .’
‘You didn’t need to. I’ve noticed the way you look every time her name comes up.’ Burbage gave him a friendly punch on the arm that nearly knocked him over.
She was famous for her fighting skills; was a black belt at judo and had even boxed. ‘But don’t take any risks, Neil. Don’t contaminate the evidence. We don’t want the Finnigan brief to dream up a conspiracy between the two of you.’
Soberly, Neil said, ‘No, we certainly don’t. Look, do you think we should keep this quiet – the body turning up? We don’t want word getting back to the Finnigans, do we?’
‘No,’ she agreed. ‘Right, just between the two of us, and the Governor, then. Keep me up to speed, Neil, whatever you’re doing.’
He was on his way to Ireland two hours later. He flew to Dublin, where he picked up a hire car before driving along the coast to the little fishing port, a huddle of white cottages with slatey-blue roofs rising up from the walled harbour. He went first to the police station, built of flint and local stone, with a mock-Gothic tower at one end, looking more like an illustration from the Brothers Grimm than a modern police station. Inside, however, procedure was what he would expect of his own station.
He waited for five minutes until he was joined by a balding, middle-aged detective from the local Garda. Inspector Declan Murphy wore a crumpled grey suit and a tweed tie which had slipped sideways like the noose of a hanged man.
They weighed each other up, shaking hands.
‘So, you’re here to see our body? Someone you’d been looking for, I was told?’
‘Cross fingers,’ Neil said, performing the action.
‘You’re not going to recognise her. Even her own mother wouldn’t know her, poor soul. She’d been in the sea for a long time.’
‘I know. Can we go to see her right away?’
‘Surely.’
They drove up the winding little hill to the town’s cottage hospital; built around the same time by the same architect, as the police station, decided Neil as they parked and he got the chance to stare at the place.
‘What’s your population?’
‘Oh, around twenty thousand.’ Declan Murphy gave him a dry look sideways. ‘This is a far cry from London.’
Neil laughed humourlessly. ‘I’m sure.’
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