The Greek Escape

by Karen Swan

  Our?

  ‘No!’ Her finger was in his face, her eyes wild. ‘Do not bring me into this. This is not about me. It was not done in my name!’

  ‘Okay, no,’ he held his hands up. ‘You’re right. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply . . .’ He slumped, looking at her from reddened eyes. ‘But everything I’ve done since has been to keep you safe, I swear. When Jack told me you were taking over Poppy’s patch, it almost killed me – because it could have been Alexander too. I didn’t know for certain who was behind the accident; it could have been either one of them. They’re both capable of it, they’re both fucking scumbags, as rotten as each other. If Alexander had found out information was getting out from Poppy’s files, I wouldn’t have put it past him to retaliate like that. We both know what kind of a man he is. You even said it yourself when you came back to the hotel – you said he’d confessed to it!’

  It was true. She had. He had. But as she fell back into the memory of that terrifying encounter on the yacht – ‘I thought it had been sealed’ – had he really? She had taken those words as an admission of culpability for what had happened to Poppy, but he was the first to admit he saw opportunity where others saw hardship. Alexander might well have believed Poppy was the mole, but what if he also believed her accident had been exactly that? The last he’d heard, she was barely alive; at the very least that meant she wouldn’t be selling his secrets any more. It was a terrible tragedy, of course, but it had solved a problem for him too. None of that made him guilty.

  ‘That was why I followed you to France – don’t you see? I knew that once he heard about the bid, if he worked out there was another leak . . . I didn’t know what he might be capable of.’

  She looked at him in disbelief. Was he really trying to come over as the hero in this? Her knight in shining armour? ‘You didn’t follow me there to make sure I was okay!’ she cried, beginning to shake with anger suddenly. ‘No, Tom! You were checking your secret was still safe and that Alexander didn’t know you were selling him out!’

  ‘No.’ He shook his head vehemently. ‘You’re wrong. It was about you. I was trying to protect you.’

  ‘You?’ she scoffed. ‘You thought you could protect me? You actually think you could do that? You’re the reason any of this has happened! Your greed is what led to it all! How could you save me, Tom, when you were the one who threw Poppy and me under the bus!’

  ‘I never would have let him hurt you,’ he cried, looking pained.

  ‘How? You told me yourself there’s no protection from men like that. They’re too powerful. You said you don’t make an enemy of them unless you are certain you can win. And you knew nothing of the sort.’ She was openly shaking now as her own tears came in hot rushes. ‘How could you? How could you do this? You’re the scumbag!’ She smashed the glass down on the step, and it shattered everywhere, raining down minute crystal shards to the street below.

  He sprang back, seemingly not daring to reply, and neither of them spoke for several minutes. An entire life – one not yet lived – was ending. Even he could see that. ‘Whether you choose to believe me or not, I swear I love you,’ he said quietly. ‘I never cheated on you with Serena, I—’

  ‘Fuck Serena!’ she yelled. ‘I don’t give a damn about her and what you did or didn’t do.’

  ‘. . . All of this – it was just business.’

  ‘Business. Wow,’ she murmured, forcing a big inhale and rubbing the tears away with the heels of her hands. ‘Tomato; tomato,’ she shrugged. ‘You say business. I say corruption.’ She turned to look at him, disgust flaring in her eyes, her mouth drawn into an angry slash. ‘I wonder what the police will say?’

  His expression changed then. ‘Now, look, I’m sorry it’s come to this, Chlo,’ he said in a low voice. It was colder, harder now. ‘But before you go running to anyone about this, you should realize there’s absolutely no proof. I made sure of that.’

  Chloe stared at him for a moment, chilled by the man standing before her. How could she ever have thought she loved him? ‘Oh, I see,’ she said, realizing what he was telling her. ‘You wiped the CCTV the day you got here, didn’t you?’

  He merely blinked in reply but the glimmer of victory was in his eyes.

  She looked away, enraged, impotent. Without video footage showing Poppy confronting Serena at her desk, there was no way to establish conclusively that Serena had been spying for and reporting back to Gelardi; that the information she had supplied had enabled him to put together a bid that would rob his oldest foe of everything – including, possibly, his wife. Everything was thought through – all neatly tied up and plausible; after all, the addition of these prestigious hotels to Gelardi’s business portfolio called for a sideline deal that would seemingly give them an edge over their competitors, but was in reality a way to legitimately make payment for services rendered.

  And they would get away with it – all of them: Lorenzo, Serena, Tom.

  ‘Jack? Was he part of it?’

  ‘. . . Not initially, no.’

  She remembered Xan telling her about their fight in the lift, Tom telling her he’d wanted to see through the ten-year plan. Had the lure of the cash won him over in the end? She remembered too what he’d said at her birthday dinner about wanting to make things up to her; it had struck her as odd at the time, but now she wondered: did he already know by then that he was going to take the cash? Had he already decided to turn a blind eye to the nefarious activities that had got them to this point? Maybe he had convinced himself that knowing what had happened, wouldn’t undo what had happened? That this wasn’t so much a choice between doing the right thing and the wrong, as it was between winning and losing?

  And there were so many winners: Lorenzo. Tom. Jack. Serena undoubtedly would have been rewarded too. Even Alexander hadn’t lost in this. Yes, he’d been outmanoeuvred by Gelardi on this deal but there would be others; after all, he was richer than ever now. And though the price of his misjudgement was that his wife remained missing, presumed dead, billionaire widowers tended not to stay that way for long.

  No, it was Elodie and Poppy who were the losers here; as Alexander had said so presciently, they were the collateral. Chloe herself . . . well, she had got away lightly. What was a broken heart to a broken body? She shuddered to think how close she’d been to Tom all this time, sleeping beside the man at the heart of it all.

  ‘Get the fuck out of here,’ she said in a low, menacing voice. She looked at him with withering disgust and she saw him flinch from it. He had lost her and perhaps that was the price he had to pay for his win. Maybe he really did love her as much as he claimed – just not more than the money.

  ‘I’m sorry, Chlo.’ The broken glass crunched underfoot as he trod over the stair and went to pass her to get to the window – but without conscious forethought, her arm shot out and she gave him a sudden, violent shove. He yelled as his arms wheeled for a stretched-out second, before gravity imposed its might and he fell, the staircase shaking as he tumbled awkwardly down the five steps to the platform below where the staircase turned. It wasn’t enough of a fall to seriously hurt him, just enough to prove a point.

  ‘No. You leave that way!’ she snarled down at him, before climbing back through the bedroom window and locking it shut, trembling violently. The parting sight of him, bleeding profusely from a split lip, lying in a crumpled heap, would have to suffice as her revenge; it was certainly the only justice Poppy would get.

  She stepped back from the glass, watching, waiting for him to suddenly reappear, bloodied now, his fist raining blows against the window. But nothing came and after a few minutes, she could make out the sound of his footsteps retreating on the stairs; they sounded uneven. Was he limping? She sure as hell hoped so.

  She stared out at the fire bucket still sitting on the steps, the ice now melting, the Bollinger bottle opened and half drunk. Five minutes ago, it had been the very vision of romance, of success. Now, it was a tableau of a deserted feast and broken dreams. She
sank onto the end of the bed and let the tears come, knowing he would take the first flight home; with the deal done, he had got what he’d come for. He was gone, this time for good. She would never see him again.

  New York was far enough, after all.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Aegean Sea, six weeks later

  Dolphins were chasing them, tracing arcs through the air before splashing seamlessly back into the water and weaving through the boat’s wake. Chloe watched them play, her cheek resting on her forearms as she leant on the rails. Poppy was sitting on one of the bucket seats on the main deck behind her, looking after their bags and enjoying the still-sizzling temperatures. After so long spent recovering indoors, she was still weak; the muscles in her leg had withered quickly and she could only walk for short periods before having to take a break – or ‘martini stop’ as she called it – but she was doing better than anyone could have expected; they had even gone clubbing one night.

  They had been right to come here, in spite of the doubters. Her parents had just wanted her home, back on the lawns of their Shropshire estate and doing nothing more taxing (or dangerous) than watching the lambs graze; the doctors would have preferred her to rest in her apartment for another month and work with a physio first before embarking on any kind of long-haul holiday. But all she had wanted to do was feel the sun on her face and the wind in her hair; to leave Manhattan and the memories of that awful incident far behind her. Like Chloe, quitting Invicta had nullified her work visa so they were free to go wherever the wind blew them, and in these last dog days of summer, Poppy had wanted to go where the sea was bluer than the sky and warmer than their drinks; it was her way of closing the door on a season spent indoors, under fluorescent lights, to the soundtrack of machines.

  The dolphins became outriders, falling back, peeling away. The island was growing ever closer, the rocky cliffs the walls that kept outsiders out. She could see people sun-bathing on the rocks, their bare bodies bright against the stone, a few local boats bobbing in the shallows.

  With a sigh, Chloe straightened up and went back to the main deck. Hidden behind her shades, Poppy looked asleep, mouth slightly open as her head tipped back. It would be several months before all the drugs completely left her system and she would begin to feel properly well again. She had had her hair cut short, a pixie cut that blended the new growth that was coming in fast from her operation; the origins of her look were set in trauma but with her sharper-than-ever cheekbones and thin-as-a-rod thighs, kicking back in her bikini top and denim shorts, she probably looked to most people like an off-duty model.

  ‘We’re almost there. Are you ready?’ she asked, sinking into the seat beside her.

  Poppy slid back up the chair. ‘Born ready, babe.’

  ‘There were dolphins just now, chasing the boat.’

  ‘Why didn’t you come and get me?’ Poppy gasped, whacking her lightly. ‘I love dolphins.’

  Chloe groaned. Of course she did. ‘Don’t worry, there’ll be others.’

  An announcement came over the speakers, making them wince – it was both blaring and inaudible at once. They picked up their backpacks and, shrugging them on, wandered over to the exit. A queue had formed already. They watched as ropes were thrown, caught and wound tightly as easily as a schoolgirl doing her ponytail, waiting their turn to step out onto the bright, bleached cobbles.

  ‘You’re gonna love this place,’ Poppy said excitedly. ‘I’ve always wanted to visit it. Plus, I’ve sent quite a few members their way over the years so it should be the red carpet treatment for us.’

  ‘Even though we’re not with Invicta any more?’

  ‘Ah, but they don’t know that,’ Poppy winked. ‘And I’ve still got some business cards on me. You?’ Chloe nodded. ‘Sorted then. We are VIP all the way, baby,’ she said, taking Chloe’s hand and raising it in the air, like a girl power salute. Chloe laughed.

  They ambled at a leisurely pace along the harbour front, Poppy pressing her face to the glass at almost every boutique window. She was like a starved woman in Fortnum’s food hall, scarcely knowing where to begin. Her small, quiet monochromatic cell had been replaced by a vividly technicolour world of foreign shouts and native aromas, strange faces and searing heat. Every sense was jarred, shaken, woken up again. It felt that way for Chloe too; she could only imagine the amplification for her friend.

  A sudden gasp made Chloe stop dead in her tracks and she looked across in panic to find Poppy’s mouth as wide as her eyes, sheer delight radiating from her. She looked back at Chloe with childlike excitement. ‘Oh my God,’ she squealed. ‘I bloody love donkeys!’

  Perhaps it was the Invicta link that saw her put back in the same room as last time. Poppy had a room on the ground floor on account of her still weak leg, as there were no lifts in the old hotel.

  She stood on the balcony, the skirt of her emerald green dress billowing in the breeze – she wore it as often as she dared these days; Elle had been right, it was important to have beautiful, frivolous things in her life, not everything had to be practical. Her hair was still wet from her shower, her make-up not yet on, as she looked over the stepped red tile roofs, enjoying the breeze that slunk around her neck like a cat’s tail. A water tanker on its way back to Athens skimmed along the horizon at a stately pace, and she spotted the first of the fishing boats coming back in, heralded by the flock of seagulls overhead in aerial convoy.

  She kept staring out, forwards, directly ahead; she was so determined to look only there. But gradually, inevitably, she succumbed to the lure of looking right – over the balcony to what had been Joe’s room. The shutters were closed with only two lounge chairs out there and a potted bougainvillea. It looked so . . . proper, now. Anonymous. She didn’t need to even close her eyes to see him leaping over the balcony wall, to remember their dressed dinner tables set up identically and turned towards each other, candles flickering, wine chilling . . .

  She turned away again.

  Poppy was in her room, resting after their short but steep hike earlier to the nearby village of Kamini. They had lunched at a taverna right on the beach, the chairs sinking into the sand as they drank wine from a thick earthenware jug, before buying bright pink lilos at a beach shop and bobbing on the sea for several hours, holding hands lest one of them should drift away. A small group of local guys had trod water beside them for a while, trying to get them to join them for drinks that night, but neither she nor Poppy were interested. In their own different ways, they were both here to recover.

  Chloe couldn’t help but notice the irony that she should be seeking refuge on this very island for a second time. And Poppy had been disappointed when she’d come clean that she had not only been here before but stayed in this same hotel too.

  She walked back into the room and lay down on her side of the bed, the embroidered cotton sheet cool against her skin. The mattress was harder than she remembered and she felt as though she was lying on the surface of it, rather than sinking in. An allegory for her life these days, she thought.

  She swept one hand across the sheet, her gaze on the plumped-up pillow beside her, the bed noticeably too big for one as her eyelids closed. Sleep coming . . . bringing relief.

  ‘. . . doing well. All set up now . . .’

  She turned her head, trying to shake him from her dream. Those eyes watching her as she slept.

  ‘. . . very comfortable . . .’

  His hand on hers, pulling her into the water.

  ‘. . . of the heat . . .’

  His fingers against hers as they crossed the street.

  ‘. . . not sure yet . . .’

  Impostor.

  ‘. . . few more weeks . . .’

  Mole.

  ‘. . . be sure it’s safe . . .’

  Something much worse.

  She awoke with a gasp, her heart beating rapidly, shame pouring through her as she realized she had dreamt of him. Again. Almost every night it was the same, his ghost stalking the palaces of her mind
, finding her though she tried to hide from him, rooting her out. It left her feeling traitorous to her own self. Confused. Helpless.

  She was surprised to see she was sitting up on the bed. How long had she been asleep for? Her gaze fell to the window. It was still light outside, not yet dusk, but the strong white afternoon light was becoming richer, more golden. Forty minutes? An hour?

  She checked her phone. Poppy had said she would text when she was up again. But noth—

  ‘. . . okay, bye . . .’

  She froze, even her heart forgetting to beat. She hadn’t dreamt it? The voice was low, accented . . . She stared at the balcony, seeing the tip of a shadow pass over hers for a moment, and then the click of the shutters being closed. Silence.

  It was several moments before she could move. She heard the sound of a door nearby being closed in the hall, footsteps on the stairs . . .

  She ran out onto the balcony and looked across. It couldn’t be what she thought. It just couldn’t.

  But there, drying on one of the chairs, was a pair of khaki swimshorts, a retro rainbow stitched across the back.

  And she realized that it damn well could.

  She knew it was crazy. As the taxi zipped across the water, she knew she shouldn’t be doing this. Curiosity had killed the cat – why not the Chloe? She knew she couldn’t trust him and yet the thought of leaving here without knowing why he had done what he’d done, who he really was . . . she wasn’t sure she could live with that. After everything that had gone down with Tom, she was done with running away. She wanted to always face the truth now, no matter how ugly or brutal, and this might be her last chance to find out. After all the theories about who and what he was, she just wanted the facts. He couldn’t be worse than Tom – could he?

  She felt her stomach clench as they curled around to the far side of the island, the cliffs rising sharply. A couple of goats – their coats silken black – peppered the rocks and even from a distance she could make out the haphazard stairs that were bolted to the rocks. The little jetty looked half rotted in the water as the driver cut the engines and they glided up to it in silence.