The Second Woman

by Charlotte Philby

  Her words hang there as David considers what she’s just said. For a moment Maria wonders if he is questioning the use of the word ‘us’. Does he even see them as a unit in this?

  She presses on. ‘What if – and I’m not saying this is necessarily the case – but what if Jeff and Jorgos are in cahoots. With your father gone, if Jeff wanted to make a play for a bigger part of the business …’

  She lets her words sit there for a while as they circle back towards the house, neither of them acknowledging Jorgos and Hans seated on the porch.

  ‘Look, I’m sorry,’ she says a while later, as they sit at the table, David fiddling with his phone. ‘I shouldn’t be putting pressure on you right now; it’s just that I’m worried about you. But I understand things are complicated.’ She leans over and touches his hand. ‘I’m so sorry about your dad, and Anna—’

  ‘Anna?’

  There is venom in his voice as David slams his phone on the table. He regards her a moment with contempt and then he stands, and moves towards the kitchen to get another bottle. Maria’s eyes fix on the unlocked phone as he casts around the kitchen.

  ‘David, just because of how things ended doesn’t mean you’re not going to feel upset. You loved her and she betrayed you, but that doesn’t mean—’

  She doesn’t have time to doubt herself. She keeps one eye on him as he moves between cupboards with his back to her, unsteady on his feet. Reaching forward, glancing briefly back up at him, she turns the phone over and scrolls past the apps until she finds Voice Memos.

  Pressing ‘record’ she returns the phone to its face-down position as David begins to move back towards her.

  ‘You think I’m upset about Anna? You think I feel remorse for what we did?’ His words are so matter-of-fact, she can hardly believe she is hearing them. ‘Getting rid of Anna was the best thing I’ve ever done in my pathetic life.’ His eyes are shining with a sort of furious glee. ‘Knowing she suffered, just as she made me suffer, is only bettered by the fact that she will have known that he was the one who betrayed her. After everything she did for him – after the things she put me through in order to help him: after making me raise his babies, believing them to be mine …’ He nods, reassuring himself more than her. ‘When she died she will have looked him in the eyes and she will have known that he was complicit in her death.’

  Maria’s throat is dry, her voice rasping when she speaks. ‘Who, David?’

  ‘Harry bloody Dwyer! The man she was fucking,’ he announces triumphantly. ‘He was the one who got her to open the door to the men who—’ His face falls. Maria can no longer be sure if it is David swaying with nausea, or her.

  ‘Harry Dwyer. Our very own Trojan Horse.’

  * * *

  Maria’s head is swimming as she leaves the villa. There is nowhere to go. She wants to scream. The whole island seems to be growing smaller and smaller by the day until she feels she will suffocate.

  Harry was in on it. Harry knew they were going to kill Anna? Her mind tilts one way and then the other, finally settling on David’s phone.

  She waits until the dead of night, for his snore to grow loud enough that she knows he won’t wake again, then she picks up her phone and moves outside, silently pulling the front door closed behind her.

  A cool sea breeze follows as she moves, barefoot, towards the shoreline, keeping to the shadows, avoiding the sightline of the second villa as best she can. When she glances up at it, she sees the lights are on, but there are no signs of life inside, or on the terrace. She stops and listens, waiting until she is sure it is quiet before she carries on.

  Crouching behind the narrow trunk of a palm tree, she scrolls through her address book until she reaches a number she hasn’t dialled before, one she secreted from Anna’s phone in the early days and passed on to Felicity, along with everything else, not long before Felicity cut her off once and for good.

  It is late both here and in England and the phone rings several times before Anna’s mother answers. She sounds older than she must be, and understandably perturbed by the unexpected call in the middle of the night.

  ‘Yes?’ she says and Maria clears her throat, talking as quietly as she can whilst still making herself heard.

  ‘I am so sorry to bother you. I know it’s late and you don’t know me, but I am a friend of Anna’s and I need to talk to you.’

  ‘Isobel Mason, is that you? Trying to stir things up with your suggestions that my daughter’s death was not suicide?’ Her voice is a mixture of anger and fear.

  ‘No, it’s not Isobel,’ Maria said quietly, trying to sound reassuring.

  ‘So you’re another journalist, bothering me in the middle of the night when there are children asleep upstairs? Like I told Isobel, I am not interested in telling my story—’

  Maria whimpers at the mention of the twins. ‘Diane, I am not a journalist, I promise you. My name is Maria, I was the nanny to Stella and Rose. That’s why I’m ringing, to check on the girls. I wanted to—’

  ‘Maria?’ Diane’s voice is calmer now.

  ‘Anna mentioned me?’ She looks up, noticing the lights inside the villas are now off.

  ‘No. But she left something for you … in her will. A letter.’

  ‘For me?’ Maria says, her fingers stretching into the sand. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Quite sure,’ she says. ‘It’s with the lawyer. Only you are allowed to collect it, in person. Anna’s instructions were very clear.’

  Diane’s voice breaks, and Maria feels a pang of sadness for the woman who by all accounts couldn’t find enough warmth in her heart to be a proper mother to Anna whilst she was still alive.

  As if reading Maria’s thoughts, Diane clears her throat. ‘I was a terrible mother. After Thomas died I blamed her, and she knew it. I blamed her because she was supposed to be watching him and she didn’t, when he fell from the roof. Do you have any idea what it’s like to lose not one but two children?’

  ‘I have no idea how you must be feeling,’ Maria tries to comfort her, her attention pricked by a shadow on the terrace. She ducks down, further out of sight, but when she looks again it is completely dark.

  ‘I’m so sorry, but I have to be quick. Please can I have the details of the solicitor?’

  Committing the number and the address to memory, Maria ends the call, asking Diane to send her love to the girls and promising to ring again soon.

  ‘I can’t have them here forever,’ Diane says plainly before the call ends, and any tenderness Maria was beginning to feel towards the woman hardens. What kind of woman rejects her own grieving grandchildren?

  ‘You won’t have to,’ she says. ‘But please look after them until something can be worked out. I’ll call again soon. Diane …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Can I have the number of the journalist – Isobel Mason?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I’ll get her to leave you alone. It’s not right that the girls should have to risk having her call again, upsetting you at this time.’

  Diane sniffs. ‘People have no idea how hard this has been for me.’

  Maria swallows. ‘I know. I’ll speak to her. I’ll sort it out.’

  Maria’s fingers are shaking as she dials again. The voice at the end of the line, when it answers just two rings later, sounds younger than she had imagined.

  ‘Is that Isobel Mason?’

  ‘Speaking. Who’s this?’ the woman replies, clearly still awake.

  ‘My name’s Maria. I’m … I am— I was the nanny for Anna Witherall and her children. Her mother, Diane, gave me your number – she said that you’d been going to the house. She said that you were asking questions about Anna’s death. She said that you were unconvinced that it was suicide.’

  ‘Oh,’ the woman says, flustered but keen to keep her on the line. ‘Yes, I’m Isobel. I’m a reporter, I’d love to talk—’

  Maria breathes deeply before carrying on, knowing she is taking a risk by talking to this person, who could
be anyone, though she has no other option. ‘I need your help.’

  It’s hazy when Maria wakes the next day, David’s side of the bed already empty beside her. Instinctively, she reaches down the side of her bed for her tote bag, which is just where she left it. She is about to pick it up when she hears movement in the kitchen.

  Freezing, she sits up slowly and kicks the bag more discreetly under the bed.

  ‘Did you sleep well?’ Jorgos asks in Greek, from his position at the kitchen table, as she enters the room.

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ she replies in English, not looking at him as she moves to the counter and fills the kettle, the sound of the water hitting metal rising above the tapping of her own heartbeat. ‘Where’s David?’

  ‘He just went to get something.’

  ‘Are you working in here today?’

  He doesn’t respond and she places the kettle on its stand, moving to the fridge. The cool air hits her face and she stands for a moment, letting it soothe the heat rising in her cheeks. What is he doing here? She closes the fridge door, gripping it briefly before turning to face him, telling herself he doesn’t know anything.

  ‘Would you like coffee?’ She makes herself half-smile at him.

  ‘Mmm,’ he says. ‘Your mother used to make me coffee at Clive’s house in Greece, when she was his cleaner.’

  Something about hearing him refer to her mother makes Maria bristle. ‘She wasn’t exactly a cleaner,’ she responds, her tone lighter than she feels.

  ‘It wasn’t a slight,’ Jorgos says. ‘I liked Athena. I still do. She was a good friend, loyal.’

  Maria says nothing, scooping three spoons of coffee into the cafetiere, before picking up the kettle, tipping it and watching the boiling water cascade onto the granules.

  When she hears his voice again it is right behind her. ‘Not like her friend.’

  Maria pulls herself closer to the counter, away from him, holding herself there. ‘You remember Artemis, don’t you?’ Jorgos says, his voice a whisper, taking a step closer, so close that Maria dare not exhale for fear she will touch him. She feels the breath expanding in her lungs until her chest aches.

  She is suddenly aware of the kettle still grasped between her fingers, feeling her arm lift a little when the door clatters open.

  ‘Maria?’

  ‘David.’ She turns quickly, the hot water splashing out and catching Jorgos’ shoulder as he also turns towards the sound of David’s voice.

  ‘Malaka,’ he cries out, grabbing his shoulder and stepping away from her.

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean—’ she says, as David steps forward.

  ‘Jorgos, are you all right?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ he says, lifting his hand, trying to suppress the pain in his expression. ‘Maria was just making us coffee. She needs to learn to be more careful.’

  The men take their coffee to the other villa, and Maria moves straight into the bedroom, rifling for her phone and moving into the bathroom before the maid arrives. She is shaking as she waits for it to come on. When it does, the message is waiting for her: ‘My name is Madeleine. Isobel contacted me, I can help you.’

  Maria

  ‘How was Jorgos’ shoulder?’ Maria asks later, once they are seated on the shore overlooking the water, which unfolds, uninterrupted, into an unbroken blue sky.

  ‘Hmm?’ David is distracted again, taking a second to register her question before answering. ‘Oh, fine.’

  ‘David.’ She takes his hand, willing him to look at her. ‘I think we need to leave.’

  ‘Leave? What are you talking about?’

  Maria speaks slowly, keeping her voice calm. ‘I don’t trust them.’

  ‘Trust who?’

  ‘Jorgos, and that meathead, Hans. I don’t think they have our best interests at heart.’

  ‘Why would you say that?’ He pulls his hand away from her defensively.

  ‘You said it yourself, Jorgos is clearly siding with Jeff.’

  ‘This isn’t primary school, Maria, there aren’t sides.’

  ‘No,’ Maria says, her voice losing its patience. ‘It’s a multi-billion dollar company that Clive and you have a major stake in – now with Clive gone, don’t you think it’s possible that … I don’t know, David, maybe they’re trying to control you?’

  David shakes his head, less confidently this time, and so she presses on.

  ‘With Clive gone, and Jeff pushing for things you’re not comfortable with, isn’t it possible that Jeff has charged Jorgos with watching you, controlling you, under the guise of protection?’

  ‘I don’t understand what you’re saying,’ David says, childlike, though she can see he is listening.

  ‘I’m saying we need to go somewhere – just you and me. Anywhere we like, within reason. The point is to get you somewhere where you can be autonomous, start the conversations you need to have with your other business partners, without Jeff as a constant intermediary.’

  She reaches again for David’s hand and this time he doesn’t resist. ‘Look, I don’t like saying this, but they’re trying to push you out. Without your father, they think you’re weak. How long do you expect to stay here, under their watch? They’re not keeping you safe, they’re keeping you where they can monitor you. We’re their prisoners, David.’

  Maria lowers her voice, aware of one of the maids cleaning down the sun loungers at the edge of the garden. She focuses on the thought of Madeleine’s message, and then continues. ‘Where we go is up to you. You could instruct your pilot to take us straight there. Without Jorgos. It has to be dictated by your job, by where makes sense for the business. You have to step up, before they crush you.’

  After lunch, Maria goes to bed for a nap, leaving David to head outside with his phone. She is awoken by the sound of movement in the bedroom.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she asks, sitting up in bed.

  ‘I’m packing,’ David replies, without looking up.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’re right. We need to get out of here. Tomorrow …’

  ‘Tomorrow?’ Maria sits up. ‘What? I don’t understand …’

  ‘I’ve arranged it all.’ David doesn’t look at her. ‘The pilot is coming to collect us at noon.’

  ‘Noon?’

  ‘What’s the matter? I thought you’d be pleased.’

  ‘I am, it’s just … Where are we going?’

  Maria

  A silence descends as Maria and David board the seaplane for the first leg of the journey, as if the whole island is holding its breath.

  Jorgos and Hans stand at the shore, watching them, neither attempting to stop them leaving. For the first time in as long as she can remember, David is calm beside her in his seat. She thinks of his body the night before, tossing and turning for what felt like hours before it finally succumbed to a peaceful rhythm.

  Still she had waited until she could hear him snoring before moving across the room towards the chair over which his trousers were slung. She only paused for a second, looking back at him as she gingerly reached inside the pocket and pulled out his phone.

  As the plane takes off, Maria feels the same pressure tightening in her chest that she’d felt as she moved in front of David’s sleeping body on the bed, muttering a prayer and then pressing the screen-lock on his phone against his thumb. At first the contact was too light, so she had to hold his wrist and press more firmly until the screen finally lit up.

  ‘We’re refuelling in Dubai, right?’ Maria says and David considers her words as he uncorks the bottle of champagne he has retrieved from the fridge, pouring each of them a glass. Not that it matters. She had sent Madeleine a screenshot of their location from the Maps on his phone, alongside the recording she had made, before deleting both as well as the Sent message.

  Wherever they stop, someone will surely be waiting.

  ‘Why do you want to know,’ David says, the question taking her by surprise.

  ‘I’m just asking,’ she replies, the leather of th
e seats beneath her turning moist. ‘I know we have two stops to refuel before Dominica so I just wondered which was first.’

  David thinks for a moment, the tiny movements of his eyes suggesting a thousand possibilities. ‘You sound nervous. Are you scared?’

  She shakes her head. ‘Maybe a little. I don’t like flying.’

  ‘It’s OK, I’ll look after you.’ David takes her hand, and she thinks of the night he first kissed her, their fingers entwined as she guided him along the dark path by her house.

  ‘Whatever happens, I’ll always look after you.’

  They fly for what feels like an eternity, Maria closing her eyes for much of the journey so as to avoid having to look at him.

  When the plane finally starts to dip towards the tarmac, she doesn’t dare speak, her fingernails pressing into the armrests on either side of her seat.

  ‘Are you OK?’ David asks and Maria shakes her head.

  She feels his eyes on her face as the plane descends, as if he can’t bring himself to look outside.

  When he does, he pulls away from her. ‘No. No, no, no …’ He stands, pulling at his seat belt, and moves towards the cockpit, calling to the captain not to land.

  The pilot doesn’t look back, continuing his course to the runway where the officers await, just as Madeleine had promised.

  All the while, David holds onto the handle to the cockpit, his eyes trained on Maria. ‘Please no, please no.’

  He sounds like a child and Maria feels her head shaking. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she tries to say but no words come, her mouth quivering as the wheels clatter onto the runway.

  Maria

  London, a month after the inquest

  It’s a short taxi ride from Guildford station to the cul-de-sac. Maria lets her eyes travel over the buildings and trees, the sense of clarity offered by the cloud somehow reassuring after the unwieldy expanse of the Maldivian sky.

  ‘Please wait here,’ she says to the driver before stepping out of the car.

  She stands for a minute in front of Anna’s childhood home, taking in the sycamore tree overlooking the red-brick house with its detached flat-roofed garage. A picture of orderly middle-England.