"Yes, the doctor said there didn’t seem to be anything wrong, but who knows!"
"What about your mother? Your parents visited a few months ago, what did she say?" Again Briony shakes her head.
"I couldn’t tell her. I couldn’t say it. Everyone was so jolly, admiring the house, the home Jeffrey and I created. I just couldn’t spoil it by speaking of such ugly things." She looks so vulnerably and small, and I desperately wish I had something of any use to offer, but I don’t, so I stay silent, allowing her thoughts to settle.
We sip at our lemonades in this state of quiet restlessness. Slowly, Briony’s face, which had taken on a blotchy pink hue, calms and returns to its usual porcelain likeness. When we finish, we rise, gathering our few belongings and head back in the direction of the
Agora
where Yannick is to meet us.
Walking along, we make an occasional remark on the pretty flowers overflowing their windowboxes, or on the strangeness of the Greek spelling of street names, neither of us mentioning what has been said. There is nothing I can offer, and I am sad and helpless as I see Briony’s yearning eyes follow two beautiful, tiny, black-haired children, passing by us in an alley, clinging to their mother’s hands. I ache for her, but am hopeful her fears are soon to be allayed.
Yannick is true to his word and meets us at precisely the corner where he dropped us off hours ago. Despite all I saw and the delight I took in it, I feel drained. Briony’s troubles have drifted over to me, and I cannot get her tear-stained, desperate face out of my mind.
Daniel and Jeffrey are already waiting as we drive up to the entrance of the museum. They climb into the car, both appearing pleased and relaxed. For a split second, I begrudge Jeffrey his pleasure. Is he struggling, too? Has Briony told him how she feels, what she fears? Am I the only one in her confidence?
"Did you ladies have a nice day?" Jeffrey asks, all innocence as he cranes his head slightly to look at us. Briony’s face is once again shaded by the wide-brimmed hat, and I cannot see her reaction.
"Yes," I attempt a light tone, forcing away my worries, "yes, Briony took me to the
Agora
, and I found this in a little shop." I hold up the small book.
"Oh yes, the Maypother. Quite amusing. He was a raving lunatic, you know." Jeffery places his arm on the shoulder-rest as he talks to us.
"Why do you say that?"
A knowing smile pulls up the left corner of Jeffrey’s mouth. "He was convinced the gods lived here among us. He worried and rather upset a number of his neighbors with his antics, until he was asked to leave. Or so the story goes. In truth, I think he was a lonely man with a wild imagination. It frightened people that he seemed to live more in his mind than in reality. Lonliness can do that to people. He wrote his book, but left shortly after. I don’t know what became of him."
"What a sad story." Briony’s voice is flat and low, and for a moment I fear a new onslought of tears.
"Yes, I wonder what happened to him." Daniel’s tone is subdued as well. Dear me, what have I gotten myself into!
"Well, an active imagination is something to be envied, in my opinion," I announce, trying to bring a sense of lightness back into the car. "It certainly makes for interesting reading."
"Indeed." Jeffrey nods and moves back around to look at the view ahead.
The drive seems shorter than in the morning, and before I can fully relax against the plump upolstery of the seat, the car crunches over the gravel of the villa’s driveway. The sun is still glowing white and beaming amid a canvas of blue.
"Let me help you," Daniel offers as I struggle out of the backseat, holding my bag of pistachios in one hand and the book in the other. I let him assist me and hand him the nuts to hold while I disembark.
"Thank you," I say, reclaiming my treat and follow the others to the front door, which is being pulled open by a harried looking Niobe.
"Thank you, Niobe," Jeffrey hands her his hat and briefcase. As she holds out her hand for Daniel’s, he declines with a smile.
"Shall we have drinks on the veranda in an hour or so?" Briony asks. She has removed the hat, and her face is again looking rosy, without red-rimmed eyes unveiling her distress.
"Yes, lovely," I nod, "It is so pleasant outside, I might just sit below the great oak and get a start on my book."
"Yes, do, you can tell me what you think at dinner," Jeffrey chimes in.
"I will go to write a few letters, and then I had better see how Casper is faring and let him know we’re back." Daniel disappears up the stairs. Jeffrey vanishes into his library, leaving only Briony and me in the hall.
"Briony, you should get an hour’s rest. Try to stay optimistic," I reach out and sqeeze her hand. "You will see see, it will all work out as it should." I cannot be at all certain it will, but I am hopeful nonetheless. She smiles halfheartedly.
"You are probably right." She sighs. "I think I will have a little lie down, you don’t mind do you?"
"Don’t be silly. I have Mr. Maypother for company. Go on."
Nodding, she walks off, and I take myself outside to the garden. To be honest, I am quite happy for a few moments quiet. So much has happened, and I need some time to think. Holding my book, I make my way along the small stone-laid path toward the tree. The wind, at this greater elevation is stronger, but not at all unpleasant, and I take off my hat to let it tease my hair. Is there anything like the warm wind in one’s hair? Bliss.
Oh, what is that?
I take a few cautious steps toward the tree. Someone has left their shoes lying here. No … someone is here. Taking a nap? For a moment, a flash of irritation that someone else has taken my spot stirs in me. It must be Caspar, who else could it be. I step closer, around the tree to the spot where the bench is half hidden beneath embracing branches.
It is Caspar. He is sprawled out on the grassy ground, dead to the world. I sigh with undisguised disappointment. Fine, I will find another place to read. I don’t want to wake him and be forced to make polite chit-chat. Just as I am about to turn around and sneak back, I notice the peculiar color of his face. He must have been out here for hours and has become terribly sunburnt. But the oak casts such a shadow … How would the blazing rays of the sun have reached him? I take a step closer, thinking now I ought to wake him, to tell him he needs to drink some water and cool himself down. As I bend to tap his shoulder, I cannot help noticing there is something unnatural about the slightly purple tint to his lips. Wine stains? Drinking in the middle of the day and then lying in the sun is certainly not a healthy combination. Shaking my head at his folly, I carefully prod his shoulder. Nothing. I push a little harder.
"Mr. Ballantine? Caspar …" Nothing.
Oh dear, what if he is ill.
Swallowing my growing fear, I press two fingers nervously to his throat. I start to tremble, forcing myself to lean closer. His chest neither rises nor falls. No movement. No breath.
No life.
As the realization comes to me with alarming force, I shudder. It takes only a moment to find my voice, and I let out a highpitched scream.
I don’t know how long I wait beside the dead body of a man I met less than a day ago. My eyes are still transfixed on his face in mesmerized horror. How could I have been so blind? While I was mentally berating him for drunkeness, he was lying dead at my feet. My whole body is covered in goosebumps, and I wrap my arms around myself, more for comfort than warmth.
Finally, after what seems an age, but in truth has been only one or two minutes, I hear footsteps coming from the house. They are heavy, and I experience a flash of gratitude that it is not Briony. What will this do to her? I turn around, relieved to see Jeffrey approaching.
"What is it? Have you fallen? Are you hurt?" He comes around the bend where I am still sitting on the ground. I force myself to shake my head, to speak.
"J-Jeffrey, he," my voice falters for a moment as I watch him take in the scene, "he is dead!" The last word leaves my throat in a shrill tone, which startles me all over again.
Jeffrey looks at the little tableau in confusion. It takes only a moment for it all to register, and I notice the change in his face as confusion turns to horror. In two swift strides he is at my side, repeating the desperate search for signs of life. He finds no pulse, nor any breath left in the young man’s body.
"Good God." He whispers. I can hear another footfall nearing.
"Jeffrey? Did I hear someone scream?" It is Daniel. Oh no, he shouldn’t find his childhood friend like this. A tremor of panic flashes through my mind, but I am in no state to prevent the footsteps from drawing closer, keeping Daniel from turning the bend. So I sit as though frozen beside Caspar Ballantine’s body as Jeffrey rises, turning towards his friend, beginning to speak, to explain, to soothe. I am deaf to their words, blind to the blue sky, the colorful birds, blooming flowers, numb to the gentle breeze. I hoped I had left death behind. What a fool I was! I saw only the majestic Zeus and powerful Poseidon, forgetting their other brother, dark and dreadful, Hades.
The next hour passes in a blur. At some point Briony is woken and told what has happened. I am pulled off the ground, oblivious to the deep grass stains in my white linen shift. The local police, Inspector Adriano Dymas, arrive with the coroner to pronouce Caspar dead, and take him away. No one is quite certain of what to do. I sit at the small round table on the veranda, unable to peel my eyes from the spot behind the tree where Caspar took his final breath. I barely knew him, of course, but his death has shaken me severely. I thought of this new place as an oasis, a wonderful escape, a chance to start afresh without past wounds being ripped open time and time again. What is it now? The place where I found a dead man in the garden. Everything around that seemed so bright and vibrant, brimming with life, is suddenly dimmed, viewed through a dulling lens.
Briony sits with me as we wait for the police inspector to talk to us. Daniel and Jeffrey are speaking to him in the conservatory. Briony had wanted to take me inside, but I needed air, so she brought a cardigan to drape around my shoulders and two cups of sweet tea. I keep thinking,
what happened
? What in heavens name caused a young, by all impressions healthy man, to die so suddenly? I am certainly no physician, but as my mind turns to the ghastly image of his face over and over again, I cannot come up with any logical explanation. Did a bee sting him, and he had a shock? Did he drink too much and hit his head? No, there would have been blood, and there was none. Feelings of frustration and utter helplessness mingle inside me.
"Drink up, Evie, it’ll do you good." Briony has placed a comforting hand on my forearm, pushing my teacup closer with the other.
Too tired to argue, I take an obliging sip of the syrupy liquid.
"It’s vile I know, but it’s supposed to help with shock. This is just so awful, Evie! I can’t believe it." She shakes her head. Her skin is pale, and she looks as I feel.
"I know." I force down another timid sip. "It is as though we are in some sort of hellish nightmare, but I’ve pinched myself and it’s all still here." Closing my eyes for a moment, I want at once to rest and to run away. "Daniel must feel utterly wretched. They were quite close, I think. Almost like us." I shudder involuntarily. "Sorry."
"No, you’re right. They grew up together. Caspar is …was his best friend. He was a decent fellow as far as I knew him, which wasn’t very far at all. Although he had been at the booze a bit much lately."
"Poor man. That poor, poor man. He was so young." I am cold now. The sun has begun its descent, moving on to warm others far away. Still, I cannot bring myself to move. I want the wind, which has grown colder and sharper, to sweep over me, to make me shiver, to fill my lungs with life giving force, to make me feel I am still here. The thought brings on a strange wave of guilt. I am alive and Caspar is dead.
Before I can sink deeper into despair, I hear the door behind us opening. The Inspector, a man perhaps seven years my senior steps onto the tiled veranda, Jeffrey in his wake.
"Hello, I am Detective Inspector Adriano Dymas." He gives us a curt nod, then turns to look directly at me. His gaze is focused and not unkind. "I must ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind. I believe it was you who found the body of Mr. Ballantine."
"Yes." I swallow, experiencing a tinge of anxiety, though of course I have done nothing wrong. For a moment no one moves, then Briony, as if awakening, gets up with a start.
"Oh, yes. I am sorry. You want to speak to her alone." She is clearly reluctant to leave and lingers by my side, a hand on my shoulder, a protective hovering presence. "Perhaps, I could stay. I won’t interrupt, I—"
"It’s all right," I pat her hand. "Truly. Make youself a proper cup of tea." Hesitating a few seconds, she finally pulls away, disappearing into the villa with Jeffrey’s hand on her back.
The inspector takes a seat in the small chair Briony has vacated. His frame is too large for the delicate, wrought-iron furniture, all broad shoulders and long, solid limbs.
"Lady Carlisle," he pauses, a crease forming between his generous eyebrows, "I am sorry you had to be the one to find the body. A very bad business." Resting his hands on the table, he appears completely at ease, despite the circumstances of our meeting.