"I don’t believe it was a man. Men fight it out to defend their pride. It would not satisfy a spurned husband to quietly poison his rival." I look at both men present and detect the hint of a smile as I see Briony’s face from the corner of my eye.
"This is probably true. Although, if it was not the motive, then I cannot think of one at all. Caspar was, shall we say, not above an affair. Whether any husband knew of it, I cannot say." Daniel lifts his hands, palms out in a defeated gesture before he lets them drop limply onto his lap.
"The police will have a better idea of how to catch the guilty party." Briony concludes the conversation. She stands up, "I am sorry, but I must call Laria and tell her what has happened. She called earlier and left a message with Niobe. Please excuse me."
I wonder whether she is really calling Laria, or simply escaping to avoid having to hear further speculation on this ghastly matter. I wouldn’t blame her. Much as we are alike, we were raised very differently. Briony was protected by her parents like a fragile porcelain doll. During the war, they tried to hide newspapers and radios from her for fear of her hearing what might upset her. She is a gentle soul, and while I am not what one might call hardened, I believe she is still shielded as if by an armor from certain miseries that come with reality. I hope she will forever remain protected the way she has always been. A cynical Briony would be a loss of light in the world.
"I am sorry this is causing you all such distress," Daniel says, while we know his suffering must be far greater than our own.
Jeffrey waves a hand and shakes his head. "Please, Daniel. I will not hear of you blaming yourself for any of this. What happened is one person’s fault, and whoever it is will be found, of that I am confident."
"I wish I shared your confidence," a sad smile plays with the edges of Daniel’s mouth. "I do not know where to begin. On the one hand, Caspar lacks …
lacked
both tact and gentility, and on the other he could charm an ogre. I do not know whom he offended to such a degree." He lets out a breath. "It is all so unbelievable."
Unbelievable
is truly the best word to describe the situation. Yet believe it we must.
"Inspector Dymas seems a competent man. Do you not think so?" I try to bring a degree of confidence into my tone.
"Yes, good man, Dymas." Jeffrey nods, clapping his thigh in one of those self-assured, meaningless gestures I have only ever seen men make.
"And he said he would keep us informed, which is all we can ask of him at this stage."
Daniel creases his brow. "I suspect he is being so agreeable largely because Caspar was a tourist. An Englishman dies on his patch, and he has the miserable task of having to investigate thoroughly. Otherwise, it will undoubtedly cast a shadow over Crete."
"Oh yes, they will be worried. I can see the newspaper headline once this gets out, ‘Englishman Victim of Cretans’ or ‘Crete: the Den of Cretins’. They will be doing what they can to resolve this and pronto!" Jeffrey waves a pointed finger.
As I open my mouth to reply, Niobe appears in the doorway. The men, not facing her, do not notice, so I smile and beckon her forward.
"Niobe," I wave a hand. She seems reluctant, her left hand holding the wooden pane as she hovers for another moment in the frame, looking like a painting.
"Niobe, is everything all right?" The men have turned toward the young woman, and Jeffrey looks up at her as he speaks.
"I do not know, Mr. Farnham. There is a man on the telephone. He wants to speak to you. He would not tell me his name."
"Not someone from the museum, then? Hm … right, lead on." Jeffrey gets up, gives Daniel and me an apologetic little grin and follows Niobe back into the main house.
For a moment, there is silence, and my mind returns to the last conversation we had with one another. The night of the dinner party. The night Caspar was still alive. Yesterday. As my mind flashes back to the scene, I remember a vague glimpse of him talking to the young maid before we left the house to go outside.
Could he have acosted Niobe?
I hope not. She appears to be a kind, if slightly melancholy young woman. I supress a shiver considering the chilling possibility of someone in this household being in any way involved in the whole ugly business. We were in town, which leaves the staff. The inspector apparently accepted their alibis. Still, I now wonder what Caspar said to make Niobe so ill at ease?
Daniel’s voice pushes my thoughts aside, and I avert my gaze, away from the fauna beyond the windows and back to his weary face.
"I must tell Caspar’s father before any outside news reaches him. Ballantine is not a common name, should it appear in a paper." Daniel rubs his temple, "I tried calling this morning, but missed him. He is in Brighton, visiting his sister and he won’t be back until the weekend. I will have to send a telegraph."
"Were they very close?" I lean forward a little in my chair, placing my hands on the table. My uncle Brendan once told me,
people are more likely to trust you when they see your hands
. Could be a load of hogwash, it was said after a few glasses of brandy after all, but worth a try.
"No, not really. It will be a terrible blow for him still. Caspar was his only child, his wife died in childbirth …"
"I see." I cannot think of what else to say.
"I grew up with him always around. He taught Caspar and me how to fish. It will be very difficult to tell him what has happened."
His words fill the space between us. Daniel needs to talk and, given the chance, I believe he will. His green eyes fix mine as if he is trying to assess whether I am worthy of his trust.
"Shall we take a walk?"
His suggestion surprises me, and I nod and get up. He leads me into the house and toward the front door. I couldn’t bear to walk the garden, passing the forever-branded spot. Surely Daniel feels the same. As we make for the door, Jeffrey comes back into view.
"Everything all right?"
"Yes, we are going for a walk. I can’t sit here all day wondering. Some movement will be good."
"Yes, yes," Jeffrey nods somewhat absentmindedly. I wonder who called him? "Good idea. You won’t be upset if I don’t join you? I have a mountain of work to look at."
"No, not at all," Daniel replies. "Where is Briony?"
"She is discussing something with the cook. To be honest," Jeffrey lowers his voice, "she is much more upset by all this than she lets on."
"Then maybe I should look after her?" My forehead tenses in concern.
"No, I will send her off to bed. You go for a walk. Take the road to Miklos. Daniel knows the way. It might be a nice distraction." As he says it, he knows it won’t be. Nevertheless, it is a kind thought and, I offer him a smile and pat his arm.
"We’ll do that." Almost as an afterthought I add, "I hope your mystery caller didn’t add any more to your work load."
Jeffrey goes very pale. "No, not really. It wasn’t a collegue, you see." He looks nervously from Daniel to me. "It was a man from the local newspaper, actually. A Davros Kanansakis, if I got that right. He, well he …" He stumbles over his words, and Daniel jumps in.
"He wanted to get the story?"
"I’m afraid so," Jeffrey does a nervous shuffle, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. It’s making me jittery just watching him.
"What did you tell him?"
"Nothing!" Jeffrey’s eyes grow wide and he stops his little dance.
"It’s all right, Jeffrey. I knew the vultures would smell a good story. I just don’t understand how they found out so quickly."
"News travels fast here. Someone at the Miklos police station might have told his wife, and she told her neighbor, and on and on the chain goes until everyone knows and the story is so wildly exaggerated, they might as well be recounting a fairy-tale."
"The nature of gossip." The fact that reporters are beginning to hound us already sets me on edge.
"You two go for your walk. I will check on Briony and get some of my work done." Jeffrey bestows a fatherly smile on us.
"Right, then. We will see you in a while."
CHAPTER 8
Daniel and I leave, making our way along the gravel driveway and toward the road. I am glad I remembered to grab my hat from the hallway stand as the sun is high and bright. We walk in silence, the gravel underfoot crunching beneath the weight of our steps.
Upon reaching the road to the village leaving the house behind, a strange lightness comes over me as though a load bearing down on me is lifted the more we distance ourselves from the villa. From the scene of the crime. I look at Daniel, who straightens, and wonder whether it feels the same for him.
"Do you know many people on the island? You’ve been here how long now, a few months?" I watch his profile from below the brim of my straw hat. The sun has dappled his hair with streaks of amber and his skin, outside the house, has lost some of its pallor.
"Just a few locals. People we went sailing with, fishermen and Jeffrey and Briony’s friends you met at the dinner party." His mind must be drifting back to the night when, under the star-speckled sky, everything was peaceful and pleasant. I try to move our conversation onto a lighter path.
"Sailing? After the voyage on that ferry the Sirens themselves couldn’t coax me onto a boat. Don’t you find the sea terribly rough?" I watch with pleasure as a smile creeps into his face.
"Yes, it can be quite severe, but once you are in calmer waters, it is like nothing else in the world. The fishermen I have gone out with know exactly where the sea is peaceful and where the fish like to gather."
"I must admit, I haven’t been on many sea-vessels. I’m a city girl, though I did go punting at Oxford a few times. I suppose it is hardly comparable."
He turns slightly and gives me a curious glance."You studied there." It is not a question, which somehow pleases me.
"Yes, at St. Hugh’s. Not many of the colleges accept women, of course. St. Hugh’s always has. I read classics."
"Ah, so Greece must be a dream come true. Have you been here before?"
"Never, sadly. I really ought to brush up on my Greek skills. I am embarassed to admit, I am by no means fluent."
"That’s all right. So many of the islanders I have met have been very patient and try to speak English. Some speak it as well as you and I."
"I noticed that. Niobe, for one, speaks perfectly. She said her father wanted her to learn."
"I am sure it helps with employment nowadays."
"I should very much like to see the Acropolis some time and Knossos, which is so close. I was hoping Jeffrey might take us one day," I say as we round a bend and see the low walls of Miklos village in the near distance.
"Yes, you must. It is quite a site. I went there when we first arrived." I was hoping he would offer to accompany me, but perhaps that is too much to ask, his mind being occupied with other matters. A car, a standard black model, drives from the village gate toward us, slowing on its approach.
"Lady Evelyn, Daniel, what a coincidence!" It is Darius, the museum curator and Jeffrey’s collegue. He pulls over to our side of the road, leaving barely enough space for a bicycle to pass by. We move further to the side, and Darius pokes his head out of the window. He is wearing his small round specs and a mournful expression.
"I am so terribly grieved by what has happened. I called Jeffrey earlier this morning, and he told me. What a waste, what a tragic waste." He shakes his head and sighs. Daniel and I do not quite know what to say and simply nod along somberly.
"Are you driving to the villa, Mr. Calandra?" I aim to steer the subject from Caspar’s death.
"Oh yes. Darius, please call me Darius."
"Then you must call me Evelyn."
"Very good. I wanted to see how you all are managing. I don’t want to impose, Jeffery is a good friend and if there is anything I can do to help …"
"Actually," Daniel’s voice surprises me, "you might be contacted by the police. Inspector Dymas is in charge of the case."
A look of surprise plays across Darius’ face before he answers. "Dymas, I know him. He is a good man. Why would he want to speak to me?" He raises his shoulders slighty. "I will do what I can, of course, but I do not see what he could ask of me?"
"It is probably routine. Do not worry. He wants to speak to all the people at the dinner, because we were among the last to be in his company — " he falters, swallows, and adds, "when he was alive."
"Yes, I understand," he says slowly.
"Well, we don’t want to keep you." Daniel forces a smile, and I follow suit. A rickety looking delivery truck laden with crates slowly approaches, but cannot possibly sqeeze through the narrow gap between the fenced edge of the road and Darius’ motorcar.
"I should go." Darius casts a fleeting glance at the truck, and the driver makes an impatient gesture. Daniel and I step back to allow Darius to move without compromising our feet.