"Perhaps he will join me. Do you know where he is?"
"In the conservatory, Miss."
"Thank you, Niobe." As I look at her before she turns to leave, I notice the pale red rims around her eyes and the dark shadows below them. An instant stab of guilt grips me. I completely forgot to ask after her. The poor girl must be as shocked as any of us. "Niobe?"
"Yes? Can I get you something else?"
"No, no, this is perfect," I gesture at the tray. "I was wondering how you are? This has all been a terrible shock, and you knew Mr. Ballantine longer than I did. Are you all right?" It takes her a moment to answer as she stands awkwardly beside the table.
"I am fine. I did not really know him."
"Still, it must have been a bad shock." The word hangs in the air, and I wonder at this young woman’s composure. Suddenly, the image of Caspar and her talking away from the group at the dinner party flashes across my mind. She seemed uneasy then, harassed even. Was it simply the old case of upstairs getting too friendly with downstairs, or something more?
"Is there anything else I can help you with?" There is a hint of impatience her voice.
"No, thank you for the meal, it looks lovely."
Niobe nods, turns and hurries from the room. Strange. Of course, she may simply feel disinclined to unburden herself to me, a relative stranger, but I get the sense there is something I cannot place a finger on, that is just not right.
Sighing, I lift a pastry from the tray, lean back in the chair, and take a satisfying bite. As the savory flavors of spinach, cheese and buttery crust melt in my mouth, I push suspicions from my mind, open my book and wonder if men like Mr. Knightley are merely rare or complete fantasy.
Briony wakes after her rest looking much better and informs us that we will eat together tonight. These household plans and orchestrations give her something to distract herself, something to make her feel capable. I am now in my room, shedding the wrinkled dress I wore all day, and slipping into a pair of wide navy trousers and a boat-neck blouse. Looking into the mirror, I am quite pleased with my efforts. I run my ebony handled comb through my hair a few times, until it falls in auburn waves an inch or so above my shoulder. Yes, that should do.
On the landing to the first floor, I momentarily wonder whether I ought to have worn black. As I stand there wavering, a door at the end of the hallway opens, and out comes Daniel in a pale gray suit.
"Good evening."
"Good evening. The house smells wonderful, I can only imagine what the cook is going to spirit onto the table for us tonight."
We descend the stairs in step. "In the time I have been here, the one thing that we could always depend on was good food."
Apparently this standard will hold, no matter the circumstance. Entering the dining room, we spy a lovely array of small bowls filled with delicacies already on offer. Briony and Jeffrey emerge from the library at that moment.
"Oh, good, you’re here," Briony leads us to our seats. "I told the cook to prepare something light." It all looks wonderful. The table is too large for the four of us, and we are clustered together at one end, leaving the other half bare and uninhabited tonight.
"It smells delicious, Briony," Daniel smiles, and Briony looks gratified by his praise. I glance at Jeffrey, he only nods and tucks his specs into the front pocket of his jacket.
"Right, I thought we could be informal. You don’t mind, do you?"
"Of course not."
"Niobe wasn’t well, and I thought we should let her get some rest. We can serve ourselves."
"Niobe is ill?’ I ask, thinking of her fainting episode right before the last dinner we ate here together. "I spoke with her this afternoon, and she was well."
"I don’t know. She’s such a quiet one. She was rather pale, and I had the impression she was exhausted, so I sent her to bed."
"That was kind of you, dear. Now, would you pass me that plate of
Keftedes
?" Jeffrey sounds weary and slightly impatient.
Briony places a few of the fried meatballs onto his plate. I wonder whether his tension is due to the crime committed in his garden, his marriage, work anxiety or a combination of the above? Briony appears to be better now, and the soft radiance of the candlelight casts a gentle glow over her.
"Mm … this is wonderful. I must compliment the cook." I say, between bites of a smooth and spicy eggplant dish,
moussaka
. As we eat, we talk about mundane things. Despite this, I cannot help but wonder whether our minds are not all circling around the same matter. How can any of us sit here and truly enjoy the food, carefree and happy when the table should have been set for five? Caspar’s seat is empty, and as my eyes wander to it, my appetite disappears. I become suddenly aware that we are all looking at the chair in unified dismay. Almost as one, we set our forks and knives down.
"I should have known this was a bad idea," Briony looks down at her plate.
"No Briony, this was a kind thought," Daniel interjects before I think of the right words. "We have to eat, after all." As our attention is on my cousin, Jeffrey’s low voice almost makes me start.
"We should be honest."
"What do you mean?" Briony stares at him with wide eyes.
"We are all thinking it. Let us say it. The air is so thick with unsaid words I can hardly breathe, and I see in your faces you feel no differently." The words are hard; his tone is not. He is right. We all look at one another with Jeffrey’s words still ringing in our ears.
"All right, Jeffrey," Daniel swallows, a flash of anger in his deep green eyes, "you begin, then. Why don’t you tell us what you think?"
"Daniel, I don’t—" I start, fearing an escalation where there should only be comfort and care.
"Evie, he is right," Jeffrey looks straight at Daniel, the flame of a candle in one of the silver stands flickering, so the space below his eyes and cheekbones looks hollow and dark. "I didn’t think much of him. He was not the kind of man I would typically associate with."
"Jeffrey! Please, let us eat and go to bed. There is no need to—"
"Let him speak." Daniel is sitting rigidly in his chair. "I want to hear what he has to say."
"I don’t want to speak ill of the dead—"
"Then don’t!" My pleading tones fall on deaf ears, and Jeffrey is already drawing breath to continue.
"He was a cad and a user and you knew it!"
"He was my friend!" Daniel’s voice is brimming with anger.
I wish I could do something to stop this.
They
are friends. They should not quarrell at a time like this. While these thoughs course through my anxious mind, I manage only to sit here, my eyes running back and forth between the two men, always sweeping over poor Briony’s worried expression seated between them.
"Friend! He was using you! Always tagging along, allowing you to pay for a lifestyle he could not sustain, too lazy to—"
"Enough!" Briony stands up and rushes from the room.
Silence. I scrape my chair back and follow. The men are glued to their seats. How could Jeffrey behave like this, surely knowing his wife is barely coping, and his friend has lost nearly everyone who mattered to him? What on earth is happening here?
"Briony wait!" I call as I follow her small figure onto the veranda. Briony has stopped at the edge of the tiled area, wrapping her arms around herself. "Briony." She turns around, her face cast in shadow. "Come back inside, they were just being foolish."
"I wish I could make all of this undone."
"We all do. Daniel and Jeffrey are frustrated and grieving. Let’s go back inside and finish dinner as best we can. Your cook has made such an effort. Come now," I hold out my hand, and after a moment’s hesitation, she nods and takes it as I lead her back into the house.
We enter the dining room for the seccond time that evening, and both men rise, looking suitably contrite.
"Briony, I am sorry. I behaved badly, please forgive me." Daniel is the first to speak.
"Yes, I apologize, darling. Come, sit down, let us enjoy our meal and raise a glass to Caspar, all right?" Jeffrey holds out her chair. I, too, find my seat and we all raise our glasses.
"To Caspar, may he rest in peace." Jeffrey says, but before he takes a sip, Daniel interrupts.
"No, peace wouldn’t suit him. May he live on in our memory." A moment of silence follows, and we all clink our glasses together.
"To Caspar."
"To Caspar!"
The rest of the evening passes peacefully, and we eat and chat about banal, soothing things like the weather and the food. All the while, our minds are still only on one topic. After the earlier outburst, none of us dares to mention the dead man’s name.
To end dinner, the cook, whose name I have finally discovered is Eleni, brings out a plate of soft white cheese and dried apricots. Tired and sated, we bid each other goodnight.
In my room again, I drag the small chair to the open window and let the breeze, cool though it is, ruffle my hair. Slipping off my shoes, I rest my bare feet on the low windowsill.
Was it wise of me to come here?
I wonder, not for the first time. In all likelihood, Caspar would still have met the same fate. Nevertheless, if I hadn’t been here, we might not have stayed in town so long, and … Oh, I don’t know. Such pointless speculation will get me nowhere. It happened, I cannot make it undone.
I am curious whether Inspector Dymas has already spoken to Nikolas. I wanted to ask Daniel how he had reacted to the news. Everytime I thought I might ask, someone interrupted, and I couldn’t possibly bring it up at dinner. I assume Briony will tell Jeffrey about Laria, Caspar and of my far-fetched suspicions.
What was that? A knock at the door. I lower my cold feet and stand up, walking over to the closed door.
"Yes?"
"It’s Daniel."
This is unexpected. I run a hand through my hair and open the door.
"I am sorry to disturb you, but I thought you have probably been waiting to know about my conversation with the police."
"Oh … yes," I stammer. "What did he say?"
"Dymas didn’t sound as shocked as you did, that much I could ascertain. Still, I don’t think he knew about it."
"What will he do now?" I lower my voice. "Will he arrest Nikolas?"
"I think he wants to speak to Laria first, though he wouldn’t tell me outright what his plans entailed. He should probably find out whether she told her husband anything, before he asks the doctor point-blank whether he knew of the affair his wife was having with that English lothario." There is a sharpness to his tone as he utters the last word.
"Jeffrey didn’t mean to upset you. He is overwhelmed."
Daniel gives a bitter laugh. "He wasn’t very wrong. Jeffrey has always been a good judge of character, though he should not have said what he said. If only for the sake of Briony’s nerves."
"Oh, I—"
"I am sorry, I have shocked you. Please understand I will miss Caspar dearly. He was my friend, though he had his own unique understanding of the meaning of the word. He was no saint, and he would not have claimed to be one. He knew who he was, and I did, too. Maybe he used me, but when I felt more alone in the world than you might imagine, he did not abandon me."
"I understand better than you might suspect. Nobody is perfect, and perhaps it is a flaw in ourselves to expect so."
"Thank you for your understanding." His sentence sounds unfinished as if there is a thought on the tip of his tongue waiting to be spoken. It remains unsaid. "Good night."
"Good night, Daniel." He turns to leave, and I close my door.
I shake my head and walk over to the washbasin. Taking the ceramic ewer, I fill it with lukewarm water and wash. After slipping into a nightgown I crawl into bed, hoping for a dreamless sleep as I do every night.
CHAPTER 10
Nine hours later, I again find myself sitting at a table with Briony and Daniel. Jeffrey is taking an early call in the library. It must be from the museum, for there are few private homes with telephones on the island. This time we sit in the conservatory, and a wan Niobe has brought in a tray of freshly baked rolls, the aroma the emanate making my mouth water, and small bowls of jewel-colored jams. They are the most colorful things in sight, for the sky outside is gray, and sad raindrops spatter against the glass panes around us.
Jeffrey walks through the doorway as I am liberally slathering orange marmelade onto the steaming bun on my plate. "That was Laria," he announces with no preamble.
"What did she say?" Briony looks alarmed, and I set down my knife.
"Dymas was there yesterday evening before Nikolas got home. Good thing, too, because Laria swears he knew nothing of her and Caspar. Then again, wives have been known to stand by their husbands—"
"Not if she thought Nikolas harmed Caspar" Briony shakes her head, "I know Laria, and when she confided in me I was certain she had stronger feelings for him than she was willing to admit."