"Yes, let’s."
Everyone agrees. There is a palpable sense of relief as we begin to fill the basket with empty containers and scraped-clean plates. I get to my feet, stumbling slightly and not for the first time relieved I chose trousers over a skirt. Brushing crumbs from my lap, I glance at the others. Paul is pulling Rosie to her feet. Her face is pink and she looks so alive, were it not for an emptiness behind her eyes that must burn Paul everytime he looks at her, searching for the woman he once knew.
Darius and Nikolas are on their feet now. Darius is dissheveled, his linen trousers lined with creases, and his hair, without the cover of his hat, sticking up at odd ends. Nikolas watches Laria and his expression, not seen by his wife who has her back to him and is speaking with Briony, is one of unconcealed anger. I am startled to see his normally benevolent face in such a grimace of ire, and force myself to look away. In that moment one thing, however, seems utterly transparent: He knows her secret.
CHAPTER 18
Upon reaching our respective motorcars, we begin our goodbyes and promise to do this again. Kaia is tired and sucking on a finger that I hope someone thought to wipe clean at some point after her feeding the dog or baking mud cakes. Laria looks exhausted, and I feel for her. Being in Nikolas’ company must be very difficult right now, unless she isn’t aware of his ambiguous emotions. I could be mistaken, I tell myself, climbing into the drivers seat, yet knowing with some certainty that I am not.
It takes a few minutes to position the picnic basket, which may have diminished in weight, but has maintained its unwieldy girth. At last, we are all seated and settled and I can begin to breathe again.
"Evie, what is it? Something is obviously bothering you." Briony comments from behind me. I bite my bottom lip and swallow. The other car is pulling out of the spot beside us, and we all wave until they are out of sight.
"Nikolas knows."
"What? What do you mean?"
"How do you know?" Jeffrey says, his tone indicative of doubt.
"He was rather brusque with her." My cousin is less skeptical. Daniel has turned to me, his expression unreadable.
"When I saw the way he looked at her just now when we were packing up, you should have seen his face. He is suspicious, I can’t explain it, but he knows. I am certain." I shake my head, wishing I could conjure up the image for them to see.
"I believe you are right." Daniel says gravely. "He was short with her more than once, and didn’t even speak to her much of the time."
"She was busy with Kaia. It’s understandable he wanted to speak to the men instead."
"They were different with each other today, Briony. At the dinner party he doted on her, they seemed so well suited. Today they were like a completely different couple."
"Caspar was there that night. If Nik knew, he was putting on a show to make it clear that Laria was his and not Caspar’s. To illistrate to Caspar that he had lost." Daniel says.
"If Nikolas knew then, Laria did not. She claims she never told him. What if Caspar was the one who enlightened him? What if he boasted to Nikolas about having bedded his wife? When Laria ended the affair, Nik thought he could retaliate by putting on a united front at the party to warn Caspar off."
"Could be," Jeffrey mumbles.
"The other possibility is that Nik found out during or after the party and killed Caspar for it." Daniel’s words have been coursing through my mind these past few minutes, so I do not gasp as Briony does when he utters them.
"Goodness!" Jeffrey’s voice is hoarse and in the mirror I watch him running a hand through his hair and shaking his head.
"It is only a thought, of course." Daniel adds weakly.
"What if he did it? What if we just sat around having a picnic with a murderer?" Briony’s voice betrays her distress.
"He has an alibi. We must not forget that."
"Yes, he has an alibi," she echoes with relief.
"An alibi for a poisoning may be a little vague. The bottle might have been given to Caspar at the party."
Oh heavens, this is getting worse.
I start the motor, more for something to do than a desire to return to the scene of the crime in any great hurry. As the engine roars to life I say, "Surely inspector Dymas thought of something like this? It is quite obvious, now you’ve suggested it."
"I certainly hope so. Do you think we ought to call the Inspector?" Briony replies.
"On a Saturday evening? No, we couldn’t. Got to give the man a day of peace."
"I doubt he will be in today in any case." Daniel rubs his temple.
I steer the car onto the main road. The heat of the sun has caused the mud to turn to dust, and as I barrel down the lane, clouds sweep up behind us. At least our conversation is providing enough distraction for Jeffrey; he hasn’t gasped or cursed once yet.
"It wasn’t Nik," he says, making it sound as if the very notion is absurd, which, in away, it is as is this entire situation.
"What makes you so certain?" Daniel asks.
"For one, Nikolas Zarek is a respected doctor. A doctor! He saves lives. Giving Caspar a poisoned bottle of wine is too uncharacteristic and risky. Anyone might drink from it. He wouldn’t be so careless." His head turns from left to right in the rearview mirror.
Daniel interjects, "If he was in a passionate rage, he may not have been in his right mind."
"But he was not in a rage, was he? If he did give the bottle to Caspar at the dinner, he was very calm and at ease as you all observed. That is the only time he could have done it, and I am telling you, he did not." Jeffrey’s judgement sounds final. I am still unconvinced.
"Perhaps you do not know him as well as you think?"
"What is that supposed to mean, Evie? The man is angry because his wife was unfaithful. It is understandable. That hardly makes him a killer."
"It certainly gives him motive, and let us not forget, his wife’s lover is now dead!" Immediately I regret my outburst. My tone, especially on "dead" was rather shrill. I can hear Daniel’s slow intake of breath and hope he is not too upset by my words.
"We have to accept Nikolas as a possibile suspect. Poisoning is done by a calculating mind. He is a physician, intelligent and level-headed."
"But—"
"Please, Jeffrey, let me finish. I don’t believe it was Nikolas, but as Evie said, we have to consider it. You are the only one of us who did not see Laria’s reaction to Caspar’s death. She was distraught. She loved him. If we, being relative strangers could see this, her husband would have noticed, too."
"You overestimate the perceptive powers of a spouse, Daniel." Briony says, a statement quite shocking had she not lightened it with a chuckle.
In a piqued tone Jeffrey asks, "Is there something you wish to tell me, dear?"
I can only hope she delivers something very placating now as we have at least ten minutes left in our journey. Ten minutes of awkward silence can be as miserable as an all out row, which I am not keen on either, I must add.
"No, dear. Nothing at all," Briony says. Jeffrey shows himself suprisingly content with her answer and asks no more.
"So," I venture, "did we all have a nice day?"
CHAPTER 19
We reach the villa as the sun begins to turn the sky golden. Pink and purple streaked clouds float featherlight above us. The day was a long one, and I am weary from the soles of my feet to the crown of my head.
Jeffrey hauls the empty picnic basket out of the car, and we all make our way up the short gravel path to the door. Niobe, efficient as ever, is holding it open and taking our hats.
Knossos was fascinating, and I am determined not to let worrisome suspicions spoil the memory of the day. We agree to meet for a quick bite in an hour, and I drag myself up the stairs, eager now to shed my "comfortable" shoes, which seem have grown teeth and are devouring my feet. Upon reaching door to my room, Daniel’s voice stops me in my tracks.
"Evelyn!" I turn around.
"Yes, Daniel?" He climbs the final stair and stands in the soft light filtering in from the window above.
"What do you really think?" There is a note of pleading in his voice I cannot interpret.
"I honestly do not know. It is all such a muddle in my mind. I don’t want to start imagining horns sprouting from everyone’s head, but it is hard to ward off suspicion."
He takes a step forward, out of the light. "Are you afraid?"
I swallow and with a dry throat answer, "I would be mad not to be. I am afraid of this killer, of what still might happen." Helplessly, I shake my head. "There is so much to be afraid of, and I am so tired of it all." Before I know it, I feel the familiar sting of tears in my eyes. "Oh, look at me. I am sorry. It’s been … difficult." Wiping at my eyes, I attempt a smile. "Much more for you, of course. I am normally not a weepy girl, you must believe me." I am babbling now, overcome with the embarassment of the moment. At least the light is dim enough to hide my blush.
"It’s all right." Hesitantly he reaches forward and, with a gentle motion, wipes a tear from my cheek. "There, that’s better," he retrieves his hand, letting it hang at his side.
I nod, unsure whether I am disappointed or relieved. Looking down at my hands, I search for something to say.
"Evie, Daniel, have you grown roots?" Jeffrey’s voice interrupts my confusion. He appears at the head of the stairs, clutching a cup of tea and holding a folded newspaper squeezed under his arm.
Instinctively, almost guiltily, Daniel and I back a step away from one another.
"Jeffrey … We were just—"
"Look at this," Jeffrey ignores us and hands Daniel his tea, unfolding the paper. He steps into the light. "Utter rot, but I had to show you."
I join them as my curiosity is awakened in an instant. The moment between Mr. Harper and me is well and truly over.
"
Englishman Murdered on Cretan Holiday!—War-veteran Caspar Ballantine poisoned on holiday. Authorities are investigating the atrocious crime against a citizen of the crown."
"Typical
Daily Mail
, I get it on Saturdays, because of the late post, but I thought you ought to read it." Jeffrey frowns. We turn to Daniel, who is looking surprisingly calm.
"Daniel?" I ask, nervously twisting the ring on my finger.
He rubs his chin. "There we have it. It was hardly going be kept secret, and why should it be. It won’t be news in a day or so. Life goes on. Something terrible will happen someplace else, and no one will think of ‘war-veteran Caspar Ballantine’."
"You’re not
upset
?"
"Death and murder are always fuel for media attention. I had hoped Caspar’s father would be spared reading about it, but I am not shocked. If anything, I am more determined to discover the truth. If it was Nikolas, I will have him punished, and, if not, may he live a long and happy life. Now," he neatly folds the paper and hands it back to Jeffrey, "if you will excuse me, I must get changed. Today left me positively filthy." With that, he turns and steps into his room, closing the door firmly behind him.
Jeffrey and I look at one another, our faces mirroring expressions of incomprehension and bewilderment. "Well …" he begins.
"Indeed." With that we part company. Once in my room, I tear open the windows to catch a glimpse of the glowing orange sun as it dips below the horizon. The air blowing into the room is cool and refreshing, making the curtains twirl about me like writhing spirits.
There was a brief moment with Daniel when I thought … Perhaps not. Perhaps I am simply tired and dreaming of something sweet and good and detatched from the sadness and pain that has brought us together in this place.
Running a hand through the tangles in my hair and detatching several pins, which clatter like needles to the ground, I lean forward, my hands braced against the wooden sill. Poking my head out of the window, I want the cold breath of wind to ruffle my hair, to brush over my skin. As I cast my eye over the small grove of olive trees below, I notice Niobe dressed in her pale orange shift, dark hair whipping about her face. Craning my neck a little further, I see another figure, taller, but not by much. A man, his back to the house. From his stance and the paleness of his hair, I am certain it is Yannick.
Fighting a twinge of guilt for spying, I try to hear what they are saying.
I know, I know
, I should close the window and contend myself with brushing my hair, but sadly I am neither so good nor so moral.
To my disappointment and Niobe’s fortune, the wind, shaking the branches of olive trees, noisily rustling their leaves, makes eavesdropping a challenge. Straining, all the while making a dedicated effort not to fall out of the window, I listen.
" …asking questions …" Niobe is pacing now, clearly in a state of agitation. Yannick places a hand on her shoulder, but she shakes him off.
" …nothing … don’t worry …" Yannick says something in a placating tone. Niobe stops pacing and stands before him, her hands placed on her hips in irritated defiance.