Whatever is said remains a mystery. I cannot hear it in my secret perch. A moment later, they part. The maid strides off in the direction of the villa, leaving Yannick standing in the shadows of the trees, a forlorn figure, until he finally retreats in the opposite direction.
A lover’s tiff? Perhaps. Niobe is a strange fish, and I wouldn’t be surprised if there is more to her engagement with the Polish chauffeur than I can understand. We shall see.
Or not, I suppose
. My curiosity has been roused. Now I must get myself ready to behave in a civilized manner for what is certain to be a decadent, but morose sort of dinner.
I shake my head and close the window, skewering my big toe with one of the fallen pins as I turn toward my wardrobe. Serves me right for snooping.
CHAPTER 20
Dinner consists of light vegetable broth, baked fish, stuffed with dill and capers and drizzled with lemon juice, and a selection of imported chocolates from
Fortnum’s
. I am only moderately hungry after our midday orgy and hope I don’t offend the cook by sending back my plates less than polished.
Conversation centers around our excusion, though we are evidently rather wary of mentioning Nikolas, Caspar, or Dymas, as though invoking them would conjure up a stormcloud looming dark and forboding above us.
"Do you have any plans for tomorrow?" Briony asks, eyeing the last caramel. I push the tray towards her, and with a vaguely guilty expression, she pops the sweet delight into her mouth.
"I am not sure. I truly ought to write some letters or read. Day of rest and all that." I lean back in my chair.
"Must get some work done," Jeffrey rests his elbows on the table, and with a hint of amusement, I watch Briony fight the urge to tell him off.
"Work, work, work." She sighs, refraining from adding any more to fuel the flame. No one wants another evening of tension.
"And you, Daniel?" I turn to him, my right hand fiddling with the beading of my dress.
"I must get some writing done. My book is looking more like a generously sized letter at this stage. I confess, it is too easy to be driven to distraction these days. I find myself thinking of countless errands more pressing than writing another page."
"We will lock you in your room and not let you out until some work has been done." Briony smiles and Daniel returns it, the corners of his eyes crinkling like fine crepe de chine in the soft light of the candles.
"I will probably fall asleep or make it my mission to escape. It is no good. I am always searching for inspiration and find instead only diversions."
"Our very own Dickens!" Jeffrey chuckles and takes a small sip of his cognac.
"As he said, ‘Procrastination is the thief of time’."
"
David Copperfield
," I exclaim.
"Quite right, I am impressed." Daniel inclines his head in a little bow.
"I prefer Miss Austen. Dickens is far too gloomy for my taste." Briony swirls the rest of her wine in the thin-stemmed glass.
"Or Joyce, brilliant man, Joyce." Jeffrey adds. The rest of us begin to chuckle.
"
Joyce!
His writing is as dry as the sands of Egypt." Daniel shakes his head. "Give me Dickens or dear Miss Austen, but
please
, oh please, spare me Joyce." He grins, and Jeffrey looks affronted.
"But
Ulysses
, what a masterpiece! Come now, you must admit that!"
"A
tome
is what it is. A cursed tedious tome, and I shall never forget battling through it. Although I will admit, it is memorable." Daniel concedes with an expression of cheer, which has been absent from his face all the time I have known him. Had I been aware a mention of James Joyce would brighten his spirits, I would have brought up his name in every conversation. Maybe, he is merely relieved that, for once, the topic of conversation is normal and easy, and we are all laughing together, or at Jeffrey, for that matter. All in good humor.
We talk a while longer of books we have read, pictures we have seen, topics that engage rather than enrage. After we have retreated to the sitting room with coffee and cognac and the elegant grandfather clock chimes eleven, we decide in a chorus of ill-disguised yawns, that sleep may be in order.
In my own company once more, the door of my room, closed, the house silent, I recognize my pleasure in being here. For days I have been battling my sense of sanity—
dubious at the best of times
—as to whether I ought not go home again. However, sitting together with a group of kind people, people I care for and who care for me, has restored my faith in my decision.
I wash quickly, slip into a soft cotton nightgown and open the window again to allow fresh air and the soft light of the moon to filter into the gloom. The large bed seems to welcome me with open arms, cool smooth sheets enveloping my tired body in a gentle embrace. My head nestles into the pillow, and my thoughts drift away.
CHAPTER 21
I wake with a start. DARS THF.
Darius. Thief
. The code, the journal. The jumble of letters dances through my mind. We have been blind!
Darius
. He was blackmailing Darius. Him a thief? Can it be? How would he have known? A moment of doubt plagues me, but I bat it aside. Instict tells me I am right.
What should I do?
Sitting up in bed, back straight, jaw tight, I decide to tell the others. I can’t let this remain unsaid. Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I search for my slippers, still lost to the dark of the room. As I make for the door, I pull on my robe.
The hallway is dark and utterly silent, and I suddenly feel foolish about rousing everyone to bring up a miserable new development, especially after we had such a lovely evening together. With some hesitation, I stand in front of the door to Daniel’s room, which is closer than Briony and Jeffrey’s. Should I really wake him? Yes. The idea has firmly taken root in my mind, and I cannot shake it off until I have passed it on.
Two gentle knocks against the door. Stepping close, I hold my ear to the wood. Nothing. I knock again. What if he doesn’t answer? I listen. There is movement. I hear the approach of shuffling steps.
The door opens and a puzzled Daniel appears, patting down his hair. "Evelyn?" he whispers. In the gloom I cannot read the expression on his face. "Is everything all right? Has something happened?" His questions are hurried, and he leans slightly towards me as he speaks.
"Yes, no. I don’t know … Daniel—"
"Wait, let me get a candle." He disappears for a moment, then reappears, spectre-like, holding a flickering candle that sets his face aglow.
"Daniel, do you remember the ‘DARS THF’ entry in Caspar’s journal?"
He wrinkles his brow. "Yes, what of it?"
"I think, it means ‘Darius,’" I explain, conviction suddenly absent in my voice. "
Darius Thief
."
Though the hall is still dark, I can see Daniel pale, his expression changing immediately. He opens his mouth, shakes his head and rubs his chin before finding his tongue.
"My god! You are right. How could we have missed it? All of us." He runs a hand through his hair and I see the other, still holding the candle, trembling slightly, causing rivulets of molten wax to run like tears down the sides. Carefully, I take it from him, thinking of Briony’s dismay at wax stains in the carpet.
"I can’t be certain, of course, but it is
too
coincidental, do you not think so? Or did Caspar know any other Darius?"
"No," He shakes his head. "It’s not an uncommon name, but we’ve been here only a little over two months. How many people named Darius would he have been likely to meet?"
"If he had known more than one, he might have added the first letter of the last name to his code. Although
he
would have known which Darius of his acquaintance he was blackmailing," he winces.
I add a meek, "sorry."
"Sadly, I believe you are right. How could he do this? Darius is a friend, how could he blackmail him?" Daniel leans against the frame of the door. "I don’t think I knew him very well at all."
"Don’t let all this spoil your memories of him." Without thinking, I place a hand on Daniel’s arm.
"He was a blackmailer, a womanizer, a philanderer … I have been blind." Knowing nothing to say in defense of his former friend, I opt for silence. He goes on, "And Darius a thief? I cannot believe it? He is so proper. Civilized in every way. Quite a bore, if you pardon my judgement."
"Maybe it was a misunderstanding. Caspar might have read too much into something he knew little about."
"It must be true, if he kept it written in that nasty book of his." Daniel sighs. "I suppose, we ought to tell Jeffrey and Briony."
"They will forgive us if we wait until the morning. I am sorry to have disturbed your sleep. I wanted you to be the first to know. The news will keep. We can let them get a few more hours rest."
"Yes. You’re probably right."
"Daniel … do you think this means Darius might—"
"Be the killer?" Daniel shrugs, "I do not know. I know too little of what I want to know and too much of what I don’t."
"We will have to tell Dymas."
He gives me a resigned nod. "We will. It must be resolved soon, somehow."
"I hope so." We stand together another moment, silent, the quivering light of the candle enveloping us in its soft glow, casting dancing shadows onto the walls.
"We should try to get some more sleep." Daniel says, making no move to back away. We always seem to find ourselves in moments such as these where some intangible force holds us together, but something more powerful pulls us apart.
"Yes," I say quietly, knowing more sleep will be hard to come by this night. I turn around still holding his candle, its warm light guiding me safely to my room.
CHAPTER 22
Jeffrey and Briony take the news with surprising calm. Jeffrey shakes his head and mutters something like, "what is this world coming to," and his wife, shadows beneath her bright blue eyes, shakes her head and stirs half-heartedly in her porridge.
Daniel and I decide to go into town and learn whether the Inspector can be found on a Sunday. Jeffrey is keen to withdraw to the library to work, and Briony begs off as well, claiming the urgent need to catch up on her letters, reminding me that I really ought to do the same when time permits.
Dymas, as is discovered by a quick telephone call, is at the station, closing a different case and will see us before he goes home at midday. Once dressed, we borrow two bicyles and make our way down the gravel drive to the main road. It is a warm day, the sun climbing ever higher into the cloudless blue, the fragrance of wildflowers and herbs along the lane filling our nostrils. We reach the road and swing ourselves onto the saddles. I am wearing soft brogues, which make the act of pedaling up and down the uneven landscape slightly more manageable. My hat, a straw cloche with a smattering of tiny flowers on the side, shades my face. The air sweeping at us as we roll down to the village is glorious and fresh and makes me grateful, once again, to be alive in this place.
Once in Miklos, we climb off our bicycles, pushing them along, until we reach the police station. Leaning them against the wall, trusting in the goodwill of the villagers not to steal or vandalize, we enter.
I straighten my hat and smooth the front of my blouse. Daniel watches with a curious expression. After a short conversation with the desk sergeant, we find we are in luck. Inspector Adriano Dymas has returned from another inquiry and can be found in his office. We follow the sergeant down the hallway to the familiar door. His short knock is answered, and we are admitted.
Dymas is seated behind his desk, much as we last left him. Sleeves folded up to his elbows, which are resting on the tabletop, littered with papers. He looks up as he sees us enter and gets to his feet.
"Inspector, these are—"
"Yes, yes. Thank you Stavros. Hello, Miss Carlisle, Mr. Harper, you wanted to speak to me?" He motions to the empty chairs in front of his desk.
"Inspector, have you had a chance to think any more about the entries in the journal?" Daniel asks as we agreed he should.
Dymas frowns thoughtfully. "I am afraid I can add nothing new to what we already know. You have wasted your journey."
"We think we may have come across an enlightening idea," I start, my eyes focusing on the inspector.
"Oh?" He forms a steeple with his hands, elbows again resting on the table.
"We think the ‘DARS THF’ entry stands for ‘Darius Thief.’"
Daniel continues, "The only Darius of our acquaintance is Darius Calandra, a curator at the museum in Heraklion. Of course, it is possible Caspar knew another man of this name, but I think it unlikely."
"Darius Calandra?" Dymas’ eyes widen. "Darius a thief? I cannot believe it. He is the picture of a model citizen."
"That may well be." Daniel concedes. "But he is human, and humans make mistakes. Theft is one thing, murder another."