He leant on the balcony rail, his mind drifting back to the car chase in the Welsh mountains. It was over a month ago, but the memory still haunted him. He’d spoken of it to no one, other than to Gimp and Nixie. Gimp had been spectacularly unhelpful. If anything, he’d been indifferent and barely reacted when he’d said it was necessary for him to disappear for the time being. He’d said he thought it a good idea.
Since arriving in Karpathos, he’d had plenty of time to think ─ in particular about Nixie. She’d arrived a week ago. He glanced across at her. She was still asleep, curled up in bed with the sheet wrapped round her. Before she came, he’d missed her and when he’d met her off the ferry, she’d said the first night they were together that she loved him. This wasn’t the first time a woman had told him she loved him, but this felt different. He’d become preoccupied with wondering what she meant by love and whether she meant what she’d said. Whatever love was, ultimately, he thought, he didn’t believe in it. It implied commitment and permanency, and he valued neither. But, even so, he recognised there was something powerful between them. It was a strong, almost primal attraction, which drew them together.
‘Seb, I’m awake, what you doing?’
He turned round. She was smiling, sitting up in bed.
‘I’m checking out the harbour.’
‘Come here.’
He walked across and sat down on the bed. ‘Like a coffee?’
‘Yes, but not now. What about breakfast at that coffee place by the water?’
‘Which one?’
‘The one at the far end of the harbour. The one where I asked the waiter to take a piccie of us. It’s got a blue striped awning, it’s smaller than the others, with fewer people.’
‘And then what?’
‘A swim?’
‘Great, suits me. We can go back to that small one through the village.’ He smiled at her, stroking her arm. ‘You skin feels warm.’ She didn’t reply. He pulled the sheet away from her.
‘You’ve got nothing on.’
‘I got hot in the night. What are you thinking about?’
‘Sex on the beach.’
‘The drink?’
‘No, the real thing.’
She looked at him with a half smile. ‘Later.’
‘Why not now?’
‘Why not now?’
Afterwards, he felt a deep sadness. She’d asked if he loved her, but he couldn’t say. He’d picked up something intangible between them, as if the end of their relationship was in sight. It had made him feel so bad, he’d held her tight, until with his arms wrapped round her, they fell into an exhausted sleep.
‘Seb.’
He opened his eyes. She was awake, propped up on one elbow, gazing at him, looking serious. ‘What time is it?’
‘It doesn’t matter. We’ve got all the time in the world.’
‘Do you think my stomach’s fat?’
He laughed, pulling her warm body towards him. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘I just wondered, you know, why your belly is flat and mine isn’t.’
‘That’s because, you must have noticed, men and women are built differently.’
‘You haven’t answered my question.’
‘You’re being silly.’
She pulled his hand onto her stomach and said, ‘Go on, tell me the truth, is it fat?’
He sighed. ‘No. It’s round but even if it was, I’d still…’ He stopped.
‘What were you going to say?’
‘I’d still like it.’
She sat up and stared down at him, looking disappointed. ‘I thought you were going to say that you loved me.’
He paused, wondering how to answer. ‘You asked me about that before. I’m not sure what love is.’
‘You want me to show you?’
She became playful, stroking and kissing his body.
He ruffled her hair. ‘Maybe it’s the heat, but you always turn me on.’
‘It’s not me. It’s you. You’ve changed, Seb.’
‘Changed? How have I changed?’
‘The way… the way you make love to me − you’re tender now.’
‘Isn’t that how I’ve always been?’
‘No… It was all technique once.’
‘What do you mean?’
She clasped her arms round her knees. ‘A poem I read ages ago called Sex without Love, has always stuck in my head, especially this line, ‘How do they do it, the ones who make love without love.’
‘Is that what you thought about me?’
‘I did, but not now… I know you’ve been with lots of women.’
‘How do you know?’
‘It’s obvious.’ She laughed.
‘Because I know how to turn you on?’
‘You do.’
‘Well, it works both ways.’
‘I fancied you the first time I saw you. It was like love at first sight. Superficially, you seemed arrogant, too self-assured, but it didn’t put me off. You had a certain look in your eyes when I gave you that leaflet. I knew then, I wanted you like no one else I’d ever met.’
His mind went on alert. ‘The first time? When was that?’
‘In Canada Square.’
He stared at her. What was she talking about?
‘Canada Square? We didn’t meet there. We first met in Starbucks,… after the demo outside the bank. Don’t you remember?’
‘No. It was Canada Square.’
‘You’re wrong. The first time I saw you was after the bank demo.’
The atmosphere had changed. She glared at him. ‘Don’t lie to me.’
‘Lie to you? I‘ve no idea what you’re talking about.’ He raised his voice slightly.
She paused and, looking directly at him, said in a low voice, ‘I know who you are.’ ‘For Christ’s sake. What’s this about?’
‘It’s about you, Seb. You’ve lied to me.’
‘Really? How? How have I lied?’ He’d bluff it out. It had worked once and it could work again. She didn’t answer. ‘What are you accusing me of? I want chapter and verse.’
‘You’re not one of us. You’re a plant. You’re working undercover.’
He leapt out of bed and stood looking down at her, his eyes cold, hostile. Breathing heavily, he said, ‘What are you accusing me of?’
Nixie turned away and, avoiding his eyes, looked at the wall. He took a step towards her and pulled her roughly round. ‘What evidence do you have for that?’
She glared at him, shifted her gaze, but said nothing.
‘Answer me. What evidence do you have?’
‘Don’t shout… I have… I have evidence. I have enough evidence.’
‘Like what?’
She was silent.
He walked across to the balcony and stood, seeming to be looking at the boats in the harbour. Nixie said nothing. After five minutes he returned and stared down at her. ‘Go on then, let’s hear it.’
This time, she answered. ‘I’m not stupid. When I gave you that leaflet, in Canary Wharf, I noticed your really expensive watch. Not many of those about, I thought. I saw it again. You were wearing it when I was with my mother in the restaurant off Tottenham Court Road. You must have forgotten to take it off. It could have been a coincidence, but I don’t think so.’
Seb stared. ‘Is that it?’ He’d easily blag his way out of that.
‘No, it isn’t it? The same evening − you knew my mum had worked in Harrods. How did you know? You must have done some background research, and there’s more. You left the restaurant early. I didn’t see you until the next morning. It was the morning after the farmhouse was broken into. It was you. It had to be. You’d had enough time. You left the giraffe in my mother’s bed knowing how much it would upset her. The only one other person who
would know that, was Rose, and that’s not the type of thing she’d do. You had a motive. Revenge. You’re the baby my mother stole all those years ago. The one she called Owain.’
There was a long silence before Seb spoke again.
‘You’re so fucking sympathetic to your mother. Have you ever stopped to think of the effect her action has had on me? Your mother was crazy. She snatched me and carried me to a remote Scottish island?’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Sorry, is that all you can say?’
‘I can’t say or do anymore. It’s the past.’
He moved away from her, folded his arms across his chest and was silent. When he spoke, he stayed where he was, his eyes seeming to bore through her. His voice was clipped, harsh, and he spoke slowly, each word articulated with precision.
‘So, all this time, you’ve been spying on me, and I thought I could trust you. Sex without love, you said. What a joke. You know all about that.’
She leapt out of bed, pulled the sheet round her body, walked over to him and looking into his eyes, said, ‘I had to do it. For the cause, for Grassroots.’
He took a step backwards. ‘Are you saying… are you saying what it sounds like? That you only slept with me to get information?’
‘No, that’s not what I’m saying. What I’m saying is, we had to see what was going on. Mike suspected you from the start. He went into your background and all the stuff you told us, and it didn’t add up. I wanted to tell you, but I had to keep my mouth shut…
‘Seb, right from the start, you’ve been special to me, you must know that. But we had to test you. It’s been really difficult for me.’
‘Shut the fuck up. You’re talking crap.’ Keeping his eyes on her, he walked across to his clothes and pulled them on. He stared at her and breathing heavily, said, ‘Who else knows?’
‘Mike and one or two of the others. He’s always said not to trust you, but we could use you.’
‘You bitch, you two-faced duplicitous bitch. ’
‘What do you think we should do? We had to check you out. We’re not kids playing games. The stakes are too high.’
‘We, who’s the “we”, who’s the fucking royal “we”? You fucking bastards… someone’s been watching me, following me, trying to kill me, and all the time it was you lot, and that arse hole.’
‘It wasn’t. We’re not into that… You need to get real, Seb. You’re in it up to your neck now. MI5, the Met, security at Langhithe, it could be any of them.’
‘You know what? I don’t believe a word you’re saying.’
She moved close to him and hissed, ‘That’s the name of the game. That’s how it is. You betrayed us first, remember. Didn’t you sleep with me to get info?’
‘A job I’m paid to do. Which is why I don’t give a toss about you or any of your so-called comrades. Get that into your stupid head.’
‘Stupid? Why am I stupid?’ she shouted.
‘Because you do it for free. For what? You think you’re saving the world, but most of the population don’t give a damn.’ He walked angrily to the door, ‘I’m going.’
She ran over to him. ‘Going where?’
‘I don’t know where, but get out of my face.’ He turned away so she couldn’t see him, and banged his fist into his hand.
She hesitated, her eyes filling with tears. ‘Don’t go. I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say… A few minutes ago we were going to make love… can’t we… ’
‘Unbelievable! You’re all the same… a fuck. That’s what you want, isn’t it? You think that’ll make it alright? I wouldn’t demean myself.’
He bent down, picked up her bra and pants from the floor and threw them across the room. ‘And put some clothes on. Game-Set-Match. It’s over. Finis. Our history stops here. I’m going.’
He stormed out into the hall, followed by her, and angrily stood fumbling with the door to let himself out.
She stood watching, ‘Before you go… I know about the woman.’ It was designed to be a final slap in his face.
He stopped, turned to face her. ‘What woman?’
‘The one in Bangor, the one you screwed.’
‘Really? Well, isn’t life full surprises? What you and your comrades wouldn’t know, is that she was a great fuck.’
He left, slamming the door behind him and, oblivious to the fierce heat, walked rapidly through the labyrinth of small white-washed houses, towards the steps leading away from the village. Taking them with long, loping steps until he reached the top, he continued along the old donkey track which wound through ancient olive and fig trees.
He stopped when he reached the deserted village and sat down, took out his water bottle and, lifting it to his mouth, almost drained the water. The cicadas were deafening and the heated air was heavy with the chocolaty smell of the carob and the fragrance of the thyme and sage bushes. He felt calm, even reflective as he considered their row. How things could change in a short space of time. Only two days ago he and Nixie had sat in the shadows of the crumbling ruins of an old house and shared the fresh figs they’d picked from the trees. It was the first time she’d tasted a fresh fig and she’d been entranced with the delicate taste
But then anger took hold of him, so powerful it was like a vice. There was no escape. It was monumental, not just with her, but with himself. Nixie had betrayed him. That she had spied on him cut through his guts like a sharp knife. She’d been the first woman he’d trusted. How stupid could he be? What had gone wrong? Had he been targeted by Grassroots? Had she been specially chosen and had waited for him at the bottom of the steps in Canada Square before giving him a leaflet?
He went over the conversations they’d had, seeking to justify his own spying. His work as an undercover agent was legitimate. He’d been trained for it. It was essential; he was on the side of law and order, protecting the economy and the government. She, on the other hand, was an amateur. Their aim to smash the state was infantile. He’d seen her as an innocent, an ingénue, but how wrong he’d been. She was far from that. She was an operator. She’d used sex to deceive and exploit him. His mind went back to Porth Clais, to when she’d fallen from the cliff, how he’d rescued her and how later, meeting her parents, the atmosphere had become strained. She’d been checking him out and he’d fallen for it. Walking back with him to his tent and having sex with him, it had all been a put up.
Gimp had been right all along. He’d warned him about becoming involved with Nixie. He should have believed him. She was like everybody else. Unreliable, a liar and out for herself. An image of Flori came to him. Like mother, like daughter, he thought bitterly. He’d been used by them both. He tried pushing these thoughts away. It was a long time ago when she’d snatched him. He couldn’t remember it, but he could imagine it and he could feel it. This time it was Flori’s daughter who’d deceived him. When she’d said he was special, whether it was the truth or not, that was the end for him. Their relationship couldn’t survive this betrayal. Nothing could ever be the same.
He stood up decisively. It was over. He’d thought enough about her. It was a waste of time. There was no other choice. He had to leave her. He’d done it before with other women, countless times. He’d tell her he was leaving.
He walked slowly back to the villa they’d shared, stopping only for a glass of iced water with lemon. He followed that with two large white wines, while picking at some olives left out on the table. He didn’t feel like eating, and drinking alcohol in the heat on an empty stomach wasn’t such a good idea, but he no longer cared what he did or how he felt. His anger had turned to indifference.
He was slightly tipsy when he tried the villa door. It was unlocked. That wasn’t unusual. It was usually left that way. He pushed it open and walked into the cavernous tiled entrance hall. In comparison to the heat outside, it was cool. He stood for a moment, wondering if Nixie was asleep and how he was
going to tell her it was all over. He glanced at his watch. It was new, not the one that had betrayed his affluent background. He walked into the bedroom, expecting to see her, but the bed was made up. The shutters were closed. The room had been left neat and tidy.
Where was she? Her absence and how he felt about that, surprised him. Her suitcase, lying on the floor, was packed, but left partially open. Feelings of regret and sadness swept through him. He was confused. He hadn’t wanted her to go. He’d miss her. He walked into the bathroom and glanced around. The towel she used for swimming was missing. He returned to her suitcase, and one by one took out her clothes, checking to see what she’d taken and what she’d left. The red bikini she usually wore wasn’t there. So she must have gone swimming; probably to the bay through the olive groves.
It would be the one they’d discovered on their first day, and where they would have gone to today, but for the row. She’d gone, even though she would know swimming wasn’t a good idea in the ferocious heat of the mid-afternoon. It dawned on him then. She was planning to leave, and before she left, she must have decided to go for a final swim. He had to see her. He didn’t know why or what he’d say, but he didn’t want to part from her, not like this.
It was a fifteen-minute walk to the beach. He walked quickly and by the time he’d got there and climbed down through the trees to the water’s edge, he was covered with a film of sweat. He’d been right Her towel, her hat and the loose top she wore as protection from the sun had been left under one of the scrubby trees standing back from the water. Shading his eyes against the sun’s glare, he looked out to sea. He could see her standing on flat rocks, some distance away from the beach. She looked as if she was about to dive into the sea. She hadn’t noticed him. He watched until she disappeared into the water.
Truth and Lies Page 20
