From Nemesis Island

by Christine Mustchin

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Oh I don’t know.’

  ‘Sounds to me as if you wanted to check up on him.’

  ‘Ummm.’ Trish did not like the insinuation. ‘I just thought the whole thing sounded odd.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Well, it was an organised inspection trip to this college on a small island off the Adriatic coast. He wouldn’t tell me precisely where, until the last minute. It seems that the facilities are inspected at regular intervals by six people. One is foreign and the others are local professionals, teachers, lawyers, you know the type. They complete a questionnaire and, if that shows nothing untoward, then that’s an end to it.’

  ‘Why on earth was Dick picked to go?’

  ‘Serendipity, I suppose. They wanted a UK journalist this time.’

  ‘You know you should get in touch, Trish. One row doesn’t mean the end of a relationship.’

  ‘I don’t know about that.’ Trish was not good at taking advice about her private life. ‘Have you finished your latte? I’ve got to get back to work.’

  ‘Right.’ Fi got up to leave. ‘By the way, are you going to the dinner tomorrow evening?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve said I’ll go.’

  ‘I don’t think they’ll be many there. A curry’s not everyone’s idea of a birthday celebration.’

  ‘Well, you know David. He’s not one for wanting to put on a big show or make a fuss.’

  ‘Are you going?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘Not your cup of tea?’

  ‘Well, Dick will miss it anyway.’ Fi deflected the question away from herself.

  ‘’Fraid so. Pity. It’s right up his street.’

  ‘Go on, ring him, Trish.’

  ‘I’ll think about it. See you later.’

  Trish decided to walk back to the office. She flicked open her mobile and tapped out a message. No harm in testing the water. The message was longer than she had intended. She didn’t expect an immediate reply but it came, brief but prompt.

  ‘I will phone this evening. Dick.’

  It took Trish a few seconds to realise there was something odd about the message. Where were the usual texting conventions? It was written and punctuated in correct English. What was going on?

  20

  Richard lay back on the bed and stared at a patch of grease on the ceiling. He wondered idly how it had got there. The scruffiness of the room was beginning to pall. His mood matched the gloom in the streets outside. A dense sea mist had descended. If he went to the window he could barely see the houses across the street. He desperately wanted a bit of lively company. London seemed a long way away. He thought of the girl at the Father’s house. She had aroused in Richard feelings he would rather forget right now. She reminded him of Trish. Her features were softer and she was slightly smaller and slimmer than Trish, but her short dark hair framed her face in just the same way. He didn’t know where he stood with Trish nor what to do. They hadn’t been in touch since she had left and he couldn’t come up with a suitable opening gambit to make contact. He thought of the girl again. There was no doubt he wanted her in the fullest sense of the word. Though she looked like Trish she had a submissive demeanour that had excited him. Not very politically correct he had to admit, but he was a man, and alone, and hadn’t had sex for several days now. Anyway political correctness didn’t seem to have reached this place. He was no good at abstinence and only resisted temptation when Trish was around because she was so good and so willing, but she was miles away and not in touch. If the girl unsettled him, he was no less puzzled by what he had found at the priest’s house. It must have come from the island, but there was nothing to link the communication to the priest save its presence in the house and perhaps the fact that it had been written in English. Very few people here could even speak a word of English let alone read or write it. And who did it refer to? It was dated the day before yesterday: possibly the girl then? He got out his mobile and amused himself by re-reading Dougie’s emails. Dougie never seemed to be off-line. Richard sent him a message.

  ‘What yer up to mate?’

  He didn’t have to wait long for a reply.

  ‘Looking at the London fog.’

  ‘Gloom here too. Sea Mist.’

  ‘How’s it going?’

  ‘Think you might have a point. Trip to island was interesting. Want to find out more.’

  ‘You’re kidding?’

  ‘No. Rather not say anything yet but things could be shaping up for a good story.’

  ‘Well, well. Keep me posted when you can.’

  ‘Will do.’

  ‘By the way, how’s Trish?’

  ‘Expletive deleted.

  ‘What’s that mean? You split?’

  ‘No, but.. ‘

  ‘Well..’

  ‘Haven’t heard from her since she left. Don’t know where I stand with her now.’

  ‘She’s a tough chick to crack, that one.’

  ‘Don’t know whether to just give up on it.’

  ‘Ah, she’ll come round. They always do.’

  ‘You’re such a chauvinist.’

  ‘Am I right?’

  ‘Dunno.’

  ‘You’ll see.’

  ‘I miss the sex.’

  ‘You wanker. You can get that anywhere. Still not found a girl?’

  ‘Well…’ He thought again of the girl.

  ‘See what I mean. Go for it. What the eye doesn’t see…. Better than a toss any day.’

  ‘You’re incorrigible.’

  ‘I do hope so mate. Gotta go. Work to do. Be in touch. Don’t forget what I said.’

  ‘Okay. Signing off.’

  Richard felt no better. Thinking of the girl had unsettled him. He remembered the outline of her body beneath her shift dress; her bare tanned legs, slim and smooth, and her hips curvy and tantalizing as she bent over Father Piontius. He imagined kissing her, their tongues touching silently, their bodies rubbing together in intimacy. His hand went instinctively to his groin. Sorry Dougie, just seems easier this way.

  Afterwards he thought of Trish. Perhaps he should contact her: ask her how the journey back had gone. She was well able to take care of herself and, in any case, he didn’t like the thought of a frosty response to his well-meaning enquiry. She could be as cold as ice when she chose to be. Still …..the thought would not go away and he picked up his mobile to send her a text – the safest option, no voice to give away your feelings and time to think about what to say and to weigh up a response. She had beaten him to the keypad. The phone vibrated in his hand as the tone signalling her message came through. It was rather a long message for Trish. He decided to phone. Not right away, of course, that would seem too keen. He’d send a text back and shower first.

  21

  The alarm pierced the quietness of the room and Richard almost fell out of bed in his efforts to silence it. For a second he looked incredulously at the early hour and then remembered. He had to stand a long time under the tepid shower until he was fully awake. God his mouth felt like a sand pit. One beer too many at the bar last night: a meagre consolation for his usual boys’ night out. He did his best at dental hygiene. Playing Casanova from cold in the morning would not have gone well – different if you are already lying together in bed. One more fuck on top of the one before was easy.

  The thought of sex brought back his call to Trish last evening. It played like a tape inside his brain.

  ‘Hi, Trish. How’re you doing?’

  ‘Okay now, Dick.’

  ‘Good.’ He missed the cue.

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘Bit frustrated really.’

  ‘God, do you ever think of anything but sex?’

  ‘Hang on, Trish, I didn’t mean that.’

  ‘Really?’ She sounded unconvinced.

  ‘Yes, really.’

  ‘It’s the assignment. It’s opening up a bit but I’m being stonewalled. Can’t get anyone to talk and I’ve only got circ
umstantial evidence so far.’

  ‘What’ve you got then?’

  There was a pause.

  ‘Dick?’

  ‘Yes, I’m still here. Rather not say.’

  ‘Oh come on. Is it classified information or something?’

  ‘No, of course not. It’s just difficult to talk about on the phone.’ He was beginning to regret his decision to call her. ‘Look I promise I’ll tell you everything when I get back. You could have some ideas that may help.’

  ‘Well, it all sounds rather suspicious to me but as long as you promise to tell all.’

  ‘Promise. Anyway how was your journey back?’

  ‘Let’s say it was very interesting.’

  ‘How come?’

  ‘I’ll tell you everything when you get back.’

  ‘Touché.’

  ‘By the way, what’s happened to your text messages?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Such correct English.’

  ‘Really? Oh God, it’s this place. The only people who speak English here sound as though they learnt English 20 years ago. It must be catching.’

  ‘Sounds like you need a break.’

  ‘Well, it’s not so bad here.’

  ‘That’s because you’ve got the whiff of a story.’

  ‘You could be right.’

  ‘Hope it works out.’

  ‘Thanks. What about you? Work okay?’

  ‘Yes. I might have an interesting project coming up. Could mean a bonus.’

  ‘Sounds good.’

  ‘Yes. It’s a cosmetic surgeon from abroad who wants to promote his services in England.’

  ‘What, you mean have your face lift at half price if you cross the channel?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘Mad if you ask me.’

  Trish didn’t reply.

  ‘Hey, it’s good to hear you.’ Richard couldn’t help saying it.

  ‘Likewise.’

  ‘I’ll be back soon. I’ll send you a text when I’ve got a flight.’

  ‘Great.’

  ‘See you soon.’

  ‘Take care.’

  ‘Bye.’

  ‘Bye.’

  Not such a bad exchange after all. He put it out of his mind and concentrated on the point of his early waking. The sea mist was beginning to lift, to strange effect, when he left the hotel. Barely able to see a few feet in front of him, his face and shoulders were obscured by the damp haze but his body was clearly visible if he looked down. The streets were quiet, as if people were waiting for the mist to completely lift before appearing. The church was not difficult to find. The morning mass should already have begun. Richard didn’t want to sit through it. He would catch the priest when it was all over: speak to him on the way back to his house. He didn’t want the girl around. He didn’t need the distraction and anyway, she could have been pretending not to understand English. Through the mist the church door came into focus. A notice had been pinned above the heavy metal handle. Richard pushed the door. It was locked. He wandered to the side entrance, also locked. He checked his watch: no mistake, the time was right. He recalled not hearing the bells that morning. He usually roused from sleep when they rang out and this morning he had been wide-awake. Their silence had not registered with him. He looked hard at the notice on the door as if willing the words to make some sense. Frustrated he turned away, his only option now to find out if the priest were at home.

  The sound of his knock echoed dully along the narrow street and then the air fell silent again. He waited, the empty seconds testing his resolve. The girl would be there and he needed to see the priest alone. He turned away just as the door was inched open a fraction. No one was visible and he could hear no words of welcome.

  ‘It’s Richard for Father Piontius.’ There was no response but Richard was determined now. He pushed at the door and saw her standing in a flimsy nightdress. She did not stop him from entering and he followed her, watching as a soft light fell around her, revealing that she wore nothing beneath. The outline of her body tantalised him and he had an urge to take her and fuck her there and then. He resisted the temptation only by averting his eyes as she led him into the inner room he had seen before. It would not do to transgress in the home of a man of God, even if could find a way of avoiding discovery. As he entered the room he saw Father Piontius lying on the same makeshift bed, raised up a little on pillows. He looked sallow and drawn.

  ‘Father.’ Richard found the word came easily in his concern for the elderly man.

  ‘Good morning, my son.’ The priest’s voice was feeble. ‘How may I help you?’

  ‘I went to the church but it was locked.’

  ‘Yes. I am unwell today. I had them put up a notice.’

  ‘I saw that but I can’t read your language. I wanted to know if you were all right.’

  ‘I am better but not yet fully recovered, thank you. It is the first time I have ever had to cancel a mass. I hope God will forgive me.’ He crossed himself and bowed his head briefly.

  ‘Did you wish to take communion? I could manage that for you if you wish.’

  ‘No please don’t trouble yourself, I ….’ His discomfort defeated his efforts to speak.

  ‘I understand,’ said the priest calmly, ‘but perhaps you need me for something else.’

  Richard looked uncomfortably at the girl.

  ‘What’s troubling you, my son?’

  ‘Can we speak alone?’

  ‘Do not worry about Gea, she does not understand English.’

  With little choice left Richard turned his back on the girl and faced the priest.

  ‘I need your help.’

  He hesitated, seized by doubts about confronting an old man on his sick bed with what he had come to say.’

  ‘Please, my son, feel free to speak. It will ease my conscience about failing to provide mass today.’

  Richard took the plunge.

  ‘It’s about the island. I’m trying to find out what goes on there. I’m sure the education is not philanthropic. To be frank I came across a storeroom full of stuff that would not be out of place in a bordello.’

  As before, the older man’s countenance altered and became ashen. His supine position prevented a loss of consciousness this time, but Richard watched the priest closely for any signs of collapse. At length, Father Piontius recovered enough to speak.

  ‘What makes you think I can help you in this?’

  ‘I picked up some papers that you’d dropped yesterday when you fell. On one of them I saw the crest of the island. I thought you must know something about it.’

  The priest’s face was now an unhealthy grey and coated in sweat. He clutched at his chest and his breathing quickened. Richard stood over him at a loss.

  ‘Shall I call a doctor?’

  ‘No, no. It will pass. Gea will get me my pills.’ He addressed the girl in a faltering voice and she gently sat on the edge of his bed and helped administer the medication he had requested. She stroked his forehead lightly and helped settle him into a sitting position. He began to regain his colour and found the strength to speak again.

  ‘Do not ask about the island. If you have completed your trip I advise you to leave. You have nothing to gain by staying and asking questions. Put your trust instead in God who is our final judge.’

  He would say nothing further and Richard left, even more frustrated now, but determined to find out more.

  22

  The wooden box was finely crafted and Kia set it down gently and went over to her bed. She did as always, and messed up the bedclothes as though she had slept there. The chief had instructed her to do this after the first day. It had become a routine now. She always stayed the night with him but he insisted she return before breakfast time so that no one would know. She did not question why. She was too happy. For several days she had led a life unknown to her ever before. Gone was the fear of beatings, the constant thoughts for what the next day would bring. Instead he had treat
ed her gently, courteously and almost she would say lovingly. Their moments of intimacy were frequent but she no longer saw them as a job, something to be done to preserve her existence. She enjoyed making love to him. This was not the usual phrase she applied to the sexual act. She opened the box. Inside she saw another small velvet box and a rag doll. She picked up the rag doll and held it at arm’s length before hugging it close to her body. Tears broke across her cheeks. She put down the doll and took out the small box. She opened it slowly. Inside she found an exquisite diamond pendant hanging from a gold chain. She stared incredulously at the jewel. Emotions that she had been holding in check flooded through her, amazement, gratitude, relief, joy and a final feeling which she struggled to express. The only word she could find was ‘love’ but she could not be sure. She had felt a great love for her mother but that was a very different feeling. She had had a proper boyfriend too. She had enjoyed sex with him and they were very close but that was a long time ago. She still remembered the pain when he left her. He had found out what she did to earn money. Since then emotions had become largely foreign to her; her life consisted in dealings and survival. The only exception had been the teacher with whom she had lived, but that had been friendship. She knew this was different. She looked intensely at the diamond in her hand. It did not feel like a payment but a gift freely given. She picked up the doll again and hugged it to her with a smile. How could it be that in a few short days she had arrived at this point? She now ached to see again the man whom she had only just left. She yearned to hear the deep timbre of his voice, to touch his body, lean still, despite his years. How old would he be? He would not tell her but she guessed he had already seen half a century. She still knew little about him but guessed he had had a lot of women in his bed. She should have been just another such to him but the indications were otherwise. They had spent so much time together. Sometimes they toured the island but often they would be content just to sit in conversation, talking of books, paintings, music, science. They talked as equals, hampered a little by the English that they had to use instead of their mother tongues. She felt exhilarated by him. He excited her, not just sexually but intellectually. When he demanded sex she obeyed but it was desire and not duty that came to motivate her response. As the days passed he seemed less to demand and more to request, and show concern for her pleasure too. She looked at the box again, remembering his words.