“I know about Demir.”
“My lady, you do not,” he said. “That I will tell you, but nothing else.”
“I saw you at Nea Kameni with another man. I know what you have come for: the Achilles bronze. The object is not Ashton’s, you know. It is mine and has been in my possession for some time. So you may call off your dogs. If you want to negotiate, I will not do so with you. I will deal only with Demir.” I paused, staring into his black eyes. “You may consider your options overnight. I will come to you in the morning.” I stood up tall and tossed my head as I turned away from him and stalked out of the barn.
“Do you think that was wise?” Margaret asked. “What if the second man on Nea Kameni was Demir and what if he is here and has followed his minion to the house?”
“Adelphos, did anyone follow you?” I asked.
“No, Lady Kallista. I am certain of it.”
“Well, then,” I said, the confidence in my voice masking the deep concern gnawing at my insides.
“He could be dangerous,” Margaret said.
“He certainly is, although I suspect it was Batur who shot at Philip and murdered poor Mr. Kallas, not Demir, who strikes me as the sort who leaves his dirty work to others.” I turned to Adelphos. “The barn is not secure enough to risk leaving him there overnight. Take him to the storeroom. It has only one small window and a sturdy door that can be locked. He will have to remain tied up, and do please make sure he cannot free himself.”
“I will see to it,” Adelphos said.
“Thank you, Adelphos,” I said. “You have done extremely well.”
“Like Heracles.” Pride beamed on his face and he gave us a little bow before heading back to the barn. Margaret and I watched him go.
“It is as if he stepped out of another millennium,” she said. “How is it I never noticed until now? He is—”
“A perfect classical hero. Yes.” We stood still, in silent appreciation, and then returned to the roof, where the gentlemen expressed their frustration at being able to see nothing of the scene but the roof of the barn.
“Well?” Jeremy demanded. “Tell us everything!”
“He would reveal nothing,” I said, “but we ought not be deterred. Jeremy, I need you to ride with me to Oia, to the house where Adelphos found him. I want to search it.”
“It is growing dark,” Philip said. “Wait until morning.”
“I will not risk it,” I said. “I know this island like the back of my hand and will be perfectly fine with Pyrois and a lantern.”
I saw Jeremy hesitate, only slightly, but then he rallied himself. “So long as you can promise me that there will be no young ladies there trying to shoot me, we shall have no trouble at all.”
“It is highly unlikely that a gentleman of your stature would be shot at by a young lady more than once in his life,” I said, sorry the circumstances had brought to mind his former fiancée’s attack on him. A glance in Margaret’s direction told me she wanted to come to Oia as well, but I did not think this a good idea. I pulled her downstairs and into my room, where I changed into clothing suitable for a long ride.
“You aren’t going to leave me here?” she asked. “Is it because I reacted so badly to poor Mr. Kallas’s death?”
“Not at all,” I said. “Philip, with his injury, is useless against attack. Furthermore, I am not altogether certain I trust him, and, hence, cannot be confident of Fritz’s loyalties either. You and Adelphos will have to take charge of the house—”
“Along with Mrs. Katevatis.” Margaret grinned. “She is an ally worth a hundred gentlemen.”
“Yes,” I said. “Colin won’t be much longer, and I am almost tempted to wait for him and leave Jeremy with you, but I fear time could be of the essence.”
“Is there any chance Demir could be in Oia?”
“No one reported to Adelphos having seen a third stranger. Batur and our unresponsive patient arrived on the island together. I would not be surprised if Demir, not having had any contact with one of his lackeys, reacts by either sending someone else or coming himself. I intend to sway the balance in a manner that will ensure he comes himself.”
“Do not take any risks,” she said. “Perhaps you should leave Jeremy and take Adelphos. He knows the island even better than you.”
“A fair point,” I said, “but he is also far more capable of managing our prisoner than Jeremy. Furthermore, I rather enjoy making the old boy do something useful. After all of this adventure he cannot possibly be anything but thoroughly distracted from the indignities heaped on him by Amity Wells.” I tightened the laces of my sturdiest boots, ones I could rely on to be suitable not only for riding but for running, should it become necessary. Though we would have lanterns, I also put candles and a tin of matches in one of my jacket pockets and a small notebook and pencil in another.
Before going downstairs to meet Jeremy, whom I assumed would take less time than I to prepare, I went onto the balcony, straining my eyes for any sign of Colin returning along the cliff path. Seeing none, I knew I could delay no longer. I bade Margaret farewell and sent her back to the roof terrace to keep an eye on Philip and Fritz.
Jeremy was leaning elegantly against the wall next to the front door, dressed in tweeds and holding a riding crop. “Pith helmet, Em, really?” he asked. “There is no sun now and there won’t be any until morning.”
“I have seen too many people whacked over the head and am making an effort to avoid similar injuries,” I said, taking him by the arm and pulling him to the back of the house. “Come now, we shall have to fetch the horses from the stable ourselves.”
“Service falls utterly to pieces during your hideous investigations,” he said. “Truly it is an indignity not to be borne. I shall have words with Adelphos when this is all over.”
Philip
Santorini, 1897
No sooner had the volcanic landscape erupted with floral blooms than Reiner returned to the island, eager to check on his friend and prepare the site at Thera for another season of excavation. He had set off earlier than the rest of the archaeological party, wanting to see for himself that Philip had survived the winter unscathed by loneliness or a visit from Demir’s henchmen.
“Truly, you are content here?” he asked. “I have brought you two more crates of books. I found everything you wanted except Lady Audley’s Secret. It is not history, I assume?”
“No, far from it. Kallista read it on our wedding trip. It is the very worst sort of sensational novel, and tells a great deal about her character that she chose to bring it with her, do you not think?”
“I am afraid I cannot answer that, as I am not familiar with the story. Perhaps if I were to read it—”
“You would despise it.” Philip laughed. “Kallista did not care what impression it made, she only wanted to read what she wanted to read. I gave her a first edition of Pride and Prejudice soon thereafter. I wonder which she preferred?”
“I spoke to someone in Fira today when I arrived. He said she is coming to the villa at the end of the month. She likes to spend time here in the spring. The servants are already preparing the house.”
“How I wish I could see her, even from afar, but I cannot risk being spotted, not if I am to stay true to my oath to leave her undisturbed,” Philip said.
“If we found out exactly when she was due to arrive, we could watch from a distance after the ship docked. The road to Fira is long and steep, and you know how slowly the donkeys move. We could find a spot on the cliff path and you could catch a glimpse of her through a spyglass without any danger of being spotted. We could be off and away before she reached town.”
“It is tempting,” Philip said. “So very tempting. I shall consider it.”
If he were honest with himself, he knew even then there had never been anything to consider. He could not resist the temptation. And so, on the day she arrived—Reiner, drinking with some locals in a taverna in Fira, had no trouble ascertaining the date—they waited until a boat appr
oached the dock far below where they stood on the cliff path. Philip trained his glass on it, and could see her, standing on the deck, her fair hair spilling from its pins and tumbling over her shoulders in the wind, her hat in her hand, and her husband close by her side. Philip watched as Hargreaves helped her onto the dock and then onto a waiting donkey. They were both smiling and laughing, as if they had not a care in the world.
An unexpected rage filled Philip. Kallista he might be able to forgive, but Hargreaves? That betrayal stung more, just as it had when he observed the kiss at Berkeley Square, and now the sight of his best friend came near to inciting violence in him. He lowered the spyglass and turned away from the scene below.
“That is quite enough,” he said to Reiner. “This has very nearly cured me of my affliction. Come, let us to Thera. Our work awaits!”
He may have put on a convincing show for his friend—he very nearly persuaded even himself he wanted nothing further to do with that part of his life—but that all changed the day a party of visitors made the climb up Mesa Vouno to the ruins of the ancient city. He did not immediately recognize Kallista’s laughter signaling her approach along the stone road skirting the edge of the cliff. It was another voice that drew his attention.
“Kallista!” a woman with a heavy French accent called. “You are going too fast. I will insist Monsieur Hargreaves scold you most severely if you do not slow down.”
Kallista? Hargreaves? It had to be her, but how had this French woman known of his private nickname for his wife? Philip had been too reserved, even after their wedding, to use it to her face. Had Hargreaves commandeered it? Did he claim it to be an invention of his own?
“Colin would never scold me,” came the reply in an angelic, silvery soprano. “He knows better than that.”
Philip’s heart raced. It was she, not that he had doubted it, and whatever happened, he could not let her see him. Very few tourists came to Thera, so few, in fact, that their presence did not irritate the archaeologists, the way they did at more popular sites, where their disruptive presence went beyond mere nuisance and frequently interfered with the excavations. On the rare occasions dilettantes made the trek up Mesa Vouno, Herr Professor Hiller von Gaertringen welcomed them, gave them a thorough tour of the site, and offered them the strong coffee he brewed in camp every day.
Philip edged his way along a wall that hid him from the main pavement leading through the ancient city to the stoa, where Reiner was supervising the reconstruction of a handful of Hellenistic columns. He pulled his friend aside, behind the safety of the wall, and explained to him, sotto voce, that he must disappear, quickly. Reiner offered to provide an excuse for his absence to their leader, and Philip climbed the narrow stairs that formed a street between rows of tightly packed buildings, or, rather, what remained of them. At the top, he walked along the ridge, crouching low, until he reached the end of the city nearest to the narrow path that led to the archaeologists’ camp. Once certain Kallista and her party had made their way past him—aided by Reiner, who, as arranged, shouted a loud hail to them—Philip all but ran down the path, past the early Christian church, and back to camp, where he untied one of the donkeys and urged the surly beast down the mountainside.
He spent the rest of the day near Akrotiri on the red beach, whose sharp blood-colored cliffs offered him a background to match his anger. Much though he had longed to see Kallista, the manner of this near-encounter tormented him. Yet he could not go to her. He could not. He could not. Unless …
He began to formulate an idea.
20
The light had not yet altogether faded from the sky when Jeremy and I departed the villa for Oia. I knew the moon would rise soon, and while it would not be full—it was only just on the wane—its silver orb would provide ample light to supplement our lanterns. In fact, it shone so bright, especially when reflected by the island’s whitewashed buildings, we hardly needed the lanterns. The ride to Oia was so familiar to me I could have found my way blindfolded, and as we approached the cluster of its buildings, I urged Pyrois off the main road and up a narrow path.
Here the buildings were more scattered, with space between them, unlike in the more populated sections of the town. Soon Oia glowed below us in the moonlight, and we turned back onto a larger road, one that snaked past the town and north to the tip of the island.
“I suppose it would have been too much to ask for Batur to have taken a house on the outskirts of Oia on the side nearer to Imerovigli,” Jeremy said.
“Are you tired?” I asked.
“Not at all,” he replied. “A little anxious, though. Do try not to shoot me, whatever happens, will you? I still don’t trust your aim entirely.”
He was referring to the fact that I had shot his former fiancée when she had held him prisoner with the intent of murdering him. Despite any disparaging comments he might make about my skill (or lack thereof) with firearms, I had succeeded in stopping the malevolent woman with a single shot through the fleshy part of her shoulder and had, I still believe, handled the matter very neatly. She had suffered no serious injury, and I had been able to free Jeremy. “I have practiced since then, you know. I am quite confident I could shoot an apple off your head if the occasion called for it.”
“Let us hope it never does.”
“It should not be much further,” I said. “Adelphos said to count six houses after that last turn we made. We are now at the fourth.” We were well away from the lights of Oia. Insignificant though they were, the sight of them in the distance gave the illusion of assistance being fairly close at hand should we require it. I slowed Pyrois. These final houses stood along the top of the hill, giving their occupants a superb view of the island, Oia, and the caldera. More important, they were situated in a way that made approaching them by road impossible to do without being seen.
I dismounted between the fourth and fifth house and walked next to Pyrois. Behind the humble dwellings, I found a tree and tied my horse to it. Jeremy followed and did the same with his. We then continued on foot.
“There are no lights on,” I whispered, once the house in question came into our field of vision. “We must proceed with extreme caution.”
“You will let me go first,” Jeremy said. I opened my mouth in protest, but the look on his face told me he would brook no argument. “Wait until I give you a sign that all is clear. I shall light my lantern when I am ready for you.” He removed a pistol from his jacket and held it out, steady, in front of him as he started toward the house. I itched to follow, but knew taking insensible risks would not increase the odds of a successful mission, so I waited, moving closer to our target, but keeping a safe distance from him. I had a pistol of my own, but hoped upon hope I would have no cause to use it.
I heard the creak of hinges and the groan of wood. He had opened the front door. Silence followed, but after what felt like an interval of ages, I saw the glow of his lantern. Moving as quietly as possible, I proceeded into the house. Once inside, I pulled the door shut behind me and latched it.
“I have checked every inch,” he said. “There is no one here.” He started bolting the shutters, giving us privacy and security for our search.
The small building contained only three rooms and was furnished very sparsely with old wooden pieces of rough quality. Batur had not traveled with much; I found his meager possessions in a bundle next to the bed. The only item of significance was a small bronze statue of Hermes identical to the one I had found in Philip’s possession. I slipped it into my pocket. Feeling frustrated, I went through each room again, methodically searching every cupboard and every drawer.
“Nothing,” Jeremy said. “I am afraid we have wasted our time.”
“Not quite,” I said. I went back to the bedroom and looked again at Batur’s clothing. He had a spare robe with him, a grimy piece of cloth of indeterminate color—it might once have been white—that smelled strongly of goat. I shook it out and laid it flat on the dirt floor of the room. “There must be pockets some
where.” Its voluminous folds had revealed nothing when I searched it before, but that time I had left it hanging on a hook. Attacking it spread out proved easier and more effective. Sure enough, there were pockets. In one, I found a handkerchief in a state even worse than that of the robe. From the other, I pulled a grubby scrap of paper with the name of a hotel on the nearby island of Naxos written in Greek beneath what appeared to be its name in Turkish.
“This may be all we need,” I said. “Come, let’s go back to Oia. I want to send a telegram without delay. It must have been Demir whom I saw with Batur at Nea Kameni. He’s convinced Philip has the bronze, and has sent his thugs to take care of ferreting it out, but doesn’t want to go too far away so that he may get his hands on the object as quickly as possible. Naxos is the perfect location for him—a short boat ride away, but distant enough to keep himself from being implicated in whatever happens on Santorini.”
“You can’t be certain of any of that,” Jeremy said.
“You have done very well tonight, my friend,” I said, “and I am most grateful for your assistance. You are correct that I cannot be certain, but it is a reasonable deduction given what we know. If he is at this hotel in Naxos, he will reply to my message. If not, we have lost nothing. My instinct tells me this is the best next step.”
“Far be it from me to side against a lady’s instinct.” He clasped my hand and we made our way through the night back to the horses. Once we were finished in Oia, the ride back to Imerovigli flashed by in an instant. When we reached the villa, I made Jeremy wait in the courtyard while I looked in on Batur.
“I am already in contact with Demir,” I said, bluffing with a confidence that would have impressed even Colin. I dangled the statue of Hermes in front of our prisoner. “I expect his response at any time.”
His black eyes flashed. “How did you—”
“Do you think you are the only one who knows about Hermes?” I was fishing now, having speculated the statue must have something to do with Demir and his nefarious associates. “You should have told me where he was when I asked. Now I have taken matters into my own hands. How long is the trip from Naxos to Santorini?” I gave him what I hoped was a menacing grin and stalked out of his makeshift cell, heading to the roof terrace, where I found the rest of my friends, as well as my husband, who had returned from his errand in Fira. I pulled him aside.
A Terrible Beauty Page 21
