The Secret of Helena's Bay

by Sally Quilford

  “Shelley,” said Paris. “Sit down a moment.” He went to take her elbow, but she snatched her arm away and went to the window, staring out into the distance. She heard him sigh and out of the corner of her eye saw him sit down on the edge of the bed. Far in the distance she could see the jetty, where some men were waiting. There was someone on the seat near them, but she could not make out who it was because they were blocking her view.

  “I am not imagining it.”

  “I know it’s none of my business, but your mother contacted me. She was concerned about you, so told me a little of what’s been going on. It sounds as though you’ve had a rough time of it.”

  “So because a boyfriend conned me out of all my money I’m now making up stories about elderly German men?” She spun around. “How did you jump to that conclusion?”

  “I’m not jumping to conclusions. No one else saw him. You don’t have the letters, and there’s no website.”

  “So you don’t believe I saw him?”

  “I believe that you believe it.”

  “Oh, don’t spout that psychological mumbo jumbo at me. You still haven’t explained why my experience with Tony...” Her voice cracked slightly on her ex-boyfriend’s name. ‘How that would make me conjure up Nazi intrigue.”

  “The history of this islet, and the Nazi occupation, is well documented. Then you have a man who you say has returned to right the wrongs committed by his father. Maybe you associate what Tony did to you with what the Nazis did here. And you hope, deep down that someone will right the wrongs done to you.”

  It was ludicrous, yet Paris made it sound so plausible that she could understand why he thought she was a total fruitcake.

  “I don’t think everyone is telling the truth about not having seen Stefan,” she said, as calmly as she could, whilst her tears threatened to betray her.

  “Why would they lie, Shelley?”

  “I don’t know, but Mrs Caldicott warned me off talking about him, then a few minutes later she was snooping around the hut near the beach.”

  “That is quite enough,” Paris said, standing up. His blue eyes blazed with anger. “I will not have you accusing the other guests here of being a part of this intrigue you’ve created.”

  With that, he turned and stormed out of the room, leaving Shelley aghast. Obviously she had struck a nerve somewhere, but she did not know how. She turned back to the window, just in time to see the two men getting onto the ferry. The third man was between them, and he appeared to have trouble walking. His face hung down, making it difficult for her to see it clearly. Paris had told her that the sick were taken by helicopter, so why were they moving a man who seemed ill on the ferry?

  Her first thought was of Stefan. They were getting him off the island without anyone knowing. She dashed downstairs and out of the door, running towards the jetty. It had taken them ten minutes to walk from there to the farmhouse the day before, it took her five minutes to run back, gasping as she did so. She was too late. By the time she reached the jetty the ferry was already on its way to the mainland.

  She turned and ran back to the farmhouse, getting a stitch in her side in the process. “I really need to go to the gym more,” she muttered to herself.

  As she neared the office, she saw Paris coming out with Mrs Caldicott. They seemed to be having a heated conversation. Shelley forgot the niceties and rushed up to them.

  “They took a man who’s been hurt,” she gasped. “On the ferry. You said they only used helicopters for the sick. I think it was Stefan.”

  “Shelley…” said Paris, a note of warning in his voice. He looked even angrier than before, but there was something else behind his eyes. Something that resembled fear.

  Mrs Caldicott looked at them both, then turned to Paris. “Just remember what I said.” With that, she walked off towards the terrace where Miss Charters was waiting.

  Chapter Six

  “Are you going to tell me I imagined the two men carrying another man onto the ferry?” asked Shelley, the next morning. She went to Paris’s office as soon as she woke up, and found him with his head down over a pile of accounts.

  The previous day had been strained, with Paris refusing to enter into any conversation about what Shelley had seen, other than saying, “I’ll look into it.” She spent another restless night, and when she finally woke, after two fitful hours sleep, she began to wonder if she would have been better staying at home. She felt even more exhausted than when she arrived.

  As she stood in front of Paris, asking her question, she rocked with tiredness.

  “No, the ferry pilot confirmed it. So did the two men who helped the man aboard. It was one of the archaeologists from the dig. He sprained his ankle, and rather than bother the helicopter rescue service, he insisted his friends take him over on the ferry.”

  “They carried him like a sack of potatoes,” said Shelley.

  “His name is Professor Grunwald. He said you’d met. I’ve spoken to him on the phone this morning. He thanks you for your concern but insists that his friends treated him quite well.”

  “Grunwald? Yes, I met him.” Shelley’s heart sank. She was desperate to be proved right about Stefan.

  “Then you’ll know he’s about forty years old. That’s not old enough to be a Nazi.”

  “You’ve obviously never heard of the BNP.”

  “I grew up in Britain, and my mother is Jewish. You think I’d be ignorant of the British Nationalist Party?”

  Greek father. Jewish mother. No wonder he had such exotic good looks.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “What? That my mother is Jewish?”

  “No, of course not! I meant that I suggested you wouldn’t have heard of the BNP. I was just being sarcastic anyway. I suppose, …” Her voice softened, “it isn’t very nice for you to hear me talking about Nazis and things, given what happened during the war. I don’t want to cause anyone any anguish. I’ll keep things to myself in future.”

  “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea. Anyway, all that was before I was born. I’m saddened and horrified, but I’m as detached from it as most people born after it was all over. Sometimes I think I should feel more, but it’s hard when one is so disconnected from the actual time.” He paused, as if searching deep within himself. “Are you satisfied that what I’ve told you about Grunwald is true?”

  “I suppose I have to be,” said Shelley. In reality, she felt things were far from settled.

  “Let it go, Shelley. Please.” Did she detect the hint of a warning?

  “Of course.” She feared it would be obvious to him her smile was forced as it hurt her jaw to keep it in place. “I’d better get to Yaya’s class. It’s pottery today, so hopefully I won’t cut myself, unless I make myself dizzy with the wheel, or cause myself second degree burns on the kiln.” She could hear herself twittering on and hated the sound. It was the same voice she used to her mother when she was lying to her about Tony’s antics, because she was so sure he would put things right. “See you at lunch, yes?”

  “Hmm,” said Paris. He did not seem convinced.

  It was early evening before Shelley could get away from the others. When she first tried, after lunch, Miss Charters kept her talking with her reminiscences of holidays past.

  “Then we went down the Nile,” she said, putting her hand on Shelley’s arm, as Shelley tried to get up and leave the table. “Have you ever been down the Nile?”

  “No, and whilst I’d love to hear about it, I’m in a bit of a hurry,”

  “We’ve plenty of time, dear. The afternoon class doesn’t start for another hour. Where was I? Oh, yes, when you’re out there on a steamer, the modern world seems to disappear. It was just like being in an Agatha Christie novel. Thankfully without the murder.”

  When the afternoon class had finished around four, Shelley once again tried to escape, but had to spend half an hour helping Mrs Caldicott find a missing phone charger.

  “I was sure I packed it,” said Mrs Caldicott, turn
ing her bag upside down and emptying the contents onto the table.

  “Is it in your room?” asked Shelley, feeling that would be the most likely place.

  “No, dear I’ve looked there.”

  “I know,” said Shelley, desperate to get away and convinced that Mrs Caldicott was trying to stop her. “What sort of phone do you have? Mine might fit.” It occurred to Shelley as she said it that she had not charged her own mobile recently.

  Mrs Caldicott held out her phone, but the make was different to Shelley’s and the chargers seldom fit. “I don’t know why they don’t make them universal,” she said, shrugging. “Oh well, must be off.”

  Shelley almost didn’t get away at all. She got to the edge of the terrace, only to find Paris following her.

  “Where are you going?” he asked. “It’s a bit late to go wandering off on your own.” She did some quick thinking, realising she’d never escape at this rate.

  “The loo.”

  “That’s in the farmhouse. You’re going towards the beach.”

  “Yes, I thought I’d use the shower block near the top huts rather than traipse upstairs. That’s alright, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, of course. Go ahead.”

  Shelley guessed that he would not want to stand outside the ladies waiting for her. She was also pleased to find that there were two entrances, so she entered by one, and left by the other, which brought her out at the far end of the huts, and only a few metres from the beach.

  If what she had heard was correct, she could walk most of the way around the islet via the beach. At least she could get to where she wanted to go, which was the eastern bay where the archaeological dig was taking place. It took her half an hour to get there, and she began to realise she may not get back until dark, which would make the beach harder to traverse. Especially if the tide came in.

  Before she reached the bay, she left the beach, and climbed up onto the rocks above. For a moment she forgot why she was there, as she drank in the scenery. Over to the west, behind her, the sun was starting its slow descent into the sea, and far off, across to the east, she saw the faint lights of a distant coastline. She could not imagine a more perfect place. She looked around for someone to share that thought with, and was suddenly struck by her loneliness.

  Miles away from home, and with people who either thought she was crazy or had suspicious reasons for pretending so, she felt adrift. Where was the comforting arm on her shoulder? Where was the deep, loving voice telling her the moment was more perfect because they shared it? Alarmingly the voice she imagined belonged to Paris.

  Shivering a little, she wrapped her pale blue scarf more tightly around her. An unbidden tear fell to her cheek. She brushed it away, impatiently, and walked further on, so she could have a good view of the bay. It was still light enough to see, and what she saw bothered her. Shelley was no expert on archaeology, but she knew from watching Time Team that archaeologists had to follow certain procedures. Part of that was returning the dig site to its original state afterwards. She saw none of that procedure below. Only chaos. They were also meant to catalogue everything found, but she could see no workspace for that purpose.

  The were also procedures regarding digging. It had to be done carefully, so that no artefacts found were damaged. But the group of men below her dug as if they were digging a grave; deep and, violently, and without due care for the surroundings. At one point, a man stopped and picked up what appeared to be a piece of curved earthenware pot. He threw it aside and continued digging.

  Shelley stepped forward to get a better view, at which point a rock dislodged and fell to the ground beneath her. Professor Grunwald looked up at her, fixing her with an intense stare.

  Confused about her bearings, she started walking north, clutching her scarf around her. She heard him shout, “Stop, Fraulein Freeman, please.”

  Shelley did nothing of the sort. She kept on walking, slipping over the rocky ground once or twice. It took her several minutes to run to the northern end of the islet, convinced that they were only a few meters behind her. It was stupid of her to come out alone, she realised that. There were no buildings or people on that side of the islet, apart from the so-called archaeologists working in the bay, and the farmhouse seemed a long way away, across the islet.

  Finally, with her heart pounding in her chest, she stopped and looked down at a beach where a few bathers lay stretched out, enjoying what was left of the sinking sun. It was with some horror she realised they were all naked.

  She had stumbled upon the nudist beach that Annette mentioned. Her first instinct was to keep going along the coastline, but that would mean a lonely a trip back to the farmhouse, and she was already exhausted from running. So she stumbled down onto the beach. She did not intend to join the bathers. Her intention was to make the men following believe that she had. She would sit it out near to the beach until she was sure the men had stopped following. As she grew nearer, she recognised Jean, who was in very good shape, albeit somewhat overly cooked in the tanning department. Shelley dipped her head, not only hoping Jean would not see her, but also hoping she would not end up seeing old Len naked. It was more than her nerves could stand at that moment.

  Not wanting to have to explain her presence, she kept to the edge of the beach. She looked back in the direction from which she came, and was sure she saw a man standing on the cliff overlooking the nudist beach. He ducked back out of sight so quickly that she wondered if it were just a trick of the light.

  Walking along the beach, she prayed for the moment she could get out of sight behind some far off rocks. Out of the corner of her eye she could see someone coming out of the water. As the bather grew nearer, she became vaguely aware it was male. As he grew nearer still, passing the others and making his way to where she was, she realised it was Paris. She dared not look so kept her eyes fixed on some point above his head.

  “Shelley, we wondered where you’d got to. What are you doing hiding up there? Don’t be shy, come and join us.”

  She shook her head, trying desperately to look anywhere but at Paris’s naked body. The bit she did see – his torso - was in very good shape, but it was as much as she dared to know about him.

  “This was a bad idea,” she said, feeling hotter with every passing moment. She meant that going to the dig, and then being chased by the men was a bad idea, but Paris didn’t take it that way and she was not about to share the whole experience with him.

  “Oh, come on. Being nude isn’t obligatory.”

  She shook her head vehemently, and in the process saw that he was wearing a pair of black swim shorts. His body was firm and toned, with fine hair tracing from his navel, down under the waist band of the shorts. A deep blush started from her toes, all the way up to the roots of her hair. There was no way she could relax with a half-naked Paris nearby.

  “I’m on my way back to the farmhouse,” she said. “I need to be alone for a while.”

  “Are you alright? You look upset.”

  Should she tell him? She looked back towards the rocks, but could see none of the men who had been following her. What if they were lying in wait?

  “I’d like to go back, but I wondered …”

  “Yes?”

  “Whether you’d mind walking back with me. Just for company.”

  “I’d be delighted to.” His face spread into a smile. “Actually, it’s time everyone were getting back for dinner. I’ll tell them.”

  Shelley struggled to suppress a crushing sense of disappointment.

  Chapter Seven

  “Do you live here all the time?” asked Shelley, as they made their way back to the farmhouse. Jean and the others walked about fifty yards behind, so to all intents and purposes Shelley and Paris were alone. It was almost dark. In the distance the farmhouse lights twinkled, adding a welcoming glow to the cool night air.

  “No, only during the summer. The dream is that one day we can offer all year round breaks, but until the centre pays it’s own way, I have to go back t
o England to work in the winter.”

  “What do you do?”

  “I’m a counsellor.”

  “Of course you are.” She grinned. “It was obvious really. The way I feel as if you’re reading my mind.”

  Paris laughed. “It always unnerves people. I should learn to switch off more.”

  “Is it because of your counselling that you had the idea of offering holistic breaks?”

  “Sort of. I spend a lot of time working with people who lack direction. The idea is that trying lots of different activities here might set them on the right path. It may not be anything we actually do here. Being here sometimes just helps people to decide what they don’t want out of life. What do you do in the real world, Shelley? I know you work in a law centre, but in what capacity?”

  “Didn’t my mother tell you?”

  “Touchĕ. No, she didn’t. She only told me what happened with Tony.”

  “I represent people in employment tribunals. Discrimination, non-payment of wages. That sort of thing.”

  “Do you like your work?”

  “It’s like any job. It can be very rewarding one minute and have me tearing my hair out the next. We’re overworked, underpaid and understaffed, like most charities, so I work really long hours. Employment laws are all very well, but if there’s work to be done, and people are relying on you, you sometimes have to work beyond what’s legal to help those who have no choice. I think that’s why…”

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” She had been going to say that was why Tony had managed to con her. They met just after she had finished a very difficult case. She was exhausted from not leaving the office till eight o’clock most evenings. So when Tony paid attention to her in the pub, she was ripe for a distraction. But she feared Paris would not allow her that excuse. Because it was one, as an intelligent woman, she barely allowed herself.