by PJ Skinner
The Frog Cypher
A Sam Harris Novel
by
PJ Skinner
Copyright 2016 PJ Skinner
Discover other titles in the Sam Harris Series
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Contents
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
VII
VIII
IX
X
XI
XII
XIII
XIV
XV
XVI
XVII
XVIII
XIX
XX
XXI
About the Author
Other Books in the Sam Harris Series
I
‘You alone here?’
The older of the two men sitting together near the window had noticed Sam getting up to leave the restaurant.
‘Yes,’ replied Sam, torn between wanting to go back to her studio and read her book, and the need to explain herself. She knew it looked odd, a young woman like her holidaying alone. ‘I’m finishing my dissertation.’
The two men looked at each other.
‘What subject?’ asked her inquisitor.
‘I’m doing a Master’s degree in geology,’ said Sam over her shoulder. She was still moving and bumped into the door frame in her anxiety to leave. The man looked startled for a moment and glanced at Sam sharply to see if she was joking. But she had already gone and did not see his reaction.
Rubbing her shoulder, she walked home giving little thought to the two men in the restaurant. Their interest in her had no doubt been generated by drink and the fact that she was a lone woman. She had no inkling whatsoever that she had just met a man who would feature prominently in the next part of her life.
Back in the restaurant, the man raised an eyebrow at his companion, who looked amused and raised both in reply.
‘So, what were you saying about needing a geologist?’ asked Edward Beckett, ‘and how difficult it was to find one?’ He chortled into his whisky.
His companion snorted. Mike Morton was not used to being upstaged. A stocky man with a craggy yet handsome face, he was about forty years old and had lost most of his hair. What he had left had been cut very short. He was wearing baggy linen shorts and a light-blue short-sleeved shirt, which emphasised his blue eyes, like deep pools in a Mediterranean cave.
Mike turned to face Edward and shrugged.
‘The one that got away?’ asked his friend.
‘Now, Edward, you should know that a woman has never got away from me yet. When I want a geologist, I just put my lips together and blow.’
‘So, you’d employ a female geologist? You must be desperate.’
‘Edward, Edward, where have you been all your life? I guarantee you that she’s the one who’s desperate. How easy do you imagine it is for a female geologist to get a job? I know, I know—this is 1987. Women are supposed to be treated equally. But she hasn’t a hope of a job in the real world. Did you know that British Coal still won’t employ women to work in the mines? Where is she going to get a job? She’ll come cheap and accept crap conditions. It’s a win-win situation for us.’
‘Huh, and there’s me thinking that women’s liberation had actually happened. Don’t tell Ophelia. She’ll start making placards. Well, it’s a small town, I’m sure you’ll see her again. What about one for the road?’
‘Good idea. Waiter?’
***
One month earlier, Sam Harris had been sitting in a basement classroom lit by fluorescent strip lighting, staring out of the window into a seemingly bleak future. She and the other members of her Masters year had just had a visit from a career guru.
‘So in summary, the chances of obtaining a job as a geologist in the oil industry this year are similar to the odds of winning the lottery. I suggest that you don’t bother applying for jobs in the oil sector and think of using your skills in another field, like banking or teaching. Any questions?’ he asked.
There were some grim faces in the room after he left.
‘That’s me fucked,’ said one of Sam’s classmates.
‘He wants us to work in a bank,’ said another. ‘I didn’t sign up for that.’
Sam, who thought that it was more likely that he would be signing up for the dole than a bank, did not comment.
She went home to her cheap digs near the university, where she stayed with other impoverished graduate students. The flat was cold and dank and had only one bath, which the hot water boiler was not big enough to fill. It always had horrible grey rings at the water line, which made her shudder. She showered at the university instead. There was a shared kitchen where she cooked trays of baked potatoes and made pasta with tuna for her fellow inmates. They took turns tidying the communal rooms and generally studied harder than most undergraduates, who still had full grants and could afford to eat and drink well.
Sam had passed the written portion of her exams with no issues. A dissertation had been recommended to her by one of the professors, who needed the work done as an adjunct to his research. She was content sitting in the lab every day using a microscope to study pollen grains that looked as if they were sporting African hairstyles, with tight plaits sticking out on the sides of their heads. She realised that she had identified the pollen type and preservation needed by the professor to theorise that the rocks she was studying contained petroleum. She knew that she was in the home stretch.
There was one slight snag. Her dissertation was due at the end of September but the lease on the flat was up in mid-August. She had to improvise, as she needed to finish it somewhere. All the diagrams and graphs still had to be drawn by hand onto the pre-typed pages.
The following Sunday, while reading the travel section of the newspaper, she noticed that one of the agents was offering a very cheap package holiday to Rhodes, a Greek island she had visited before. Intrigued, she phoned them to find out more.
‘Hello, is that Panopolidis Travel?’
‘Yes, how can I help you?’
‘I see you have package holidays to Rhodes. I was wondering if you could give me a deal for staying a bit longer?’
‘I’m sure we can help. Are you travelling alone?’
‘Yes, does that matter?’
‘Not at all. We can offer you a studio in Lindos for six weeks, with a return flight included for £300. How does that sound?’
‘Lindos? Isn’t that on the west coast? What’s it like?’
‘It’s a small town with narrow cobbled streets. It has a wonderful castle built by the crusaders, overlooking a double bay. No cars are allowed to enter the town, so the only transportation consists of donkeys and wheelbarrows. You’ll need to watch out for the donkey poo.’
Sam could hear the smile in her voice.
‘That sounds perfect! How do I get the tickets?’
‘We are at 134 Tottenham Court road, third floor. No lift I’m afraid. Can you pay cash?’
‘Yes I can. When can I pick them up?’
‘Any time after tomorrow afternoon. Can you bring your passport please? I’ll need your details now over the phone.’
‘That’s great.’ She gave her passport information.
Formalities over, the agent continued, ‘The town
is very quiet at night. The buses full of tourists that park on the outskirts of the town every day go back to Rhodes town in the evening. Lindos has lots of places to eat and a small shopping street.’ Sam was elated. It was the perfect solution.
‘Is there any way you can organise a typewriter for me? I know it’s a lot to ask.’
‘Not at all. I’m sure our local office can lend you one of their old things. Someone is always on leave.’
‘Fantastic. I’ll be at your office in a couple of days to pick up the tickets. Thank you so much.’
Sam replaced the receiver. She could feel the sun on her back already. It was cheaper than staying in London, and she liked moussaka a lot more than baked potatoes. She would also have a free swimming pool on her doorstep in the form of St Paul’s Bay, the smaller of the two bays at Lindos.
She collected the tickets without incident. Then a couple of days later, she packed her bags and headed for the airport. She endured the charter flight to Rhodes, with all the crying children and grumpy parents, with good humour as she was sure she would not have to put up with them again.
After landing at the airport, she stepped off the plane into the baking heat and blinked in the bright sunlight. Within seconds her shirt was sticking to her back. Pushing her way through the throng gathered in the shade of the airport building, she found the agency bus to Lindos, which was ready to leave, its driver gunning the engine and releasing black smoke into the still, hot air. She showed the driver her voucher and was directed down to the back of the bus. It was air-conditioned and she sighed with contentment as she leaned back against her seat in the cool air.
The bus made good time and got to Lindos just as the tourist buses visiting the little town were leaving. Sam jumped off, collected her luggage from the hold and set off down the main street, following the map she had been given. She only lost her way once before arriving at her temporary home. But her rucksack felt heavy by then and the straps were digging into her shoulders.
The owner, who was waiting for her in the cobbled courtyard, let her in through the door from the street and gave her some keys. The courtyard was shaded by this time but it was still as hot as an oven. He took her to a door off one corner of the courtyard and led her up some small stairs into the studio flat. He showed her the little bathroom and kitchen and finally stood with her in the main room with the bed tucked into a cool corner at the back.
‘Nice, eh? I put the typewriter on the terrace for you.’
‘Thank you. It’s lovely.’
‘You a writer?’
‘No, I just have some work to finish on holiday.’
‘You are working on holiday?’
‘Yes, just a bit.’
‘Well, have fun if you can.’
He left shaking his head. Despite the sweat running down her back, Sam felt like she had landed in heaven. It was perfect. The building was painted white inside and out, with a balcony running along its length. Built into the steep side of the hills encircling the bays of Lindos, it provided a view of the entire town.
Sam stepped out onto the balcony and found a small table with an ancient typewriter sitting on it. She breathed in the dry air and squinted to look out over the glittering sea. A cool breeze was blowing and it quickly dried her sweat-soaked shirt.
She sat down, leaning back in her chair and remembering the last time she had been to Rhodes with Simon on their final holiday together. She had been so hopeful of something better, believing that Simon was the love of her life. They had been together through most of her time at university, causing her to miss the chance, as her mother pointed out, of meeting someone better.
The eternal optimist, Sam always saw the positive side of his behaviour. It was only on this holiday that she realised how wrong she had been. She had been very ill with diarrhoea and had been in bed for a week unable to move far from the bathroom. Simon had gone out every day, as she had insisted, and done his own thing. It was only when she was feeling better, that she had met the two blonde sisters he had befriended and, as one of them told her in a drunken stupor, bedded. Before this, Sam had never even considered the possibility that Simon had ever been unfaithful to her.
With her, fidelity was a given. Somehow she found the courage to confront him about the sisters.
‘She says that you slept with her and her sister, too. Is it true?’
‘Whoa now! Are you kidding? Do you still have a fever? You’re the one who told me to go out and do my own thing. I wanted to stay here with you, remember? Both of them? Come on. Surely you don’t believe that. She must be some sort of psycho.’
He lied so easily that she almost believed him but something was nagging at her. She was struck by all those occasions that she had made up excuses for him when he did not have one. Her friends had tried to tell her that he was just using her but she had stubbornly refused to contemplate it. Now she finally realised that his idea of love and her own did not match. She avoided physical contact with him for the rest of the holiday, which was only a couple of days.
When she got home from Rhodes, Sam rang her best friend. ‘Hannah, I think Simon was unfaithful to me on holiday, more than once, when I was ill. I’ve had the feeling that something isn’t right for a while now. I’m pretty sure that you know all the stuff about Simon that I have missed. It’s time I knew the truth. Please. I promise I won’t be cross with you.’
‘Oh dear, I knew this day would come. I’m so sorry that you had to find out this way. I couldn’t tell you until you were ready to hear it. The truth is that Simon is about as faithful as a rabbit on heat. He’s been screwing other girls behind your back the whole time you’ve been going out together.’
‘The whole time? Even in the beginning?’
‘Yes, always. I knew early on but when I tried to make you understand you got angry and refused to listen.’
Sam knew that was true. She was very stubborn.
‘He even tried to persuade me to go to bed with him several times. I refused of course but others didn’t. He’s very convincing, you know.’
‘Oh, I know. I can’t believe I let him fool me for so long. Why would he go out with me when he just wanted to screw around? I thought he loved me. I don’t understand.’
‘He’s a pig. I don’t understand either. Do you want me to come over?’
‘No, no that’s alright. I need some space right now. I’ll call you soon, I promise.’
Sam was devastated. But she was mostly annoyed by her own naivety, rather than with hearing a truth she had already sensed for months. She did not bother confronting Simon. She stopped calling him and he did not call her either. He did not bother to break up with her. He just disappeared from her life, being too much of a coward to face Sam once he realised that his game was up.
Sam did not want anyone to discover her sense of shame and humiliation. She would not admit that her heart was broken. Ignoring the dull ache in her chest, she pretended in public that she did not care. Only she knew how much it hurt. She cried alone, with big raw sobs that felt like her flesh was tearing, afraid she might die of the pain in her heart.
She got through it somehow by being pragmatic. She dusted herself off and built a wall around her heart to protect herself from any more hurt. Maybe her second trip to Rhodes would create some new, more pleasant memories to cover up the pain. She sat on the balcony until it went dark and the mosquitos found her. She went inside and shut the door to the balcony. Then she curled up in bed, between the crisp sheets, and went to sleep.
***
Sam soon felt at home in her small paradise on the hill. Every morning, she went down the steep stone steps cut through the cobbled streets of white, flat-roofed houses to St Paul’s Bay, for a snorkel before the crowds arrived. After her swim, she went back up to her studio for a breakfast of Greek yoghurt and honey with fresh peaches or apricots. This was followed by a morning of work on her dissertation. Inking in the diagrams and charts was a painstaking business but one made much less onerous sittin
g in the shade of her balcony and looking out across the low, flat, white houses of Lindos to the Crusader Castle.
Most afternoons, she spent an hour or two on the beach after the worst of the heat had dissipated. One day she struggled up the hill to the castle in the blistering heat of the late afternoon, just avoiding being run down by some donkeys coming down from their last shift of the day. Their grey coats were caked in dust and some of them had very long, misshapen hooves. She flattened herself against the cool wall of one of the white houses and let them thunder past, their hooves slipping on the polished cobbles and their musty smell assailing her nostrils.
Making her way up to the top, she stood on the ruins and gazed out to sea. A large yacht sailed into the bay opposite her studio. There were several people sunbathing on the top deck and even from the castle she could see that they were not wearing any clothes. She walked back to the studio in the now cooling evening and got ready for dinner.
Her favourite place to eat was Philomonas’ restaurant, where she ordered a small Greek salad and a portion of moussaka. She was drinking a gin, lime and soda at her corner table when a party of people arrived and sat opposite her. The five men and two women were all tanned to a deep mahogany and had the aloof aura of the wealthy. The women were both tall and willowy, and looked alike, although Sam thought they were probably mother and daughter rather than sisters. The men were also tall, except for one who was older and stockier than the others but was still in good shape. They all seemed to be very relaxed.
Sam’s food arrived and she concentrated on the delicious meal, savouring every bite. She ordered another drink and began to read her book. When she looked up again some of the party had already left and there were only two men at the table. They were talking and did not notice the keen interest of the young woman opposite them.
She paid her bill, wanting to get back to her studio and to continue reading. As she got up to leave she caught the eye of the older of the two men, who smiled at her. She smiled back. He asked her what she was doing there. She told him that she was finishing her dissertation and left before a conversation could develop.
