"Where did Mr. Fitzroy park his car?" Savva said.
Both Giorgos and Booras looked at him in confusion. "In the staff garage, it's in a separate part of the parking garage, underneath the hotel."
"Are there cameras?"
"No. There are where we park the guests' cars, for obvious reasons, don't want to get sued by a sneaky owner who blames the hotel for a scratch or dent that was already there."
"There aren't any cameras at all?"
"Just the entrance, which all the cars go through. But not our section of the lot."
"Any from the hotel to the garage? Can you access it by elevator?"
"Yes, but only staff. Every car is valeted. There are cameras in the lifts."
"Thank you. We'll need a copy of that footage."
The three men talked for a few more minutes. Giorgos had little more to say, other than to refer them to his valets who'd confirm John's treatment of them. Savva asked Giorgios to find the security tapes for the cameras leading to the garage for the last two months.
Savva and Booras interviewed the final staff members, valets, confirming Giorgos' story.
Savva leaned back after they finished, stroking the wiry beard hairs under his lip. "Well that was interesting."
"More like confusing." Booras colored, unaware he'd spoken out loud. "I meant nothing by it, Sir, only that they gave conflicting reports."
"What does it mean to you?"
"Well, I suppose, it means John Fitzroy was a lot of different things to a lot of different people."
"Or, boiled down, he treated his inferiors badly."
"So where does that leave Mrs. Fitzroy?"
Savva rose, stroked the beard again and headed to the door. "Where, indeed."
The strong unrelenting east wind blew out by morning, and when Davonna stood, still wrapped in her white robe in the library the only evidence of the gale were orphan leaves, broken bits of branches, and a thick film of red on the lawn. Davonna turned from the window and picked up the mobile phone on the end table.
"I'll be there in an hour," she said.
She trudged upstairs. On came the makeup, up went the hair, down came the thin black dress, and then she was ready. She hesitated on the threshold of the garage, staring at the black BMW, fingering the keys in her hand. She shook violently. How far was it to the hotel? Ten miles? Too far to walk. But something shifted in the house, and her breath caught in her throat. She whirled around, sure that John was standing right behind her, breathing on her neck, ready to pounce.
It was a miracle she made it in the car. As she sat, the leather seats curled around and enveloped her. She hadn't driven in years, and the gearshift stared out at her like a needy lover. It took a few tries to get out of the garage. She sighed at the thought of the steep hills along the way.
Davonna eased the sleek car out of the drive and within minutes passed a temporary barrier of steel where it should have been rock. There was nothing else to recommend it as the site where John had died. The site passed in a blur although the BMW slowed to a whisper of speed and time no longer followed any rules.
The hastily erected tape, strung across the gaping hole, was still on her mind as she pulled into the grand, circular drive of the hotel and stopped just beyond the doors. A valet swept down the immense marble stairs, flanked by massive palm trees. The tails of his suit coat whipped this way and that.
"May I take your bags for you?"
Davonna frowned at the young man. "I'm here to collect my husband's things.”
"And your husband is?"
"John Fitzroy."
"Oh, Mrs. Fitzroy, I am so sorry. I'm sorry I didn't recognize you."
"Not to worry. Just point me in the right direction."
The valet smiled and ushered her over to the front desk. "Mrs. Fitzroy," he said to the female concierge with a strange stare.
The woman straightened. Something passed over her face that Davonna couldn't place. "Mrs. Fitzroy, let me call our other owner, Mr. Goldstein; he can show you to Mr. Fitzroy's office."
"Thank you."
She stepped back and sat on a beige chair, which faced a colossal black marble fireplace. Davonna tried not to stare at the sumptuous decor. She tried to act as though she'd been here many times, although the staff knew she hadn't. The hotel was a riot of color. The ceilings and door lintels in each room were gloriously painted with orange and red and white and blue. They drew the eye like fresh flowers in a dead room.
"Mrs. Fitzroy?" a voice said, over her shoulder.
A handsome man, in an expensive suit, stood at her side. "Yes?"
"I'm Anthony Goldstein, I'll show you to John's office. I've found empty boxes, you are free to pack up what you want, and then a valet will come and take it to your car."
"Thank you."
He led her through a camouflaged door in the ornate woodwork and into the office. She stooped in the doorway looking at the desk, which commanded the eyes’ full attention. It was like a living, breathing thing, the legs, carved into imitations of a dancer's grace. Anthony Goldstein backed out of the office without a word and shuffled down the corridor to pour a generous cup of coffee.
Davonna tore her hungry eyes away from the desk, back to the office. There wasn't a picture of her anywhere. She pulled over a box, which sat on a chair, and took the frames from the walls. Diplomas. Certifications. A photo of John on the sweeping hotel steps with the president of Greece. Framed sheet music for 'God Save the Queen’, the items clinked precariously against each other in the box. Davonna sat behind the desk.
The chair was too large for her, but it was comfortable. She rolled the top open, her fingers grasping the handle like an ocean buoy. Anything at all might have been in there. She squinted at the opened desk. Her fingers shook from where they hung, suspended in front of her body. The air was full of possibility. But … pens, pencils, paper, business documents, paperclips, and nothing else. She slumped back and stopped breathing. The camouflaged door to the offices burst open, and she looked up in terror. He'll find me here. But it was only two women speaking. Davonna slumped further back in the chair and strained to hear their voices.
After a while it wasn't necessary. They stood in the break room, the sound of coffee being poured echoed through the hall, and spoke in carrying whispers, confident they were alone.
"I can't believe Athena," a soft voice said.
"I can. She's an utter cow," came a lower voice.
"She's been carrying on these past few days as though it was her husband that died. Honestly, he was a decent boss, but the man was a player."
"They'd been together for months and she barely can keep it a secret. No wonder she's sobbing."
"Did you see his wife arrive?"
"No, did you?"
"No, but David did. He said she pulled up, pretty as you please, in a brand-new BMW, and said she was here to collect John's things. David had no idea who she was when she pulled up; he asked her if he could take her luggage."
"I overheard John talking to Athena once. She’s domineering. John said she controlled the money, what he ate, when they had sex. On and on. Athena was in tears by the time he finished. He said he would leave her, but it was difficult. She was a big shot interpreter with the UN before they were married."
"Why on earth did she leave that?"
"She didn't want to work anymore."
"Huh, must be nice. I wish I didn't have to work."
"Surely there's more to it though,” the soft voice said.
Davonna held her breath, leaning forward, desperate to hear more.
"What do you mean?"
"Well she's never been here. If it was like Athena said. She'd have come to the hotel just to lord it over him and make sure he was in line."
"Maybe she didn't have to."
"And he fell straight into Athena's arms the first chance he got?"
"Manipulation can work wonders," the low voice said.
"Could he have killed himself? Was it that awful?"
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The girls fell silent as though they'd dropped dead. The door swung open with a great creak.
"Athena, how are you?" the soft voiced girl said. There was a silence and then a huff.
"I'm fine. I don't know what everyone is going on about today."
"You don't have to hide from us. Your secret's safe," the low voice said.
"Fine," Athena confessed.
The three women were silent and Davonna stood up, and tiptoed closer to the office door. It was as if they were waiting for a dam to burst, for someone, the right someone to talk first.
"She's here."
Davonna shook.
"His wife you mean?" Athena asked.
"They saw her arrive."
Athena took a deep breath, and said with venom dripping from her tongue, "She did it. I think she did something to his car. John was worried about how she'd been acting lately; how he thought she knew about us and was plotting. He didn't want to go to the London conference because he was afraid of what she'd get up to alone in their house. He was sure she was having an affair, with their neighbor or a cop in the village. It was horrible. She was horrible. If I have to look at her …"
"Are you going to the police? David saw her; he said she didn't look like much. Pretty, but too thin," the soft voice drawled.
"Anger does that to you. All that time controlling someone else's life. It makes you ugly. I will go to the police. I'll tell them what I know and how I know it. She'll get what's coming to her," Athena seethed.
The other women were quiet. Davonna did something then, which she bitterly regretted later, although it felt good and wonderful then. She threw her body off the ugly uncomfortable steel chair and stepped into the corridor and turned the corner of the break room. Two of the young women had dark curly hair, within an inch of the same height, and then there was the third, obviously Athena. Davonna recognized John's type.
Athena looked as though she'd stepped from the pages of Vogue, even the blush of anger and the heat in her eyes added to her beauty. For a moment, Davonna had surprised them, and they were silent.
"He lied to all of you. I'm sorry." Davonna aimed her last comment at Athena whose nostrils flared. Davonna fled, the image of their surprised, angry, guilt-ridden faces trailed after her. She hailed a valet, told him about the boxes, and then hid in the comfort of the black car.
She stared out through the rearview mirror, waiting for the lean, gorgeous form of Athena to come bursting out the doors of the hotel, to scream and berate. Guests arrived and valets took cars away and finally the valet came back with two boxes.
She forgot that the car was a manual, and the car sputtered and died under her, lurching forward. Her heart jumped in her throat and she glimpsed the boy's hidden laughter. She collapsed against the steering wheel, thinking about all the jokes and laughter, which would echo throughout the hotel this afternoon: the ridiculous wife who couldn't even drive a car.
She passed the spot again and looked at the tape. But it flew by and she had to concentrate on shifting again. The road wound around the hill and soon she pulled into the drive where the house still stood. As empty as it was when she left.
Inside, with the door locked behind her, Davonna stumbled to the kitchen and, through watery eyes, poured a glass of red wine. Athena's words drifted over her. Athena would go to the police, but moreover, they would believe what she told them. After all she'd done for John, how she'd groveled and served and debased herself, he'd lied. He had used a grain of truth and twisted it beyond all recognition. She had become the monster. Tears fell down her cheeks, and she curled into one of the cushioned chairs and cradled her wine.
John came to her then. Dinner wasn't ready. She looked like a common housewife. She'd been to his work and taken down his mementoes. She'd talked to men who weren't her husband. She'd been happy with Ioannis and Theodora.
He towered above her. Deep cuts and shallow scratches mauled his face. He leered at her like a gargoyle. A rabid beast. He hit her. Hit her again. Tore at her clothes. Yanked out fistfuls of hair. Wrapped his fingers around her throat. Davonna jerked. She almost slid out of the chair. Sweat lay thick on her face. The wine glass lay shattered on the floor; a dark red stain morbidly covered the grey tile floor, drip, drip dripping from the black dress.
Davonna blinked in the morning light, confused why she was jolted out of sleep. The doorbell reverberated through the house like an insistent woodpecker. She jerked out of bed, grabbed her robe from the floor, and hurtled down the stairs. She arrived at the door, panting, to find Captain Savva.
He looked askance at her and mumbled that he'd wait in the drawing room while she dressed. Davonna hesitated, but he didn't move, so she scurried upstairs. She twisted her hair into a loose bun on top of her head, pulled on an oversize cardigan, and looked in the mirror. There were dark bags under her eyes; and those eyes were black pits. She lost track of time, until she remembered Savva downstairs, she hurriedly left the bathroom and the sad excuse for a face. He stood by the window, which overlooked the drive, his hands clasped behind him. He turned as she came in, his face a mask of social nicety.
"I heard you drove to the hotel yesterday," Savva said, as she sat on the tufted beige sofa across from him.
Davonna blushed; Savva stared so intently as though she was a model that he was obliged to sculpt. "I collected John's belongings."
"Yes." Savva broke off and sat in one of the twin, pale blue silk Louis XIV oval backed chairs, which faced the sofa.
"What can I do for you?" Davonna choked.
Savva sat. He stroked his chin, leaned on the delicate arm of the chair, and peered at her. Davonna could hear the question coming. Athena had been angry; more than angry. She'd been furious. She believed the lies John told her. Maybe she'd been looking forward to John's ‘divorce’ so she might be the mistress of La Maison des Rois. But Athena's sparkling house of cards was gone and all that remained was bitterness.
"Tell me about your marriage, Mrs. Fitzroy."
Davonna froze. A chill wind blew on her back and without turning around, without a glance, she knew it was John. He was standing behind her, his hands around her neck, his strong body pressed hard against hers. In moments she'd be dead with finger shaped bruises around her neck. So she said what John wanted her to say.
"We were happy," Davonna managed. She winced, as Savva frowned.
"Indeed."
"We slept in the same bed. We ate dinner together every night and we had regular intercourse. Can you say the same for yourself and your wife?"
"I ... that's neither here nor there."
"In many circles that's all you need to constitute a happy marriage."
"It would depend on why you spent that time together."
"Out of love," Davonna said. She walked a tight rope: if Savva had spoken to Athena his mind would be spinning with new theories and ideas and ways to catch her in a lie. "Have you pulled the Morgan out of the sea?"
Savva looked up, distracted. "Yes we have."
"Have you found anything?"
"Not yet. Our technicians are still going over it."
"So you can't tell me why he died?"
"No, I can't. An ongoing investigation you realize."
"But you must have ideas? Cars don't plummet off cliffs without an explanation."
"There could be many reasons. He could've been distracted, he could have been impaired, or the vehicle was faulty."
"I don't understand."
"Neither do I," Savva said, and he shook his head as though he was sorry for the thoughts inside of it, and he looked blearily at Davonna. "I'm sorry to have disturbed you."
"You didn't. I haven't been sleeping well."
"I'll be in touch," Savva said. He pushed hard on the chair to propel himself up.
Davonna rose, aware in some part of her mind that she must walk him to the door, and yet she wished he would stay a little longer. It was terrible to stay cooped in this house with ghosts who haunted every corner.
&
nbsp; "His funeral …" she said.
"I'll let you know when we can release the body."
The body. Of course.
"If you remember anything, call the station."
Savva left then with the weight of his order in the air. It didn't sound like an order at first. At first it sounded logical as though he was a parent speaking to an excitable child. There was Athena after all and all the staff at the hotel and their testimony would hold weight.
Davonna turned to watch him close the door. He walked to a waiting car, another man in the driver's seat. Savva was strange. There was something in his eye; shrewd and intelligent. He was a man who came prepared for every answer to every question. She sighed and pulled the cardigan close around her body. Words tumbled over and over themselves in her mind. Savva's order. Athena's words. The two nameless girls; prattling on and on about someone else's life as if they knew.
But were they right? Was there truth in what they said? John used to say it was her fault. Or else he'd make sure she felt that way, when the dinners came out burnt when they were first married and he flew into a rage. She'd paid for her mistakes in full. She'd never intended to manipulate anyone. Could she have taken advantage of him? But didn't she do the work of four people, whom wealthier Greeks just hired? Maid. Cook. Gardener. Whore. What a resume.
Davonna walked back to the kitchen. The last job: the whore—she relished that the dark nights were gone. Even if his memory still lingered and tormented her, she was at least free of his body. But what would Captain Savva think ... if he ever found out?
Savva pulled the door closed behind him and slumped forward with relief. To breathe the free air ... to be outside instead of in that strange house with Davonna Fitzroy whom he couldn't understand. He walked to the car, shuffling his feet in the rocks and stroking his beard. As he put his hand on the handle of the car door, something made him look up. A noise. A movement. Something. In the driver's seat, Booras looked up from his phone, frowning. Savva waved him off.
He scanned the horizon, what little he could see of it through the tall hedgerow, and his eyes fell on the monolithic house to the north. It bordered the Fitzroy property. Perhaps the owners saw or knew something. He mumbled something indistinct to Booras and set off up the road.
Mrs Fitzroy Page 9
