13
For a while, Stella paced noisily up and down the quayside. She was hoping Marina would take pity on her and reveal any other scraps of information or insights she might have forgotten to pass on. Either that or admit it was all a joke in very bad taste and apologise for causing such distress.
But the artist, seemingly oblivious to Stella’s presence, merely turned round and resumed painting. If Stella hadn’t been in such turmoil, she’d have laughed out loud. How could anyone behave normally after trying to frighten someone out of their wits? You’d think Marina would at least have the decency to offer Stella a seat for a moment and make sure she was all right.
Conscious of the unopened letter from Jon waiting for her at the villa, she was faced with an impossible choice: whether to rush home to see what it said and check he was okay, or heed Marina’s silly warning and remain by the sea.
She called Hector again to find out if Jon had returned, but the answer was no.
‘I need to stay by the sea for a while,’ she said, almost without thinking.
‘Why?’
‘I’ve had some news. It’s fine, I’m sure it’s nothing. I’ll explain when I get back. Go ahead and eat with Lily if you’re hungry. I’ll keep you posted.’
With her stomach in knots and her brain racing, Stella decided to sit in a café for a while to try to calm down and clear her head.
She ordered a cup of soothing mountain tea and sipped it as the sun went down, painting the sky tangerine orange, crimson red and finally, velvety raven black.
Paralysed with indecision, she felt the best course of action was to do nothing for now, but pay attention to Katerina’s words and wait in hope for the way to become clear.
The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on her. After all, it was only two days ago she’d flown down the mountain to search for Hector. On finding him safe and well, she’d resolved to see sense and forget all Marina’s stupid comments about the sea.
Yet now, here she was again, panicking about the artist’s words, allowing them to mess with her mind even as she told herself they meant nothing.
What had got into her? She must have gone soft. But having heard what had happened to Katerina’s husband, Stella felt unable to walk away from here. It was as if she were being held back by invisible hands.
She was beginning to feel chilly and once she’d paid up, she decided to stroll the length of the high street, keeping a close eye on the sea at all times.
The light coming from cafés, shops and restaurants was enough to illuminate the water, which shimmered beneath the stars and spread out, as far as the eye could see, like a giant sequinned shawl.
Mr Makris was standing at the entrance of his shoe shop, surveying the passing crowd. He looked very tall and distinguished in a mushroom-coloured knitted waistcoat, with a jaunty yellow cravat round his neck.
The old devil, Stella thought, remembering his illicit romance with Katerina’s boss.
She smiled and nodded an acknowledgment and he waved back, which was a mistake, as he’d been propping himself up against the doorframe and almost lost his balance.
Fortunately, he just managed to grab hold of the frame again and right himself in the nick of time before there was a nasty accident. Relieved, Stella strolled on.
The crowds had thinned by the time she got to the start of the public beach and she stopped, wondering whether to continue.
With nobody else there, the place looked lonely, cold and dark. Even so, she removed her sandals and padded in bare feet across the shingle, until the sharp stones hurt too much and she put on her shoes again.
The crescent moon shone brightly, so she could at least see where she was going. All the parasols were down, secured in the middle by strong rope, and the white plastic sun loungers had been lined up in a row, some way back from the swell.
Walking past, she hugged her arms round her to try to keep warm. There was quite a strong wind here, away from the main buildings, which was making her shiver. Some of the waves rose surprisingly high before curling over and crashing towards the shore.
When she reached the place where she’d found Hector, she thought about turning back. She was quite far from the town now and didn’t want to lose sight of the restaurants and people completely.
However, something made her decide to press on to the dark-grey, rocky point, which jutted some way out, almost into the sea, turning the beach into a cove and providing a natural boundary.
Instead of skirting round the headland and risk getting wet, she clambered over, curious to discover what lay beyond.
Something sharp scraped her knee and she yelped, quickly climbing higher until she was almost at the top.
It seemed like an age since she was on Sweetwater Beach with the children, and all she’d eaten since lunchtime was bread and cheese. Her stomach was empty and her skin prickled from the sun and salty sea, but she seemed to be flooded with adrenaline and had a surge of new-found energy.
Soon, she was high enough to peer over the edge of the promontory. At first, all she could see was another, much smaller, enclosed cove, where the waves reached further up the sand, almost smashing into the craggy cliff behind.
