The moon chose that moment to come out from behind a cloud, casting Dom’s face in a silvery light. His expression was haunted.
‘It’s…it’s…complicated, OK?’ He plunged his hands into the pockets of his chinos. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed. ‘Simone, she…she’s not who you think.’
‘What d’you mean?’ I squeaked, my mind immediately going into overdrive. Is he trying to tell me she isn’t a corporate lawyer, but is in fact the boss of an international drug cartel or an undercover MI5 agent?
‘It doesn’t matter. Forget I said anything.’
‘Please, Dom, I want to know.’
He sighed, then, after an age, said, ‘She gives this appearance of being strong and resilient, but it’s all a front. A defence mechanism. She’s fragile, you know? Insecure. It’s why she’s so ambitious. She’s desperate for validation. This partnership means everything to her. And Felix is worse than bloody useless. To him she’s nothing more than a trophy wife. That’s why I’ll always have her back. I kind of promised her. At university.’
I thought of the psychological thrillers Nessa loved. If this were fiction, Dominic would now ’fess up to running over a student when he was drunk, and tell me that Simone demanded his utter devotion in return for keeping schtum.
I reached out and touched his arm. ‘Does she…does she have something on you?’
He frowned. ‘What? No! Of course not. But she was my first serious girlfriend. I’ll always be there for her. So don’t ask me to choose.’
I recoiled as his words sank in. There it was. Proof I’d always be second best. Dominic might claim to love me, but he would always love Simone more. I took a deep breath, turned ninety degrees and started walking.
‘Where are you going?’ Dominic cried as I plunged into the thyme-scented scrub, following the sounds of the sea. I had no idea. I just knew I had to get away.
‘I need some space,’ I yelled over my shoulder.
‘Amber! Please! Don’t go like this!’
I quickened my pace. Thorny shrubs tore at my jacket and thistles scored my feet. I held a hand in front of my face, a pathetic attempt to protect myself from the whippy branches. Even then part of me hoped Dom would follow, full of apologies, assuring me that it was the drink talking and of course he loved me best.
When I finally stopped to catch my breath, my hands on my knees as I fought to draw air into my burning lungs, he was nowhere to be seen.
Now, as I inspect the angry scratches on my shins and feet, I’m surprised to find the inevitability of it all is almost a comfort. I always knew I wasn’t good enough for Dominic and his friends. I was just a girl from an inner-city estate who couldn’t even hold down a job in a call centre. I didn’t inhabit their world of privilege and class, of public schools and high-flying careers, and I was fooling myself if I thought I could join them.
I scramble to my feet and scour the beach for my sandals, finding them near the high tideline. I pull them on and begin the long walk up to the villa, draping my denim jacket over my head to protect me from the glaring sun. I need to chalk the whole relationship up to experience and move on. I’ll pack my things and ask Yannis to drive me down to the harbour in the golf buggy, where I’ll catch the first sea taxi off the island. Once I’m in Thalassia, I’ll book a flight home. I can’t wait to swap this relentless heat for London’s rainy streets, to dissect my holiday from hell over a pizza and a Coke with Nessa. I can’t wait to go home.
As it’s a Saturday, work on Villa Olympus has ground to a halt, though the gates are swinging open and a concrete-splattered wheelbarrow has been abandoned in the middle of the driveway. Villa Paradiso’s gates are open too, and I trudge past the buggy and up the path, desperate for a drink and a shower.
The front door is locked, so I head round the side, expecting to find the others enjoying breakfast on the terrace, but it’s empty. So too is the kitchen, the living room, the downstairs bathroom and Felix’s cavernous study.
‘Hello?’ I call, feeling a little silly. My voice bounces off the whitewashed walls. No one replies.
I check upstairs, feeling like a cat burglar as I wander through other people’s bedrooms and bathrooms. But there’s no sign of anyone, not even Maria. In our room, Dominic’s suitcase lies open on the bed, clothes strewn across it, as if he was in the middle of packing when he was interrupted, which makes no sense, because we’re not due to leave for another three days.
With a growing sense of foreboding, I trail back downstairs. On my way through the lounge to the huge bifold doors, something catches my eye. I trot over to get a better look. It’s a crumpled tea towel, smeared with a dark red stain.
A stain that looks a lot like blood.
42
AMBER
I stare at the bloodstained tea towel for a long moment, wondering what the hell it means, then start searching the house again, noticing things I hadn’t seen the first time round. A full cafetière of coffee and four cups by the kettle. I reach out a hand to touch it, pulling it back as if stung because it’s still warm. A tumbler on the draining board, a red lipstick mark – Simone’s shade of crimson – on the rim. An opened carton of orange juice on the kitchen table. I step on something and, bending down to inspect it, see it’s a blister pack of painkillers, half empty.
Anxiety gnaws at my insides. Where the hell is everyone? It’s like that ship Gran told me a story about once, the one sailors found drifting in the Atlantic with no one on board. TheMary Celeste. Everything in place but the crew.
My imagination in overdrive, I’m about to head back upstairs when the creak of a floorboard above my head stops me in my tracks and I freeze.
I picture the first-floor layout. I’m directly below Victoria and Barney’s bedroom. I peered round the door earlier but didn’t check the en suite. Perhaps one of them had just come out of the shower. I take the stairs two at a time, then pause outside their bedroom door, my head cocked, listening. Someone is definitelymoving around inside. I knock once, then push the door open, not caring if they’re decent or not. Just so long as they have a rational explanation as to where everyone has gone.
‘What the hell?’ a voice cries, and I jump out of my skin. Willow whips round, her hands behind her back. ‘What are you doing in here?’ she demands.
