Time has slowed to a crawl.
The waiting is intolerable. We’re stuck in limbo, unable to leave the villa, unable to plan anything. Packing seems pointless, because if Barney’s right, we’re here for the foreseeable. With nothing else to do, I find a shady spot on the terrace and pretend to read Nessa’s book while surreptitiously watching the others.
Victoria and Barney are eating an early lunch as if nothing’s wrong. Dominic has slipped seamlessly into the role of master of the house, finalising the plans for dinner with Maria, checking solicitously on Willow and Simone and keeping up our spirits. But underneath the unruffled image he’s trying to portray, I sense an undercurrent. Not quite fear, but a definite unease. He’s as worried as the rest of us.
After an age, Maria shuffles out to announce that the police have arrived.
‘Should I tell Simone?’ I ask Dominic.
‘Please. And Willow.’
I head upstairs and knock softly on the door of the master suite.
‘Simone? Sorry to disturb you, but the police are here.’
A beat of silence, then Simone replies, ‘I’ll be right down.’
I find Willow sitting cross-legged on the window seat in her room, staring out to sea. Her face is blotchy and her nails are bitten to the quick.
I perch at the other end. ‘How’re you doing?’
‘Not great. But Mum’s coming on Tuesday. She just called to say she’s booked her flight.’
‘I’m glad.’ I give her a sympathetic smile. ‘Hey, the police have arrived. They want to talk to us about your dad.’
Her body stiffens. ‘What about him?’
‘Just, you know, when everyone last saw him, that kind of thing.’
‘’K.’ She slithers down from the seat. ‘Simone too?’
‘All of us.’
She nods and I follow her down to the living room, where everyone has gathered, like the characters in the denouement of an Agatha Christie novel. Simone, the tragic widow, beautiful but haunted. Dominic, the affable gent, all charm and diplomacy, keen to smooth the police officers’ way. Victoria and Barney, the picture of upper-middle-class respectability. Willow, the grieving daughter, barely holding it together. Maria, the faithful housekeeper, always there, missing nothing.
And then there’s me – the stranger in their midst. The outsider. My nose pressed to the glass, gazing in on their world of wealth and privilege. The one person no one really knows.
* * *
Once Sergeant Nikos Griva has offered his deepest condolences to Simone and Willow, the questions begin.
‘When did you last see your husband, Mrs Pearson?’
‘When we went for a meal at the taverna the night before last to celebrate my birthday.’
He scratches his chin. ‘You hadn’t seen him after the meal?’
‘We left separately.’
‘Why was that?’
‘Well, Barney and Victoria left early and walked back to the villa. Dominic and Amber left not long after them. I had a headache and didn’t feel like walking so I rang Yannis – that’s Maria’s son – and asked him to pick me up in the golf buggy. Felix and Willow were last to leave and walked back together.’
The sergeant scribbles in his notebook, then turns his gaze to Willow.
‘How did your father seem on the walk home?’
Willow glances at Dom, swallows, then shrugs. ‘A bit drunk, but otherwise fine.’
