‘What are you so scared of?’
The question’s a lucky guess, but it hits the mark. She looks up again, a haunted expression darkening her face.
‘I’m…I’m not,’ she says tremulously. ‘I just…I just need to figure something out.’ Her voice grows stronger, surer. ‘And when I do, I’ll be telling the whole damn world, believe me.’ She pushes her chair back and stands. ‘I should try to get some sleep. Thanks for the drink.’
‘No problem.’ I plunge my fists into the pockets of my dressing gown and feel the sharp edge of an envelope in one. The ticking time bomb I haven’t had the energy to detonate. I’d forgotten it was there.
For a moment, I just sit there, staring at Amber as she hovers in the doorway. The idea comes out of nowhere – this crazy sense that I should give it to her. Maybe it’s because she looks as lost as me. Maybe it’s because I can see how small she feels around us, like she doesn’t belong.
Before I can change my mind, I jump up and press the envelope into her hands.
She looks bewildered. ‘What is it?’
‘You’ll see. But promise me one thing, OK?’ I wait until she nods. ‘Don’t open it now. Wait till you’re home.’
She nods again and I feel a sense of release as she tramps out of the room. This small act of kindness might not make up for what I did to Victoria, but at least it’s a start.
Amber should know she’s not the only outsider here. Some of us just hide it better.
64
AMBER
I’m woken by the sound of cicadas, the Greek equivalent of white noise. A bleary glance at my phone reveals it’s still only six o’clock, but I pull myself out of bed anyway and tramp across to the en suite and into the shower.
As the water pounds my shoulders, memories of the countless mornings Dom and I have shared come back to me. Bed-hair and morning breath, cups of tea and sleepy sex. The desolation that pierces me stings far more than the jets of water. It isn’t the big things I’ll miss: the weekends away, the trips to the coast, the expensive meals. It’s the small, everyday ones. The way Dom’s forehead furrows in concentration as he studies the back of a box of muesli at breakfast like it’sThe Economist. The sound of his humming when he cooks. The fact he always remembers to buy chocolate when I’m on my period.
Dammit, why did I fall in love with a man who was already in love with someone else?
I force myself to get a grip and ten minutes later I’m pulling on shorts and a T-shirt, keen to grab a coffee and something to eat before the others surface.
By rights, we should be flying home today. My bags should be packed and my passport ready for the long trip back to London.But the Greek police have my passport and my belongings are still scattered over the room because it’s clear I’m not going anywhere until they’ve arrested someone for Felix’s murder.
I’m slipping my phone into my pocket when I see a folded piece of paper poking out from under the bedroom door. Frowning, I scoop it up and open it, my pulse quickening as I scan the message.
I can help you prove your innocence. Meet me at the lighthouse. Come alone.
It isn’t signed. Of course it isn’t. I flip through names like I’m flipping through the pages of Gran’s old Rolodex, the one that used to stand on a lace-trimmed doily on the walnut sideboard, next to the phone.
I discount Dominic – it’s not his handwriting. Simone, too. If I’m right, she’s trying to frame me for Felix’s murder, not clear my name. Could it be Victoria? Barney? Willow? Or someone else entirely?
The note, written in capital letters, is giving no clues. Before reason takes hold, I pull on my trainers and let myself out of the room.
On the landing, I peer out of the window that overlooks the formal gardens at the front of the villa. A police officer I don’t recognise is lounging against the wall by the front door scrolling through his phone, a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. He takes a drag and looks up, as if he’s sensed me watching, and I quickly draw back behind the voile curtain.
If I go out of the front door he’ll stop me, but if I leave the back way and climb over the wall to Villa Olympus, I should be able to slip out unnoticed.
In the kitchen, I grab a bottle of water from the fridge. I pause on the terrace, head cocked, but the only sounds are the cicadas and the waves breaking far below.
The slope between Villa Paradiso’s terrace and the building site is steeper than it looks. I half walk, half slide down, trying not to yelp when thorny branches catch my T-shirt and scratch at my bare legs. I stop when I reach the bottom, checking the coast is clear. It’s too early for the builders, and Inspector Demetriou plainly doesn’t have the manpower to station an officer here too. Reassured I’m alone, I trot past the footings for the villa and the gash in the ground which will soon be a swimming pool, averting my eyes from the spot where Felix was found.
The gates are closed but not locked and I let myself out and set off up the hill towards the lighthouse in search of answers, my heart pitter-pattering in my chest.
* * *
Everything I loved about this island when I arrived a week ago now feels suffocating and oppressive. The heat, the dust, the relentless noise of the cicadas. My lungs are tight and my throat’s dry. I stop in the shade cast by an old stone shepherd’s hut, unscrew the top of my water bottle and drink deeply, then set off again with heavy legs.
The path up to the lighthouse is pitted and narrow. Once, I turn my ankle on a rut, yelping in pain. Why, I don’t know, because there’s no one to hear me out here. I could be the last person left on this godforsaken island in the middle of the Ionian Sea.
