I think of who else, aside from James, might know anything about my father’s life out here. Someone on the island must have known him, and someone must be able to tell me something, anything.
I look at the note again and shiver. Leave. Now.
And then the thought occurs that, given my secluded location, how does anyone, other than James, even know I am here?
I lean over the railings and look in both directions, but there is no way to see out of the property to any potential neighbors. And no way to see in. There is no way anyone could know I was here unless they saw me arrive yesterday or if they work for James’s firm.
I call James from the seating area beside the pool where the cell reception is strongest and he is blessedly quick to answer.
He is surprised to hear from me so soon and even more surprised when I cut to the nub of things and ask him if anyone else has access to the property except for me. If anyone has been out to the house from his firm. I do not immediately mention the note.
“No, you have both sets of keys and you are the only person entered into the building’s biometric system. Aside from me yesterday, and the supervised servicing team last week, no one else has been to the property. But if you’d like to add anyone to the system, I can set that up with the company?”
I decline. I ask James about the neighbors: does he know them, what they are like?
“I’m not sure offhand, I’ll be honest with you, Nina. But again, I can look into it. Privacy is at a premium on the island obviously, so sometimes it can be tricky to nail names to faces, as it were. But I can certainly make inquiries. Is there an issue at the property?”
I look down at the note in my hand and consider not mentioning it but then remember I am out here completely alone and I don’t care if I sound paranoid.
“Yes, someone’s left me a bizarre message on the terrace.”
“Oh. Really?! What kind of—”
“It just says, Leave now.”
I hear James clear his throat. “Er. Right. Okay.” This is obviously not in his wheelhouse. “Very strange. Would you like me to contact a security company? Perhaps hire a staff to monitor the access points.”
Suddenly I feel a little mad. I find one note written in Sharpie and I need a twenty-four-hour security crew.
“Have you checked the CCTV footage?” James continues.
“Oh no, not yet. I haven’t set that up yet. And I’m not sure security is necessary. I just thought I should tell somebody.”
“Yes,” James concurs, “that’s a sensible instinct, I should think. Would you like me to contact the local police perhaps on your behalf?” Again I feel like a loon, the A4 sheet feeling flimsy and unthreatening as it flaps in my hand.
“No, no, I think it will be okay. Perhaps I just need to leave the terrace lights on at night—set up the CCTV system.”
“Yes, well, not to play things down but I do imagine that perhaps it might just be the work of local kids. It is the school break after all and there isn’t as much to keep young minds busy on the island as you might imagine. I’d say, sit with it for another day and see if it’s something that reoccurs. It may just be a kind of prank. Also, the CCTV system is very easy to operate if you do want to activate it. Everything is explained in the pack.”
After I hang up, I have a strange feeling: I am simultaneously embarrassed and unnerved.
I head inside and search out the CCTV setup information. There is no way I am sleeping another night here without the security blanket of those cameras.
—
THE SYSTEM IS UP AND running within the hour. I flick between shots across the property but of course in the warm light of day there is no one there. Until I flick onto the kitchen camera and leap into the air at the sight of a woman in her thirties leaning on the kitchen counter staring into a laptop. It is of course me. And at this point I make the bold decision that perhaps it is time I left the house and got out amongst people. And by people, I mean my neighbors.
Someone must know something about the note, prank or not, and I’m fairly confident that I will be able to sniff out a local issue if there is one. Either way someone might be able to tell me something about my father and this house.
Dressed in hastily steamed linen, I decide I have done all I can do in terms of dressing to impress my new neighbors as I sling a straw bag over my shoulder. After all I am who I am: and at this moment I am not the person with the identity problem, my father is. And both he and this house have a lot of explaining to do.
As I leave, I raise my voice self-consciously to Bathsheba—it still feels odd talking out loud in an empty house, to something I know isn’t a real person. “Bathsheba, turn off all electrics.”
My command is ignored. The room remains lit and the kitchen radio continues to pump out the reassuring tones of the BBC World Service. I try again.
Bathsheba does not respond. Huh, weird.
I head to the main system console and manually use the touchscreen, sliding off the mains. There is a chance I pressed something I shouldn’t have while setting up the CCTV system earlier. I will have to get James to send someone out to look at the system.
