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Then he began chopping onions, which he dropped into the smoking oil before crushing some garlic and slicing tomatoes, which he added to the pan. When they were all cooked he cleared a space in the pan for the bream. The kitchen filled with the fresh scent of cooking fish.
Miranda put the ingredients for the salad dressing into a glass bowl and beat them lightly, added some smoky Greek honey and a few spoonfuls of orange juice. In the fridge she found some feta cheese, the white goat’s cheese you found everywhere in Greece, and with which she was already very familiar from eating it in the hotel. She chopped it into cubes and sprinkled them over the salad before pouring the dressing over it, adding a handful of stoned black Kalamata olives and a few capers.
‘There’s some fresh bread in the wicker bin here,’ Alex told her over his shoulder.
She got the domed golden-brown bread out. The smell was delicious, she felt as if she had never smelt bread before. By the time she had cut some slices the bream was cooked. Alex put it out on warmed plates, and added the stir-fried vegetables. They sat down at the kitchen table. Alex poured her another glass of Greek wine. She was suddenly very hungry, inhaling the scents of the food.
‘Don’t add any salt,’ he said. ‘The fish isn’t too salty, but the capers and olives are.’
‘And the feta, a little,’ she said, putting a white cube into her mouth along with a fragment of fish. ‘You’re a very good cook.’
‘Thank you. I can do any job in the hotel, from portering to cooking, doing accounts and reservations, or waiting at table.’
‘Like Milo.’
He smiled. ‘Exactly. He trained me. He’s a wonderful teacher; patient and long-suffering. He was my father’s closest friend.’
‘And now he’s yours?’
Alex nodded. ‘Now tell me about the murder – you were in an office nearby and overheard Sean with a girl?’
She put down her fork. ‘They were arguing – the girl said she was pregnant and the child was Sean’s, and he must break off his engagement with Nicola to marry her. Sean flew into a rage, then I heard . . .’ She stopped, swallowing convulsively, staring down at her plate, at the red of tomatoes, the white flesh of the fish.
‘Heard her drowning?’ Alex gently prompted.
‘Yes,’ she whispered.
‘Then what?’
‘Afterwards . . . it went so quiet. Sean came to the window and saw me. He looked . . . horrified. I fainted. Because I knew I hadn’t imagined it, I could see from his face that he realised I’d heard everything. When I came to, I’m afraid I panicked and rushed out. I was so desperate to get away that I never thought of ringing the police. I just had to escape. I drove away, then my head sort of cleared and I started to think. I parked and sat there, realising I had to go back, had to call the police. Which was what I did.’
‘But the body had gone, the bathroom was empty, there was no evidence to back up your story?’
She stared at him. ‘Who told you all that?’ Surely Terry hadn’t talked to him about the murder? She knew Alex was close to the Finnigans. Just how close? Was he entirely in their confidence? Was he involved with them in hushing up the murder?
‘The police. A Sergeant Neil Maddrell. He interviewed me after your accident, and told me the whole story.’
Her face lit up. ‘Oh, he’s a nice man, he’s been very kind to me.’
‘Has he?’ Alex coolly said. ‘You don’t surprise me. I gathered that he fancied you.’
A flush kindled in her face. ‘That wasn’t what I meant.’ Changing the subject she quickly asked, ‘Did you tell him you planned to bring me here?’
Alex nodded.
‘So he knew?’ Neil had advised her to go to Greece, he hadn’t warned her who was behind the offer of a job here. Why hadn’t he said anything? Did he trust Alex? Could she trust him, too? It disturbed her to feel distrust of everyone around her – yet how could she dare risk trusting? She would have sworn that you could trust Terry Finnigan, but he was prepared to have her killed to save his son.
‘We talked about it for some time. I promised him I wouldn’t say a word to Terry, so that Neil could be sure you would be safe here.’ His dark gaze fixed on hers. ‘I meant it. You are safe here, Miranda.’
She wanted to believe him, but over the last few terrible weeks she had learnt fear and distrust. When Tom drowned her distress had been compounded by her own underlying sense of guilt, her uncertainty about the wreck of the boat, her dread that Alex was somehow responsible, and was guilty too. She had never shaken off her grief and guilt, and from the day she heard that girl drowning her anxiety had grown worse; her mind was awash with dark emotions and fears. How could she feel safe, anywhere?
Even Charles, who had seemed so nice, and so deeply in love with his wife, had turned out to have secrets.
Terry took his plane up for a brief trip, flying from the airfield to the south coast, to pick up some small components which had been left out of a recent delivery. It only took half an hour to land, load the boxes, drink a cup of coffee and take off again. He had used the collection as an excuse for a flight; a courier could have picked the boxes up easily enough, but Terry wanted to fly for a few hours.
He did not often manage to get up, he was always so busy, and the weather today was so fine and clear. It was a pity to waste a morning like this, he thought, gazing into the cloudless blue sky. There had been so much on his mind lately; he was frequently in a state of depression. Up here he felt more alive, more optimistic.
When he got back home he was surprised to see a dark blue Rolls Royce parked on the drive. He could hear the voices before he walked into the sitting room, one dominating, a husky, flirtatious, laughter-filled voice.
