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The beer was icy and refreshing; he drank it almost without tasting it, needing the coolness it spread down his throat, throughout his body.
By then they had left Piraeus behind and were sailing steadily into the blue distance.
He did in fact doze briefly while they sailed; his head fallin
g back against the chair, his body slumped sideways. He was too tired to dream and when he woke up was flushed and still drowsy. Yawning, he sat upright and looked about. The windows were blurred with sea spray and the boat was bucking back and forth like a difficult horse.
He felt the boat slowing noticeably and went out on to the deck which was wet and slippery now. Ahead of them he saw the island, green and grey, with a few scattered houses to be seen.
The Greek seaman appeared. ‘Delephores,’ he told Neil, pointing a long, brown finger. ‘Delephores, sir.’
Neil nodded his understanding. The boat was heading for the harbour – they would probably land in twenty minutes or so, he calculated. He would see Miranda very soon.
The thought excited him. He had missed her badly, was worried about her; she was a very special person.
Now that the body had been discovered and Sean Finnigan charged with murder it wouldn’t be long before she came back to London. Not yet, though. It wouldn’t be safe until the actual trial when she would have to come back to give evidence, and even then, she would need a police guard until the trial was over.
He would be glad to do that, to take care of her, in his flat, make sure the Finnigans didn’t get a chance to hurt her or stop her giving evidence.
The boat had stopped moving. Miranda heard the cabin door open abruptly. She turned her head, lying very still, her heart banging inside her.
The two men came over to the bed and pulled her up off it, carried her between them out on to the deck. They wound a chain around her waist; from it hung something heavy – she couldn’t see what it was, but it clanked against the chain. They were weighting her body, she realised with a sinking of the heart. Walking to the rail of the boat they lifted her, swung her between them, faster and faster, then hurled her into the sea.
Her body sank instantly under the blue waves. Déjà vu. This had happened to her before, except that the last time she was flung into the sea she had had her hands and feet free.
The two men watched the upward splash of water. The girl did not resurface.
They walked away and the boat began to move again.
Terry was talking to Alex in his office when the phone rang. Alex answered impatiently.
‘I told you not to interrupt me. What is it?’ He listened, then looked at Terry, one black brow lifting. ‘It’s for you.’ He handed the phone to Terry, who leaned forward to take it.
‘Hello? Yes, it is. Who . . .?’ He fell silent, his face suddenly blank. ‘You’re certain? Oh, right. So that’s that. Thank you. Well done.’
He hung up and leaned back in his chair as if exhausted. Alex stared.
‘Are you OK? You’ve turned very pale. That wasn’t bad news, I hope?’
Terry gave a long, unsteady sigh, lifted his hand, glanced at his watch. Got to his feet. ‘I’m afraid it means I must go back to London, at once.’ He held out his hand. ‘Sorry to break this up, but I hope you’ll be confirming this sale very soon.’
‘I’ll let you know before next week.’ Alex followed him to the door.
‘No need for you to see me out, I know the way,’ Terry said roughly, and walked off very fast, like a man who couldn’t wait to get away.
What had that phone call been about? Alex wondered. One minute Terry had been eager to go to Delephores, completely set on it. The next he was leaving to get back to London.
What had happened to change his mind?
A shaft of terror struck him. Miranda. Terry had come all this way to find her, Alex was sure of it. Had he just heard something that no longer made it necessary?
Alex picked up the phone, his hand trembling, and rang the hotel. ‘Give me Milo, will you?’
The switchboard operator recognised his voice. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Hello?’ Milo said in Greek. ‘Ya soo?’
‘Is Miranda OK?’ demanded Alex hoarsely.
