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She didn’t deny it. She knew her father. ‘They’re sending me to New York, I don’t know when I’ll get back here. But I’ll write to you, I swear. I’ll write whenever I can.’
He looked at her with desperate attention. ‘Will you, Nicola? I’d love that. It would give me something to hold on for. But . . . will you forgive me?’
She whispered. ‘I love you, silly. I really do. I always did. I can’t help forgiving you.’
Sean’s face crumpled like a child’s; a tear slipped down his cheek.
Neil went out with the coastguard, on his orange boat, trawling the sea for any glimpse of Miranda. Alex was looking, too, in his own boat, but Neil preferred not to go with him. Alex was the master in his boat, he made the decisions, making Neil prickle with resentment, and his jealousy of Alex ground inside him like swallowed glass every time the other man spoke of Miranda. He felt far easier with the coastguard, who was a guy he could talk to, and who had never even met her.
It was like looking for a needle in a haystack, said the coastguard whose name Neil could not pronounce He was a small, wiry Greek with blue and red tattoos on both arms. He had been a sailor working a Greek cruise ship and spoke rough but comprehensible English.
‘You see, she could be anywhere. Where do we look? The Aegean could swallow a whole ship, let alone one little girl.’
Alex was thinking the same. His black eyes searched the horizon. There wasn’t even another vessel to be seen now. He had sailed out of sight of the island. He must head back in again and search another quarter.
They hadn’t told Pandora yet. Charles was afraid of upsetting her. She might lose the baby.
‘She’s asking why Miranda hasn’t been to see her, of course, but we lied, said she was out with you, sailing.’
‘Soon enough to tell her the truth when . . . if . . . we don’t find Miranda,’ Alex had said.
Charles looked sideways at him, hesitated. ‘She . . . she could be . . . could have . . . drowned, you know.’
‘I know.’ Did Charles think he hadn’t considered that possibility?
‘Lots of people do drown here, they take risks, swim out too far, get cramp . . . it happens all the time.’
‘I know. But Miranda was a good swimmer and she knew the Aegean, she’s been here long enough to know to be careful. I’m going to go on looking for her while there’s still hope.’
‘Of course. Let me come out with you.’
‘No, we need you here, back at the hotel, while Milo and I are out at sea. But thanks.’ He had clapped a hand to Charles’ shoulder, smiled at him. ‘I appreciate the offer.’
‘Are you serious about her?’ Charles had asked, but got no answer, so he had asked, ‘What about Elena?’ But to that he had been given no reply, either. Alex did not talk about his feelings, he kept them to himself.
So, Alex had left, urgently needing to be at sea, looking, doing something, anything. Time was going by and hope was fading, he knew that. Oh, he knew. So many things could have happened to her. She could have been abducted, could have been killed, could have drowned.
But he would not contemplate those possibilities. He had to believe she could be alive, somewhere, and that they would find her.
Miranda was alive but she was very cold, her skin below the water goosepimpled from being in the sea for so long, yet burning from the heat of the sun. She was experimenting with gentle movements to keep herself afloat. She began by moving her feet, flexing them rather than kicking, flicking them sideways. At first it put her off balance, her heart leapt into her mouth as her body sank in the water, so that it lapped at her mouth. She had to fight to keep calm, not to panic.
Gradually the tiny movements became easier; she floated round and round in a circle, beginning to move her body as she kicked, flexing her stomach and hips too, and the chill wore off a little, her muscles warmed up and the cramp died away.
But it was tiring; she increasingly wanted to give up, float, stop fighting, but that would end only one way, in death. She knew that. So she kept up her movements.
Now and again she turned her head sideways to dip her face under water. Her skin was getting badly sunburnt; on shoulders and face. The Greek sun was so hot.
How long had she been in the sea? She had no idea. It seemed like forever. How much longer could she keep going? She couldn’t guess that, either.
At the back of her mind was the memory of hearing Alex talking to Terry Finnigan on the phone, saying he had kept her on the island so that Terry could come and get her when he liked.
The pain of the memory was intense, far worse than her sunburn or the weariness of her tired muscles.
Alex . . . how could he? She wished she could hate him, but she couldn’t; she still loved him. She must be insane. She must stop feeling like that. He had made love to her knowing what he meant to do; it had all been lies, everything he said to her. How could she go on loving a man like that?
Something brushed against her. What was that? She stiffened, shooting a sideways look in shock.
Right beside her gleamed an eye; large and round and shiny.
