‘If I don’t resurface, just leave me for the nymphs and tell my aunt she can have whatever’s left.’
With that sentence hanging in the damp air, Petra dived off the edge of the boat and into the black water below.
*
‘Oh my God! Oh my God!’ Despite the rocking and reeling caused by Petra’s rapid disembarkation, Becky had got to her feet, her eyes scanning the half-light while trying to maintain her balance.
‘She’s fucking crazy,’ Elias exclaimed, tearing at the shoes on his feet then shrugging off his jacket. This was not what he had signed up for tonight but what choice did he have? Too cold water and the exuberance of youth was all you needed to create disaster. Despite Petra’s bravado, he couldn’t just leave her to her own devices.
‘I will put on my searchlight,’ Kosmos said, reaching into the bottom of the boat.
‘What are you doing?’ Becky asked as Elias began to remove his shirt. He wasn’t going to have time to lose his trousers. Once that cold water stabbed at Petra like a thousand of the sharpest of knives, she would start to struggle and here, in the dark cave, she could quickly become disorientated.
‘I’m getting her out,’ Elias replied. He didn’t wait to say anything else. He dived into the water and hoped against hope he hadn’t completely misjudged this situation.
Twenty-Two
Karavomilos Taverna, Karavomilos
Becky wasn’t altogether certain what she was drinking, she just knew it was strong. And strong was good. Strong was excellent. Strong spirits would definitely help her recover from the shock of what had happened in Melissani Cave.
It was a humid evening and the chirruping of cicadas filled the air. Sitting on a green chair at a table for four on decking right next to the ocean, it was taking all the gentle sea noises and soft chatter from the other diners to quell the panic that was still lodged in Becky’s chest. Her and Kosmos in the little boat, both searching the water with torches. One that looked like it had come from biblical times (Kosmos) and an iPhone (Becky). Until finally, heart-stoppingly ages after their initial entry, Elias had resurfaced, a very pale Petra in his arms.
Becky took another sip of the drink, letting the heat of the alcohol slip over her tonsils and beyond. She had somehow found the strength to pull Petra from the water and into the boat, at first shouting angrily at her in the hope it would be enough to bring her round, the next telling her that Jesse Metcalfe was actually there. Neither seemed to work. Petra hadn’t quite been unconscious, but it was close; her eyes were rolling, she didn’t seem really sure of her surroundings and she had violently shivered. Kosmos had passed over Petra’s clothes and Becky had attempted to redress her, to warm her while Elias, out of breath and dripping wet too, had dressed himself, a furious expression on his face.
Thankfully, Agelos had come quickly after that. Once the call had been made and they had again experienced the waiter’s terrible rally-driving, they had all arrived back at the taverna in double-quick time. Then the owners were on hand with towels and blankets and stiff drinks just like this one that Becky had almost finished. It had been quite the circus for a moment, onlookers wondering what had happened.
While Petra and Elias were spirited away to be offered a hot shower and dry clothes, Becky had come back down to the beachside tables and typed out a text to Megan, fingers shaking as she hit the letters. It was moments like these when you realised the frailty of life and what was really important. She had felt it for a time after their dad had died. Life hung by a fine thread. Each day was a gift. It shouldn’t be wasted on grudges or arguments over catering contracts. Except Becky hadn’t pressed send yet. She didn’t know why. She should. What if she had done something crazy like jump into a cave-lake never to be seen again while she and Megan still weren’t talking? Becky could be dead – nibbled by nymphs – and Megan would be living with the guilt. Or perhaps Megan wouldn’t feel anything. Maybe she would sweep Becky’s demise under cellophane sandwich wrap like she had with the death of their father.
‘Agelos has been given the night off.’
Becky looked up to see Elias stood at the table. He was wearing a white shirt that was definitely a size too small for him. But the buttons straining, the material tight across his broad chest wasn’t a bad look. In fact, it was a hot look that made Becky impulse-swallow. Black jeans covered the rest of him. She was back to imagining what it would be like for him to finger-hold steak dipped in pepper sauce, dangling the hot, juicy slither of sirloin over her more-than-eager lips…
‘I’ve been given his clothes,’ Elias replied, sitting down opposite her. His comment was enough to bring a smile to Becky’s face. ‘Someone called Adriana is washing and drying my shirt and trousers.’ Despite removing his shirt before diving into the water, Petra had got it soaking when she’d landed back in the boat like a beached seal.
‘Where’s Petra?’ Becky asked. She wanted to know the girl was alright, but equally she wanted to still be cross with her. She was irresponsible and careless and she had worried her. Not to mention she had put Elias at risk with her antics.
‘With Agelos,’ Elias answered with a raise of his eyebrows. ‘“Poor Petra being so cold. Poor Petra going through something so traumatic. Let me kiss it all better.”’ He had mimicked the waiter’s voice perfectly and had now pursed his lips into a sarcastic kiss that Becky couldn’t look away from. She had never really looked so closely at a man’s lips before, but Elias had amazing lips. She blinked in a bid to stop herself staring.
‘I don’t know how she does it,’ Becky breathed, cradling her glass in her hands. It was idyllic here, next to the shore, under the shade of the boughs of a drooping ancient olive tree, pots of fragrant blossoming bougainvillea surrounding the tables, with subtle globes of light on posts casting a romantic glow. There was even a blue-painted waterwheel if the sea sounds weren’t relaxing enough.
‘Does what?’ Elias asked, waving a hand to call a waiter.
‘Exactly what she wants.’
Elias nodded with a sigh. ‘Some people, they are just made that way.’
‘But they shouldn’t be! Should they?’ Becky asked him. ‘I mean it’s completely selfish and stupid and… dangerous and she could have died and you could have died and—’
‘Captain Rebecca,’ Elias interrupted. ‘What are you drinking?’ The waiter had arrived and Becky realised she had been ranting and raving while he was stood there waiting to serve them.
‘Oh, I’m OK at the moment,’ she replied immediately.
‘You are finished,’ Elias remarked, indicating her empty glass. ‘You should have another.’
She looked at him, feeling ridiculous. ‘I don’t know what it is.’
‘It is fig liqueur,’ the waiter told her. ‘My mother makes.’
Was it? Now she felt awful for not fully appreciating it. It sounded like a local delicacy she should have been savouring.
Elias ordered in Greek and the waiter left them.
‘What did you get?’ Becky asked.
‘Two fig liqueurs and a carafe of red wine… and I asked for the menu. I am hungry.’