She moved the hosepipe from one urn to the next. ‘But he knows where I am, and he hasn’t been here, and he could be here. He’s meant to be here for his job. Except he doesn’t want to come in while we’re here and he’s… thinking more deeply about the morality of this case. I think.’ She let out a sigh of frustration.
Despite not having seen Elias since they had sailed around Avlaki Bay together, Becky had relaxed into Greek life and had managed to avoid any suggestion from Petra that they ‘hit a club’ or ‘book a booze cruise’. They had attempted to cook a barbecue – huge pork chops and village sausages – that had ended up with the reappearance of the bear-thing and half the neighbourhood cats. They had tasted at least four different village wines in one night in a bid to find the most superior kind of the ones that were less than three euros and came in a plastic bottle. And Becky had told Petra about It’s A Wrap, her fight with her sister and her magical sandwiches, while Petra again told her absolutely nothing apart from travel stories. Becky still didn’t know about the rest of Petra’s family or exactly where in Kent she came from and the girl seemed to push every conversation away from real life and towards debates about the best Bridget Jones movie.
‘I need to think about someone else, don’t I?’ Becky asked the red bougainvillea. ‘Or no one else at all. Or everyone else if Petra has her way.’
‘Are you talking to the flowers again?’
Petra’s shout had Becky freezing, the water from the hosepipe trickling away from the urn and going all over her feet and the pleather espadrilles.
‘Bugger!’ Becky exclaimed, lifting the hose up again and shaking one sodden foot. Could Petra really hear what she was saying? She wasn’t sure she wanted her plant therapy sessions to be eavesdropped on.
Petra laughed then and Becky looked up over the small natural stone wall at her friend in the water. She was wearing giant sunglasses, the smallest of bikinis in an electric blue colour and was now riding the flamingo ring like it was a rodeo bull. ‘You’ve spent more time with those plants than you have with me!’
That wasn’t true. They had both spent the most time with the sparkling sea only a few steps away from the villa. Kerasia Beach was serene and perfect and absolutely what Becky had been expecting of this Greek trip. Swimming in the water, letting the refreshing saltwater run off her shoulders, soak her hair, hold her up in a starfish float Petra had taught her, was one of the best things she had ever experienced. She was starting to find perspective in the Greek water. Whatever happened next for her she needed to make her choices, not choices she made for the sake of others.
‘But tonight’s the night, right?’ Petra called back, breaking Becky’s train of thought as she gave the next pot a soaking.
‘Tonight?’
‘It’s Saturday! Come on, Becks, you booked us into it!’
Oh God. Now she remembered. It was Dark Dating. Tonight in Liakada. Did they really have to go? It was only ten euros each. She could forfeit twenty euros to not go. Except Petra sounded way too enthusiastic.
‘Dark Dating!’ Petra called out. ‘I know I thought it sounded like a pile of shite when you first told me but… I’m quite excited about it. I mean the dark bit of it must mean that you can’t see people, right? Well, that’s really mysterious, isn’t it? You could be holding a conversation with literally anyone.’
‘But there’s no talking either,’ Becky reminded, coming out from behind the wall and walking over towards the pool, mainly so Petra didn’t have to keep disturbing the peace with her shouting.
‘No talking? Are you sure?’
‘That was what I was led to believe.’
‘By the old woman who’s shagged Elias?’
And there was that. Despite really liking Elias there was the issue of him having had relations with the woman from the cafeneon. It seemed unlikely, didn’t it? But the idea of it made Becky feel a little bit uncomfortable. She felt that he had been honest with her, cooped up in that tiny boat space, helping her learn how to sail. She had felt as if she was finally finding out at least some of the real him. But she also suspected there was much more to Elias Mardas and perhaps she had still only just scratched the surface. Was it a surface she wanted to continue to scratch at though?
‘The thought of that!’ Petra exclaimed. ‘She has hairs on her chin. Did you see? I was scared one or all of them might end up in that stiffy she gave us.’
Becky had to concentrate really hard to work out what Petra was referring to. The beef stifado. She still hadn’t figured out what was missing from that meal. Something sweet, but not more cinnamon. Something spicy, but not extra paprika or the twang of ginger. She might have to eat it again to really nail it down. Or, perhaps, forget about it. She didn’t have to be the girl who came up with crazy food concoctions here in Greece. Suddenly, thinking about It’s A Wrap, Becky realised she hadn’t heard from Shelley or Hazel for a couple of days. It was Saturday today though. Unless there was a wedding booked in – which there hadn’t been when she’d checked the diary before her break – they wouldn’t be at the unit until Monday.
Her mobile buzzed in her pocket, then gave out a chime she recognised straightaway. It was a tone she had set to alert her when she received something from Ms O’Neill. Elias story about a divorce had rung alarm bells and she was a little on edge as to what she had waltzed into the middle of. She didn’t know her homeowner or anything about her. The cars worth millions in the garage had not been mentioned and you would have thought that if you had put someone in charge of goods that valuable, there might have been some mention of them…
‘Is that the divorcee who’s hiding the Crown Jewels and a Van Gogh original somewhere?’
‘Petra, you haven’t been trying any more sets of keys to open that cupboard in your room, have you?’
‘Aren’t you a little bit curious about what’s in there? I mean, it might not even be a cupboard. I might open the door and there might be a foldaway staircase that leads to an underground drug laboratory.’ Petra wriggled a little on the flamingo. ‘Maybe that’s it!’ She waved a finger in the air. ‘Maybe it’s not about jewels or paintings. Maybe it’s all about the pill production!’
Becky shook her head and looked at the screen of her phone. It was a text message.
Someone is coming to the villa on Monday at 5 p.m. His name is Lazarus. He will have a key so no need to be there. He will be removing a few boxes to take for a local charity
‘Ms O’Neill says someone’s coming to the house,’ Becky announced.
‘A drug lord! I told you!’
‘He’s called Lazarus.’
‘Yeah, right. That sounds totally legit.’
‘He’s going to be removing some boxes from the villa.’ Becky sighed. She felt really uneasy about this now Elias had told her about the imminent divorce. She didn’t know any of the details, but this did sound like Ms O’Neill might possibly be removing things that were half her husband’s. Grr, why did she care? It was none of her business what went on between them. She was simply here to house sit not get embroiled in matrimonial disputes.
‘I bet he is!’ Petra said. ‘Boxes of laundered money or… cannabis plants!’