1 The Assassins' Village (17 page)

What about the women? First there was Sonja, absolutely fed up with Leslie’s infidelities over the years. Now, she could do as she liked with whatever money they’d possessed between them. She acted very strangely when she first learnt about her husband’s death. Diana had commented to Steve about her reaction.

‘I don’t know about you but I think Sonja is very peculiar, don’t you agree? She hardly showed any remorse while we stood with her at the crime scene; at the scene of the death of
her husband
. She appeared far more worried that he’d had lost his ring!’

And then there was Alicia. Diana recalled Leslie belittling her at their last play reading and very nastily too. Apparently, according to Jen, ‘Alicia had been an old lover of Leslie’s. Did you know that, Diana?’

Did Alicia still fancy him? And was Alicia jealous of Tilly, his latest affair? Did she know about Tilly? Almost certainly, Jen said ‘I’m sure you know all about Leslie, Diana. He’s never been particularly good at keeping all his affairs secret.’

She returned her thoughts to Yanoulla. Di knew very little about her personal life and nobody had linked her to Leslie. But she was female, single and obviously had a healthy sex life if her involvement with Kristiakis was anything to go by. Was it possible she too had a fling with Leslie?

Spending part of her life in England, Yanoulla was considered different from most other Cypriot village women. The local woman regarded her with some suspicion. Diana knew Yanoulla and Alicia were friends; they often shared a car down into town for shopping. After living in London for some time Yanoulla had retained much of her founded Englishness. Friendly and quite likeable, but Diana only knew her superficially.

Finally, Diana’s musings returned to Kristiakis. He was perhaps the one who hated Leslie the most. Had anything in their past history been ignited by some recent action between Kristiakis and Leslie? The Cypriots kept long memories and even now one heard of almost biblical ‘eye for an eye’ vendettas. Was it likely? Was the village living up to its old name?
The Assassins’ Village
; what a chilling title to be attached to a place.

Putting her notepad away in her desk drawer Diana decided she definitely needed more research before she could even think she was on to something. Pausing, a thought came to her. What was it Jen or Ann who’d mentioned a little black memoir book of Leslie’s? What if all this had something to do with it? What dark secrets had Leslie known and, Diana gave a little shiver, who knew or guessed what his book contained, and perhaps most importantly, about whom?

Chapter 23. Monday

So weary with disasters.

Macbeth. Act 3 Scene 1

Thomas stood by the open window as Sonja made coffee in the kitchen. He didn’t really want it - a double stiff brandy would have been nearer the mark - but he let her make it anyway. It would give him something to do with his hands. He couldn’t stop them shaking. Momentarily closing his eyes, Thomas took a deep breath and then opened them, exhaling slowly to calm his nerves. His gaze slid over the courtyard in front of him. It was a riotous spread of varying shades of green. Potted plants, dusty palm fronds and spiky, vicious looking cacti set between cracks in the crazy paving. It should have been calming and harmonious, indeed at any other time it would have. But, just now the verdant cover had no effect on Thomas. He swung away from the window, sitting down on the nearest wooden chair.

Sonja looked ghastly when she had led him into the living room and delivered her bombshell. Once told, she hurriedly left the room, as if she too needed an excuse to do something with her hands.

It still hadn’t sunk in. How could it? He’d spent over four tedious hours on a flight to visit his father whom, he had just been informed, was dead and in horrific circumstances. Never, in his whole life had he experienced such a numbing shock. If only he had got here a few days earlier. To have arrived the day after his death, his murder! What a ghastly nightmare. Except it wasn’t some macabre dream from which he would wake up; it was true. This was really happening.

He hadn’t rung his wife or his sister. His sister, oh God! Despite all Victoria said about Leslie, he was their father and she was fond of him, especially so when she was little. Covering his face with his hands Thomas gave a soft moan. It was shockingly raw and yet, he wasn’t sure how he truly felt. His brain felt numb. He supposed it was his body’s natural defence mechanism, once it wore off how would he feel then? Thomas had never been close to his father. Leslie never allowed it. Once his mother and he and Victoria had been settled back in England, Leslie spent very little time with them.

Sonja re-entered the room carrying two mugs of coffee. Thomas remembered she never bothered with the niceties of life, sugar and cream bowls on a tray, far too fussy and pretentious.

‘You said you didn’t take sugar?’ she asked handing him an earthenware mug. He did, but he couldn’t be bothered contradicting her. It was far too trivial in the circumstances.

‘I was going to ring you later today,’ she continued. ‘When, well when I had a moment.’

She looked away as if she couldn’t bring herself to look at him. The clock in the corner sounded unnaturally loud in their silence. Both strangers were lost in their thoughts.

Thomas took a cautious sip of the hot coffee. It tasted bitter. A bit like how he felt inside he told himself. Stealing another look at his stepmother, Thomas decided she was looking more haggard and older than he remembered. Her shirt was grubby with the top button missing and her hair was wild and looking like it needed a good brushing.

If only his father had been more approachable and lovable, human. Cutting himself off from his family when he started living with Sonja had been cruel. Of course he had paid their mother alimony to support her whilst she was left to bring up two young demanding children, but it barely covered their growing needs.

Looking back Thomas realised they had existed just above the poverty line with never any money left over after she’d taken care of their basic needs.

Thomas remembered going to scouts and frequently being laughed at by the other boys. One occasion, they were all taking part in a cross-country sponsored bicycle ride. Arriving at the start in good time, Thomas was excited at the prospect of a really long bike ride with boys he considered friends. The village policeman checked the boys’ equipment, making sure there were no glaring problems with bald tyres, faulty brakes and broken bells. Thomas’s old Raleigh was in good working order; the only problem was Thomas. His legs had grown so long; his knees hit the handlebars when he pedalled.

The policeman and scoutmaster were kind but firm. ‘You’ll hurt yourself son and you won’t be able to peddle fast enough to keep up with the others. Can you find another bike to borrow?’

Thomas felt ashamed. The bike had already been passed onto his younger sister. Up until now, he just about managed to continue getting around on it, running errands for his mother to the corner shop. He knew he couldn’t ask his mother for the money for a new one, and he’d barely two pounds saved in his piggy bank.

All his friends owned their own bikes. No one in his circle possessed a spare one big enough that he might borrow. The scoutmaster and policeman looked at each other, understanding his problem. ‘Perhaps,’ they said, ‘you could help by giving out water during the ride? Or wear a Marshall’s tab and warn pedestrians of the cyclists coming through the parkland.’

Thomas hung his head in misery. It was no good. What was the point? He wanted desperately to be a part of the team, part of the action. Giving out water and marshalling was for grown-ups. Boring and sissy, and he’d probably get laughed at all over again. He was always being laughed at lately; children could be so cruel. He’d outgrown his shorts, and suffered chapped, blue knees in winter. His mother couldn’t afford long trousers at that moment, next year if he could make do in the meantime.

He hated raising his hand each new term to claim the free school lunches. He knew his mother scoured through the second-hand box of school clothes looking for a blazer that still had the elbows intact. He kept out of the deeper puddles because his left foot welly had a split just above ankle height. Next year he would need a bigger pair. Life was so unfair sometimes.

But he knew, despite all the hardship and misery in his younger days, he and Victoria were given as much love and kindness from their mother as they could wish for. Adoring his little sister, Thomas cared and protected her as any big brother could. The little family of three were close, looking out for one another, and probably because they had no money for material things they really never
needed
them. It was just
sometimes
they had wished….

As the years passed and Thomas grew up, he realised that the anger he felt was not for himself, but for Victoria and especially his mother. She didn’t deserve to look old and worn out, far older than her years. His school friends’ mothers looked much younger, colourful, and full of fun and vitality. He’d studied their fashionable, smart clothes and well-cut hairstyles, envying their cars when they picked their children up from the school gates. With a guilty, sinking feeling in his stomach he thought his mother could have been mistaken for his granny. Standing next to the other mums she
looked grey.  She was grey, thin and quiet; especially after her breakdown. At the time it occurred, the two children hadn’t known what was happening. It was only years later, when Thomas was thinking more about them and less about himself, that he wondered about the pills and the headaches and the afternoons when she forgot to pick them up from school. As he grew older it all began to sink in.

He knew it took two to make or break a relationship, but Thomas realised Leslie never fully fulfilled his part. During their ill-fated marriage, and certainly after the divorce, Leslie hadn’t taken enough care for providing for his cast-aside family. A card at Christmas and birthdays usually accompanied by a ten-pound note or a visit when Leslie took an occasional trip back to the UK. That was about the sum of it.

Leslie had a new life to lead. A younger, fresher wife (although there was little difference in looks at the moment) Thomas noted. Leslie had a new country to live in, an exotic house, and perhaps most of all a huge ego to pamper.

Oh God! He felt sick. It was all pathetic. Why had he come? He should have taken heed of what his sister said. It had only been the promise of a new will and the bonus of inheritance for the children.

‘It will enable them to have a good start in life. They are father’s grandchildren after all.’ Not that he had been a real grandfather to them.

Giving a start, Thomas was so lost in his thoughts he hadn’t realised Sonja was speaking.

She was seated on an upholstered chair across the room from where he sat. On the whitewashed wall behind her there was an eclectic display of some of Leslie’s art. Huge unframed canvasses adorned the bare wall, their bright colours vying with each other. It was both startling and attractive.

‘I don’t know when they’ll release the body for burial. When they’re satisfied I suppose. I’ll have to arrange with the Anglican Vicar in Limassol. Make the arrangements. He’ll have to be buried, they don’t cremate here.’ Sonja’s voice was toneless.

Burial! Of course, Sonja would have to do all that here. There was no point in flying his father home to England. Correction, Thomas thought, this is -
was
his home.

‘If you want any help, please ask,’ he heard himself saying. ‘My flight back is in two days’ time but I can extend that if you wish.’

‘No need thank you. The burial will be simple. No fuss, no flowers and certainly no reception after. I don’t want all the nosy parkers coming here. You needn’t stay if you don’t want to,’ Sonja replied tersely, arms folded across her thin chest as if wanting to create a permanent barrier between them. Thomas felt a flash of annoyance despite his antipathy towards his father. She was so unfeeling, how could Leslie have loved her in place of his mother?

‘I probably will anyway. I don’t know.’ Thomas dragged a hand through his hair. ‘I haven’t had time to give it any thought yet, and anyway, there’s my sister, she has to be told. She’ll probably want to come out for the funeral.’

There was a lengthy pause as wife and son contemplated the burial of Leslie’s body. Breaking into Thomas’s thoughts, Sonja picked up the desultory conversation.

‘His will is simple. He left everything to me, including his pension, which will of course be halved now. I’m afraid your mother’s portion will stop. She can’t expect me to pay her a gratuity out of my own money.’

Blinking, Thomas looked at the sour-faced woman before him. Sonja was a woman he’d never known despite the longevity of his father’s marriage to her. Sonja had always hated Leslie’s first wife for some reason. As for Thomas and his sister, they were merely a blot on his father’s past life. Thomas was sure Sonja regarded them as an annoying reminder and totally extraneous as far as she was concerned. They were not, and never had been worth worrying about.

Thomas felt the numbness fall away. The earlier feeling of an icy band around his heart melting as a fiery anger spread throughout his body. How dare she! Insulting his mother at every opportunity, Sonja ensured they too were pushed to one side. Thomas knew she persuaded Leslie to visit them on only very rare occasions. And
now
, she talked about money! Well, she had a shock coming to her and Thomas would take great delight in delivering the message.

He stared back at this stranger in front of him. Despite the difference in their ages, there were similarities between Sonja and his mother. Both looked older than their years, sharing grey hair and thin bodies. His mother had permanent worry lines between her once fine hazel eyes, despite Thomas regularly sending her generous amounts of money for luxuries that she couldn’t normally afford. He tried to be a good son to her; taking her out for weekends, supervising remedial work on her Victorian cottage and ringing her twice a week. Nevertheless, she worried about money and every other little thing in her life.

Looking at Sonja, she reminded Thomas of his mother and her hard life. Despite himself Thomas actually felt sorry for his stepmother. Here was another woman to suffer at the hands of his father. Should he tell her or take the coward’s way out and let the solicitor deal with it all? If he was a nice person he would break it to her gently.

~~~

Driving back down to his coastal hotel, Thomas was barely aware of the magnificent views surrounding him. Jumbled thoughts were tearing around in his head; he’d never forget that last look on Sonja’s face.

‘Whatever do you mean? I don’t believe you! Not one word of it! Leslie would never do that to me. Never!’ she’d gasped.

‘I’m sorry, but it’s all true.’

‘No! You’re making it up, just to be spiteful. You surely have a warped and macabre sense of humour,’ Sonja spat at him. Her face was turning a furious mottled colour.

Thomas took a moment before replying. Refusing to rise to her argument, Thomas kept his voice quiet and controlled.

‘No. No I’m not. It’s all true. This is why I am here. Dad altered his will leaving everything to Victoria and me. The only thing you will get is the new house.’

Unbelievably, an ashen-faced Sonja paled even more as the implication sunk in. ‘I don’t believe you,’ she whispered. Thomas gave a small sigh. He hated being here and still couldn’t believe he was having this conversation.

‘Look I’m sorry if it’s come as a shock to you. But believe me, I am telling you the truth. Both Victoria and I were surprised at his change of plan. We certainly weren’t expecting anything like this.’

Thomas was not going to say anymore and then changed his mind.

‘At first, we were going to have nothing to do with it. You could hardly expect us to when you think about it. We’ve never had much communication with dad since you came along. Then we thought, well why not? It’s not for us, but for our children,
his grandchildren.
He owed them that much for his neglect over the years.’