A Terrible Beauty (28 page)

An unexpected rage filled Philip. Kallista he might be able to forgive, but Hargreaves? That betrayal stung more, just as it had when he observed the kiss at Berkeley Square, and now the sight of his best friend came near to inciting violence in him. He lowered the spyglass and turned away from the scene below.

“That is quite enough,” he said to Reiner. “This has very nearly cured me of my affliction. Come, let us to Thera. Our work awaits!”

He may have put on a convincing show for his friend—he very nearly persuaded even himself he wanted nothing further to do with that part of his life—but that all changed the day a party of visitors made the climb up Mesa Vouno to the ruins of the ancient city. He did not immediately recognize Kallista's laughter signaling her approach along the stone road skirting the edge of the cliff. It was another voice that drew his attention.

“Kallista!” a woman with a heavy French accent called. “You are going too fast. I will insist Monsieur Hargreaves scold you most severely if you do not slow down.”

Kallista? Hargreaves? It had to be her, but how had this French woman known of his private nickname for his wife? Philip had been too reserved, even after their wedding, to use it to her face. Had Hargreaves commandeered it? Did he claim it to be an invention of his own?

“Colin would never scold me,” came the reply in an angelic, silvery soprano. “He knows better than that.”

Philip's heart raced. It was she, not that he had doubted it, and whatever happened, he could not let her see him. Very few tourists came to Thera, so few, in fact, that their presence did not irritate the archaeologists, the way they did at more popular sites, where their disruptive presence went beyond mere nuisance and frequently interfered with the excavations. On the rare occasions dilettantes made the trek up Mesa Vouno, Herr Professor Hiller von Gaertringen welcomed them, gave them a thorough tour of the site, and offered them the strong coffee he brewed in camp every day.

Philip edged his way along a wall that hid him from the main pavement leading through the ancient city to the stoa, where Reiner was supervising the reconstruction of a handful of Hellenistic columns. He pulled his friend aside, behind the safety of the wall, and explained to him, sotto voce, that he must disappear, quickly. Reiner offered to provide an excuse for his absence to their leader, and Philip climbed the narrow stairs that formed a street between rows of tightly packed buildings, or, rather, what remained of them. At the top, he walked along the ridge, crouching low, until he reached the end of the city nearest to the narrow path that led to the archaeologists' camp. Once certain Kallista and her party had made their way past him—aided by Reiner, who, as arranged, shouted a loud hail to them—Philip all but ran down the path, past the early Christian church, and back to camp, where he untied one of the donkeys and urged the surly beast down the mountainside.

He spent the rest of the day near Akrotiri on the red beach, whose sharp blood-colored cliffs offered him a background to match his anger. Much though he had longed to see Kallista, the manner of this near-encounter tormented him. Yet he could not go to her. He could not. He could not. Unless …

He began to formulate an idea.

 

20

The light had not yet altogether faded from the sky when Jeremy and I departed the villa for Oia. I knew the moon would rise soon, and while it would not be full—it was only just on the wane—its silver orb would provide ample light to supplement our lanterns. In fact, it shone so bright, especially when reflected by the island's whitewashed buildings, we hardly needed the lanterns. The ride to Oia was so familiar to me I could have found my way blindfolded, and as we approached the cluster of its buildings, I urged Pyrois off the main road and up a narrow path.

Here the buildings were more scattered, with space between them, unlike in the more populated sections of the town. Soon Oia glowed below us in the moonlight, and we turned back onto a larger road, one that snaked past the town and north to the tip of the island.

“I suppose it would have been too much to ask for Batur to have taken a house on the outskirts of Oia on the side nearer to Imerovigli,” Jeremy said.

“Are you tired?” I asked.

“Not at all,” he replied. “A little anxious, though. Do try not to shoot me, whatever happens, will you? I still don't trust your aim entirely.”

He was referring to the fact that I had shot his former fiancée when she had held him prisoner with the intent of murdering him. Despite any disparaging comments he might make about my skill (or lack thereof) with firearms, I had succeeded in stopping the malevolent woman with a single shot through the fleshy part of her shoulder and had, I still believe, handled the matter very neatly. She had suffered no serious injury, and I had been able to free Jeremy. “I have practiced since then, you know. I am quite confident I could shoot an apple off your head if the occasion called for it.”

“Let us hope it never does.”

“It should not be much further,” I said. “Adelphos said to count six houses after that last turn we made. We are now at the fourth.” We were well away from the lights of Oia. Insignificant though they were, the sight of them in the distance gave the illusion of assistance being fairly close at hand should we require it. I slowed Pyrois. These final houses stood along the top of the hill, giving their occupants a superb view of the island, Oia, and the caldera. More important, they were situated in a way that made approaching them by road impossible to do without being seen.

I dismounted between the fourth and fifth house and walked next to Pyrois. Behind the humble dwellings, I found a tree and tied my horse to it. Jeremy followed and did the same with his. We then continued on foot.

“There are no lights on,” I whispered, once the house in question came into our field of vision. “We must proceed with extreme caution.”

“You will let me go first,” Jeremy said. I opened my mouth in protest, but the look on his face told me he would brook no argument. “Wait until I give you a sign that all is clear. I shall light my lantern when I am ready for you.” He removed a pistol from his jacket and held it out, steady, in front of him as he started toward the house. I itched to follow, but knew taking insensible risks would not increase the odds of a successful mission, so I waited, moving closer to our target, but keeping a safe distance from him. I had a pistol of my own, but hoped upon hope I would have no cause to use it.

I heard the creak of hinges and the groan of wood. He had opened the front door. Silence followed, but after what felt like an interval of ages, I saw the glow of his lantern. Moving as quietly as possible, I proceeded into the house. Once inside, I pulled the door shut behind me and latched it.

“I have checked every inch,” he said. “There is no one here.” He started bolting the shutters, giving us privacy and security for our search.

The small building contained only three rooms and was furnished very sparsely with old wooden pieces of rough quality. Batur had not traveled with much; I found his meager possessions in a bundle next to the bed. The only item of significance was a small bronze statue of Hermes identical to the one I had found in Philip's possession. I slipped it into my pocket. Feeling frustrated, I went through each room again, methodically searching every cupboard and every drawer.

“Nothing,” Jeremy said. “I am afraid we have wasted our time.”

“Not quite,” I said. I went back to the bedroom and looked again at Batur's clothing. He had a spare robe with him, a grimy piece of cloth of indeterminate color—it might once have been white—that smelled strongly of goat. I shook it out and laid it flat on the dirt floor of the room. “There must be pockets somewhere.” Its voluminous folds had revealed nothing when I searched it before, but that time I had left it hanging on a hook. Attacking it spread out proved easier and more effective. Sure enough, there were pockets. In one, I found a handkerchief in a state even worse than that of the robe. From the other, I pulled a grubby scrap of paper with the name of a hotel on the nearby island of Naxos written in Greek beneath what appeared to be its name in Turkish.

“This may be all we need,” I said. “Come, let's go back to Oia. I want to send a telegram without delay. It must have been Demir whom I saw with Batur at Nea Kameni. He's convinced Philip has the bronze, and has sent his thugs to take care of ferreting it out, but doesn't want to go too far away so that he may get his hands on the object as quickly as possible. Naxos is the perfect location for him—a short boat ride away, but distant enough to keep himself from being implicated in whatever happens on Santorini.”

“You can't be certain of any of that,” Jeremy said.

“You have done very well tonight, my friend,” I said, “and I am most grateful for your assistance. You are correct that I cannot be certain, but it is a reasonable deduction given what we know. If he is at this hotel in Naxos, he will reply to my message. If not, we have lost nothing. My instinct tells me this is the best next step.”

“Far be it from me to side against a lady's instinct.” He clasped my hand and we made our way through the night back to the horses. Once we were finished in Oia, the ride back to Imerovigli flashed by in an instant. When we reached the villa, I made Jeremy wait in the courtyard while I looked in on Batur.

“I am already in contact with Demir,” I said, bluffing with a confidence that would have impressed even Colin. I dangled the statue of Hermes in front of our prisoner. “I expect his response at any time.”

His black eyes flashed. “How did you—”

“Do you think you are the only one who knows about Hermes?” I was fishing now, having speculated the statue must have something to do with Demir and his nefarious associates. “You should have told me where he was when I asked. Now I have taken matters into my own hands. How long is the trip from Naxos to Santorini?” I gave him what I hoped was a menacing grin and stalked out of his makeshift cell, heading to the roof terrace, where I found the rest of my friends, as well as my husband, who had returned from his errand in Fira. I pulled him aside.

“Very well done,” he said after I had related to him the events of the evening. “We must prepare ourselves. It is unlikely Demir will descend upon us in the night, but if he is on Naxos, and if he has the means to secure a ship—which we must assume he does—he could be here in the space of six hours or so. I suggest we get ourselves off the roof and do everything we can to secure the house.”

“I do not think we should expect attack,” I said. “I made it clear in my telegram I wanted a meeting and am willing to sell him the Achilles bronze. Furthermore, I told him I am staying in Fira.”

“We know he and his thugs are capable of violence,” Colin said. “It would be foolish not to prepare for the worst. You may have told him Fira, but it would not prove difficult for him to learn where we live.”

“I did not give him my actual name,” I said. “I signed the message ‘Athena.'”

“Athena?”

“Yes,” I said. “I considered ‘Artemis,' but upon reflection came to the conclusion ‘Athena' is preferable in this situation. I made sure to include for him enough details about both the bronze and Philip that he cannot doubt I am a force with which to be reckoned.”

“You are a constant revelation, my dear. Regardless, it is best we take defensive action,” he said, and kissed me before going downstairs and disappearing into the courtyard. The rest of us removed ourselves to a sitting room—one whose traditional Cycladic windows, small and high up on the wall, made us less vulnerable to invasion. I sent Jeremy and Fritz to close and lock all the shutters in the house, but did not let Philip out of my sight.

“You should let me help,” he said.

“You are the one Demir wants,” I said. “I will not make it easy for him to get to you. I may have failed you as a wife, but I will not fail you here.”

Margaret emitted a sound akin to a low growl and rolled her eyes at me.

“Margaret—” I started.

“Your friend is correct to object,” Philip said. “You did not fail me, Kallista. I suppose I had imagined you to be Penelope, and I your Odysseus.”

“Penelope did not have every reason on earth to believe Odysseus was dead,” I said. “She thought the gods were keeping them apart. Furthermore, I have no interest in weaving.”

This made him smile. “My expectations—no, my hopes, as I expected nothing—were unreasonable, and I would not have you believe you failed me by not making them real. It is I who failed you, first by not returning to England sooner, and then by not immediately making my presence known once I was there. I have no one to blame for my loneliness but myself.”

I met his eyes. “Philip, even if you had made your presence known in London, I already loved Colin. You might have legally got me back as your wife, but we would not have gone on to live the way you picture in your dreams. I would have been heartbroken and sad every day for the rest of my life. You speak of Penelope? I would have become like her. I would have learned how to weave. I might even have told you that when I finished my tapestry I would abandon my affection for Colin and give my heart to you. But like Penelope, I would have unwoven my day's work every night, and the tapestry would never be finished.”

“I have loved you so very dearly for so long.” Sadness filled his voice.

“You love the idea of me,” I said. “That is all you have ever known. We were barely acquaintances when you proposed.”

“I did know you then, and came to know you even better during the time—short though it was—of our marriage. Do you discount entirely our wedding trip? Why, I even decided to read
Lady Audley's Secret
after you spoke so highly of it. I have never had a passion for sensational fiction, but already knew I could trust your opinion on the subject.”