Angel of Death (33 page)

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.

Her throat pulsed with fear – what was it? She hadn’t heard anything moving. It touch her again, nudging her with its nose like a dog.

Only then did she recognise it, realise what it was that had silently stolen up on her. A dolphin. It was a dolphin.

The silky, bluish silvery skin was cool to the touch. She leant her head towards it and pushed her cheek into it, delighted to have company. It swam closer, curving against her, supporting her, almost as if it understood her predicament.

Suddenly it lowered its head beneath the sea; she felt a strange vibration from it – what was it doing?

Ten minutes later another dolphin swam towards them; the two of them touched noses, blowing into each other, made funny little chuckling noises – were they talking to each other? she wondered.

The second dolphin swam to the other side of her, pushing into her, supporting her, so that she was sandwiched between them, and the strain of trying to stay afloat eased.

The dolphins began to move, taking her with them. Miranda flicked her ankles lightly to keep abreast of them. She could see nothing but sea and sky. Where were they taking her?

She tried to remember everything she had ever heard of dolphins, but could only remember that they were not fish, they were mammals, marine mammals.

It was easy to believe; under the sleek blue and silver skin she felt the pulse of warmth, of blood moving in veins. Her body responded to theirs as if they were human, too.

Some people believed they had a language, could communicate with each other, she remembered.

Had that been what the first dolphin had been doing when he made the water vibrate? Had he been calling for help?

They were believed to like human beings, to enjoy human company – and hadn’t Charles told her on that first day, when dolphins swam round the boat as they were sailing from Piraeus, that they had rescued people from the sea before?

Moving with them, between them, she thought how elegant they were, their bodies sleekly adapted for moving in their watery environment.

Their round, rather mischievous eyes were almost human in their expressions and when they opened their long mouths in a grin she couldn’t help laughing back.

Having their company made the whole world look different, gave her hope. She pushed away the painful thoughts of Alex. He had betrayed her, but the dolphins healed the wound of that memory.

She almost fell asleep, so tired it was hard to keep awake. To help herself stay alert she lifted her head and gazed about her.

Was she imagining it, or was that a coastline she could see? Above the waves it ran like a rippling yellow line, coming closer all the time. A beach? Was that where the dolphins were taking her?

A sound cut through wind and waves – an engine? Was it an engine? Was there a boat coming?

She raised herself again, staring in the direction from which the noise came, and saw a yellow boat’s prow cutting through the water, churning up white, marbled spray.

They might sail past without even noticing her. Desperately she lifted her head even higher, hoping they would see her.

The engine cut and the boat slowed; the dolphins stopped moving forward and waited, tails lightly flicking. Somebody in a yellow life-jacket leaned down, hands seized her shoulders, began to pull her firmly but gently upwards.

She bit back a cry of pain. Her skin was so sunburnt it hurt just to be touched on the shoulders.

Slithering over the side of the boat she fell into a man’s arms and looked up into Neil Maddrell’s face.

‘Neil!’ she hoarsely said, almost surprised to find her voice still worked. ‘Oh, thank you, thank you.’

‘Who the hell did this to you? Did you see? Did you recognise them?’ He was undoing her ankles.

‘Greeks, I’d never seen them before.’ She tried to stand up but her legs crumpled underneath her. ‘Must thank the dolphins . . . they saved my life.’

Neil picked her up gently, her head against his shoulder, her legs dangling.

‘Yes, we saw – that was what made us look, the dolphins – and then we saw you, between them. Amazing; I’d never have believed it if I hadn’t seen it for myself. You do hear these stories about their superintelligence, people say they do these things, but it seems so incredible, doesn’t it?’

‘They were marvellous,’ she said as he carried her to the side of the boat to look down into the water from which she had only just escaped.

It looked so pretty, blue and glittering, sun dancing on the surface. Who would believe it was so dangerous, so deadly?

The coastguard was throwing raw fish to the dolphins; they leapt out of the water to take it, silvery and lithe, swallowing the fish whole, their white teeth visible briefly in that friendly grin of theirs.

‘Thank you, thank you,’ Miranda called and they looked at her as if understanding, grinned up at her, made more of their strange chuckling noises, swam once around the boat in a pair, nose to nose, then leapt out again, flicking their tails, before sinking back into the water and disappearing.

Miranda was sad to see them go – she wished she spoke their language, could tell them how she felt, but her head was going round now, she was sick and dizzy.

Neil carried her limp, shuddering body into the little cabin and laid her down on a padded bench, pushing a cushion under her head.

He looked down at her, frowning. ‘You have terrible sunburn.’

‘I know.’

Her face was blotched red, her eyes half-closed, swollen like boiled eggs, the irises mere slits between those puffy, dark red lids. Neil grimaced. ‘Is it painful?’

She was shivering violently. ‘I feel weird. I’m very hot, but I’m so cold, too. How can you be hot and cold at the same time?’

He gently laid a blanket over her and the warmth was marvellous; it seeped into her very bones. Even this rather hard bench felt wonderful under her.

‘Would you like a hot drink? Chocolate? Are you hungry? I could get you a sandwich. We have ham, cheese – what would you like?’

Her lids were closing now that she no longer needed to stay awake and aware. She was weary, dying to sleep, to give up, give in, let go of everything.

‘Chocolate, yes,’ she whispered. ‘Lovely.’

‘Sandwich?’

‘No.’ She made a disgusted face. ‘I feel too sick.’

‘OK, I’ll be back in a minute. There’s instant chocolate in the galley, we had some earlier. Will you be OK if I leave you alone?’

‘Mmmm . . .’ she said, almost asleep.

He went away. So did Miranda, sinking into warm, soft sleep and dreaming of dolphins and blue seas and fear like a poison in her blood.

Neil talked on deck to the coastguard. ‘We must get her to a hospital. She’s in shock, that could cause serious worries. She also has bad sunburn and hypothermia. Is there a hospital on the island?’

The coastguard shook his head. ‘We have a small clinic, attached to the doctor’s surgery, that deals with minor medical problems. Cuts and bruises, that sort of thing. But for anything serious people have to be taken to the mainland. We have a helicopter. I’ll get on to them right away, tell them we’ll need them as soon as we land.’

Neil went back with the hot chocolate a moment later, but found Miranda asleep, breathing heavily. He put a hand to her forehead and winced at her temperature.

The sooner they got her to a hospital the better.

After contacting the helicopter, the coastguard talked to Alex on the radio, too. ‘She isn’t injured, but she’s been in the water for hours, she’s in shock – in fact, she’s sleeping now, and she’s suffering from sunstroke, and hypothermia. She needs immediate treatment for both, which means going to the mainland, to hospital. I’ve been in touch with the helicopter, Georgio will take her at once, as soon as we make land.’

‘Wait for me to get back, Stathatoo,’ Alex urgently said. ‘I should be there in half an hour.’

Alex ended the call and put on more speed, bouncing over the water, his body tense with the drive to get to her. He had been so sure she was dead, that he would never see her again alive.

But she was alive, thank God. And not seriously injured. But she had obviously had a bad time; she must have been scared stiff. The bastards. How could they do that to a woman? It was barbaric, inhuman. If he found out who had done it, he’d kill them – and not quickly, either. No, he would cut their throats and let them bleed to death.

It took longer to make land than he had anticipated. At last he got there and tied up at the harbour only to see the helicopter taking off.

The coastguard met him as he climbed the ladder on to the harbour wall.

‘I’m sorry, the English policeman insisted on leaving at once, he wouldn’t wait for you. He said he was worried about shock – she was getting worse and he wanted her to have medical help as soon as possible.’ A pause, the coastguard was embarrassed, couldn’t meet his eyes. ‘And he said . . . said he would rather you did not see her just yet, anyway. She needed complete rest.’

Alex held on to his temper, refusing to let other people see how he felt. His teeth gritted, he gave a curt nod and said quietly, ‘Well, thank you, for all your help. We’re very grateful. You probably saved her life.’