1 The Assassins' Village (14 page)

‘I know,’ she repeated.

‘We didn’t like him!’ Kristiakis cried with vehemence. ‘He was foreign, and you are afraid of foreign men. But he is one less now,’ his voice faltered as his sister spun away from him with an angry hiss upon her lips. He had no chance to see the stricken look upon her face.

Instead, with her body turned away from him she whispered. ‘You don’t understand. You never did.’

It was spoken so softly that he didn’t know whether he had imagined it or not. Antigone never spoke willingly to anyone.

Kristiakis paused; he heard the tap drip into the stone sink. A bird called overhead. He contemplated the stiff back Antigone presented to him by turning her attention back to the cheese. Puzzled by her behaviour, he moved around, to be able to look at her facial expression more clearly. As Kristiakis did so, he realised she had the old familiar shuttered look back on her face. The blankness had returned; she was away, someplace else in her own little world.

Chapter 17. Monday

Who can be wise, amazed, temperate and furious, loyal

and neutral, in a moment?

Macbeth. Act 2 Scene 3

The little car steadily wound its way up the mountain road from the coast near Pissouri, until it reached the foothills of the Troodos. Its rear, red number plate signalled it was a hire car. The road undulated between the hills and the gentle valleys. The air, hung ripe and heavy from the fragrant herbs that grew in the fields and along the verges.

Thomas saw not a soul as he continued his journey upwards. Despite the intense heat that had hit him like a sledgehammer as soon as he’d alighted from the aircraft at Paphos airport, the clarity and luminescence of the daylight was amazing. No wonder his father, Leslie, enjoyed his life here. Painting in such circumstances could only have been delightful.

Thomas felt very unsure and suspicious about this meeting in Agios Mamas. For one thing, he wasn’t on familiar home territory, and this he thought, put him entirely at a disadvantage. He’d never got to know the island and all its peculiar customs and ways and simply being in a ‘foreign’ land put one off balance.

Thomas had visited only once before. And then he and his sister had stayed in a hotel on the coast. They hadn’t been invited to stay at the house, neither with their spouses and families or just the two of them. It hadn’t been
convenient
or there hadn’t been
enough room
for them all. All excuses. In truth, no one had felt comfortable about Thomas and Victoria staying. It had been far better to have seen them just the once or twice during their summer holiday; perhaps have a meal together and then say goodbye. It was easier, neater and with no embarrassment all round.

Of course Thomas knew the real reason for this.
Her
. It had always been her. Not that his father had been whiter than white. An affair always takes two people, doesn’t it? Everyone could do the maths on that one. But leaving all that aside,
Leslie
was his father and despite his current wife and everything, Thomas and Victoria were
his
children. And, after meeting Sonja just the once, they were likely to be his
only
children.

Within minutes of their first meeting they had soon realised that Sonja loathed them. She loathed them when first meeting them as young people, and she’d loathed them when they had written to their father enclosing a family photograph taken of them all at home one Christmas. Sonja never wanted to have anything to do with them and did her utmost to ensure that once she’d safely married their father, then he too wouldn’t have anything much else to do with them either.

As far as Thomas and Victoria were concerned she remained cold, cruel, unfair and completely unjust in her treatment.

So, it was strange that Thomas was here in Cyprus at all. His father was into his seventies by now, and despite living a full and energetic life, Thomas assumed that Leslie was possibly now feeling his age. Leslie had written to Thomas as the older of his two children and requested a meeting between them. He’d – and this was completely unlike him – suggested that he would foot the bill for the airfare. Not that Thomas would accept this unforeseen charity. He was paid a handsome enough salary back in the UK, thank you.

In his letter, his father had said; ‘
he’d recently had a meeting with his Cypriot solicitor and was proposing to make alterations to his will.
’ Leslie briefly hinted that Thomas and Victoria ‘
were to receive a much more generous portion of his estate when he died than they had previously expected.’

Thomas’ sister had been quite scathing and sarcastic with her remarks when Thomas had duly reported this back to her.

‘We’ve never expected to receive anything anyway. Everything will be going to
her
. Are we now supposed to fall over in deep gratitude at this unexpected, magnanimous generosity?’

She was always the more caustic of the two.

Thomas had tried defusing his feisty little sister’s annoyance with a laugh.

He replied. ‘If we do accept, won’t it be a good thing to accept on our childrens’ behalf? Why let them suffer when a legacy of money can be put to good use? Who knows when they might need a tidy sum? Although they’re still young, it won’t be long before they’re thinking of university, or a car and then a mortgage for their first house.’

Victoria was quiet as she mulled this over. Finally she came up with a request of her own. ‘What about our mother?’

Beth was devastated when she was dumped for a younger woman of nearly twenty years difference in age. She’d found it a constant struggle to come to terms with it all, and suffered a nervous breakdown. It had left her hopelessly inadequate to properly cope with her life.

‘This opportunity,’ Victoria declared, ‘will be proper recompense for all the ill doings that have happened to her.’

Pulling over on to the side of the road to check his directions to his father’s and the dreaded step-witch’s house, Thomas wished that he’d insisted his younger, braver sister had accompanied him.

Thomas put the little car into first gear and gunned it up the steep slope that led to a small parking square in the village. Safely parked, Thomas checked his fair hair (his mother’s) in the driving mirror out of habit and switched off the engine. Now he had to face his father.

The summer swallows were swooping low around the eaves of the nearby houses as he followed his father’s directions. He found the house easily and took a moment to take in his surroundings. He was surprised at the size of the property as it appeared to him from the outside. Thomas found he was gazing at a sprawling old stone-house with many different heights to its terracotta roofs. The two courtyards he could just glimpse behind the walls were crammed with hundreds of plants. Wide spreading trees of almond, fig and plum cast their soft cool shade over the crazily-paved walkways. It was charming and pleasant and not at all what he was expecting. If circumstances had been happier he knew he would have enjoyed staying here.

With some apprehension he listened for the footsteps in answer to his doorbell ring. The heavily carved wooden door flew open and he found himself gazing at Sonja.

‘Yes? Can I help you?’ She clearly didn’t recognise him from his rare photographs.

Without realising he had done so, he took a swift intake of breath to calm his ridiculous racing nerves. ‘It’s me, Thomas.’

Sonja stepped back in surprise. ‘You’ve been quick. How did you find out so soon?’ she asked suspiciously, her eyes half closed, as she looked him up and down.

Slightly puzzled Thomas replied. ‘My father rang me a couple of weeks ago, asking me to come over.’

He glanced over her shoulder towards the inner courtyard beyond. ‘He is in? He’s expecting me. We did say around 11 o’clock’. He glanced at his wristwatch.

Thomas didn’t realise until later what impact his word had on Sonja.

He watched her face as she made an attempt to reply.

‘You don’t know? How could you? I haven’t contacted anyone yet.

A cold thought went through Thomas.
What is she on about?

Sonja recovered quickly and regretfully stepped aside.

‘You’d better come in. I’m afraid I have some bad news for you.’

Chapter 18.  Monday

There’s daggers in men’s smiles.

Macbeth. Act 2 Scene 3

The swimmer pulled strongly towards the orange marker buoy. Firmly anchored in sand one hundred metres offshore, made it a favourite point to swim out to. This afternoon’s sea breeze blew a minimal five knots, making little wave action. Consequently, the calm flat sea meant an easy swim. Reaching the buoy Tilly paused as she regained her breath. She scanned the people on the beach. It was a habit she hadn’t yet rid herself of. She rolled over onto her stomach and smoothly kicked out for the homeward leg.

The weather remained hot with the sea retaining its heat from the long languid summer. Soon the rest of the vacationing families would be returning home to Europe. The beaches would be bereft of the cries of excited children; they were back in their school classrooms and their parents resuming the employment that allowed them their glimmer of freedom for two weeks in the summer.

Tilly reached the shallows and rolled over to float onto her back, her toes pointed towards the milky far horizon. She closed her eyes and fought herself to relax; to forget last week and forget the goings on of these last few months. Tilly felt guilty and yet thankful at the same time; immensely relieved it was over. Now she could forget all that had happened in the past. For weeks she’d been afraid to go out of doors. She never rid the sinister feeling that she was being followed. Stalked, the police had said. What a sinister word. The worst of it had been at home during the evening. Tilly dreaded the setting of the molten red sun that heralded the swift oncoming of night. As soon as it was almost dark she had rushed round the house in a feverish panic drawing the curtains and blinds, locking and bolting the doors and windows. Then, she turned the air conditioning up high as she sweated inside her hermetically sealed box.  Tilly resented being put out. But resentment was a small price to pay if it meant being safe when the soft-grey morning light once more crept over the palm tree in her little garden.

To her chagrin, tears filled her eyes and squeezed beneath her lashes. Tilly gulped back the sudden feeling of choking. When they had rung her earlier with their ‘startling news,’ Tilly had dared not say a word lest she gave herself away. She exclaimed her shock and surprise, but couldn’t trust herself to say more. Of course, she knew Bernard and Jenny, and Pete and Ann would back her up under the circumstances, they knew the story if not
all
the sordid details. But Tilly still retained this feeling of guilt underlying the rather heady relief. Be strong, she told herself. It’s all over now.
“My hands are of your colour; but I shame to wear a heart so white.”

Tilly felt her body shift as a small wavelet passed under her. Pushing out she did a few strong strokes until she was in knee-deep water. It felt as warm and silky soft as a tepid bath. She stood up, wiping the tears from her eyes, gathered her long tawny hair into a ponytail and twisted the salt water from it. With new purpose she was soon wading for the shore; tall, slim, a beautiful woman approaching her fifties. Tilly reached the spot where she’d left her beach towel and car keys lying on the sunbed and gave an involuntary laugh.  For once, she wasn’t going to bother to take a cold shower and wash off the salt before driving home. With her newfound freedom, Tilly looked forward to the luxury of showering in her own bathroom. For the first time in
ages she was going to strip off her clothes in
her
house, when and where she liked. She would be perfectly free to strut around stark naked if she wanted to. She could stand in the shower cubicle with the water cascading and playing freely over her hair, her breasts, her legs, and her body. Taking all the time she wanted. For once, there would not be that awful disturbing, spine-tingling sensation that she was being spied upon.

‘At last I’m free.’ She whispered.

Chapter 19. Yesterday - Sunday.

I must become a borrower of the night for a dark or twain.

Macbeth. Act 3 Scene 1.

Alicia stole a quick look at her watch. He couldn’t be that far ahead; she hadn’t spent long listening to Sonja’s pathetic story surely?

Sonja! Why couldn’t she have seen for herself? She
must
have known. But no, as always, Sonja kidded herself that nothing was happening. She was a fool, and didn’t deserve any better.

Alicia decided to go the slightly longer way round on the vineyard walk. Taking that route she knew she could cut Leslie off before he began the uphill climb home. She had one last chance to confront and catch him. Alicia increased her pace. Despite the scorching heat of the day she rarely felt it. She was a naturally cold person and always the last to cast off her winter woollies, long after everyone else were wearing shorts and t-shirts.

The dusty track stretched and wound its way down the sloping hill. She knew it was a favourite walk of Sonja and Leslie; the round trip of nearly an hour gave their dogs good exercise. The full walk eventually led all the way down to the river and the old ravaged house, but their usual route had at least two short cuts that shortened it to about twenty-five minutes or thereabouts. Alicia believed Leslie wouldn’t bother taking the longer, strenuous route simply to view a dry riverbed. She contemplated what she had to say to him. In view of his recent threat she had no time left. She
had
to stop him from spreading his vicious slander.

Determined, Alicia walked faster. Head down, her leather bag weighed heavy on her shoulder. Oblivious of her surroundings, she saw nobody as she descended through the vineyards. On rounding a bend she literally bumped into the one person in her thoughts. Flustered, she stepped away from Leslie, hand to her mouth with a gasp of embarrassment.

Leaning casually against a pale rock, Leslie crossed one leg over the other; his face was shaded from an overhanging pine tree. Recovering her poise, Alicia stood still. Despite her purpose in setting off after him, she was startled to find him lying in wait for her. He often had this uncanny knack of knowing.

‘Looking for someone? Me, for instance? This isn’t your usual weed gathering route,’ he said. Leslie had an air of amused arrogance on his slightly fleshy, but still handsome face. Alicia noticed his conceited smile; he never changed.

She paused, as Leslie stood up straight and stretched his legs. She was annoyed; to her chagrin he still had an effect on her. He could set her pulses racing simply by posing a smile just for her. Damn him!  A cold resolve flooded through her; she would
not
let him win this time.

‘I want to know -,’ she began.

‘What? Has Sonja been telling tales? She really shouldn’t. Besides it’s none of your damn business, is it, Alicia darling?’

Leslie smiled again, only this time, it was a thin cruel smile; his voice a laconic educated drawl.

Alicia’s eyes met Leslie’s. She hesitated a few seconds before continuing, her heart racing in her chest. Slowly, she shook her head at him.

‘No it’s not that. I know all about Tilly. You were never that discrete,’ she bit her lip.  ‘No, I want to know what you’re planning. About your -,’ Alicia paused. ‘Your black book and what you think you know about me.’

The dappled sunlight under the tree danced upon her pale and anxious face. Time seemed to stand still as Alicia waited for his answer. All around her she could smell the fragrance of wild herbs. A flight of beautiful bright coloured bee-eaters called as they whirled overhead on their fly-past. Everything had a strange feel to it; stark and clear.

Leslie broke the spell as he gave a low, throaty chuckle. ‘Oh that!’ he followed with a more derisive snort of amusement. ‘I wondered how long it would be before you started asking questions. Don’t worry, Alicia darling, you’re hardly in it. At least not yet, but I haven’t finished writing it up though,’ he paused as if he was considering what to say next.

‘Then of course it might all depend on you. I wonder how important your two little secrets are and how you deserted them? And it was probably when they needed you most. Not very maternal are we, Alicia darling? How
would
you explain that to everyone here?  One dead daughter and another one pregnant by your old lover? Or was he her
father
? You never did admit that tasty little morsel to me.’

Stunned by his accusation, Alicia couldn’t help flinching. She bit her bottom lip to stop herself saying something she would regret later. Bastard! If only she had never told him. She knew better than to betray the sect’s secrets. How would she explain to others, her daughter dying of a congenital heart defect – like her own? Or that her other child had insisted on staying within the sect where she’d been born and felt safe. Leslie would never know how heartbroken Alicia had been when she’d left her people.

Oh Leslie! What was it about some people? There were those that possessed the power to unlock your darkest secrets and always have a hold over you? What could she say? She couldn’t beg; it would make him more determined to drag up all the dirt he had on her.

‘Please -.’

‘Please what?’ he asked, his smile chilling. ‘Please fuck me one more time. For old times’ sake?’

She felt the blood rush up to her face as she flushed. Leslie saw her heightened colour and laughed. Too late, Alicia realised he knew how she felt.

Incensed, Alicia raised her left hand, but Leslie moved faster and caught her wrist in a vicious hold. She found herself spun around and slammed up hard against the smooth hot rock. His scarab gold and lapis lazuli ring glittered in the sun as he brought his hand up to her face. He caught her chin and pinched it.

‘Well, bitch? Is that what you want?’ his breath hot and ragged in her ear. His hand stole up to her breast and he squeezed her roughly. ‘Come on, tell me I’m right.’

Against all her resolve, she gasped as the old familiar thrill raced through her. His hands were savage as he found her aroused and hardened nipples. With one jerk, he tore open the front of her blouse; buttons spilled onto the dirt at her feet. Her exposed breasts were as creamy as ivory. She gave a gasp as she felt his ring scrape against the soft skin of her neck, knowing she would bleed.

Weakly, she leant back, unaware of the discomfort. Alicia’s legs trembled as his hand run down between her legs, through the fabric of her clothes. Leslie’s fingers were greedy and insistent as they worked themselves inside her panties. With no shame, she realised she was wet through and found herself panting with lust as his fingers entered her. It was an eagerly met violation.

Hardly knowing what she was doing, Alicia unzipped his fly and grasped his ram-rod erection. Age never seemed to make any difference to Leslie’s sexual appetite. He entered her and she moaned a welcoming traitorous shudder. She wrapped one leg around his thigh as he pushed into her hard and fast, his breath grunting in unison with each forceful, selfish thrust.

Matching his drive, and feeling dizzy she spiralled out of control; a pain in her chest as she climbed higher and higher, each breath harder than the last. All too soon it was over. A warm trickle ran down her legs as Alicia reached her climax; hot waves flooding through her. Alicia clung to Leslie panting and shuddering, her climax so deep it was almost painful.

Leslie released her and stepped back, a smug look plastered upon his face. He gave a short amused laugh.

‘You never change do you, Alicia? I bet you were the proverbial village bike back in your hometown. Where was it? Somewhere on the borders of Northern Ireland I believe?’

He finished dressing, tucking his shirt back into his trousers, laughing to himself.

‘Always easy, it’s hardly worth the trouble. You’re such an available screw.’

‘You, bastard!’ she whispered. Her face was a mask of horror as she stared at her tormentor. She could not believe she had been so stupid.

‘Well, you could hardly call it anything else could you, darling?’

He moved away from her, Alicia’s eyes following him with renewed hatred. Once, a long time ago she’d fancied herself in love with him. How could she ever have thought that?  ‘You’re a horrible, hateful man!’

It was then that she saw it. His little black book was poking out from his back trouser pocket. Despite what he had said earlier, she
knew
he had written things down in it that wouldn’t do her reputation any good. He was spiteful enough to let others know. She had to have it at any cost.

Alicia moved towards him, her hands bunched into fists. She wanted that book.

‘Well, you’re not the first to pay me that compliment, and I doubt very much whether you’ll be the last,’ he gave an expansive shrug as he spoke, appearing completely unperturbed. He moved out of the shade of the tree. As the sunlight caught on his steel-grey hair it gave him an almost Germanic look. His pale-blue eyes glittered with cold amusement.

‘I hate you!’ Alicia said between clenched teeth.

This time he roared with laughter. ‘The feeling is completely mutual I can assure you. In the danger of becoming repetitive, you are only good for one thing. And I’ve probably overdosed on that.’

Alicia realised how completely unconcerned he was. She stared as Leslie sauntered away, brushing dust off his trousers and shirt whilst he sniggered at his bad joke.

Alicia saw red. One moment she was standing looking at him with outrage and loathing. The next, she was flying for him; hands and nails outstretched, ready to rake open his face, feet kicking for all she was worth.

They collided, Alicia shrieking with anger. Leslie put up his hands to ward off her frenzied attack. She couldn’t stop herself, hitting and scratching at his eyes. Leslie recovered his surprise and jeered, fending her off, pushing her away. She was so slight it was like batting away a bothersome pest.

His derision gave her a wild strength. She grabbed at his shirt between both hands as he spun her round. Alicia went with the spin until they had almost come round full circle…then released her hold on him and… pushed.

Afterwards, Alicia recalled it was almost like watching in slow motion. Leslie took an involuntary step backwards. He wobbled. The edge of the cliff crumbled under his feet, bushes scratched at his legs. Leslie’s mouth opened in surprise and then alarm. He tried to regain his balance; his arms frantically cartwheeled as slowly, he toppled backwards. He gave a short bellow of fear. ‘NO!’

After the loosened earth and stones had stopped falling there was a silence.

Taking a tentative step forward, Alicia peered down over the cliff edge. Leslie was spread-eagled on his back, almost hidden in thick acacia bushes. She heard a low moan of pain. He
was
alive then.

‘Alicia, I – I can’t move. My leg-’

She knew that if she wanted the book – and she did, then she would have to go and get it.

‘Hang on! I’ll come down.’

Finding a safe way down wasn’t easy. The soft earth around the rim gave way at the slightest touch from her feet. Heart thudding, Alicia knew she could end up falling herself if she wasn’t careful.

Eventually, Alicia found a narrow steep path leading down to where Leslie lay. Slinging her leather bag over her shoulder and across her chest she made her way down, half scrambling, half sliding.

Reaching the bottom of the cliff overhang Alicia took a look around her. Long ago the levelled ground would have been cleared and cultivated; this plot had been left unattended for many years and she picked her way through the ruderal plants. Thorny bushes attacked her clothes and skin with their vicious barbs.

Nearing the thicket concealing him she called out. There was no answer. Grimly, she approached, not knowing what she might find. Her eyes darted around as she sought the book.

‘Leslie? Leslie are you all right?’

He neither answered nor moved.

‘Wake up!’

With trepidation she moved closer and studied his bleeding face. He was scratched; probably from the jagged rocks and thorn bush scattered all around. His leg was bent at an impossible angle. His eyes were shut, unconscious or -?

A delicious shudder ran through her at the thought. Perhaps he
was
already dead.

That would make everything much easier.