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Authors: Malia Zaidi

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BOOK: A Poisonous Journey
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"Of course, of course." Paul claps a large hand on the doctor’s shoulder. "Come along, the more the merrier." Nikolas shakes hands with Daniel and the other men who have joined our group, and Laria kisses Briony and me on the cheek.
"I was very happy to met you, Evelyn. We must see each other again soon. I will show you the island." I nod and thank her for her offer, promising to contact her as soon as I have settled in.
After they leave, amid laughter and thanks, Darius takes off as well, smiling shyly as he says goodbye. Standing in the doorway waving goodbye, a wave of tiredness washes over me, and I barely manage to stifle a yawn.
"You take yourself to bed." Jeffrey smiles, seeing through my subtle maneuver. "You must be dead on your feet."
"Yes, of course, darling, you must get some sleep." Briony agrees, looking rather worn out herself.
"All right, but first, can I help you with anything before I slink off? I feel I am abandoning ship."
"No, no, it’s all in hand. Nothing to worry about."
"Fine," I turn to face her. "You must promise me you’ll sleep soon, too. I hate to say it, but you look all-in." Briony sighs, leans her head against my shoulder for a moment, and I can feel her nodding.
"I promise."
"Good, you see to it that she stays true to her word, Jeffrey," I gently lever my cousin over to her husband, who, with a sleepy, happy look drapes his arm around her.
"Will do."
I say goodnight to Daniel and Caspar, the latter looking rather the worse for wear and climb the stairs to my room. As I near the top, I can barely make out Daniel’s voice, low and sharp, "Pull yourself together, man," with a vehemence I had not expected from so quiet a man. He is evidently worried about his friend. I know, put in his position, I would certainly be concerned.
Splashing water from a white china bowl onto my face, I sigh. It was a pleasant evening. Nice people. Good food. I climb out of my dress, leaving it in a yellow mound on the floor, and make for the welcoming refuge of my bed. As I sink into the deliciously soft, smooth linens, I find it almost impossible to fathom all that has happened today. The journey on that awful, shaking boat seems ages ago. It has been such a departure from my perfectly planned and scheduled life under the guardianship of my aunt. Change can be good, I tell myself. As I drift off into a deep slumber, the last image in my mind is the vibrant blue of the endless sea.
CHAPTER 5
I wake as a ray of filtered golden sunlight touches my face. Blinking and rubbing my eyes, I see that the curtain is open just a fingerswidth, enough space for a few slivers of warm brightness to squeeze through. What a pleasant way to start the day; much better than the monotonous thrumming of raindrops against the window as I have grown to expect in England.
Staying in bed for a few more moments, I wonder what today will bring. Yesterday was quite eventful, but I must not expect always to be thus entertained. Perhaps I will be able to make my way into town later. I assume Briony will offer Yannick’s services, but I am keen to explore on my own, to make use of the new luxury of unguided freedom.
Reluctantly, I draw back the soft covers of my bed and swing my legs over the edge. I stretch my arms toward the ceiling, already envisioning the blue sky that awaits me, imagining my hands reaching up for it. I stride the few steps over to the window and—in what I will admit is a rather dramatic gesture—throw open the curtains, sending tiny dust motes frantically whirling into the air. I push open the window, happy to allow the breeze to ruffle my sleepcreased hair.
The sky is strikingly blue. Indeed, it is the sort of velvety cloudless blue of mid-morning. A white orb shimmers high above, presaging a warm day. A hand acting to shield my face, I try to catch a glimpse of the strip of dark blue in the distance. The light is glaring, and I blink furiously as it makes my eyes sting, but there it is, a line of azure touching the horizon.
If I could only paint!
The only Cretan artist I can think of is El Greco, though I cannot recall him having painted such simple beauty, instead preferring, or perhaps simply painting to satisfy demand, religious icons and biblical scenes. This sight calls for the tender, passionate hand of a Claude Monet or Camille Pissaro.
The trees below the window, small and dark, rustle in the wind, their leaves swaying to a gentle rhythm. I wonder what the view from my window at Eaton Square would look like this morning. Almost certainly less inspiring than that which is on offer here. I sigh, feeling like a girl in the pictures. All that is missing is a gruff but handsome fellow, who will save me from all sorts of trouble and with whom I will fall madly in love.
And they all lived happily ever after
… Well, a girl can dream.
Turning away from the glorious sight, I notice the yellow silk heap I had deposited so carelessly on the floor is a heap not more but a lovely dress again, hanging without a crease in the wardrobe. Niobe must have been in earlier without my noticing.
I hope I wasn’t snoring
, I think slightly mortified. I must be sure to thank her later. Slipping out of my nightgown, I carefully drape it over the chair set before my dressing table. I don’t want anyone to think of me as some spoilt madam who can’t keep her own clothes in order. I am the new Evelyn Carlisle. New, improved and independent. I nod at my satisfied reflection in the dresser table’s mirror. Yes, that’ll do. Now I only have to tame this birdsnest on my head and get myself dressed, and I will be fit for the queen.
Twenty minutes later, I float downstairs, beckoned by the mouthwatering smell of frying eggs and tomatoes. Briony’s cook had to adapt at least the morning meal to good, solid British fare. I can’t say I mind starting the day off with a proper English, though I had sworn to fully immerse myself in Greek custom and tradition. My belly grumbles as though warning me off any ideas that might deprive it of a generous portion of whatever is smelling so divine.
Having followed the scent and the muted sound of voices, I find the rest of the household—minus Casper—sitting at a lovely laid out table in the conservatory. From this vantage point, we have a vast view of the mountains in the distance. I marvel to have already seen mountains and the sea before I have even had breakfast.
Amid greetings and wishes of a "good morning", I take a seat at the round table flanked by Briony and Jeffrey. Daniel sits across from me, the plate before him nearly empty. Niobe bustles in, her hair in a long braid coiling down her back, filling my cup with steaming coffee that smells wonderful and so strong I fear it might spoil my taste buds for what is to follow. I take a careful sip, at once invigorated and slightly overwhelmed by the flavor.
"Evie, we were wondering," Briony begins, setting down her fork. "Jeffrey needs to go to town today, to the museum and Daniel will join him to have a look at a new exhibit. I want to ride along and pop into the shops. I have absolutely nothing to wear anymore! You must come and advise me. We’ll find no Patou or Lanvin here, I’m afraid, but there are lovely things made by locals. You know, I have been away from the dictates of style for a while, I do not even get
Vogue
here." Briony raises her pale brows incredulously.
No Vogue indeed
. I think of the dream in seafoam she wore last night and feel her ability to dress in the latest fashion has not suffered in the least.
"I’d be happy to. I really should find a post office and telegraph Aunt Agnes and Iris." I plunge my fork into a juicy chunk of orange segment.
"Yes, I suppose you should," Briony plants an elbow on the table and rests her chin on her fist.
She looks tired, though her face has acquired a pleasant plumpness that with her rosy cheeks should paint of her the picture of good health. Yet I sense something is not quite as it should be. Perhaps she will tell me later when we have some time alone.
"Did you sleep well, Evelyn?" Jeffrey chimes in, his freshly shaven face showing no signs of yesterday’s indulgences.
"Yes," I nod, "yes, wonderfully. And to wake up to this," I gesture at the scenery on view through the large conservatory windows, "is quite something."
"I can second that," Daniel agrees, looking more relaxed this morning in a light blue sweater and gray flannels. "I have traveled a fair bit, but here you have hit upon a true jewel by the sea."
"A jewel by the sea! Do you hear that, darling!" Briony clasps her hands together and tosses her head, spilling blond hair about her face.
"Well, I certainly think so." Jeffrey gives Briony an odd look, just for a second, quickly replaced by his normal, genial expression. He scrapes back his chair and stands up, brushing a few crumbs from his beige trousers. "I have to gather a few papers and such together. There are things, which have gone missing from the recent dig, so I must be well prepared for the meeting to keep the museum’s sponsors happy. Shall we leave in," he glances at his wristwatch, "say, thirty minutes, will that do?"
"Fine," Briony replies, not looking up at him. Whatever is going on here? I feel my forehead creasing and throw a glance in Daniel’s direction, but he is just nodding at Jeffrey. Men, they have no intuition for domestic matters.
"Good, outside in thirty minutes then." Jeffrey walks away but turns suddenly and adds, "oh, and Evie—"
"Yes?"
"Pay close attention on the drive, and next time I’ll let you have a go with the Delage." He winks and turns back towards the door, disappearing into the shadows of the house. I must look delighted, because Briony is rolling her eyes at me, and Daniel is wearing a slightly bemused, if not
confused
expression.
"Oh dear," Briony sighs. "Put Evie behind the wheels of car and she is Lady Evelyn no more."
True to our word, we manage to get ourselves fed and fashioned in time to climb into the car as agreed. Caspar, I am told by my cousin in a hushed tone, is rather the worse for wear and opted, to my pleasure, to stay at the villa. Yannick is already sitting in the drivers seat, wearing a cap and remaining utterly silent. Jeffrey sits next to him. Leaving Daniel, Briony, and me squeezed, not unlike sardines, into the back row.
The roof has been let down, and we can feel the wind brush over us as the car rolls out of the driveway and onto the road. I hold my straw cloche tightly as we pick up speed, noticing that Briony is wearing the hat I brought her from England. It casts a shadow over her face, and only a few inches of butter-blond hair peak out below the rim. I rest my arm on the doorframe and let my gaze roam across the landscape. Occasionally, we meet another car, heading in the opposite direction. Over the sound of the motor, Daniel tells us about the many small villages along this road, curving sharply and up and down the numerous hills.
The sun is high in the sky now, and I am glad that my skin is not as fair as Briony’s, or I would surely burn and blister before we reach town. Thankfully she has her hat. A brillant bit of foresight on my part, was it not?
Within minutes, we reach the low crumbling wall of Miklos, which even by foot would only be a short walk, one I resolve to make in the near future. It seems to be a lively place, with a sign pointing down a lane to the
Agora
and people going about their lives in the distinctly unhurried manner I had already observed in Heraklion. Women are chatting with their neighbors, leaning out of their ground floor windows or standing on the narrow pavement with their children tugging at their aprons. Men hoist small crates onto handcarts and wheel them down the lanes branching off the road we are traveling. Yes, surely this is a small pocket of Crete worth exploring. As we drive at a slower pace along the main thouroughfare running through the village, the road noticeably narrows by at least half a meter and I cannot imagine what will happen if another motorcar tries to squeeze past us from the other side. To my relief, we pass through without opposing traffic, and I exhale a breath, unaware I had been holding it. Yannick speeds up again, and I once more clutch at my hat.
Heraklion is the capital city of Crete and holds the largest population. That much I know. I flip open the small guidebook Briony gave me and which I wedged into my handbag.
Heraklion is the largest city on the island of Crete. Located in the region of Heraklion, it is the capital and home to Crete’s administrative offices. It was named after the Roman port of
Heracleum
, "the city of Heracles". Heraklion became the central portal for import and export to and from the island after the Ottoman rule ended, during which the main port of the island was located in the western city, Chania.
The city boasts many cultural and historical assets, among which are the Heraklion Archaeological Museum, offering a rich display of Minoan treasures, the Koule fortress (Rocca al Mare), and the Chanioporta gate, a remnant of the Venetian city walls.
South of the city lies the archeological site, Knossos, offering views and insight into the centre of the Minoan civilization (1900-1400 BC) on Crete.
Further, I am given to understand Crete is divided into four regions. Miklos is in the Heraklion region at the other side of the island nearly ten miles from the capital, in the direction of Messara Bay. Jeffrey is fortunate he must only travel into town about thrice a week. He grew up in the English countryside and would hate the feeling of confined space if forced to live in a large city. Briony, I believe, would benefit from the liveliness of city-life. I suppose she accepted Jeffrey’s wishes, believing the big country villa would be livened up by the imminent arrival of their children.

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