Nemesis of the Dead (20 page)

Corrie came down from her room half an hour later, carrying her sunhat and a voluminous bag containing, amongst all the other touristy paraphernalia, her swimsuit and sun oil. It was very hot and she thought that after her shopping she might spend some time on the beach, since Jack had made it clear she was to stay out until evening. She looked around her – the place was deserted. Quite what catastrophe Jack anticipated in the drowsy, peaceful hotel she couldn’t imagine, short of a tsunami or an earthquake. She was beginning to think she would never find out what all the cloak and dagger stuff had been about – not even after they got home.

As she passed the kitchen, she stuck her head in and called ‘
Ya soo
’ to Ariadne, who had her back to the door. The old woman jumped violently, dropping one of the small medicine bottles she was carefully extracting from an ancient clay storage jar. It smashed to smithereens on the flagstone floor. Corrie recalled smelling the pungent, malodorous herbal contents of these bottles when she had been in charge of the cooking and hoped Ariadne wasn’t planning to use them to enhance tonight’s goat casserole. She sniffed the air and was surprised that the glutinous liquid now seeping between the cracked slabs had no smell at all. Trust Ariadne to have destroyed one of her least revolting concoctions. The old woman turned and cursed vociferously, showing black uneven teeth. Then she began to scratch at a blistery rash on the back of her hand.

Yanni and Charon had gone to St Sophia to spend a hot, lazy afternoon outside the
kafeneíon
, clicking their worry beads, drinking ouzo and playing cards with their cronies. Maria had made her weekly trip to the market to stock up on provisions and gossip. It was an established and easy-going Friday ritual. Tina and Marjorie were missing too. Tina, pale and unhappy, needed to visit her relatives possibly for the last time before she was taken into custody. Marjorie wanted to buy more presents for Dan and also to visit the Church of St Sophia, intending to light a candle to the saint – in thanks, presumably, for her swift and decisive service.

Professor Gordon had left at dawn in search of the Whistling Lily. It was audible, he said, only when a fresh breeze was blowing, so Corrie didn’t reckon much for his chances because there wasn’t a breath of air. That left only Diana. When Corrie passed the vine-covered pergola, she saw her sitting alone, very solemn and drinking orange juice – all indications that she was not herself. She seemed to have an underlying pallor beneath her tan and the dazzling emerald eyes were cloudy and red-rimmed beneath the perfectly applied make-up. Even in that state, she looked astoundingly beautiful in well-cut shorts and a crisp, white shirt. She had her chin in her hands, and her mane of tousled hair tumbled forward, obscuring her drawn face. Although they had little in common, Corrie felt sorry to see her looking so down in the mouth. Dead envious though she was, she acknowledged that Diana had added a touch of exotic glamour to an otherwise ghastly fortnight. It would hardly matter to Jack if she went across and chatted to her for a few moments.

‘Hi Diana.’ She sat down next to her at the big olive-wood table.

Diana looked up, surprised. ‘Corrie, what are you doing here? I thought Jack said you’d be spending the day in town.’

‘I’m just on my way but I thought I’d stop and say hello.’

‘Oh … right. Hello.’ Diana became restless, fidgeting, probably bored and anxious to return home to England and the life of jet-setting luxury that Cuthbert provided her with.

The vines were heady with the scent of overripe grapes, sickly and intoxicating. Corrie began to chatter, divulging confidences as people often do at the end of a holiday when they know they’ll never see each other again.

‘I don’t know about you but I’ll be glad to get back to the sanity of south London after all the lunacy that’s been going on here. Violent storms, no communications, people dropping like flies – first Maria, then Ellie and the terrible business with Ambrose Dobson. Believe it or not, we were supposed to be on honeymoon, Jack and me. “You’ll love Katastrophos,” he said, “it’s the ideal ‘get away from it all’ destination. Loads of peace and quiet and relief from the stress of modern day living.” Huh! It’s been two weeks of total mayhem. Half the time, he’s been preoccupied with some job he’s on when – silly me – I thought he was off duty.’ She paused for breath but Diana did not seem inclined to join in. ‘He’s a policeman. I expect you already knew that. Policemen are never off duty, apparently. Not even on honeymoon. I suppose it’s been as bad for you. The professor seems to have been working the whole time you’ve been here.’

‘Yeah, right.’

Corrie coughed discreetly. ‘I expect you’ll miss Sidney. We all will. He’s terrific fun, isn’t he?’

‘Yep. He’s a great guy.’

Corrie wondered why Diana looked so miserable. She wasn’t doing a great job of cheering her up. Perhaps the professor had at last found out what she and Sidney had been up to and was coming the heavy husband. Hard to imagine but not impossible. It had just taken him longer than most men to catch on. Maybe he wanted rid of her. With his wealth, he could afford to make her a very generous settlement and Diana struck Corrie as the type of young woman who would take it and run. On the other hand, a world-famous professor of botany, as Cuthbert undoubtedly would be when he took over at the university in Switzerland, probably needed a beautiful young wife to handle the social side of things. And from her point of view, he was an infinite source of the good life which she might not want to give up so easily.

‘Will it take you long to get home?’ asked Corrie, lamely running out of small talk.

‘It depends. I haven’t figured out which home I’ll go to, yet.’

‘Do you have more than one, then?’ asked Corrie enviously.

‘We have a penthouse apartment in Mayfair, a beach house in Malibu and a townhouse in Manhattan.’ She said it wearily, as if owning expensive real estate was a tedious chore. ‘And I guess we probably have a ten-bedroom chalet in the Swiss Alps by now, if Cuthbert has returned the papers.’

‘Phew! A botany professor must be very well paid.’

Diana hesitated, wondering if she should reply then decided it didn’t matter who knew now. ‘They all belong to me, actually. Cuthbert doesn’t have a nickel.’

‘What?’ Corrie’s squeak of astonishment was crass and she knew it. ‘I’m … er … sorry. That was rude. But I’d sort of assumed …’

Diana sighed. ‘It’s OK, Corrie. You don’t need to apologize. I know that when people look at Cuthbert and me, they see a rich sugar-daddy and his blonde bimbo and I don’t do anything to correct that because I guess it’s none of their damn business. But what they’re actually looking at is a nutty professor and a dumb heiress – real dumb.’

‘You do seem a very colourful and – er – unusual couple compared to boring folk like the rest of us.’

‘You’re not boring, Corrie, you’re very lucky.’

‘Does Sidney know you’re an heiress?’

‘God no. A straight-up guy like him would run a mile. Look, I don’t want to seem rude but shouldn’t you be on your way now?’ She kept glancing sideways towards the olive groves.

‘It’s all right. I’ve got plenty of time.’ Corrie had forgotten all about her resolution not to be inquisitive and poke her nose into other people’s affairs. This was fascinating gossip of the very best kind. She couldn’t wait to share it with Jack. ‘So where did you and Cuthbert meet?’

‘At university in England. I was real wild when I was a girl and my folks thought a British education would straighten me out. Cuthbert was my faculty head. He proposed halfway through my first semester.’

‘How romantic. Were you madly in love with him?’

‘I guess it was more of a crush. He could be very charming when he wanted. My folks were dead keen. Dad owns half Manhattan – the loaded half – and a good chunk of Europe and the Middle East. He thought marriage to a real professor would protect me from gold diggers. Even better than marrying a lord, he said. Boy, was he wrong!’

Corrie’s theory about the professor threatening to divorce Diana because of her infidelity had gone right out of the window now. He couldn’t afford to! All the same, her bitterness seemed a bit excessive. After all, she and Cuthbert didn’t appear to have an unhappy relationship apart from his lack of attention when he was absorbed in his work. If you ignored his eccentricity, he seemed affectionate, kind and gave every impression of worshipping her, despite her promiscuous behaviour with other men, because Corrie was certain Sid hadn’t been the first. Diana was young, intelligent, drop-dead gorgeous and now it turned out she was filthy rich as well. Some women, thought Corrie, are never satisfied.

‘I understand now what you meant when you said Cuthbert couldn’t go to Switzerland without you. I suppose he needs your money to set up the Gordon Research Scholarships?’

‘You’re damn right he does. They won’t make him master without it and they’re leaning on him hard for the dough. But after what your homicide detective husband told me today, I’ve decided Cuthbert isn’t getting one cent out of me. I told him this morning that when I get back to the States, I’m going to call my lawyers and start divorce proceedings.’ She glanced anxiously at the olive grove. ‘Look, Corrie, honey, I appreciate the chat but I really think you should split now.’

‘Yes, all right. I’m just going.’ Corrie couldn’t resist gnawing the bone a bit longer. ‘But if you divorce him, won’t he be able to claim huge amounts of alimony or whatever you call it?’

‘Nope. I may be dumb but my dad surely isn’t. He had a watertight “pre-nup” drawn up and made Cuthbert sign it. If we divorce, Cuthbert gets a big fat zero. Nada, zilch, diddly-squat.’ She took a long slug of juice and Corrie realized then that there was something a lot stronger in it than oranges. ‘The only way he benefits is if I die first. The old guy’s got twenty-five years’ start on me so I never figured that would happen – until now.’ She took another swig. ‘Thank Jesus we never had the kids I wanted.’

If Corrie had been thinking clearly, if her ‘masterly intuition’ hadn’t been anaesthetized by the dreamy effect of the island, if she hadn’t spent much of the last two weeks drifting in and out of a parallel universe of ancient myth and superstition, maybe her sense of self-preservation would have kicked in at that moment and she would have legged it fast to St Sophia and avoided the most terrifying experience of her life.

‘S
peaking of kids, wouldn’t it be great if Maria and Yanni had a baby?’ Unwilling to end their fascinating conversation until Diana had dished absolutely all of the dirt, Corrie decided it would be safer if she shifted on to less controversial territory than the Gordons’ potential divorce. ‘Maria’s so desperate for a child but they seem to pin all their hopes on St Sophia and the annual pilgrimage up to the monastery.’

‘Yeah. She told me when we were climbing those god-awful steps. They’ve done all the fertility stuff at a hospital in Greece and all the tests said there’s no physical reason why she shouldn’t get pregnant – it just hasn’t happened. So now I guess they’re depending on some spiritual help from St Sophia. Maria really believes in all that crap. That’s why I traded lamps with her.’ Diana stared pointedly at Corrie. ‘Didn’t you just say you were leaving? Better hurry, the shops will be closed. They shut early here and everyone hits the sack until evening. It’s been great chatting. ’Bye.’

‘What do you mean, you traded lamps?’

Diana sighed impatiently. ‘You remember. The whole geeky show depended on your lamp still being alight when you got to the bottom of the steps or you didn’t get pregnant. Maria said her lamp was unlucky. It was the same one she carried on last year’s pilgrimage and back then, it had fizzled out halfway down. She figured that’s why she hadn’t conceived.’

‘So you swapped it for yours on the way up?’

‘Sure I did. I said, “What the heck, I won’t tell St Sophia if you don’t” – and we traded lamps. No big deal. It was hardly going to make a whole heap of difference to me, was it? I mean – you do have to get it together with a guy before even the miraculous St Sophia can do her stuff and Cuthbert is no longer active in that department.’ She laughed mirthlessly. ‘Maybe if I had a stigma and smelled like a hibiscus, he would have gotten around to putting some of his pollen in my direction but it’s too late now – way too late.’ She looked wistful and whatever alcohol was in the orange juice was making her maudlin. ‘Darn thing was, my lamp stayed alight – until Maria had that seizure and chucked it down the side of the mountain.’

Corrie’s torpid intuition began to warm up – very gradually – accompanied by a paradoxically cold, clammy feeling clutching at the pit of her stomach. She remembered how the ritual had required them all to eat a piece of the wick from their lamps in order to consume St Sophia’s blessing. This meant Maria had swallowed the wick originally attached to Diana’s lamp. But surely that wasn’t significant because the lamps had to be distributed at random, didn’t they? That was part of the ceremony. Everyone took pot luck and St Sophia decided who would be blessed. She tried desperately to remember who had given out the lamps on that fateful, stormy night.

‘Ladies! How lucky I am to happen upon not one, but two beautiful damsels all alone and in need of male company. How about some liquid refreshment? I don’t know about you, but I’m simply sweltering in this heat.’ Professor Gordon, bluff, affable and extremely red in the face appeared at the entrance to the pergola carrying a tray of glasses, a bottle of ouzo and a jug of iced water. It was that precise image that jogged Corrie’s memory and now she recalled exactly who had rushed around that night, hyped up and with eyes popping, ‘randomly’ giving out the lamps.

‘Hi Cuthbert,’ said Diana, in a languid voice edged with boredom. ‘Corrie’s just leaving, aren’t you Corrie? She has some chores to do in town. But I’ll have some of your ouzo-boozo – you can get real sick of orange juice, even laced with vodka.’

‘Surely you’ll stay for a last drink, Coriander? Before we all go our separate ways tomorrow.’ Cuthbert poured three glasses of the strong liqueur and mixed them with ice and water. He picked up one of the glasses, held it up to the sunlight and swirled the contents. ‘An excellent drink – ouzo. Such a distinctive flavour thanks to the
Pimpinella anisum
, a herbaceous, flowering plant that gives the drink its unique, aniseed taste. Have you ever wondered why the clear liquid turns milky with the addition of ice and water? It’s because oil of anise is soluble in alcohol but not in water, so when we dilute the spirit, it separates and becomes an emulsion. See how the fine droplets scatter the light.’

Diana yawned. ‘Dear God, Cuthbert, you’re so bloody boring. Can’t we even have a drink without one of your dreary plant lectures?’

‘In some parts of Greece,’ continued the professor, ignoring his wife, ‘they add other flavourings, such as cinnamon, cloves and – dare I say it? – even coriander. So I insist you stay and enjoy your drink, my dear.’ He put the glass firmly in Corrie’s hand. ‘Did you find your whistling weed, darling?’ asked Diana, sarcastically. She picked up her glass and gulped down half the contents.

For a mad, illogical moment, Corrie had to fight the impulse to knock the drink out of her hand. Her intuition was racing out of control now – red-hot and throbbing. She pulled herself together. This was absurd – surreal almost. Even if Jack had been right all along about the professor purposely poisoning people, he would never harm Diana. He adored her, didn’t he? But she was forgetting what she had just learned – Diana was the one with the money. Millions of dollars that would never fund Cuthbert’s scholarships if she divorced him as she threatened – only if she died. Corrie thought she was going to be sick. Pull yourself together and think calmly, she urged silently. Even if Cuthbert did intend to harm Diana, suppose he
had
doctored the wick of her lamp – and the idea was still preposterous – he wouldn’t try again here, in broad daylight with a witness. Besides, she’d watched him pour all their drinks from the same bottle. She was overreacting. It was the disturbing influence of this sinister island! It could drive you crackers in time. Make you imagine that everyone was evil. Look how she had suspected poor, innocent Marjorie of bumping off Ambrose. All the same, her perspective on the dynamics of the Gordons’ relationship had shifted radically in the last half-hour and she was very uneasy. There was no way she was going to leave Diana alone despite her promise to Jack.

‘No, I’m afraid I didn’t find the Whistling Lily, my darling.’ The professor beamed, either ignoring or unaware of her mocking tone. ‘But I did find a perfect specimen of
pancratium maritimum
. The sand lily,’ he explained, turning to Corrie. ‘Beautifully scented white flowers and quite rare on this island. But I’m sure Diana’s right and you’re not interested in my dreary old plants. Have you girls been having an enjoyable gossip?’

‘We sure have!’ Diana drained her glass and Cuthbert immediately poured her another. Corrie hadn’t touched hers and neither had the professor. ‘I’ve been telling Corrie how I’m sick to my stomach of you and your insane obsession with plants. I’ve also told her about that little matter of divorce we discussed this morning, but she really isn’t interested in our marital problems and now she’s fed up with us both. Can’t wait to leave, can you Corrie? So long, hon. See ya!’ Diana looked her straight in the eye and nodded very obviously towards the exit from the pergola.

Corrie didn’t move. She was very uncomfortable about where this was leading but was confident nothing awful would happen while she was there and she intended to sit it out until Jack returned, if necessary. It was becoming clear now why he had asked her to keep an eye on Diana. She had thought it was because he suspected Diana was up to something but obviously, it was for her own protection. If only he’d told me what was going on, Corrie ranted silently.

‘It’s the end of the line for you, Cuthbert. How’s that for a juicy bit of gossip?’ Diana stuck her face belligerently into his, more than a little drunk. ‘You’re a busted flush, sweetheart. A waste of space. Go screw yourself – better still, go screw a hibiscus!’

His vague, amiable expression did not change, only his bristling ginger eyebrows betrayed his inner rage. ‘Now, now Diana. You know you don’t mean that, my angel. You’re just hot and a little emotional.’ He turned to Corrie, as if some explanation was required. ‘She’ll be fine once we get to Switzerland, of course.’

Corrie sensed a terrible, pent-up fury bubbling beneath the surface, waiting to erupt into violence. He kept fidgeting and glancing at the Rolex on his wrist. Suddenly, Corrie was scared – really scared. She had the panicky urge to run and fetch help. Then she realized with an icy shock that there wasn’t anyone to fetch. Yanni, Maria, Charon, Tina and Marjorie were in town all day and Jack and Sid were drifting about in a boat, somewhere on Katastrophos Bay. She silently cursed Jack for leaving her to go fishing, just when she most needed him. What could he have been thinking about, pushing off like that when he must have at least suspected something appalling might happen? It was so unlike him. She had a sudden idea. It was pretty pathetic but worth a try. Maybe if she went down to the hotel beach she could signal to him on the boat. Jump up and down and wave her hat or something. Light a bonfire, even. She stood up.

‘Well, it’s been nice chatting to you both.’ She indicated the swimsuit and towel in her beach bag. ‘I think I’ll just go and have a last swim. See you later …’

‘Nonsense, my dear.’ Instantly, the professor rose from his chair, his six-foot frame effectively blocking her exit, challenging her to physically shove him out of the way. ‘You haven’t touched your drink yet, Coriander, and I mixed it specially.’ He picked up her glass and put it in her hand again. She sat down, thinking fast, and pretended to take a sip. Then, as he turned back to Diana, she quickly chucked all but a dribble of it over her shoulder into the vines. Diana on the other hand had knocked back another full glass and was actually holding it out for a refill. Corrie prayed indiscriminately. Please God, St Sophia, Santa Claus, my Fairy Godmother, anyone! What should I do?

Diana was clearly very drunk and her speech was badly slurred. ‘You still here?’ She struggled to focus on Corrie’s face. ‘Well, let me tell you something before you go. This guy you see before you, this smart-arse professor, has a screw loose – in fact,
all
his screws are loose.’ She stood up, circling him unsteadily, taunting and poking him. ‘He thinks he’s a great genius. A botanical giant among intellectual pygmies – that’s what you said, didn’t you, darlin’? And yet this “genius” believes I’m going to give him a million bucks just so he can set up some stupid scholarships and play the big dude, the number one head honcho, using
my
dough. That’s pretty damn dumb for a flat-broke genius, isn’t it?’ She was speaking to Corrie but confronting Cuthbert head on, staggering slightly and jabbing him hard in the chest.

The professor looked at his watch again. ‘Diana, my dear,’ he was dangerously, coldly calm, ‘whether or not you are prepared to fund the Gordon Research Scholarships voluntarily is a matter of complete indifference to me now, but I can assure you that they
will
go ahead and I
shall
become internationally revered.’

Diana ignored this completely and continued to goad him. It was almost as if it was deliberate, provoking him into violence, retaliation. Despite his calm pretence, he was bright scarlet in the face and kept clenching and unclenching his big, bony fists. Corrie noticed, as if through a dreamlike mist, that he had bad blistery rashes amongst the ginger hair on the backs of both his hands – exactly like Sidney’s.

‘If this old guy was as potent and powerful as he thinks,’ Diana renewed her vicious harangue, ‘you’d expect him to have given me at least one kid sometime in the last ten years, wouldn’t you, Corrie? But no, he’s too busy arranging goddam flowers.’ She turned to Corrie and pretended to speak confidentially in a hoarse, stage whisper. ‘He did it once, you know that? He got one of his students pregnant. His stamens worked OK that time. But not me – he couldn’t do it for me!’ She was shouting now.

‘How did you know about that?’ The professor grabbed both her arms, shaking her and glaring angrily. She laughed in his face.

‘You don’t think my daddy would have let me marry you without having you checked out first, do you, Cuthbert? He had a private eye dig up the dirt on you but he didn’t find much.’ She began to count on her fingers. ‘You got busted for growing your own wacky weed, you once threw a brick through the window of a vegetarian restaurant and you put one of your students in the club. The girl didn’t want to complain and the university didn’t want any scandal so it was hushed up and you got away with it. I didn’t care – at least I knew you were fertile and I wanted babies. Not that your ageing pollen has done this hibiscus much good, has it, my angel?’

‘My dearest Diana.’ The professor refilled her glass. ‘You really are quite as obtuse as my poor lamented sister. I’m not to blame for any of this. It’s hardly my fault if neither of you had the intelligence to understand the immense importance of my work. Even the bureaucrats were too stupid to give me the knighthood I deserved. But soon my work will be made available to the whole world. It is my destiny to become a living legend in my field, so you must see how futile it is to try to stop me. In Switzerland, I shall finally be recognized as the greatest botanist of our time.’

It was at that moment, when he laughed out loud, his bulging eyes glittering wildly, that Corrie realized the awful truth. In her parallel, mythological world, this man had been Zeus, god of the sky and thunder, his power symbolized by the eagle, the bull and the thunderbolt. This was the ruler of Mount Olympus to whom mortals and animals were sacrificed indiscriminately and to whom the olive tree was sacred. But Zeus the King, alias Professor Cuthbert Gordon, was completely and irredeemably insane.

Diana burst into raucous drunken laughter. ‘Switzerland, baby, is right where you belong – in a country full of cuckoo clocks! Because that’s just what you are – cuckoo.’ She shoved him hard in the chest and began shrieking, ‘Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuck …’ The shrill jibe turned into a harsh, choking sound. Diana’s vivid emerald eyes widened in surprise. She clutched at her stomach and staggered backwards, retching horribly, then fell across the olive-wood table and slid to the ground, screaming and writhing with pain. For a split second Corrie was paralysed – unable to move a muscle. It was Maria and Ellie all over again. The same terrible symptoms – gasping for breath, delirious fits and intolerable, disabling pain. Diana seemed unable to focus and began twitching violently. Corrie was jolted out of her trauma.