The Holiday (46 page)

‘I know that, but I want to. It serves you right for frightening me so badly. I’ve just been talking to Izzy. She sounded odd to me. Is she lonely without Max and Laura, do you think?’ And to make Mark feel even more of a conniving bastard, Theo had asked him to keep an eye on her. ‘For some unaccountable reason she likes you, so maybe you could go and see her and cheer her up.’

‘Yeah, I’ll see what I can do.’

‘So how is the work going? You are still writing at speed?’

‘Like a rocket on high-octane fuel.’

‘Excellent. I have a feeling this book will be your best, Mark. The muse is performing well for you, eh? Long may it continue.’

It was a sentiment he privately echoed. Izzy was the perfect muse. Though she was with him so much of the day and night, she was no distraction. When he wanted to work she was more than happy to sit reading quietly or go for a swim in Theo’s pool. Often she would get out her drawing and painting things and sit for hours dabbling, as she modestly called it. Yesterday he had turned the page of his notepad and caught her sketching him. When he insisted that she showed him what she had done, he had been amazed by how well she had captured his likeness. ‘You’ve made me look very serious,’ he said. ‘Couldn’t you have given me a smile?’

‘But you weren’t smiling at the time, you were deep in concentration. That was what I was trying to show. And anyway, the Prince of Darkness can’t wear a cheeky-chappy grin when he’s exploring the dark night of the soul.’

It was then that he decided to come clean about using her for his novel.

‘Do I die?’ she asked, in that candid way she did sometimes.

‘I haven’t decided.’

‘What? You don’t know the outcome of the book?’

‘Not in this instance.’

‘Oh, well, if it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer to live.’

‘I’ll see what I can do.’

Her only frustration was that he wouldn’t let her go wandering off on her own. Her ankle was a lot stronger now — she no longer needed the crutches, and was able to go for short walks — but he wouldn’t hear of her going far. ‘Quit the wheedling and the pouty look, Izzy. What if you fell and couldn’t make it back?’

‘I’d rely on you coming to find me.’

‘Forget it. I’ve done all the carrying up and down that bloody hillside I’m ever going to do. One more session like that and I’ll give myself a hernia. And what use would I be to you, then? Satisfying your insatiable sexual appetite will be the last thing I’ll be good for.’

Her mouth dropped open and the colour rushed to her face.

He loved the way he could still shock and embarrass her. ‘Too late now to be feigning a chaste innocence, Izzy. Remember, it’s in my arms that you show your true colours.’

Apart from Angelos and Sophia, and Izzy’s chats with Max and Laura on the phone, they hadn’t seen or spoken to anyone else. They had caught the odd glimpse of the Patterson boys on the beach, but had seen nothing of the runaway lovers - if it really was them staying here, and Mark had his doubts - or the Fitzgeralds, not that he expected Dolly-Babe to come calling. Not now. Izzy had told him about the olive grove Theo had bought from under Bob’s nose and he had asked Theo on the phone why he hadn’t thought to mention it to him.

‘What was there to tell? I bought a piece of land. It is not the first or the last investment I will make without running it by you for your approval.’

‘So there was nothing vindictive in what you did?’

‘Vindictive? You think protecting my immediate environment from being developed into a cheap and nasty resort is an act of malicious intent on my part?’

‘You’re deliberately missing the point. Did you enjoy getting one over Dolly-Babe and Silent Bob because they treated you like an ignorant oik?’

‘But, Mark, it is you who are deliberately missing the point. I stole nothing from them, they did not own the land, it was not theirs.’

‘True, and now it’s yours.’

‘Yes, now it’s mine. And as you so often say, once again I have had my own way.’

 

Angelos wound up the hose and put it back into the store cupboard where he kept the rest of his garden tools and the chemicals for the pool, then waved and was gone.

Izzy raised her arms above her head and stretched languidly. ‘I suppose I ought to write to my mother.’ She sighed.

Mark finished constructing the sentence he had in his head, got it down on paper and said, ‘And tell her what?’

‘That the weather is still hot and sunny and that I’m still having a wonderful time.’

‘Nothing about meeting a devilishly attractive man who’s fast developing a compulsive disorder to have sex with you every other hour.’

‘Mm ... Perhaps I’ll keep that for the next missive.’

He smiled at her dead-pan expression, noting that she was learning to parry his attempts to make her blush. ‘How often do you write to your mother?’

‘As often as my conscience gets the better of me.’

‘So how many times since you’ve been here on holiday? To the nearest unit of ten will do.’

‘You horrible man.’

‘It’s taken years of counselling to hone me down to this level of astuteness. But I reckon I could whittle you into shape by 2050.’

She pulled a face. ‘I’ll be an old woman by then. What a dreadful thought.’

‘Spare a thought for me. In eight years’ time I’ll be eligible to go on a Saga holiday.’

She laughed, leaned over and kissed him. ‘Now, that I’d like to see.’

He pulled her on to his lap. ‘Then you’d best stick around, kidda.’

 

He worked steadily for the rest of that afternoon, his mind flying along with the plot. If there was any one thing he wanted to get across in his novels, it was that a society that underestimates the destructive nature within each and every one of its members was a society beyond help. By exploring man’s most basic flaws - those of wanting to be in a position of power and the need for recognition — he wanted to prove that murderers aren’t a different species, that they are us. That they do not, contrary to popular opinion, walk around giving off an unmistakable air of evil, enabling everybody else to give them a wide berth. More often than not, the most successful murderers are clever, charming and seductive, with a chameleon-like ability to switch from apparent good to abhorrent evil.

Creating a monster on the page was no problem to him; it came more easily than crafting the victims. He always found it perfectly straightforward to justify why somebody had committed a heinous crime. Essentially he saw his novels not so much as whodunits but as whydunits, which peeled away the layers of deceit, corruption and greed to get to the truth. He particularly liked the idea of shaking the reader out of any complacency he might harbour about his own safe little world. Yes, my friend, this really could be you! But for the grace of God, it might have been you who turned into the monster who murders, rapes and molests.

It had always intrigued him that, when studying the mind of a criminal, there was no denying the recognisable facets of one’s own personality staring back at one. He had been talking to Izzy about this in bed the other night when she had asked him about the theme of his latest book — normally he hated to discuss what he was currently working on. ‘It’s about a man who survived a classroom massacre when he was a boy,’ he had told her. ‘By wrestling the killer to the floor, he saved the rest of his classmates from being butchered.’

‘So he’s the hero, the goodie?’

Smiling at her black-and-white simplification of good versus bad, he had said, ‘Well, he was the hero then, but now he’s the baddie.’

‘But why?’

‘He never truly recovered from the trauma. I mean, would any of us survive mentally unscathed from such an ordeal? Clinically speaking he’s psychotic, out of touch with reality.’

‘But what makes him want to kill?’

‘Oh, the usual, voices in the head. Visions.’

She had chewed her lower lip. ‘I have voices in my head.’

‘I’ll wager they’re not on the scale I’m talking about.’

‘So what’s this book going to be called?’

‘Flashback Again.
And before you ask why, it’s because the killer starts suffering from flashbacks to the time he survived the massacre. He believes it’s a call for him to track down the other survivors and kill them.’

She had flinched, then rolled on top of him, and said, ‘Just think, I’m in bed with the strange man who creates all this despicable horror.’

He had pulled the sheet over her head and growled in her ear, ‘Be very afraid, Izzy. Be very afraid.’

 

The evening sky was a glorious infusion of indigo that had seeped into swathes of bright sapphire. Stars pricked at the darker patches and the moon, still quite low, spilled its light across the shimmering sea. Thinking how glad he was that he had accepted Theo’s offer to spend the summer with him, Mark tried to recall when, if ever, he had been so relaxed and happy.

He had arrived here in June, as nervy and jumpy as hell, half frightened to death of his own shadow, but now look at him. It was ages since he had given his
Silent Footsteps
copy-cat stalker any thought, and now that he had successfully distanced himself from what had been going on at home, he felt he had been an idiot to let it get the better of him.

The only cloud hanging over him now was making his confession to Theo. During supper, he and Izzy had decided that tonight was definitely the night. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Izzy glancing apprehensively at the mobile on the table between them. ‘Let’s not wait for him to ring us,’ he said decisively, ‘let’s call him and get it over and done with.’

She checked her watch. ‘Do you think he’d be home this early?’

‘We could give it a try.’ He reached for the phone and tapped in Theo’s number. It rang and rang, and just as he was on the verge of giving up, he heard Theo’s slightly breathless voice. This was it, then.

‘Theo, it’s Mark. Is it a good time to talk?’

‘It’s fine, but wait a moment while I pour myself a drink. I’ve just this minute got in. You would not believe how hot Athens is.’ Hearing the clink of ice against glass, Mark could almost smell the ouzo Theo was pouring as he moved about his apartment carrying his cordless phone with him. ‘There, that’s better. Now I am sitting down and I am all yours. There is nothing wrong, I hope?’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘It’s just that it is so rare for you to ring me. How is Izzy? Have you seen her today? Did you do as I asked? Have you cheered her up?’

‘Um ... yes, in a manner of speaking. And ... and she’s very well. Oh, hell, Theo, there’s no easy way to tell you this, I just hope you can forgive me.’

‘Why, what have you done?’ Theo’s tone was instantly wary.

‘I’m sorry, Theo, but I’ve — ’ He stalled hopelessly. He cleared his throat, tried again. ‘The thing is, Izzy and I ... well, we’ve kind of been seeing each other.’

The silence said it all.

Mark’s gaze locked with Izzy’s and she squeezed his hand. ‘Say something, Theo. I’m getting the feeling you could beat the hell out of me.’

Still nothing.

‘Would it help if I got down on my knees and said I was sorry?’

‘Oh, please, save the theatrical drama for your novels.’

‘Look, you have to believe me, I didn’t mean to do it. It wasn’t deliberate, I couldn’t help myself.’

‘Or stop yourself, it would seem.’

Mark had never heard Theo’s voice so cold. ‘You’re right,’ he muttered, ‘I couldn’t.’

Another silence.

Until, ‘How long have you been
kind of seeing
Izzy, as you so delicately put it?’

‘Since the night of the party.’ It was almost the hardest part of the confession, letting Theo know that the deceit had been going on for as long as it had.

‘And ... and do you think it is serious between the pair of you?’

Mark kept his gaze on Izzy’s anxious face. ‘Yes. Much to my amazement, I think it is.’

‘Then it is settled. There is nothing more to be said.’

‘Of course there is, and don’t you dare try taking that line with me, Theo.’

‘Which line would you prefer me to take?’ The coldness had thawed, and in its place was dry cynicism.

‘I don’t know. But one that ensures our friendship isn’t damaged.’

There was another lengthy pause, during which Mark heard the clink of ice again. In his mind’s eye, he saw Theo swirling the glass round in his hand, tilting back his head and draining the drink in one. But then he heard the unexpected sound of laughter. ‘Theo?’

‘It is all right, my friend, I am just beginning to see the funny side of it.’

‘You are?’

‘Yes. You have never before coveted anything I had or aspired to anything I have accomplished, and yet here you are, stealing the prize that, quite possibly, I wanted most.’

‘It wasn’t like that.’

‘I know, but let a defeated man have his pride. Is Izzy there with you?’

‘Yes, she is.’

‘If she will speak to me, put her on.’

Mark passed the phone to Izzy. ‘It’s okay,’ he whispered, ‘the worst is over.’

‘Theo,’ she said, ‘I’m sorry, truly I am. We never intended — ’

‘Ah, Izzy, come on now. All is fair in love and war and, besides, you were always honest with me, you did not deliberately mislead me. It is I who have misled myself. But to show you how magnanimous I can be, Mark is my best friend and, more than anyone, I know that he deserves somebody as special as you. Now take good care of one another. And, please, do try to have a civilising effect on him for me.’

‘I’ll do my best.’

 

They went to bed that night and lay in each other’s arms with a clear conscience at last. But when they woke the following morning, a clear conscience was the last thing on their minds.