The Holiday (47 page)

They were roused by the sound of insistent knocking.

‘If that’s Angelos with another bag of cucumbers, I’ll swing for him,’ fumed Mark. He pulled on a pair of shorts and stomped off to answer the door. Izzy hurried after him. If Angelos was about to get it in the neck from Mark she ought to be on hand to defuse the situation.

But it wasn’t Angelos. It was two men they had never seen before. One was young and red-haired, in tight jeans and a black tank top, and the other was in shorts with hairy white legs; his face was hidden behind a camera — a camera that was making a fast, mechanical whirring sound.

‘Mark St James?’ enquired Carrot Top, a notebook and pen emerging from his back pocket. ‘Didn’t wake you, did we?’ The camera whirred again.

‘What the — ’ Then, changing tack, Mark hurriedly started to close the door. But he wasn’t fast enough. A foot was already in place.

‘Just a few words, that’s all.’ Another whirr from the camera.

‘What about?’

‘It’s about your neighbours across the bay, Christine and Mikey. You did know they were staying here, didn’t you?’

‘What if I did?’

‘Oh, come on,’ urged Carrot Top, ‘it’s the story of the summer. Give us a break. You know what a tough business this is. A word or two is all I need.’ Izzy guessed he had slipped into what he imagined was his congenial let‘s-be-mates-about-this routine. ‘Bet your publisher wouldn’t say no to a bit of free publicity for you, eh?’

‘What my publisher wants doesn’t necessarily correlate with what I want. But if it’s my neighbours’ story you’re after, go and see them. I’m sure they’d be as delighted to see you as I am.’

‘We can’t get near them. They’ve barricaded themselves in.’

‘You do surprise me.’

‘So, then, how about it? Why not help us out?’

‘Well, boys, I’d love to, but it’s like this, I know damn all. Now, if it occurs to me that I could be of any assistance, I’ll let you know. Now have a nice day, y’all.’

Izzy had to stop herself laughing at the tone Mark was using. If he put any more syrupy sarcasm into his words they’d be able to make flapjacks with them!

‘This your girlfriend, then?’ asked Carrot Top, his tactics changing abruptly.

‘That’s none of your business.’

‘Like to say a few words?’ Carrot Top leaned in towards Izzy. She backed away. Suddenly it didn’t seem so funny. ‘Oh, go on, don’t be shy. It’s ...’ he flicked through his notebook ‘... Izzy Jordan, isn’t it? Surely you’ve got a view that you’d like to share with us. And if not that, what about you and Mr St James saving the lives of that young girl and her boyfriend? Not just drunk apparently, they’d been smoking something a bit dodgy, hadn’t they? Nasty combination. Lucky for them you were around. I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you it’s a great story. So, how about it?’

‘I think the expression she’s hunting for is “no comment”,’ said Mark firmly. ‘So if you’d be so good as to remove your foot from my threshold, I’d be eternally grateful. And if you don’t, I’ll have to slam the door on it very hard, very painfully. Now, are we through with the small-talk?’

Reluctantly Carrot Top and his sidekick went on their way, leaving Izzy and Mark to speculate on how they had discovered the runaway lovers’ hiding place.

‘Do you suppose Dolly-Babe actually carried out her threat?’ Izzy asked, when they were sure that the coast was clear and they had taken their breakfast outside. ‘I would never have had her down as the type to interfere like that. It seems so vindictive and mean-spirited. What’s it got to do with her?’

‘No doubt she was as keen as the next person to have her fifteen minutes of fame. And, don’t forget, one of the tabloids was offering a reward for anyone who could lead them to the star-crossed lovers.’

‘Yes, but surely the Fitzgeralds aren’t short of money.’

Mark shrugged. ‘Who knows? Things aren’t always what they seem.’ Then, raising Theo’s binoculars to his eyes and sweeping them across the bay, he let out a whistle. ‘Take a look.’ He passed her the glasses.

‘I don’t believe it,’ she said, after she had focused on what he had seen. Squeezed into the garden at the front of the villa the runaway lovers were renting, there was a cluster of men and women. The cans of lager and cameras were a dead giveaway. Tabloid bounty-hunters without a doubt. And, just as Carrot Top had said, it looked as if Christine and Mikey had barricaded themselves in. The villa’s bottle-green shutters were resolutely in place providing an impenetrable barrier for the zoom lenses that were trained on the windows for the first sign of movement from within.

Moving her field of vision further up the hillside, Izzy focused on the villa where Dolly-Babe and Silent Bob were staying. ‘Oh, my goodness,’ she exclaimed.

‘What?’

‘It’s Dolly-Babe. She’s posing for the cameras in a rhinestone-encrusted swimsuit. Lord, you’d think it was Hello! taking pictures of her. Here, see for yourself.’

Mark took the binoculars. ‘And, if I’m not mistaken, she’s being interviewed.’ Shifting the glasses a couple of inches to the left, he said, ‘Hey, guess what, the same’s going on down at the Pattersons’ place.’

‘What? Ma Patterson in a rhinestone swimsuit?’

‘Now, wouldn’t that be a sight? No, there’s no sign of her. It’s your personal cleavage inspector, Pa Patterson, being interviewed.’

As she picked at the bread roll on the table in front of her, Izzy’s face was solemn. ‘It’s not funny, really, is it? And how did that journalist know my name?’

Mark put the binoculars down. ‘Odds on that Dolly-Babe has shared more than is necessary. After all, it would be simplicity itself to inveigle any amount of gossip out of her.’

‘But why bring us into it? What have we got to do with it?’

‘Damn all. But that would never stop a seasoned hack from gathering as much colour and gossip as he could to bulk up a story. You’ve got to keep in mind that there’s no real news back home so they’ll get what they can elsewhere. A cheap flight to the sun for a day or two and a nice little scoop for their editor. What do you say to us getting out of here for the day?’

‘I’d say let’s do it. Let’s go somewhere quiet and free of nosy-parkers. How do you fancy Old Perithia?’ Old Perithia was the deserted village high in the hills behind Áyios Nikólaos. Max and Laura had taken Corky and Olivia to see it during their visit, but Izzy had missed out on that excursion because she had been resting her ankle.

‘Sounds good to me,’ said Mark, ‘but how will we get there? Is there a bus?’

‘We could take Max and Laura’s Jeep. She keeps telling me on the phone that we can use it any time we want.’

‘There’s just one small snag. Will you be able to drive?’ He cast his eyes doubtfully to her ankle.

‘I don’t see why not. But don’t you want to drive? I thought men hated being a passenger when there was an opportunity to get their hands on a steering-wheel.’

‘Part of my sordid past, I’m afraid. I was disqualified after smashing into a tree while chemically enhanced. I was lucky to walk away. Cowardice has made me reluctant to reapply for my licence.’ He looked uncomfortable, his eyes fixed on some far-off point on the horizon.

‘Goodness, you’ve really lived, haven’t you?’

He gave a short laugh. ‘Why is it that I can never shock you with my past deeds, Izzy? You’re supposed to shake your head and tut with disapproval at my wicked recklessness.’

‘Mm ... would it help if I did?’

But before Mark had a chance to reply, a movement in the oleander bushes to their right distracted him. His glance froze. A figure was slipping away down the hillside; a flash of red hair told them it was Carrot Top.

‘Definitely time to get the hell out of here,’ Mark said grimly.

 

The wind snatched at the map in Mark’s hands as Izzy drove along the road towards Kassiópi. She had only driven the Jeep a couple of times so she took it slowly, especially when they had passed Kassiópi and Mark instructed her to take the next left towards the village of Loútses. The road narrowed and instantly became steeper. The higher they climbed the fewer cars they saw and, following the twists and turns through the terraced hillside, they eventually came to an open stretch of road that looked back towards Kassiópi and the stark, yellowish-brown mountains of Albania across the glimmering sea. It was a magnificent view and Izzy stopped the car so that they could take a look. They stood in the breathless heat and, without the noise of the engine, it was blissfully quiet, save for a faraway church bell that was clanging softly, its mellow timbre blending harmoniously with the sweet soprano trill of birdsong. She reached for her camera from the back seat and took several pictures. When she turned round, Mark snapped his own camera at her. ‘Not fair,’ she grumbled. ‘I wasn’t ready.’

‘Tough.’ He smiled and tapped her head, dislodging her baseball cap.

They drove on, climbing ever higher. The increase in altitude made her ears pop and, not long afterwards, they saw a row of cars parked neatly to one side of the road. But she didn’t stop. She was determined to park as near as she could to the deserted village. There was no point in pushing it with her ankle, the less walking she had to do the better. Luck was with her. There was a space at the top of the line of cars, into which she managed to squeeze the Jeep.

They followed the well-trodden path and soon came to the first of the ruins. The small single-storey house had lost its door, but had retained its old wooden shutters. Devoid of paint, and now the colour of ash, they hung crookedly from twisted hinges. Through gaps in the stonework, bushy plants grew in wild abundance. Roof tiles lay scattered on the ground, broken and chipped, some ground to dust. They stepped into the gloomy interior. It was unexpectedly dank and chilly. A musty smell of age and decay mingled with the more forceful stench of cat pee. Izzy tried to imagine what it must have been like when a large, boisterous family had lived here, but she couldn’t. This soulless, crumbling little house with its dungeon atmosphere was too far removed from the pretty whitewashed homes she had glimpsed during her holiday, with their starched white lace curtains at sparkling clean windows and beaded curtains at the swept and polished doorways.

She slipped her hand through Mark’s. ‘It’s sad, isn’t it,’ she murmured, ‘to see something so uncared-for?’

He didn’t reply but led her back out into the bright sunshine where a young German couple were studying their guidebooks. Exchanging smiles, they went on further towards the centre of the village where there was supposed to be a taverna that served lunches. But instead of heading straight for it, they took a path through yet more ruins, walking at a slow, leisurely pace, perfectly in step with each other. When they came to a low wall, where a large, ancient olive tree lowered its silvery-leafed branches and provided a welcome canopy of shade in the baking heat of the midday sun, they climbed over the wall and lay on the parched grass. Nobody else had ventured this far and they were alone. Breathing in the smell of wild garlic and listening to the persistent thrum of the cicadas, which in the secluded, deserted place seemed even louder than usual, Izzy closed her eyes and wondered how the crazy media circus was getting on back in Ayios Nikólaos.

Was it really possible that Dolly-Babe had blown the whistle, just as she had threatened at the party? And if it had been her who was responsible, why had it taken a week for the press to arrive? And just how much extra gossip was Dolly-Babe being persuaded to part with? She decided she would ring Max and Laura that evening. If there was any danger of those journalists printing the story about Nick and Sally, it would be better if they knew about it in advance. As for old Ma Patterson, she would probably die on the spot at the thought of her cultured Dulwich friends reading about her younger son’s holiday escapade.

While Izzy hoped that Nick had learned something from the near tragedy, she also hoped he wouldn’t beat himself up over it too much. The anger that had made Mark lash out at the boy that night had shocked her at the time, but given what he had just forced himself to do, she could fully understand it.

During their first day together, Mark had apologised for his loss of control. Not quite meeting her eye, he had said, ‘I’m sorry you had to see me like that, but I lost it. If I’d had the strength, God alone knows what I would have done to that boy.’ He had gone on to say how impressed he had been with her life-saving skills. ‘You were straight into it. When did you learn how to do that?’

‘At school. We have to do regular first-aid refresher courses.’

‘Just as well you were such a diligent student. Any chance of you practising some more mouth-to-mouth on me?’

 

They were in bed and leaning on top of her, he had kissed her long and lingeringly, working his tongue deep into her mouth. Lifting his head, he had said, ‘And just why the hell did you let that fool of a boyfriend convince you that you were hopeless in bed, Izzy? Take it from me, you’re dynamite.’ Holding her close, he had swept away the hair from her face and planted a soft kiss on her forehead. Seeing the scar on her temple, he had said ‘How did you get that?’

He had made no comment when she had finishing telling him, but kissed her with such gentle tenderness that her body had ached with desire for him.

‘What are you thinking of?’

She opened her eyes, turned her head and saw that Mark was looking at her. ‘You’ve a smile on your face that could melt cheese,’ he said.

‘I was just contemplating the effect your finely tuned bedroom technique has on me.’

‘So, I’m good, am I?’

She sighed, ‘Oh, more than good. A supreme artist.’ But, wanting to tease him, she added, ‘Well, not bad for an old guy.’

He groaned. ‘It’s a terrible thought, but when you were curled up on the sofa watching
Blue Peter,
I was at university.’

‘And what were you doing when
I
was at university?’