Nikos nodded.
While Lana showed me where the bulbs were going to go, I glanced at Nikos, over her shoulder. He took a break from digging for a moment. He caught his breath and wiped his brow.
How old was Nikos then? I wonder. He must have been only in his late forties but his once jet-black hair was streaked with white, his face tanned and deeply lined.
He was an odd man. He only spoke directly to Agathi and Lana or occasionally to Leo. He never spoke to me, even though I had been to the island several times. He seemed wary of me, somehow, as if I were untamed.
As I looked at him, I noticed something strange. He was staring at Lana with the oddest expression. It was quite intense, and completely unselfconscious.
He was looking at her with adoration, fascination—with a faint half smile on his lips. He looked younger, somehow, almost boyish.
Gosh, I thought, as I watched him gaze at her. He’s in love with her.
I don’t know why I was surprised. It made perfect sense, on reflection. Put yourself in his place—imagine being stranded on a tiny island all year round, deprived of any company, male or female, only to have a goddess wash up on your shore every few months. Of course he was in love with her.
We all were. All of us—Otto, Agathi; me, Jason. Half the world. Even Kate, at one time, was entirely besotted. And now, Nikos was, too. He stood no chance against Lana’s charms, poor bastard. He was bewitched, like the rest of us.
But spells don’t last forever, you know. One day, the spell breaks, the enchantment ends; the illusion is over.
And nothing is left but thin air.
14
Kate woke up to someone banging on the door.
She rubbed her eyes, disoriented. It took her a second to work out where she was—on the island, in the summerhouse. Her head was throbbing. Another bang at the door made her groan.
“Stop it, for Christ’s sake,” she cried out. “Who is it?”
“It’s Leo. Wake up.”
“Go away.”
“It’s after eleven. Get up—you’re late for the picnic.”
“What picnic?”
Leo laughed. “Don’t you remember? It was your idea. Mum says hurry up.”
Kate had no idea what he was talking about.
And then, vaguely, hazily, it started coming back to her—a recollection of overexcited drunken plans, hatched last night, to have a picnic on the beach. The thought of food right now made her feel physically sick.
Leo banged again.
Kate lost her temper. “Give me a fucking minute!”
“How many minutes do you need?”
“Five hundred thousand.”
“You can have five. Then we’re going without you.”
“Go, now. Please leave.”
Leo sighed heavily. His footsteps retreated.
Swearing under her breath, Kate sat up, wearily swinging her feet over the side of the bed. Her head was heavy and she felt woozy. Christ, she felt rough. The latter part of the evening was a total blur. Had she said anything she shouldn’t? Done something stupid? It would be just like her to betray herself in a drunken slip. That mustn’t happen. She must keep focused.
Idiot, she thought, be more careful.
She had a quick shower to wake herself up. Her head was aching—but she didn’t have any aspirin. So she took half a Xanax instead. There was nothing to wash it down with, except the dregs of a bottle of champagne from last night. Feeling rather sordid, she popped a cigarette in her mouth. Then she grabbed her sunglasses, and, as a sudden afterthought, the script for Agamemnon.
Thus armed, Kate left the summerhouse.
* * *
As she walked to the beach, Kate passed Nikos’s cottage.
The cottage was very much in harmony with its surroundings. Built from stone and wood, it had a tall green cactus growing outside the front door, partly covering one wall. Huge, thorny cactus leaves spread out along the path. Ivy was growing up another wall, a tangle of leaves and stems. An old rope hammock was suspended between two gnarled, bent olive trees.
Kate slowed down as she walked by and peered at the cottage. Something had attracted her attention. What was it?
The smell, or that sound? What was that noise?
A loud buzzing, like a beehive—but the smell wasn’t honey. It was a disgusting, creeping stench—suddenly so revolting that Kate’s hand flew to cover her nose. It stank of flesh gone bad; rotting meat, putrefying in the sun.
Then she saw the source—both of the sound and the stink.
A black cloud of wasps, buzzing around a stump of wood. On the wood, the remains of a bloodied carcass of a small animal. A rabbit, perhaps. It was crawling with ants and wasps, fighting over it, devouring it.
Kate felt sick to look at it. She was about to walk off when she noticed a figure at the window, staring at her.
Nikos was standing there. He was shirtless. He was looking right at Kate. Expressionless, his blue eyes fixed on her.
Kate felt an involuntary shiver. She kept walking and didn’t look back.
15
Leo advised us to give up waiting for Kate, so we made our way to the beach without her. Lana walked slightly ahead, laden with towels. Leo and I followed, carrying the heavy picnic hamper, each of us holding a handle.
Of the several beaches on Aura, this was my favorite. It was the smallest; Agathi called it to diamandi—“the diamond”—and it was a jewel, a perfect beach in miniature.
The sand was soft, thick, and white, like sugar. Pine trees grew almost all the way to the water’s edge, dropping a fine carpet of green needles on the sand, which crunched under your feet. The sea was crystal clear where it was shallow; farther off, it became green, aquamarine, turquoise; and, finally, a deep, dark blue.
Years ago, Otto had a wooden raft built a little way out—a raised platform, bobbing in the waves, accessible by a rope ladder. I would often swim out to the raft, keeping my head above water, a book clenched between my teeth; climb up, lie in the sun, and read.
That morning, we parked the picnic hamper in the shade of a tree, then Lana and I went for a swim. The water temperature was fairly bracing, but not too chilly for the time of year. Lana swam to the raft, and I followed her.
Alone on the beach, Leo opened the lid of the hamper and investigated its contents.
It was indeed a feast, prepared by Agathi—baked vegetables stuffed with rice and mincemeat, stuffed vine leaves, different kinds of local cheeses, smoked salmon sandwiches, sweet melons, and cherries.
Apart from fruit, there wasn’t much vegan fare for Leo. He searched dispiritedly through the hamper—until, at the bottom, he found it. Wrapped in cling film, labeled L, was a small stack of tomato and cucumber sandwiches on brown bread, with no butter.
Not very appetizing, he thought. Obviously a passive-aggressive attack by Agathi on his dietary requirements. But better than nothing, so he took a sandwich.
Then Leo sat in the shade of a pine tree. He ate his lunch while reading his book—An Actor Prepares. He was finding it dull, admittedly. Stanislavski was a lot more heavy going than Leo expected—but he was determined to persevere.
Lana didn’t know this yet, but Leo had just sent off his applications to drama schools in the U.K. and the United States. He hoped she wouldn’t mind—but truthfully, given their talk the other day in London, he wasn’t so sure. He planned to speak to her about it further this weekend. If I ever get the chance, he thought, with Kate and Elliot here, monopolizing her every second.
A distant gunshot suddenly distracted him. Then another.
Leo scowled. Those poor birds, shot for that psycho’s amusement. It angered Leo so much, he was afraid he’d do something drastic.
Maybe he should.
Maybe it was time to make a stand—make a deliberate point. Nothing excessive—something subtle, but effective. But what?
The answer came to him at once.
The guns.
What if Jason found his guns missing—and no one knew where they were? He’d blow a fuse. He’d lose his mind.