It was a long walk. The world of the Greeks was something new: domestic and peaceful, self-regulating. It was made fresh, not degraded, by its great age. So there were no cars and motorbikes on this island. Everything was on foot. There were slivers of land in the sea, single lights. After an hour they passed above the Sunset, where a few couples lingered at the tables. The path then curved downward into the port and into the thickets of luxury yachts and cafe terraces, but the people had dispersed. It was a weeknight and the bars had closed.
They went through the village and began to climb up the steps. Naomi turned once and, with a single motion of the hand, encouraged him. He knew that she was leading him to her father’s house, and he was curious as to what kind of place it was. He saw that it stood at the very top of the steps, the last house before the wilderness took over, and that around it lay only one other house, a villa almost of the same size and with a similar white wall surrounding it. The girl came to the somber wood door of her own house and rested there for a moment. There were two lamps hung on either side of the door, but above the wall the house was dark. She then came back down the steps, and soon they were face-to-face in the glare of the lamps and she put a finger in front of her lips. She whispered close to his ear a “Good luck” and kissed his cheek, and then looked back up at the door, which was not open. “Move,” she said then, “don’t look back.” As she did this, she slipped something into his hand. It was small change for a ticket to Metochi for the following morning and a set of car keys. He had wanted to say something, but before he could she moved off, skipping down the steps as if she was going back to the port to look for a nightcap. How much better it would be if he could just go with her.
Instead, he loped up to the door and stood before it, not knowing who would open it. In seconds, Naomi disappeared, the door clicked open, and Carissa peered out. She was young, about twenty-five to his eye. She seemed suddenly taken aback by his own appearance. She stepped away from the door and let him in, then closed it soundlessly behind him.
On the ground floor of the villa there was only one light on. It was in the main room, and it was turned low. She made him take off his sandals and they walked barefoot into the salon, over the rugs and under the static chandelier. There was a large bag open on the floor and she motioned to it; it was for him to fill. She mimed her way through a strange explanation. She had already piled certain things in the bag, he saw. They were things that she must have removed from the bedroom upstairs. Money, documents, and a ring of keys for the house in Italy that Naomi had invited him to use. The money was the most reassuring. It would save him time and it would save him making a blunder upstairs. Then she held up Jimmie Codrington’s passport, which she laid inside the bag, and a small slip of paper upon which were written the PIN numbers for Jimmie’s credit cards.
It took her a minute to do all this, and then she looked at him cautiously and backed away toward the stairs that led down to her room. When he was alone, he went quickly around the room, scanning it for objects that were small enough to take with him. There were some silver knives and spoons that he pocketed, a ceremonial dagger from the War of Independence that might sell for something. But he felt unclean taking such things. They were better left in their place, talismans he didn’t understand and that would bring him bad luck. Theft was bad enough. He closed the bag and listened. The maid had probably gone directly to sleep as promised. He straightened himself and lifted the bag onto his shoulder, even though it didn’t contain much.
As he did so he heard a noise at the top of the stairs leading directly down to him. He was only two or three strides from the door, but it was already too late. The voice had boomed down from the stairs, in Greek, words he didn’t understand, and the feet were descending, heavily but slowly, the fear in them all too evident. Jimmie had woken up from a drunken sleep when he heard a few noises coming from the ground floor. Because fear came naturally to him, he reached out for the ceramic pistol and hand grenade and went to the stairs in his pajamas. He was not prepared for anything, but confusion and fear and rage had suddenly overwhelmed him, and he held the ceramic pistol as if it might mean something in the world of real burglars and thieves. All he could see without his glasses was a man holding a bag making for the front door.
ELEVEN
After leaving Faoud at the door, Naomi arrived at the Haldanes’. Sam was waiting for her on the porch with an oil lamp and a pot of mint tea. She had grown increasingly anxious as the hours passed, and when she finally saw Naomi she picked up the lamp, scattering little rectangles of light around her, and came to the steps to light them. Here by Vlychos it was more blustery and the darkness of the path was total.
“What happened?” the American girl hissed at her as Naomi came up the steps.
“Nothing. Let’s go inside.”
“I told my parents you were going to spend the night. I’ll tell them you got here an hour ago. They’re all asleep anyway.”
They went up to the porch and lay down together on the long sofa with its numerous cotton cushions. The tea was still hot and the mint leaves floated on its surface. Naomi related everything that had happened, and she seemed, Sam thought, very pleased with herself. How could it have gone so smoothly? Of course, Sam pointed out, Naomi didn’t know that Faoud had done as she’d asked.
“No, but if anything had gone wrong I would’ve had a call from Jimmie, that’s for sure. So nothing went wrong. I’ll stay up another hour just in case.”
They lay side by side listening to the sea, wondering in different ways if this alibi would hold if it came to a crunch. Naomi thought it would; Sam was doubtful, though she would stick to their story.
“It’s incredible to think—” she began.
“That he’s in the house,” Naomi finished for her.
“You don’t want to go find him afterward?”
“How would I find him anyway? He would have to find me, and he won’t. If he’s got any sense he won’t.”
“Maybe you should go back to London. It’ll be so boring here after it gets out. Everyone’ll be talking about it for weeks. I don’t think I’ll be able to stand it myself.”
Naomi turned over and brushed the girl’s cheek with the back of her hand.
“I must say, I think you’ve been incredibly courageous to throw your lot in with me on this thing. Thank you. It was a brave and generous thing to do, to keep a secret.”
“Was it?”
“Yes. For once good has been done without anyone being hurt.”