“Yes?” Larry Lambeth dropped his voice to a matching whisper.
“The man in uniform who was here earlier…?”
“Mm?”
“Do you know who he is?”
“Sergeant Karaskakis. From the Tourist Police.”
“Ah. And perhaps you can also tell me –”
“Right, are we set?” Ginnie bustled towards them. “The villa’s only a couple of minutes away and – ” It was the sight of Larry that stopped her in mid-sentence. She looked at him with undisguised distaste.
“Well, er, better be on my way now,” he said awkwardly, and scuttled off into the warm night.
“That man wasn’t troubling you, was he?” asked Ginnie.
“No. No, actually, he was being very helpful,” Mrs Pargeter replied.
“Oh. Well, keep an eye on him. Apparently he has some kind of criminal record back in England.”
“Really?” said Mrs Pargeter, her eyes wide with naive amazement.
“Yes, and you know what they say… once a thief, always a thief.”
“Oh. Well, I wouldn’t know about that,” said Mrs Pargeter righteously.
? Mrs Pargeter’s Package ?
Seven
The walk from Spiro’s to the Villa Eleni was magical. From the flat seashore strip, along which the tavernas and few shops of Agios Nikitas clustered, the hills rose steeply and out of their olive-, cypress-and brush-clad slopes the square, white outlines of buildings rose. By night only the villas’ soft lights could be seen, pale orange-tinted rectangles in the thick blue velvet darkness.
The road which led up from the tavernas divided after about fifty yards. One branch went straight up the hillside, the other took a more oblique route. Ginnie indicated the second with her torch. “We’ll go this way. Not so steep.”
It was still quite a marked incline, and Mrs Pargeter started to puff a little as she pulled her substantial bulk upwards. At a point where the track turned sharply, she stopped for a breather and looked back. Pinpricks of stars in the sky and dots of light from boats gleamed back at her. Then, over the sea, sudden triangles of light raked out across the water from the further shore.
Ginnie turned back at that moment and her torch found Mrs Pargeter’s puzzled face. “Searchlights from Albania,” she explained.
“Really?”
“Oh yes. They come on most nights.”
“What are they looking for?”
The outline of Ginnie’s shoulders shrugged against the night sky. “No idea. Nobody knows much about what goes on in that place. Come on. Not far now.”
“Right.” Mrs Pargeter readdressed herself to the steep track of broken white stone. “It’s times like this that I really am determined to lose some weight.”
But it was said more for form than anything else. Mrs Pargeter lived at peace in her plump body. Her outline had always been generous and, as she grew older, that generosity had begun to verge on prodigality. But the late Mr Pargeter had never complained. Nor had anyone else, come to that.
She saw a tiny spot of light appear suddenly and move in a hazy scribble above the scrub to the side of the path. As suddenly it disappeared. Then another showed. And another.
“What on earth are those, Ginnie? I don’t think I believe in fairies.”
“They’re fireflies.”
“Really? God, this place is so beautiful, isn’t it?”
“So beautiful,” Joyce echoed. Then her voice was broken by a sob. “What a beautiful place to be alone in.”
“You’re not alone, Joyce. I’m with you.”
“I know, Melita, but…” More sobs came. “I mean, Chris isn’t here. Chris’ll never be anywhere again. I don’t think I can manage without him.”
“Of course you can. It’ll take time, but you’ll do it, Joyce. That’s what Chris would want you to do.”
“Oh God, Chris wanted me to do so many things. Even now he still wants me to do things. He’s left me a letter with great lists of instructions. I just don’t think I can cope.”
“You can cope. You’ll –”
Mrs Pargeter stopped at the sound of a door closing ahead and hurrying footsteps approaching. The beam of Ginnie’s torch moved up from the ground and briefly illuminated the impassive face of the young woman from Spiro’s kitchen as she almost ran towards them.
“
Without any response, the woman pushed past them and, using the direct path which their curving one had now rejoined, hurried on down the hillside.
Mrs Pargeter flashed a look across to Joyce, to see if the silent Greek woman’s appearance had repeated its traumatic effect, but her friend just looked weepy and preoccupied.
“What have you done to offend her?” Mrs Pargeter asked Ginnie.
“Nothing. Theodosia can’t speak. She’s dumb.”
“What? But –”
“Here we are – the Villa Eleni.” Ginnie accompanied the interruption with a sweep of her torch across the frontage of the building ahead of them. A low white-painted rectangle with a shaded veranda at the front. Under this, either side of a front door, were double French windows, closed in by louvred shutters.
“She could have left a light on,” muttered Ginnie.
“Who?”
“Theodosia.”
“You mean she had just come from here?”
“Yes, she was checking it was tidy before you came in.”
“I’m sorry? I don’t understand.”
“Theodosia is the maid for the Villa Eleni,” Ginnie explained patiently. “She’s Spiro’s sister, you see, and he owns the place.”
“Oh, does he?”
Ginnie pushed open the unlocked door and switched on some lights, illuminating a central living area. A couple of wicker armchairs were placed near the entrance and at the far end, by the doors leading to the kitchen and bathroom, were a dining-room table and chairs. The bedrooms ran the length of the building, one each side of the central area. Ginnie opened the windows and shutters at each end of Mrs Pargeter’s room. “Sea view at the front, and at the back you get a lovely outlook on to the garden.”
Mrs Pargeter joined her on the low balcony at the back of the bedroom. Light spilled on to flowers and shrubs in pale-blue-painted oil-drums.
“Can’t see much in this light,” Ginnie apologised, “but you wait till morning. The flowers are really fabulous this time of year.”
“I look forward to it,” Mrs Pargeter said.
She gazed back into the bedroom with satisfaction, approving the neat twin beds with their white sheets, the functional wooden bedside furniture, the gleaming marble floor. Though self-catering was not her usual style, this really could have been a lot worse. Not lavish, but comfortable and well-maintained. Yes, if she could only manage to cheer Joyce up a little, she was set for a very enjoyable fortnight.
When Mrs Pargeter and Ginnie went back into the living-room, there was no sign of Joyce, but the sound of running water could be heard from the bathroom.
“Well… if you’ve got everything you want,” the rep said, “I’ll be off.”
“It all looks fine, thank you. Very comfortable.”
“You’ll find there are sort of basic supplies in the fridge. We always stock our clients up with a bit of food and
