The Villa of Secrets

A little later, when Cleo was taking a short break from her duties, she sat outside the tent Maya had told her to use, sipping coffee and watching Achilles out of the corner of her eye.

He was right at the heart of everything that was going on, she could see, helping wherever he could. One minute he was carrying a pile of crates and another, assembling portable tables and chairs. Then she saw him chatting with a group of frightened-looking villagers, making them laugh.

Her eyes were tired, sore and stingy. She closed them for a few moments and when she opened them again, he was sitting on one of the chairs he’d just put together, with his guitar on his knee.

He didn’t look as if he were preparing to perform, she thought, but then he never did. He carried his guitar as though it were an extension of himself, like an extra limb he’d been born with.