Chapter 46
‘What did you get?’ Oxana murmurs suspiciously.
‘Nice things,’ Eve says, lowering half a dozen shopping bags to the floor. ‘The kind you like. Just trust me for once.’
‘Because I literally haven’t got anything. It’s all still on the yacht, in my cabin.’
‘Oxana! Thank me.’
‘Thank you, Eve.’
‘Say it like you mean it.’
‘I do mean it.’ She reaches out her arms to Eve, pulls their faces together, and kisses her. ‘Thank you.’
When the helicopter dropped them at Koropi heliport, a couple of hours earlier, Oxana was wearing only her black one-piece swimsuit and trainers; the wetsuit had been abandoned on the beach at Skila.
Impressively, the front desk staff at the Grande Bretagne didn’t bat an eyelid at the sight of a half-naked young woman with matted hair and a badly wounded neck.
Instead, a bellboy was dispatched to bring a towelling robe to reception, and the hotel doctor was summoned.
‘May I ask how you came by such a wound?’ the doctor asked mildly, as he stitched Oxana’s neck in the room that Eve has booked. ‘A sporting accident,’ Oxana told him, thinking of the Benelli shotgun that, in other hands, might have killed her outright. ‘I promise I’ll be more careful in future.’
Eve, meanwhile, walked to the Attica department store near Syntagma Square where, the hotel concierge assured her, she would find everything she needed to replace her companion’s lost luggage. And perhaps, given the many luxury brand concessions, to pick out something nice for herself.
In the hotel room, Eve walks to the window. ‘What was the yacht like?’
‘The Medusa? Amazing. We should get one.’
Eve looks at her sideways. ‘We?’
There’s a long silence. ‘I’m sorry,’ Oxana says.
‘Sorry for what, exactly?’
‘For everything.’
‘You lied to me. You cut me out. You didn’t give a shit how I felt.’
‘I know.’
‘So why should there be any “we”? Why should I believe a single fucking word you say, ever again?’ She turns away from the window. ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake.’
‘What?’
‘Your neck. You’re bleeding again. It’s all over the pillow.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Stop saying you’re sorry. Jesus. And don’t move, I need to cut this dressing off. These scissors are sharp, and right now I’m so fucking angry I can’t keep my hands steady, and I’m probably going to cut your throat, which…’ She peers at the exposed wound.
‘Which?’
‘Which nothing. Pass me that roll of gauze.’
Oxana lies there mutely as Eve completes the task. ‘Thank you,’ she whispers.
‘Get some sleep,’ Eve says. ‘Johnny’ll be here in an hour. Do you think you’ll be up to eating some dinner?’
‘I could try.’
‘Fine.’
As Eve starts to walk to the bathroom. Oxana follows her with her eyes.
Halfway across the room Eve turns, marches back to the bed, draws back her arm, and slaps Oxana’s face as hard as she can.
And again, and a third time. ‘You bitch. You fucking cunt. I will not—’ She hits her a fourth time, splitting Oxana’s lip open.
‘I will not be treated like this.’ She steps back from the bed, breathing heavily. ‘By anyone.’
They stare at each other. Oxana is speechless, pale with shock, her mouth smeared with blood. Beads of red are seeping through the gauze dressing on her neck. Eve backs away. ‘I don’t need you,’ she mutters. ‘I don’t want you. And I don’t love you.’
‘I know.’ Oxana gazes at her, her eyes bright with tears. ‘I know you don’t.’ She sits up and slowly extends her arms. ‘But please. Please just come here.’
Stiffly, miserably, Eve lowers herself onto the bed beside her. She starts to speak but Oxana puts a finger to her lips. Carefully, hesitantly, they embrace. Cheek against cheek, arms tightening around shoulders, fingers in warm hair, mouth finding blood-tasting mouth.