Chapter 62
AMBER
Night has fallen in that blink-of-an-eye way it does here on Pelagia.
One moment the sea is electric blue, the next it is deep indigo.
Craving fresh air but not wanting to see anyone, I cross my bedroom to the sliding doors that lead to the balcony.
Outside, I grasp the rails, tilt my head skywards and gaze up at the stars, which sparkle so much brighter here than they do in London.
The vastness of the universe should be a comfort: after all, I’m but a tiny, insignificant speck in the grand scheme of things, so what does anything I do matter?
But the more I try to tell myself this, the more I realise it’s bullshit.
I do matter. I might not have gone to private school or a Russell Group university; I might not speak with a cut-glass accent or work in the City, but that doesn’t make me any less of a person.
In fact, isn’t the opposite true? I’ve become the person I am despite the obstacles I’ve faced.
When have Simone or Victoria had to check their coat pockets for change to buy food, or sit in the dark wrapped in a duvet because they ran out of pound coins for the electric meter?
They’ve never had to endure the attentions of a sleazeball boss because they needed the job, or choose between heating and eating.
So why do I always feel so bloody inadequate beside them?
I’ve spent most of the day avoiding the others. Dominic came in shortly before dinner and packed his suitcase in grim-faced silence. I don’t know if he’s moved into Simone’s room. I didn’t ask and I don’t care.
I told him I could feel a migraine coming on and asked if I could have my meal brought up to my room.
Minutes later, there was a knock at the door and Maria appeared with a tray.
Moussaka, a small Greek salad and a generous helping of baklava.
I fell on it like I hadn’t eaten for a week.
There was no migraine, but what’s one more fib in this hothouse of lies?
The scent of jasmine fills my nostrils, sickly sweet. Somewhere below me, a door clicks shut and voices drift up through the night. I stiffen. It’s Dominic and Simone – and they’re arguing.
‘What the fuck were you thinking?’ The anger in Dominic’s voice catches me by surprise. He’s normally such a placid guy. It’s one of the things I used to love about him. He was impossible to rile. But he doesn’t just sound riled now, he sounds livid. ‘No wonder Demetriou thinks she did it.’
‘You say that like it’s a bad thing,’ Simone chirps. ‘I just saw an opportunity and took it. Anyone with half a brain would have done the same.’
There’s a sharp intake of breath. ‘That’s… that’s… Oh Christ, Simone. What have you done?’
For a moment there is silence, then Simone speaks again. This time she sounds prickly. Defensive. ‘There’s no way I’m going down for what happened to Felix, Dom. No fucking way. And if that means she takes the rap instead, so be it.’
I gasp, clapping my hand over my mouth at the last minute to stop the sound escaping. But they’re too busy arguing to hear me.
‘I won’t let Amber take the blame for something she didn’t do,’ Dominic hisses. ‘It’s not fair. It’s not right.’
‘Oh, don’t be so fucking sanctimonious. It doesn’t suit you. And for Christ’s sake, keep your voice down or someone’ll hear you,’ Simone shoots back.
‘We should’ve called the police. What were we thinking?’ Dominic says again, his voice shifting from angry to anguished.
‘Do you want me to spend the rest of my life in a Greek jail?’
‘Of course I don’t. But we could have explained what happened.’
Simone lets out a harsh laugh. ‘You think they’ll care that Felix lost his shit and I was trying to defend myself? They’ll lock me up and throw away the key!’
I edge over to the far right-hand side of the balcony, inch by inch, barely breathing.
Is Simone saying she killed Felix? I crane my neck and peer over the railings.
They’re standing on the other side of a pair of cypress trees, their outlines just visible in the inky darkness.
Simone has started sobbing and her shadowy form clings to Dominic.
He’s staring back at the villa, his shoulders rigid.
I shrink back, flattening myself against the wall like a police officer in a crime drama before he sees me.
‘I… need… you,’ she hiccups. ‘You… promised… you… would… always… look… after… me.’
‘I know I did.’
‘And… you… will? W-whatever… it… takes?’
There’s a beat of silence, then Dominic’s answer, clear and steady. ‘Of course. Whatever it takes.’
* * *
I slide down the wall until I’m on the floor, hugging my knees to my chest as their words sink in. Simone killed Felix in self-defence and Dominic helped her… what? Finish the job? Dispose of the body? Provide her with an alibi?
My brain can’t process it. I should do something – storm down there, call the police, something.
But their voices have already melted into the night, and even if I did call, who would believe me?
I need proof. Not a half-heard conversation the grieving widow can brush off as the ramblings of the prime suspect.
And what was that Dominic was saying about the Greek detective?
No wonder Demetriou thinks she did it. What did he mean?
As far as Demetriou’s concerned, my guilt was sealed the moment the police found my amber necklace by Felix’s body.
I have absolutely no doubt he’d have arrested me by now if it wasn’t for the fact that a fisherman came forward and said he saw me asleep on the beach that night.
A possibility so awful crosses my mind that I instantly reject it. Surely no one would stoop that low? But the more I try to convince myself I’m wrong, the more this outrageous theory stands up to scrutiny.
Did Simone take my necklace and leave it with the body so I would be implicated?
Did the bitch set me up?