Chapter 27
Poppy arrived at the old harbour just before eleven.
A few fishing boats bobbed gently against their moorings, the ropes creaking softly with the movement of the water, and beyond the pale blue sky, the sea beyond the breakwater looked deceptively calm; its surface glittering under the autumn sun.
Tom had warned her that she wouldn’t be able to go out if it was too rough, but it seemed that she was in luck. She was relieved. After his suggestion yesterday about going out on the water, she had found herself relaxing. Settling into work easier knowing she had something to look forward to.
She paused now at the edge of the quay and checked her phone.
His message was already open and on her screen.
Kostas will meet you by the jetty. His boat is called Calypso. Enjoy Spinalonga.
Poppy slipped her phone back in her bag and scanned the harbour.
There were only a few boats tied up by the jetty. The one nearest was a white motorboat with a faded blue stripe running along its hull. Calypso was painted in looping script across the side.
The scent of salt and diesel hung in the air as she approached, the wooden boards beneath her trainers creaking with each step, and a flutter of excited nerves churned in her stomach.
She had never been out on a boat before, so she had no idea what to expect. Had no idea even how to dress for it. Would it feel colder out at sea?
In the end, she had put leggings and a hoodie over her bikini, packed a towel in case it was warm enough for swimming, and a bottle of water for if she was thirsty.
This was exactly the sort of thing she needed. Fresh air and open space. She would do the touristy thing and try to relax and enjoy herself.
A couple of hours away from the villa, with its uneasy presence, would do her good, she was certain of that. It would also be a chance to forget the tension of her uncomfortable dinner with the Pritchards.
She hadn’t heard anything from Sue or Ian since Sunday night, but she had spoken to Jem, who told her he had warned them it was best not to make contact.
If Poppy was honest, that was a relief. She still had no idea what to make of their behaviour, and any interaction now would just be uncomfortable.
Another four days and she would be flying home anyway.
Home to her cosy flat, where she would get the chance to check in with Keira, and also hopefully spend some time with Tom.
She wasn’t going to miss Crete.
The island was beautiful and she had no doubt that if she was here during the busier summer months, she would get to see a different side of it, but coming here out of season had been a mistake.
She had thought she wanted the quiet, but, in truth, all it had done was make her feel lonely and isolated.
The only thing she was going to miss was Jem.
Although nothing had actually happened between them, she hoped he might want to keep in touch. Even if it was just as friends.
She hadn’t told him of her plans today, but he had messaged to suggest another dinner date for the following night, which she had readily agreed to.
Pausing on the quay, she took a photo of Calypso, sending it to him.
My first time out on the water. Wish me luck.
She wasn’t sure if it would go through, remembering the signal was patchy. But after a moment the message delivered. There was no immediate reply, so she put her phone away.
Reaching the jetty, she leant down slightly to peer into the boat.
It was empty.
Straightening, she glanced up and down the harbour.
Was she early?
She was about to check the time when a voice came from behind her.
‘Poppy.’
Glancing round, she spotted Martin walking towards her.
What was he doing here?
He wore jeans and a plain shirt, rolled up at the sleeves, his forearms heavily tanned, and the sunlight caught the scar running down the side of his face, highlighting the uneven texture of skin.
Her stomach dipped. ‘I wasn’t expecting to see you here,’ she said, before she could stop herself.
He slowed to a halt. ‘Kostas has to cancel. He called me and asked if I could step in.’
Poppy blinked.
Martin nodded to Calypso. ‘Kostas didn’t want to let you down. He said he had promised Tom he would take you to Spinalonga.’
Poppy hesitated, looking towards Calypso. It all sounded reasonable enough, but still the back of her neck prickled.
Being alone out on the water with Martin wasn’t quite the relaxing trip she had imagined.
‘I didn’t realise you could drive a boat,’ she told him.
Martin’s mouth pulled into what looked like it was supposed to be a smile, but the way the scar tugged at the corner of his top lip, it made him seem a little sinister.
‘There’s a lot you don’t know about me,’ he said, pulling a key from his pocket.
She suspected he was going for humour, but the way he said it made her uneasy, and she glanced behind him, feeling a tiny lick of fear as she realised there was no one else around.
A gull cried somewhere overhead as silence fell between them.
She was being ridiculous just standing there. A decision had to be made. And, unfortunately, she would look both foolish and ungrateful if she backed out now.
It was just a boat trip to Spinalonga. She hadn’t even known Kostas. At least she was familiar with Martin, despite finding him a bit creepy. And she reminded herself that Tom trusted him. That mattered a lot.
‘Does Tom know you’re taking me instead of Kostas?’ she asked, as the question crossed her mind.
Martin shrugged. ‘I don’t know if Kostas mentioned it. I only spoke to him.’ His eyes narrowed as he studied Poppy. ‘Is everything okay? You’ll be safe out on the water with me. I know what I’m doing.’
She reddened, realising he was picking up on her reluctance.
‘Everything’s fine,’ she told him, keeping her tone light. ‘I was surprised, that’s all. Right, shall we go?’
He held her gaze for a moment longer, before stepping down into the boat.
The hull shifted beneath his weight with a hollow knock against the side of the jetty, the rope tightening briefly before settling again. He moved easily across the deck, steady despite the gentle rocking, and turned back towards her.
‘Careful stepping in,’ he said. ‘It moves a bit.’
Poppy swallowed. The boat suddenly seemed smaller now that she was about to step into it, the white fibreglass sides scuffed and chalky in the sun. The water below was dark, the surface lifting and dipping in slow, restless movements.
Martin held out his hand. ‘It’s easiest if you step down here,’ he told her, tapping the deck beside the console with the toe of his boot. ‘It’ll rock a bit but just hold on to me.’
She wasn’t confident enough to get in without his help, so she reluctantly took his hand. His grip closed firmly around hers, stronger than she expected. His fingers rough and dry against her skin.
The moment her weight landed in the boat, it jerked sharply, and despite having been warned, the sudden movement made her gasp. For a second, she thought she might lose her footing, but Martin tightened his hold and steadied her, guiding her down onto the deck.
‘Easy,’ he said, sounding amused.
Poppy let go quickly once she was balanced, brushing her hands down the front of her leggings, as if she could wipe away the awkwardness.
‘Sorry,’ she muttered. ‘It caught me off guard.’
‘Nothing to apologise for.’ He nodded towards the bow, where a padded bench curved around the front of the boat. ‘You can sit up there.’
‘Okay. Thank you.’
Carefully, she made her way along the deck, aware of the gentle sway beneath her feet. She lowered herself onto the seat. The warmth of the vinyl reminding her that there was still plenty of heat in the sun.
From here, she had a clear view of the harbour mouth ahead, and the open body of water beyond it glittered silver-blue in the late-morning light.
Feeling the boat lurch again, she glanced round, seeing Martin climb back onto the jetty. She watched him as he crouched to unloop the rope securing the boat. The movement pulled at his shirt and when he straightened, she noticed the deep ridge of scar tissue that cut down the side of his face.
He glanced up briefly, seeing her looking, and she quickly diverted her attention.
Moments later, there was a sudden movement, the hull drifting a few feet out into the water. Her stomach dipped as she realised he had pushed the boat away from the dock.
The distance between them widened slightly as it bobbed gently against the small swell rolling into the harbour. Then Martin was stepping across the gap with practised ease and dropping lightly back onto the deck.
‘You all right over there?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’ She hoped her nerves weren’t showing.
‘First time out on a boat here?’
‘Yes,’ she repeated, noticing he was being more chatty than usual.
‘Well, you have a nice day for it,’ he commented, starting the engine.
As it coughed to life, the sudden vibration travelling up through the soles of Poppy’s trainers, he moved behind the console, one hand resting casually on the wheel.
The low thrum deepened as he eased the throttle forward, guiding them further out, and the water churned white behind them as the boat turned, the shoreline seeming to move in Poppy’s peripheral vision.
Already, the jetty looked further away than she expected.
She could see the moored boats bobbing quietly against their ropes and beyond them the harbour curved back towards the low buildings on the shore.
Everything looked calm and ordinary, and certainly nothing about the scene suggested she should feel uneasy, yet the tightness remained in her chest.
Out ahead, the mouth widened, the stone breakwater tapering away on either side until the open sea reached beyond it. The water here was darker, the surface alive with long, rolling swells that caught the sunlight in flashes of white.
The moment they cleared the harbour, Martin pushed the throttle further forward and the engine roared.
The bow lifted slightly as the boat sliced across the surface of the water, and Poppy shivered, glad she’d put on her hoodie.
Wind rushed around her, tugging strands of her hair loose from her ponytail.
‘You okay?’
Martin’s voice cut over the sound of the engine and, glancing back, Poppy saw him frowning at her. She realised she was gripping the edge of the seat.
‘Yes,’ she said quickly. ‘I’m just not used to boats.’
He nodded. ‘It’ll settle after a while.’
She hoped so, trying to relax and enjoy the view as they skirted along the Cretan shoreline. To her right, the coast was still visible: scattered white buildings, sandy stretches broken by rock, and hazy inland hills, while to the left the sea stretched endlessly into the distance.
Eventually, a dark shape appeared on the horizon, low and indistinct at first.
‘There it is,’ Martin shouted over the noise of the engine. ‘Spinalonga.’
Realising it was their destination, she leaned forward slightly, trying to take it in. As they drew closer, the Venetian fortress looked stark and self-contained; low stone walls rising straight out of the water, the buildings behind them sun-bleached and uneven.
Martin guided the boat towards the visitors’ jetty, cutting the engine as they drifted in. The sudden quiet felt enormous after the constant thrum of the motor.
There were a handful of other boats already moored, but not many, and only a scattering of people moving slowly along the shoreline. It was quieter than she had expected.
‘You go and have a wander,’ Martin said. ‘I’ll stay with the boat.’
Poppy hesitated for a second, then nodded, getting up. Her legs wobbled as she carefully crossed the deck, taking his hand to steady herself as she climbed off the boat onto the stone. It was good to have the ground solid beneath her feet again.
She paid at the small entrance and passed through a shaded archway into the island. Here, it felt different. The air seemed stiller and there were narrow pathways winding between crumbling buildings, their windows empty and dark.
Poppy spent an hour wandering through the ruins, aware of the contrast between beautiful and bleak. Beyond the walls, the water was startlingly clear, a bright turquoise under the afternoon light, but the island’s history as a leper colony gave the silence a heaviness she couldn’t ignore.
Eventually, she turned back, retracing her steps towards the jetty, where Martin was waiting.
He watched her as she approached, his expression unreadable.
‘All done?’ he asked.
Poppy nodded, letting him help her back onto the boat. ‘Yes. Thank you,’ she told him, moving across the deck and back to her seat at the front.
He didn’t ask her how it was and whether she’d found the visit interesting, so she kept her thoughts to herself. But as he started the engine and steered the boat away from the jetty, the island stayed with her.
It took her a moment to realise that they weren’t heading back the way they had come. Instead, he was skirting round to the far side of Spinalonga, where the water opened out.
Her stomach twisted. He was taking her further out to sea.