Angel of Death

Terry didn’t even answer. He was staring out of the window, thinking hard, facing facts.

Sean had mentioned the police and that was a source that could be tapped, although not by Sean, who wouldn’t know how. Or by Terry himself. He dared not risk approaching them. He was going to have to talk to some of his old friends. He had not seen them for years, had stayed well clear of them not wanting to be tarred by that particular brush, but Sean was forcing him to get involved again. They were men who had contacts he no longer had. They had friends in the police force. Friends who were on the payroll and who could be persuaded or blackmailed into finding out information.

Somehow he had to find Miranda, get to her. She was dangerous to him, and to Sean. She had to be silenced. Whatever the cost.

‘Kaleemera!’ Miranda said to the waitress at breakfast next day and was given a smiling ‘Good morning!’ back in English.

As she sat down at the table she had sat at last night the girl asked her: ‘O kafes? American? Eleeneeko?’

She dimly understood the question. ‘American, please.’ Greek coffee was great after dinner, but far too strong and far too small at breakfast.

A basket of rolls and croissants stood in the middle of the table with a tray of butter, jam, marmalade and honey. The waitress indicated a buffet table and rattled off some more Greek. Miranda didn’t grasp a single word of it, but she got the general drift, and went to the buffet table to investigate the choices. It all looked delicious.

Fruit juices – grape, orange, cranberry. Lots of fresh fruit; grapes, peaches, berries, piled high. Yoghurts in a chilled cabinet. A covered hot dish in which she found scrambled egg and crispy bacon. Cheeses of various kinds, including a very soft white one over which she noticed another guest trickling smoky, golden Greek honey.

She took some cranberry juice, grapes and yoghurt and returned to her table. The coffee arrived, but it was not the waitress who brought it.

‘Kaleemera!’ Milo said, smiling at her in that paternalistic way of his. ‘I hear you already speak Greek.’

Going pink, she shook her head. ‘I picked up a couple of words from my phrase book.’

‘I suspected as much. But you impressed Sophie. She’s now convinced you speak fluent Greek.’

‘Oh, dear,’ groaned Miranda. ‘Will you explain for me?’

‘Yes, but, remember, a journey of a thousand miles begins with the first step. If you learn a few words a day you’ll soon be speaking Greek like a native.’

‘I intend to learn as much as I can, while I’m here. Have you heard how Pandora is this morning?’

‘She and her husband had their breakfast in their room half an hour ago. Pandora would like you to go and see her after you’ve eaten your own breakfast. You’ll be moving into a bungalow today, but there’s no need to start work yet. We have only a handful of English-speaking guests at the moment. Pandora will talk to you about the work.’ He looked at the table. ‘Is there anything you need? Anything I can get you?’

She shook her head. ‘No, thank you, Milo.’

‘Then I will leave you to enjoy your breakfast in peace.’

She ate an unhurried meal, aware of Milo moving about the room, greeting guests, escorting them to tables, checking that every detail was correct, talking to the other staff. Seeing that she had finished, he came back, raising his fine black brows, asking her: ‘Kala?’

Miranda looked blankly at him.

‘That means good,’ he explained. ‘Was your breakfast good? Kala?’

‘Ne,’ she said, remembering to shake her head, not nod. ‘I enjoyed it very much.’

‘The Greek for that is “moo a resse para polee”,’ he translated.

She repeated the phrase, then got a notebook out of her handbag and wrote it down while Milo spelt it.

He smiled at her approvingly. ‘You will soon be speaking Greek, I can see that. Now, I will take you to see Pandora.’

It was a much larger room than her own, with several windows, very bright and sunny. Pandora was lying on a cushioned lounger, reading a book, while music played. There was no sign of Charles – no doubt he had gone to his manager’s office.

Lifting a smile to greet Miranda, Pan said, ‘Did you sleep well?’

‘Very well – how about you? You look better.’

‘I am. I’ve barely moved a muscle since we arrived. Come and sit down. Milo, can we have some more coffee, please?’

‘Of course.’ He withdrew and Miranda sat down facing the window and the view over the gardens. The window was open, the warm, rose-and-lavender-scented air softly blew into the room.