Angel of Death

‘He has offered to take me to Delos this weekend, before I start work – is it worth seeing?’

‘Oh, absolutely, you must see it, it’s the most important place in the Cyclades. The birthplace of . . .’

‘Apollo. I know, Alex kept saying so.’

Charles came into the room, smiled at Miranda. ‘Settling in?’

She was self-concious in his company, remembering the woman Elena, wondering if Pandora suspected anything. ‘Oh . . . yes, thanks.’ How could he betray his wife, who was going through so much just to bear his child?

That Sunday, she and Alex sailed to Delos, leaving very early in the morning, before the sun was too hot. Alex took the helm, Miranda sunbathed on deck for a while, in brief shorts and a tiny midi-top which left her midriff bare, but as the sun rose in the cloudless blue sky she felt it was safer to move under the shadow of the awning which ran out from the back of the wheelhouse. She had brought a detective story with her and read it in a desultory fashion, half-asleep in the heat. She still had not acclimatised; but she knew her skin was taking on a flush, a pale apricot colour, even though she had to stay out of the fierce sun in the middle of the day.

The sea was calm, a light spray blown over in her direction whenever Alex changed course, altering the wash of the wave along the side of the boat.

‘There’s Delos!’ Alex shouted suddenly and she got up and stared forward at a spot of green on the horizon. It grew steadily as they came closer.

A cruise ship flying the blue-and-white Greek flag was anchored in the sea just off the island; as they passed it sailors leaned over the rails to watch them. Alex lifted his hand and greeted them in Greek.

‘Ya soo!’

Their cries came back. ‘Ya soo, ya soo!’

She knew now that that meant both hello and goodbye, just as ciao does in Italian.

The throb of the engine slowed, Alex steered them into place alongside the little harbour wall. A cluster of tourists with sun-red faces and casual clothes were getting into boats there, to return to the cruise ship.

Alex cut the engine and tossed a rope to someone on the jetty, who tied up for them. Miranda collected the thin black linen jacket which matched her outfit, a black straw hat, and a wicker hamper of lunch which Milo had given them. Alex jumped on to the jetty and gave her a hand up to join him while the tourists watched curiously.

Following Alex along the jetty Miranda felt someone staring at her; a woman in a black t-shirt and black shorts whose dyed blonde hair was tied up under a wide-brimmed black hat keeping the hot sun off her face.

It also made it difficult for Miranda to study her features, but there was something familiar about her, although Miranda couldn’t remember where she had seen her before.

The other woman obviously recognised her, too, but didn’t speak, so perhaps she wasn’t sure where she had seen Miranda, either.

One of the men in the queue shouted out, ‘Alex! Hi! How’re you? Long time, no see.’

Alex paused to stare at the middle-aged man in jeans, cut off and ragged, at the knee, a t-shirt, a crumpled blue linen hat, smiled, held out his hand. ‘Jacob, good to see you – how are things with you?’

‘Fine. I’m on holiday with my wife and daughters, a cruise around the Greek islands, they’re on the ship, they get sea-sick in small boats.’ He glanced along the jetty. ‘That one of yours? Built it yourself?’

‘Uh huh.’

‘Nice lines. You on holiday, too?’

‘My family live in the Cyclades, I’m having a few weeks with them, then I have to go back to Piraeus to work.’

‘Lucky you, sailing in these waters. I’m still sailing, myself; the boat you built me is like a bird. Won a few races this summer. It’s easy to handle, very responsive.’ He glanced towards Miranda, who was waiting, as the two of them talked. ‘Sorry, I’m holding you up.’

Alex introduced her. ‘Miranda, this is Jacob Weingarten, a client and a friend from the States.’

She shook hands, liking the man’s weatherbeaten, brown face. Easy to see he was often out in the sun and wind and he had an amiable, laid-back smile. You could tell nothing bothered him much; he was contented.

‘Do you sail, Miranda?’ he asked.

She shook her head, very conscious of the woman in the queue still watching her, even after she had been helped down into the crowded little boat which finally took off across the sea towards the cruise ship.

Who was she? Miranda searched her memory but came up empty.

Alex shook hands with his friend and turned towards her. ‘Ready? Give me the picnic basket, I’ll carry that.’