Angel of Death

‘Oh, the dolphins did that. They were keeping her afloat, keeping her company. What marvellous creatures they are. I fed them my dinner – a potful of fresh-caught fish I got before I went out to sea. I was going to stew them with some tomatoes and garlic, but I had to thank the dolphins somehow, so I chucked the lot to them.’

‘Come back to the hotel and we’ll give you the best dinner of your life,’ Alex said.

He drove the coastguard up there and left him in Milo’s care, in the bar, then went to his own room to shower and change into clean clothes that did not smell of the sea.

After that he lay on his bed and stared at the square of the window, angry with Neil for his high-handed arrogance in taking her away. He wants her himself, Alex thought, he always has. I’ve seen the way he looks at her. His teeth ground together. But if he thinks he’ll steal a march on me by taking her away so fast he’s wrong. I’ll cross back to the mainland tomorrow.

In a small room in a hospital Miranda lay listening to the sound of cicadas in a garden outside. The room was quiet and shadowy, beige linen blinds closed against the light.

She had had treatment, was sedated now, sleepy but comfortable, dazedly remembering what had happened to her, the hours of discomfort and fear, the dolphins, the rescue.

Neil came into the room and she started, looking at him blearily. He had changed out of his damp, salt-stained jeans and was wearing a suit again, looking very English.

‘Neil . . . where am I? On the island?’

‘No, we’re in Greece now. You needed hospital treatment and there’s no hospital on the island, so we flew you here.’

‘Is Alex here?’

‘No, I thought it was wisest not to wait for him to get back to the harbour, but I expect he’ll come to see you tomorrow.’

‘No!’ she burst out, her hand clutching at his sleeve. ‘Don’t let him. I don’t want to see him.’

Neil tensed, studied her, eyes narrowed. ‘Why not?’

‘I think . . . I think he may be in league with Terry Finnigan. I heard him talking on the phone. I think it was him . . . he arranged for me to be snatched and thrown into the sea.’

Chapter Sixteen

Alex Manoussi was volcanic with rage. He had flown back to Greece the morning after Miranda was rescued and gone immediately to the Athens hospital where he knew she had been taken by Neil, who had sent him a fax confirming this, only to be denied admittance to her private room. Two Greek policemen stood guard outside, shoulder to shoulder, big men in uniform, with darkly tanned faces and watchful black eyes. They wore guns at their belts and looked as if they would use them without hesitation.

They were very polite to Alex, polite but firm. ‘I am sorry, sir, but our orders are that no one may be allowed to see her.’

‘Who is your superior? Where do I find him?’

Expressionlessly, they gave him a name and telephone number, but when Alex tried to talk their superior officer into allowing him to see Miranda he came up against a brick wall.

‘S

he has narrowly escaped death, she has to be protected. She cannot see anyone except police officers.’

Alex took a deep breath, forced himself to seem calm. ‘There is a British police officer from London, a Sergeant Neil Maddrell – do you know where I could find him?’

‘He is staying at the Syntagma Hotel.’

But when Alex went there he was told Sergeant Maddrell was not in the hotel. No, the receptionist had no idea where he could be found. Alex left a note asking Neil to get in touch with him, but got no reply.

He sent a fax to the hotel the following day. Neil faxed back that it was considered essential that no one at all should see Miranda, and he hoped Alex would leave her alone. She was very shaken, and needed rest.

Alex’s language turned the air blue.

A week later, Miranda flew back to London, looking almost normal. Her swollen eyes had shrunk back to their usual size, her reddened skin no longer had a rough rash, instead it had begun to peel off in strips. Her head didn’t ache any more. But the attack on her had left a long-term legacy – she was still sleeping badly, had nightmares every night and was jumpy and nervous.

Neil took her to his flat which was a short walk from one of London’s many parks. From the window of the tiny box room she would be using she could see trees, many of which were stripping now for winter, their yellow, russet and orange leaves blowing off like ancient coins, drifting down the streets, filling the gutters and choking the drains. A brisk autumn wind rattled the windows, rain spattered lightly.

She shivered. Autumnal London was dreary compared to the blue skies, blue seas and hot sun of Greece.

‘Will you be OK in here?’ Neil asked uncertainly and she turned to smile gratefully at him.