Last Seen in Santorini, page 28
Wasn’t that very familiar, in a way? For different reasons, her childhood had also been lonely and her ability to connect with people underdeveloped.
A knock resounded on the door and a policeman entered. He looked grave. “The prisoner wasn’t feeling well and we called the doctor to look at him.”
Raoul spat, “Did he manage to use the occasion to escape?”
Atalanta could feel the tension in his stance resonate in her own body. Bucardi was so clever, it was frightening. But he mustn’t get away.
The policeman shook his head. “The doctor found a wound on his hand that was festering. He asked some questions and it turns out the prisoner was bitten by a dog. The doctor thinks this wound caused blood poisoning. The prisoner is running a high fever and his condition is deteriorating rapidly. They don’t know if he’ll survive the day.”
Relaxing his tight shoulders a little, Raoul said, “Both Calista and Bucardi fighting for their lives … I know who I want to survive.”
The policeman said, “The prisoner in his delirium is asking for his wife. Should we bring her to him?”
Raoul snapped, “How can you even propose this? He tried to kill her.”
The policeman said, “He could be dying. This could be her only chance to see him and hear what he has to say.”
Raoul looked at Atalanta. She said, “We can’t keep this information from Mrs Bucardi. She has to make a choice whether she wants to see her husband or not. If he’s dead by morning, she might feel cheated out of a last chance to hear him out or speak her own mind.”
Raoul sighed and then nodded. “You could be right. But you go and tell her.”
With a leaden feeling in her chest Atalanta went upstairs and knocked at the door of Calista’s bedroom. She opened it and peeked in. Mrs Bucardi sat beside her friend’s bed, looking worn. She gestured for Atalanta to come closer. But Atalanta shook her head and waved her to the door. She didn’t want the unconscious Calista to overhear anything about the man who had almost killed her.
Mrs Bucardi asked sharply, “Why take me away from looking after Calista?”
“Your husband is in the cell. He’s unwell and a doctor established that the dog bite, from the puppy Luca was playing with, might have infected him with blood poisoning. He’s very ill and might die soon. He’s been asking for you.”
Mrs Bucardi stared at her. “Asking for me? Now? After all he did?”
Atalanta said, “I thought you should know about it. So you can decide what you want to do. If you want to see him one last time.”
Mrs Bucardi stood and thought it over. Her expression was serious and her voice calm when she finally spoke, “I knew who Pietro was and what he was capable of, even before this morning. But at the monastery he said enough to confirm my darkest thoughts. He can say no more to make it worse, or better. I also don’t have anything to say to him. No comfort. No … empty words that I don’t blame him. I do. And if he dies and can’t be judged here in this life, I hope he will be in the next.” She turned her back on Atalanta and went back into the bedroom.
Atalanta returned down the corridor and passed Delilah’s door. The elderly lady was sitting in her chair knitting and called out for her. “How is my nephew? It must all be a misunderstanding. He’s no murderer. He’ll be released soon.”
“No, he’s gravely ill. He might die.”
Delilah rose to her feet, the knitting falling on the floor. “Die?” Her voice was shrill. “I must see him, speak with him. He can’t die before I speak to him.” She walked over to Atalanta and demanded, “Take me to him.”
“He’s in a cell. It won’t be pleasant.”
“I’ve done many things in my life that weren’t pleasant. Take me to him.”
Atalanta saw the determination in the old woman’s eyes and sighed. “Come along with me.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
In the small damp cell Bucardi was lying on a simple wooden cot. Someone had put a blanket over him but he had thrown it off. He was sweating profusely and at the same time shivering, his teeth chattering. He tossed and turned as they came in, repeating, “Victoria, Victoria…”
Delilah walked over and looked at him. She clicked her tongue. “You were always pathetic, Pietro. When you kicked that dog to death because he didn’t want to fetch a stick for you. You were only ten. Perhaps it’s fitting a dog bit you and now you’re dying. Even animals want vengeance.”
She stood up straight, her eyes blazing as she studied the writhing figure. “You thought that violence solved everything. That making people afraid of you would get what you wanted. And perhaps it did, for a while. But you always had to go a step beyond. You had to push further, risk more. It had to end badly.”
Delilah’s features softened and her shoulders slumped. “Pietro…” Tears came to her eyes. “You were our family’s only hope. You were going to continue the line. You and your son, Luca. Everything was going to be his, whether those stupid Greeks wanted it or not. We are Venetians. We rule the world.” Her voice grew stronger as she continued, “You fought to keep what was yours. And I helped you. But it wasn’t enough. I should have known that before.” She bit her lip. She was now swaying on her legs.
Atalanta said, “You helped him by telling him everything that happened at the house. You told him Letitia was snooping in his things, that Paula stole from you, and that Mrs Bucardi was betraying him with other men.”
“I saw it with my own eyes.” Delilah gave a prim little nod. “That Greek and her standing together closely, whispering.”
“Andreas was making advances but Mrs Bucardi rejected him. And Letitia didn’t go to the workroom to snoop. Your so-called help only fed Mr Bucardi’s paranoia. Why did you do it? You knew what he was capable of, even from a young age. You just said so.”
“It takes a strong man to rule a household and prevent his wife and children from going astray. He was away too often on business.”
“He wasn’t away. He stayed on the island to spy on his wife. Because he believed she was unfaithful.”
“And she was. I never liked her.”
“I know. You wanted her to be blamed for Letitia’s death. Why else tell me it was murder the day I arrived? You certainly didn’t want me to think it had been Mr Bucardi, did you?” Atalanta held the old woman’s gaze. “Or did you want yet another to be blamed? Andreas Papoudopolis? You emphasized Letitia was in love. That it was a local man but not a fisherman. You wanted to start a rumour that it had been Andreas, to remove him from the burg. Because he was a threat to the Bucardis’ marriage, in your mind. You never liked Mrs Bucardi but she had to stay here with her husband, to avoid a scandal at all costs. Avoid damage to the Bucardi name that means everything to you.”
“I don’t have to talk to you.” Delilah tilted her chin up.
Behind her back Bucardi turned his head to them. His eyes gained a moment’s clarity and he said, “Aunt Delilah, is that you? Come sit with me. I don’t want to be alone.” He sounded like a little boy again, pleading.
Delilah snorted. “I’m not going to sit with you in this filthy cell. I wish I had never known you. You’re a disgrace to our family.” She went to the cot and said in a low voice, “At least it will end with you. Luca isn’t a Bucardi. I’ve known that all along. He’s a child of infidelity. I despised your wife for it. But there’s one advantage. He doesn’t carry that evil blood which destroyed my father, my brother and now you. Luca will be good to the property, good for the family name. It must be done, to have our line continue. To keep Bucardis here at the burg for centuries to come.”
Bucardi stared up at her. His dry lips whispered, “Luca is mine. Calista bore my child. I may die here but the Bucardi blood will live on.”
Delilah stared at him in horror. “No. That cannot be true. No. You’re lying. Our family must continue to rule the burg and the island, but with dignity. With control. You never had that. People didn’t respect you. They must respect Luca. He must be different to you.” She hissed, “You want to poison my mind before you die. Turn me against that boy by telling me he’ll be just like you. But it won’t work. It won’t work!” She put her hands over her ears and ran to the door. “Open it. Let me leave.”
Bucardi looked at Atalanta. “Ask Calista.” His voice was hoarse. “She knows the truth. The boy is mine. He will…” His eyes turned glassy again and he shivered.
Atalanta leaned down and put the blanket back over him. Bucardi had done terrible things, but he was still a human being and judging by his condition, someone near to death.
Outside Delilah waited for her, her shawl pulled tightly around her shoulders. “Don’t you believe a word he says. Luca isn’t his. I was willing to overlook his origins to have our lineage continue. The Bucardis have conquered land and created silk for centuries. It can’t end. There must come someone who will turn things around. But now he tells me that I must believe that… No.” She shook her head violently. “It cannot be true.”
Atalanta sensed the old lady was close to collapse, and they still had to walk back to the burg. She had to be gentle with her. She said evasively, “Calista knows, but she’s very weak. If the gunshot wound proves fatal…”
Delilah stared ahead. Her expression was sad but also resigned, as if the idea of the secret being taken to the grave was actually the best solution, for everyone. She muttered, “A little boy without parents who will never know the truth…”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Atalanta sat on the terrace and looked out across the sea. The sun was setting, turning the waves orange and red. The sky hovering over it was a deep blue with hints of lilac and purple. Sparrows chirped, bees buzzed along the potted yellow flowers and all was so peaceful and perfect. All but the feelings inside her. What had this case shown her? That family loyalty went too far? That people were always selfish and intent on choosing the easiest way for themselves?
Or rather that, in the end, friendship conquered all? Calista had risked her life to save Victoria.
Raoul came to sit beside her. He stared at the view for a few minutes with a morose expression and then said, “I don’t think Santorini will ever be quite the same to me.”
“The island isn’t to blame. The people who live here are kind and friendly. And the sights are spectacular. Perhaps…” Atalanta smiled ruefully. “The Venetians should never have come here.”
“So it’s all because they wanted to rule this island that we had the deaths?” Raoul shook his head. “That’s too easy for me. I have lots of Venetian friends.” He waited a moment and said, “I came to share news.”
Atalanta’s heart skipped a beat. “What news?”
“Calista will recover. The doctor says she’s showing signs of improvement. He advised that as soon as she’s fit to travel, she should move away from here to forget the traumatic events. Victoria said she will go with her. She also wants to leave this place behind.”
“And Luca?”
Raoul sighed. “Calista wants to talk to you. She asked for you specifically. I think she has something to say.”
Atalanta stood up. “Then I’ll go and see what it is.”
The atmosphere in the house felt oppressive after the freshness of the evening outside. She met Lemusier in the hallway. He greeted her with a nod. She asked him, “Why did you drop the suitcase when I mentioned Letitia that first day I came here?”
“I suspected the Greek of having killed her, but I had no proof. You came in after walking up to the burg with him, and you mentioned her death.” Lemusier wet his lips. “I wondered if you were immediately suspicious of him. For your sake, I hoped it was so. But later he sought your company and you even seemed to like him, so I felt I had to warn you.” He lowered his head. “I feel rather silly now.”
“No, you meant it kindly. Thank you.”
Lemusier smiled at her. “The French must look out for each other. Even when on foreign soil.” He turned away to see to another household matter.
Atalanta knew she could never tell him she wasn’t French at all. Mrs Bucardi had emphasized she didn’t want the staff to know details of what had happened. They had only been told that Mr Bucardi had died of blood poisoning brought on by the dog bite he had sustained before leaving on business. Not feeling well, he had tried to return home but had collapsed before he could reach the burg. The police had apparently agreed to keep the truth under wraps, now that the murderer was himself dead. It made sense, as there was no point in burdening the living, but to Atalanta it also proved that the influence of the Venetians was still strong on this island. When they demanded that dark secrets were discreetly covered, they were.
But perhaps there was no injustice in it, as the murderer could no longer stand trial. And Letitia’s mother, who had never doubted the accident story, would not be any better off by knowing her daughter had been lured to her death because of a forbidden love for a married man. She could better remember her daughter as a life-hungry girl who had wanted to forge a path in life, fulfil her dreams, and who had died taking too much of a risk for it.
In a way that was the truth.
Atalanta walked up and noticed how the sound of her footfalls was drowned out by the carpet. Everything seemed to be muffled in here, deprived of life.
In Calista’s bedroom Victoria rose from the chair beside the bed. “You mustn’t tire yourself,” she said to Calista and then to Atalanta, “Just a few minutes.”
Atalanta nodded and sat down. But as soon as Victoria had left the room, Calista gestured for her to come and sit on the edge of the bed. She spoke softly. “I was the one hiring you on Murano. I meant to tell you once I had arrived here, but I feared that … As you had agreed because of my convincing act of motherly grief I wasn’t certain you would still want to help if you knew the truth, so I left it at that.”
“Why did you hire me?” Atalanta asked. “Did you know Letitia’s death was murder?”
“I didn’t know for certain. I had no proof of it. It seemed to me she admired Bucardi and would do anything he said. Another victim of his charm. He could be so utterly … engaging when he wanted to.” Calista smiled ruefully as if remembering the times she herself had been under his influence. “Someone had to see him for what he was and stop him. Having known your grandfather, I thought you could. I didn’t think that in the end I’d have to stop him myself, by catching his bullet.”
Atalanta wanted to apologize but Calista made a dismissive gesture. “It’s for the better. If you had unmasked him as a murderer and shared the truth about Luca, Victoria would have forever hated me. Now she knows that I never meant to hurt her. It was just … a very bad idea. I could have given birth somewhere privately and let the nuns care for Luca. But I wanted to stay in touch with him. I wanted Victoria to have him for selfish reasons, so I could always come and see him grow up. But I honestly didn’t know that Pietro was so … evil. It wasn’t until Letitia died that I became too uneasy to leave things be. If Luca wasn’t safe here, I had to engage a skilled investigator to sort matters out.” She stared into the distance. “I wonder what kind of child Luca is. Just wild and irresponsible or … with two parents who aren’t exactly…” She looked Atalanta in the eye. “I hope we can keep him from becoming too much like his father.”
“I think that with Mrs Bucardi’s rational approach and your love of him, it will be possible. You must never fight each other, but stand united to help him. Save him from carrying on the Bucardi—”
“Curse?” Calista asked. “I don’t know if love is an antidote against that. But I’ll certainly try. And I agreed with Victoria that I won’t bring in snakes or other terrible pets.”
She smiled a moment, then added earnestly, “I keep thinking about those moments when Pietro put us to the choice. He suggested that after either one of us had killed the other, life could actually go on. Perhaps, in his mind, it was possible? He had no conscience.”
“No,” Atalanta said quietly. “He knew very well that it couldn’t. That the survivor would know too much and would always be a risk to him. He only wanted to put you to an impossible choice and see who was hurt enough to act on the pain he inflicted. That was what fed him: seeing pain in others, making them suffer. But neither of you did what he wanted. You were stronger than all of his madness and hatred.”
Atalanta put her hand on Calista’s hand and continued urgently, “On that outcrop I saw that you have the inner strength to turn your life around. Don’t worry about the past. Forget that you made mistakes and don’t feed your self-pity when you’re down. Look ahead. Take care of your son together with Mrs Bucardi. She’s a strong woman who does care for Luca, even if she shows it in different ways.”
“I know. We finally sat down and discussed everything. I never knew how much the guilt and shame about my betrayal was eating at me. Propelling me to do reckless things, just to feel I was alive. But that’s different now. Everything is out in the open and we know that we can rely on each other. We’ve already decided Victoria will take care of his upbringing, supported by her family. I’ll travel and drop by and spoil him, and she must always tell him it’s time for bed and not to talk with his mouth full … I get the better end of things.” She turned her hand over and squeezed Atalanta’s. “Thank you for your help. I never wanted Pietro to die like he did, but … it’s a relief to know he won’t be coming back somehow. That it’s truly over.”
“It is.” Atalanta nodded. “I wish you and Mrs Bucardi well. I’ll miss Luca.”
“We’ll send you the occasional letter to let you know how we are doing. After all, we have a mutual acquaintance. Raoul Lemont.” Calista’s eyes twinkled. “Raoul told me that you suspected Luca was his son. It was merely a lie to Victoria at the time, but apparently, you had your own reasons to think it was the truth?”
Atalanta felt her cheeks flush. “In the interest of the investigation, I had to establish…” she faltered.
