Last Seen in Santorini, page 9
Why had she ever let herself be talked into accepting the mysterious assignment from the veiled lady?
Because of a mother’s broken heart, she told herself. Grandfather would have approved.
As she considered the words, she realized something with a sharp jolt of awareness. Yes, he might have approved of her taking the case – especially as the veiled lady had told her that her grandfather had helped her before, and had said he would always be there for her, should she need him again – but her grandfather would also have warned her not to take anything at face value and to guard her back at all times. And to ask myself why Raoul Lemont offered to help me.
According to his story, he had called Renard in Paris and had learned from him that she was in Venice. That was true, because Renard had asked her if she had managed to meet with Mr Lemont. So Raoul had wanted to meet her to show her around Venice and had then accidentally seen the woman in black following her.
But what if he hadn't told her the full truth? What if, upon arrival in Venice, Raoul had heard about Letitia’s death at the Bucardi burg? What if he had known or at least suspected who the woman in black was, even before she had approached Atalanta with her request?
But if Raoul had inserted himself in her case on purpose, what could he possibly want to achieve? To be present as she investigated, to know in what direction her suspicions went?
Or to actually direct her to follow a certain line of argument?
Why had Calista thought Mrs Bucardi would never expect Raoul to turn up here? Had they been lovers? Had it ended badly between them? But did Raoul still feel some kind of obligation towards Mrs Bucardi? Had he come to find out if she was involved in Letitia’s death? Or to prevent Atalanta from even thinking in that direction?
Atalanta lifted a hand and rubbed her forehead. This was a complex case with many angles to keep in mind. Until she knew more about the personal relationships between all the players – Raoul included – she had to be very careful how she proceeded.
Mrs Bucardi said, “I must discuss a few last things with the women who take care of the food.” She walked away and engaged in conversation with two women who placed more large earthenware bowls on the table. Atalanta wondered if goat’s cheese would be among the treats offered. She had tasted it in Switzerland, but had heard the Greek variety was especially delicious.
Paula cast angry looks in the direction of the terrace. “Why must Calista usurp him like that?” she whispered to Atalanta in a hateful voice. “He is not hers. Or could they be involved? She is a very good-looking woman.”
Calista. Could Raoul be interested in protecting her from involvement in a murder case? But Calista had appeared on the island last night. She hadn’t been here when Letitia had died.
Or had she? That was something Atalanta had to ascertain.
Paula said in a vicious tone, “I wish I could tell him, though, that Calista’s hardly faithful. I heard Mr Bucardi tell his wife that her best friend was a shameless flirt who wouldn’t hesitate to seduce a man for a fortnight on his yacht or in his villa.”
“That’s quite enough,” Atalanta said with determination. “We’re here to celebrate a festive day. I would advise you not to be a fool and run after that race car driver all day long. He’ll probably pay you no mind and you’ll only ruin the fun you might have if you focus your attention elsewhere.”
“You should say so! You practically lost both eyeballs ogling him,” Paula chided. “But he has better picks here. By the dozen.” She laughed spitefully and walked away.
For a moment Atalanta was tempted to go after her and tear the flower garland off her head. But that would be very childish. She was a grown woman, and on a case here. She shouldn’t let her hurt feelings get the better of her.
Still, the remark stung in earnest. Had she been ogling Raoul? She had been eager to see him, of course, to discuss the case and…
And his good looks have nothing to do with it? she questioned herself with a half-smile. Paula wasn’t so terribly wrong perhaps, which made her words all the more hurtful. Because there could be a kernel of truth in them. Raoul was a handsome man who had so many opportunities to meet the most beautiful women in the world: movie stars, singers, dancers, titled ladies. He could have his pick, choose a bride from among the most eligible ladies.
Still, he had told her he didn’t believe in love, or in earnest relationships.
She almost shook her head in an attempt to dispel the thoughts. She wasn’t here for Raoul. She wasn’t here to analyse her complex feelings for him. She wanted to be friends with him, to have someone to support her on a case like this, but the realization that he had kept information from her had made it painfully clear that no one could be trusted. She couldn’t afford the luxury of relying on another. She’d have to do this alone.
And in her life she had so often been alone that she could certainly do that. She had to concentrate on the case and on finding out what had happened to her predecessor.
“Enjoying yourself?” Raoul’s voice was warm at her ear. Atalanta stood at the back of a crowd watching the archery. Men from the village with muscled bare arms were shooting at targets with homemade crossbows. The metal-tipped arrows pierced the boards with a thudding sound, drawing cries of admiration from the crowd. Andreas Papoudopolis kept the score on a large blackboard he had erected. He had written the names of the participants in Greek, and Atalanta tried to make out the letters. Foreign languages fascinated her, especially those written in letters other than the Roman alphabet.
When she heard Raoul’s voice, she didn’t turn her head but acted as if she was still completely engrossed in the archery. He was speaking softly and in French, which was something most local people wouldn’t follow.
“It’s nice to relax a little,” she said softly. “The atmosphere has been tense since my arrival.”
“Why?” he asked sharply.
She realized how happy she was to discuss things with someone, with him, with … a friend? But was he truly her friend if he had lied about knowing the people here personally? She couldn’t imagine he had simply forgotten to mention that he had stayed with them before.
And she even suspected him now of having offered his help with the case for an ulterior motive. Of having followed her to Murano exactly because the woman in black was intent on hiring her.
She needed to know why he had held back information before she shared anything important with him.
She looked around her to ascertain that none of the key players were anywhere near and could catch something they shouldn’t. She discerned Mrs Bucardi’s rose bun ahead, with Calista’s wild-flower stream beside her. To their left, by one of the tables with food, Paula had Luca on her arm. He tried to pull at her flower wreath and she relented and let him wear it for a while. Bucardi and Andreas stood in front, overseeing the shooting. And the old lady was in her room resting. She wouldn’t join all of the festivities as the entire programme was considered too taxing for her.
This should be perfectly safe.
Atalanta stepped back and drew Raoul into the shadows of a niche. Her heel struck a casket of wine that had been put there for later. The locals had also brought in large barrels of some other alcoholic drink that was produced on the island. Ouzo perhaps?
“You know Calista,” she said to Raoul. It wasn’t a question but a statement of fact.
He eyed her without understanding. “Yes, I’ve known her for quite some time. Is that important?”
It is, if you had an affair with her, and are here to keep her out of the murder case, Atalanta thought with a squeeze of her stomach. She could ask now, but she didn’t. She wanted to appear unemotional and in charge. “And Mrs Bucardi knows you too. Something about a race in Monaco?”
Raoul waved a hand. “I meet dozens of influential people at races. I know half of Venice through my work. Vaguely, that is. I told you I knew the Bucardis.”
Yes, but he hadn’t exactly expounded how well he knew them. And a gut feeling told her there was a reason for that. Something she should try to unearth before it led to trouble down the road.
She tried to fish carefully. “I felt like there was a little tension between people when your name was mentioned last night.”
Raoul exhaled. “I wouldn’t know why. There’s certainly nothing I did to warrant it. Aren’t you overthinking things?”
The easy way in which he dismissed her observations as imaginings stung. She was good at what she did. And she had to rely on her instincts. Her grandfather had told her that female intuition was second to none.
But perhaps some facts could induce him to share? “I heard from several sides that the match between the Bucardis was demanded by family and they don’t love each other. That means they could be having affairs.”
Raoul didn’t respond.
Could she ask him outright if he had had an affair with Mrs Bucardi? A flirtation perhaps, nothing serious on his part, but something she might have liked to develop? Anything that would warrant her uneasiness in meeting Raoul again, at her home?
It would be quite brutal to suggest it, she supposed. If nothing had happened, Raoul might wonder if she had lost her mind. She could better phrase it in a general manner.
“Do you know of any such affairs that might be relevant to the case?” She tried to see the truth behind his dark-brown eyes, but his steadfast gaze betrayed nothing.
He said, “I know Bucardi is a ladies’ man, but I know very little about her. She is fiercely loyal to her husband, it seems, because her marriage to him was exactly what her family wanted. They didn’t have a child for many years and there were whispers about it, but the arrival of young Luca made the dark skies clear. They should be perfectly happy now.”
“I doubt that they are.” Atalanta took a deep breath. “I even wonder if Bucardi tried to start something with the girl who died. His aunt, Delilah, told me that Letitia was in love. Delilah believes it was a local man she was in love with, but … would Letitia, who wanted to travel, really settle for a Greek bound to this small island?”
“And you think she would have been interested in a married man?”
“Bucardi is very charming and he has houses everywhere. He told me so himself. Letitia might have felt flattered by his attentions and fantasized about a life with him after he had abandoned his wife for her.”
Raoul whistled. “And you think Letitia was murdered to keep that fantasy from materializing? By Mrs Bucardi?”
Atalanta couldn't detect any shock in him at the idea that Mrs Bucardi was the murderer. In fact, his expression was perfectly neutral, as if they were discussing the nice tomatoes grown here on Santorini, which the locals had turned into salads for the festival meal.
“I’m not accusing anyone,” she said. “That would be most unfair, as I’ve barely had a chance to look into matters. But it was strange that Mrs Bucardi said that the girl had asked about places to swim, and someone else said that she was afraid of water. That doesn’t quite add up.”
“So someone is lying.” Raoul nodded pensively. A lock of his dark hair fell over his forehead and he brushed it away with an impatient gesture.
“Do you think Mrs Bucardi would be capable of murder?” Atalanta asked outright. After all, he had just suggested that Mrs Bucardi might have killed Letitia because of an affair the girl might have had with her husband.
Raoul shrugged. “How can one tell? I just mentioned that Victoria is fiercely loyal to her husband. If she felt the perfect façade of her happy marriage was threatened… But then again, she is loyal to her friends as well. She and Calista are as thick as thieves. Years ago when Calista had a mental breakdown, Mrs Bucardi left her husband for months to care for her friend. He wasn’t happy about that but she didn’t take his opinion into account. She merely said Calista needed her. And I truly believe she might not have survived that time if she hadn’t been cared for.”
His tone was urgent, genuinely concerned. Atalanta studied his expression to discern more. He seemed so worried, mentioning Calista’s problems. Had he once loved her?
Did he love her still?
Considering Calista’s character – daring, wild, life-hungry and spontaneous – it made more sense to cast her as Raoul’s secret love rather than Mrs Bucardi, who seemed a totally different personality. Was it not easier to imagine Calista as the one Raoul wanted to protect by involving himself in the case?
“Why would you think that Calista wouldn’t have survived if Mrs Bucardi hadn’t cared for her at the time?” she asked softly. If she kept him talking about Calista, she might learn more about his feelings.
“I saw Calista once, before she disappeared from public view. She was very pale and worn, she looked ready to collapse. Indeed, I heard from others she had fainted at a party. She was exhausted. Rumour had it there was a man involved whom she had lost her heart to and who had dropped her carelessly.” He smiled sardonically. “With Calista it is one affair after another, and it’s always ‘the one’ as long as it lasts. She has no reserve when she throws herself into a situation.”
Atalanta couldn’t quite determine if there was any jealousy on Raoul’s part. Instead he sounded … tender? Indulgent?
Raoul continued, “Although after her breakdown she seemed changed. Calmer and more balanced somehow. As if she had decided that it was time to be a little more careful about herself. I can only applaud that.”
Atalanta hesitated whether to put it into words. But she had to understand him better, his personal ties to the case, or else she couldn’t work with him.
“You speak of her with kindness and understanding.” Atalanta saw the warning flash in his eyes like he was gearing up to argue, and added quickly, “It seems that aside from Mrs Bucardi, she isn’t much liked here. Would you know why?”
Raoul seemed to quieten down once he understood she merely wanted a general impression. He shrugged and said, “Bucardi never forgave his wife for leaving him for months to care for a friend. And the others must feel Calista is frivolous and a bad influence on her more sensible friend?” He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Instead of asking me to speculate, you could try and find out for yourself, Mademoiselle Ashford. You are the one inside the household.”
“Mademoiselle Renard, please. And I know what I should do. In fact, I feel I have seen and heard a lot already. There is enough high emotion to form a powerful mix.”
“That could explode into murder?” Raoul asked.
Atalanta nodded. “I just don’t see how I can separate half-truths and lies from what actually happened. Everyone seems to have an opinion about it and be equally vocal about expressing it.”
“How odd.” Raoul’s eyes were pensive. “You’d think a death, even accidentally, would be hushed up. Unpleasant and all that. A stain on their perfect life here. Why would they want to discuss it? And especially with the person who arrived to replace the deceased party.”
“Exactly. Which is why it is so odd that everyone I have met has mentioned Letitia’s death or told me something about it. Freely. I didn’t even need to ask.” Atalanta pursed her lips. “Or people are all so accommodating, they want to make my investigation easy for me, or…”
“They want to influence your view of the situation,” Raoul provided in a grim tone. His eyes were worried.
“Exactly. And I don’t know why. They can’t all be the killer, can they?”
Loud applause resounded as the archery demonstration came to an end and the crowd broke apart. Men surrounded the winner as a garland was placed on his head and cups of wine were handed around.
Raoul quickly stepped away from Atalanta before anyone they knew saw them together. He did manage to whisper, “Come to the cyclops rock later so we can talk more.”
“The cyclops rock?”
“If you leave through that small wooden door in the courtyard…” He pointed it out to her. “Then you can follow a path that leads to an outcrop. I’ll be waiting for you there, an hour from now.”
Atalanta nodded and walked away from him, running into Luca who held Paula’s wreath in his hand and wanted to toss it away. Atalanta grabbed him by the shoulders and turned him round so he had to return the adornment to its irate owner. Paula put aside a cup of wine she had just emptied and huffed while putting the wreath back on her head. Her fiery-red fingernails contrasted sharply with the white of the flowers. “I went to a lot of trouble to weave that wretched thing with my own hands. I need another drink, my lips are parched. This is supposed to be a cheerful day of celebrating, and all I’m doing is running after this little bandit. Can’t you watch Luca for half an hour, Atalanta? Please?”
Atalanta should have reproached her for using her first name, but she knew with Paula it wouldn’t leave an impression. She merely nodded and Paula dashed away without even saying thank you. Paula picked up a cup of wine and took a few deep sips, before spying someone among the crowd. Clutching the cup, she began to move through the throng of people, apparently intent on meeting up with someone she knew. Atalanta wondered whether she should follow her, but she could hardly do so while Luca was with her, and she also caught Mrs Bucardi looking in her direction. She hoped she wouldn’t get told off for taking on other people’s duties while neglecting her own. But Delilah was comfortable in her room and had assured her she could celebrate if she wanted. This was a rare opportunity to enjoy some freedom and breathe the spirit of the island.
She took Luca along to see women dancing to the melancholy music of the bouzouki, their arms around each other’s shoulders, weaving up and down the courtyard like waves of the sea. At times they gave a high-pitched cry that could be anything from a shout of joy to a call to battle. Luca hung against her, complaining he was thirsty. She brushed the hair away from his hot face and took him inside for a glass of milk and some biscuits.
Becoming lively again, he told her an entire story about a whale in the sea that had overturned a boat, and about people worshipping whales. He even said there was a saint for them but she doubted he had got that right. She did enjoy listening to his babbling and it eased some of the tension she had felt despite the enjoyable day. She shouldn’t forget how she had always wanted to travel, to see different places and learn how the people lived, and today she was immersing herself in Greek island life.
