Alien Vengeance Read online

  Hilary grinned. ‘They probably came to admire the drainage,’ she said. ‘It says in my book that the Queen’s apartments had the first recorded flush loo. I like that—a homely touch among all this fallen splendour. And talking of splendour, just look at that.’

  In a corner, rooted among fallen stones and rubble, a huge bush was just beginning to break into delicate blue blossom.

  Hilary pushed Gemma gently. ‘Go and stand by it, love. I want one last photograph.’

  Gemma obeyed, waiting while Hilary adjusted the camera, muttering to herself, and motioned to her to alter her position fractionally.

  ‘Remember, don’t smile,’ Hilary cautioned. ‘Just look up when I say your name.’

  Gemma stared down at the dusty ground. She heard Hilary call out, ‘Gemma’ and glanced up, trying to look into the sunlight without blinking, and saw a figure standing behind Hilary, tall and dark in the brilliance. She knew him at once. It was the driver of the car which had followed the bus—Hilary’s supposed tycoon. He was the last person she had ever expected to see again. But even as she registered all this, her shocked mind told her something else—that he was terrifyingly, blazingly angry. She felt her face go rigid, as if she was bracing herself against some blow, and heard Hilary groan.

  ‘I may have said “don’t smile”, but there’s no need to look as if you’d just seen Marley’s ghost. Wait one second while I take another.’

  Gemma closed her eyes, passing the tip of her tongue over her dry lips. When Hilary spoke again, and she looked up, the man had gone.

  She thought feebly, ‘It’s the sun. I’m seeing things.’

  But she knew she wasn’t. On the face of it, he was an unlikely sightseer, but he’d been there.

  And anyway, she adjured herself impatiently, it was wrong to judge by appearances. Perhaps he wasn’t a chauffeur or a wealthy playboy, but an expert on the Minoan period.

  His unexpected appearance could be rationally explained, but she couldn’t justify to herself that odd sense of his rage she’d experienced as he looked at her.

  She hadn’t simply been surprised to see him. She’d felt threatened—frightened even. And yet there was no logical reason for it. They were strangers to each other—she knew they were.

  She thought, ‘If I’d ever met him, I’d remember. And now that I’ve seen him again, I have a feeling I won’t forget him in a hurry.’

  Hilary joined her, putting her camera back into its case. She said, ‘Are you all right. You look a bit green round the gills. Is it the sun?’

  Gemma forced a smile. ‘Maybe. What about that cold drink you mentioned?’

  All the way back to the gate, she had to resist an impulse to look over her shoulder and see if he was following. She told herself that she was being a complete idiot. She was imagining things, that was all. The sun, the power of the ruins, her worry over Mike had all conspired against her suddenly, and knocked her off balance. A cold beer, she thought, and something to eat would restore her normal equilibrium.

  They bought some postcards and walked slowly back up the hill, turning thankfully into the vine-covered shade of one of the tavernas. The waiter was playing water from a hosepipe on to the floor, and the air smelled fresh and cool as they sat down.

  They ordered beer and souvlaki—little chunks of lamb grilled on skewers and served with french fried potatoes, and a Greek salad of cucumbers, tomatoes, peppers and fetta cheese, dressed with herbs and olive oil. Gemma sat and looked through the guide book, while Hilary wrote a couple of postcards and changed the cartridge in her camera.

  Other people started to come in. Some Germans took the next table, and one of them had a radio playing music softly. The beers, when they arrived, were ice cold and Gemma began to feel relaxed.

  Then Hilary said under her breath, ‘Hell’s bells. You’re never going to believe who’s just walked in.’

  Gemma put down her glass. She said too brightly, ‘Not the mystery tycoon?’

  ‘As ever was.’ Hilary’s tone sharpened. ‘My God, he’s looking right at us. Supposing he comes over...’

  Gemma remembered the force of the curious anger. She said, ‘He won’t come over.’

  ‘No, you’re right,’ Hilary conceded. ‘He’s taken one of the far tables, but he’s facing this way, and it’s you he’s looking at.’ She grinned. ‘Maybe that cruise is on, after all.’

  Gemma’s mouth was dry, and she took another sip of beer. ‘I really don’t think so.’

  The food was on its way, but she wasn’t hungry any more. She was remembering how she’d felt she was being watched near the corridor of Processions—how he’d appeared out of the blue when Hilary was photographing her, and now here he was again—as if he was following them.

  If she could look at it from Hilary’s lighthearted viewpoint, it would almost be flattering, but somehow that wasn’t possible.

  She pushed her food around, going through the motions of eating, but her appetite had died on her completely.

  This, she told herself stormily, is really ridiculous—allowing a total stranger to put me off a meal I’m going to have to pay for anyway.

  With a feeling almost of defiance, she ate the last few morsels of lamb, and mopped up the salad juices with a piece of crusty bread, before asking the attentive waiter to bring her some ice cream.

  As she did so, she looked towards the stranger for the first time, and realised with a tremor of apprehension that he was watching her. He’d removed his dark glasses, and without their concealment, she had to admit he was stunningly attractive, his swarthy face brooding and enigmatic.

  Their glances met—locked, and Gemma felt her cheeks redden as his firm lips twisted in a contemptuous little smile, and the dark eyes looked her over in an insolent, overtly sexual appraisal.

  Mortified, Gemma tore her gaze away. She thought savagely, ‘If I went near any yacht of his, I’d sink it.’

  Hilary said in an undertone, ‘He can’t take his eyes off you, Gemma.’

  ‘Don’t I know it.’ Gemma pushed away the remains of her melting ice cream. ‘Do you think we could have the bill, and get out of here?’

  But this wasn’t as easy as it sounded. The waiter was clearly upset by their intended departure. He offered them coffee, he offered them more beers, he offered cigarettes from his own pack, produced with a flourish from his shirt pocket. Gemma smiled tautly and refused, and asked for the bill, all the time tormented by the burning conviction that the stranger was deriving sardonic amusement from this little piece of by-play.

  As they left, amid the waiter’s lamentations, Gemma found herself praying that they wouldn’t be followed.

  She could hardly believe the state she was in. She thought impatiently, ‘Oh, get a grip on yourself. There’s nothing sinister in all this. We’re two girls on our own, and he’s the predatory type. He probably thinks he’s God’s gift to the female sex, and that his technique is infallible.’

  To do him justice, with his looks, she doubted whether he would have many failures.

  But all the same, she felt on edge all the time they were waiting for the bus to come.

  Hilary said teasingly, ‘Your problem, Gem, is that you don’t know when you’re on to a good thing.’

  Gemma shook her head. ‘He is not a good thing,’ she said. ‘Believe me.’

  The bus came at last, and as she climbed aboard, Gemma took a last jittery look over her shoulder. The stranger, however, was nowhere to be seen, either on foot or in his car.

  She felt an overwhelming sense of relief. Soon, she’d be back in the safe anonymity of Heraklion, and tomorrow she’d be driving towards Chania with James and Hilary on the next stage of her holiday, and she’d be able to put this oddly annoying series of incidents out of her mind.

  But as she went into the hotel, Takis the manager hailed her from behind the reception desk. ‘Ah, kyria Barton. There is a message for you.’ He turned to the pigeon holes behind him and extracted an envelope. It bore the single typed w
ord ‘Gemma’.

  She thought, ‘Mike—at last.’

  She smiled at Takis. ‘When did this arrive?’ ‘Just after you and kyria Trent had left for Knossos. Spiro says there was first a phone call, and he explained you had gone out. Then when he came back from coffee, this letter had been left for you.’ Takis nodded paternally. ‘This pleases you, ne?’ Gemma tore open the envelope and scanned the single typewritten sheet within.

  ‘Dear Gemma,’ it said. ‘Something has come up which prevents my meeting with you in Heraklion as you suggest. Perhaps instead you could come here to the Villa Ione in Loussenas. There is only one bus a week, so I suggest you hire a car and a driver. Make no attempt to drive yourself, as the road is very bad in places. Michael.’

  ‘Is it good news, or bad news?’ Hilary asked.

  Gemma shook her head. ‘I’m honestly not sure. He wants me to join him, but he sounds very curt about it.’ She sighed. ‘Perhaps I’m being a nuisance. Maybe I’ll drop him another line, telling him to forget it and make the trip to Chania after all.’

  She handed the note to Hilary, who read it through in silence. Then she said, ‘You don’t think he’s sick or in trouble of some kind?’

  Gemma groaned. ‘That’s just what I was wondering. Knowing Mike, it could be both, but he wouldn’t want to spoil my holiday by involving me.’ She bit her lip. ‘I’m going to have to hire this car as he says and go to him.’

  ‘You’ll do nothing of the kind,’ Hilary contradicted. ‘We’ll drive you to this Loussenas, wherever it is. If it’s in the mountains it should be spectacular, and we’re in no great hurry to get to Chania in one day.’

  ‘I can’t ask you to do that,’ Gemma protested.

  ‘You haven’t asked,’ Hilary said firmly. ‘I’m telling you what’s going to happen. And James will say exactly the same, so no arguments.’ She gave Gemma back her note, and added a comforting pat on the shoulder. ‘And now I’m going up to have a shower. Takis, I hope the water is at least lukewarm.’

  ‘At this hour of the day, kyria, it may even be hot,’ Takis assured her graciously.

  ‘In that case, I’ll have one as well,’ Gemma said.

  But once in her room, she made no immediate attempt to use the miniscule shower cubicle attached to it.

  Instead, she sat on the edge of the rather hard mattress and read Mike’s note again. It was odd, she thought, and totally unlike his usual breezy scrawls, and it made her uneasy.

  She uttered an impatient exclamation, and got to her feet. Instead of inventing problems, she should be thankful that Mike had taken the trouble to type, rather than expecting her to decipher his normal hieroglyphics.

  It was the events of the day which had made her uneasy, and nothing to do with Mike at all. He was probably hale and hearty, and far too interested in his plants to spare her more than a passing thought. And if she was to mention when she saw him that his note hadn’t been very welcoming, he would simply look injured and say, ‘Well, I told you how to get here, didn’t I?’

  She sighed, and began to unbutton her dress. If she showered quickly, she would have time to do her packing before dinner, as James and Hilary would probably want to make an early start in the morning.

  She was glad she was going to Loussenas with them, and not some unknown driver, she told herself.

  And tried to suppress the thought that, fond as she was of Mike, she would far sooner be going to Chania tomorrow than the Villa Ione.

  CHAPTER TWO

  GEMMA had the same feeling, but doubled and redoubled in spades, the following day as she stood beside the battered signpost stating Loussenas was one kilometre away, watching James reverse the car with infinite care.

  They’d wanted to drive her to the door, but she wouldn’t allow it. The road was getting steeper all the time, and deteriorating at every yard into a lacework of potholes. They’d been climbing, it seemed, since the moment they’d left the main road. At first, it had been easy to admire the scenery, but as the road narrowed, and hair-pinned, they all became very quiet, and started averting their gazes from the sheer drop only a foot or two from the car wheels.

  Gemma found herself wondering all the time what they would do if they met another vehicle coming down, but by some miracle that problem did not arise.

  The little hamlets they passed through, each with its gleaming church, were a relief. They’d stopped in one and drunk lemonade under the awning of a tavema, telling each other that Loussenas couldn’t be much further now, although the truth was they had no idea how far it was. They’d asked Takis, but he’d only given the map a cursory glance, stabbed it with his finger and said, ‘Loussenas is somewhere above here.’ And that, it turned out, had been putting it mildly.

  So when they reached the signpost, Gemma had insisted on getting out. The road was slightly wider just here, sufficient to turn the car anyway.

  ‘I really don’t like leaving you.’ Hilary had peered at her worriedly. ‘If Mike is as absent-minded as you say, he might have forgotten you and gone off somewhere, and then where will you be?’

  ‘Stuck,’ Gemma returned robustly. ‘But it won’t happen. He’s living at this villa, after all, so someone will be expecting me.’

  Hilary looked unconsoled. ‘If only we knew where we were staying tonight, or if the villa had a phone, we could keep in touch,’ she wailed. ‘It’s so wild up here. God knows how many thousands of feet we are above sea level. Much higher, and we’d need oxygen.’

  ‘Understating the case as always,’ James said wryly. His fingers closed warmly round Gemma’s wrist. ‘When we get to Chania, we’re hoping to stay at the Hotel Dionysius. If anything goes wrong, leave a message, and we’ll get back somehow and take you off this bloody mountain.’ He paused. ‘And you have our address in England, so whatever happens, we want to know how this little adventure turns out.’

  They drove off, Hilary waving frantically. Gemma waved back until the car rounded the first bend and vanished from sight. As she started up the road towards the village, she could still hear the sound of the engine growing fainter and fainter, until at last there was nothing but her own footsteps.

  In fact, no sign of life but herself, plodding up the road, and a large bird that might have been a buzzard wheeling and circling against the faultless arc of the sky.

  She sighed and transferred her case to her other hand. It was hardly the hilarious reunion she’d envisaged.

  She didn’t hurry, but she was tired and breathless by the time she reached the first houses. About half a mile earlier, the ground had levelled out into a small plateau. The land had been cultivated, and there was a little cluster of windmills, their sails turning gently in the breeze. Two women were working in one of the fields, black-clad, with the familiar head scarves round their hair and faces, but they didn’t look up or make any sign as Gemma passed, and she found this odd. In every other village they’d passed through in the car that day, there’d been waves and smiles from almost everyone, from the bearded priest to the smallest toddler.

  A donkey was grazing a small patch of scrub at the side of the road, and it turned its head, fixing her with its mild, incurious gaze as she walked past. Further on, goats were tethered, and bee skeps droned sleepily on a wide ledge.

  The village road was now a track, its stones cutting uncomfortably through the thin soles of her sandals. It was little wonder so many Cretans wore boots, she thought ironically.

  She put down her case and looked about her, flexing her tired hand. All she could see were village houses, many of them single-roomed by the look of them, and hardly likely to qualify as villas. The doorways were dark, and the window shutters closed, like so many blank eyes staring at her, she thought with a little shiver.

  And there was no one about. The place was deserted. There was a tiny kafeneion, but there were no men sitting at its tables in the shade, drinking coffee, and arguing about politics. Each house had its own verandah, but there were no women gathered in groups to chatter and weave
the rugs and linens for which Cretans were famous.

  Many of the villages they’d passed through had stalls beside the road, displaying their weaving and embroidery, but presumably Loussenas attracted too few tourists to bother.

  The Villa Ione couldn’t be far away in any direction, but Gemma wished there could be just one friendly face to ask, if only to dispel this growing sense of uneasy isolation which was pressing down on her.

  The Cretans were among the most hospitable people on earth. Love for the stranger in their midst was bred into them. She remembered Takis warning them all that if they were offered food and drink anywhere, they should accept, even if they suspected it was all the host possessed. To refuse, he said, was hurtful, and damaging to Cretan pride.

  The villagers of Loussenas, Gemma thought wryly, must be the exceptions to that rule. There were people in the houses, she was sure. She could sense movement in the shadowy interiors, but it was clear no one intended to welcome her, or offer as much as a drink of water, even though the well was there, at the end of the street, and a stone’s throw from the bright blue door of the little church.

  There was nothing for it, but to go on.

  Again, she had the feeling that she was being watched. She groaned inwardly. Why had she had to come all the way to Crete simply to discover she was paranoid?

  Beyond the church was the priest’s house, and beyond that again the ground rose, and through a clump of straggling trees, she saw a high white wall.

  Standing in its own grounds, she thought, this desirable residence must be the Villa lone.

  There was a narrow gate in the wall, and a copper bell hanging beside it. The sound was sweet and pure as she rang it, and it echoed endlessly into the stillness, but at last there was nothing left but silence.

  Gemma sighed. ‘ “ ‘Is there anybody there?’ said the Traveller”,’ she muttered, and tried the gate. It opened with a faint squeak to the first pressure of her hand, and she stepped inside.