The Fury(15)

He closed his eyes and burned.





11





A little while later, Kate wandered into the kitchen. She was out of breath, and a little high. She hoped the others wouldn’t notice.

Perching on a stool, she watched Lana and Agathi prepare dinner. Lana was making a green salad with the spicy green rocket leaves that grew plentifully all over the island. Agathi showed Lana the plate of sea bream she had cleaned.

“I think three’s enough, don’t you?”

Lana nodded. “Three’s plenty.”

Kate reached for a bottle of wine and poured a glass for her and Lana.

They were soon joined by Leo, fresh from the shower. He looked flushed, and his hair was wet, dripping onto his T-shirt.

Leo was seventeen now, almost eighteen. He looked like a younger male version of Lana—like a young Greek god. The teenage son of Aphrodite—what was his name?—Eros. He looked as Eros must have looked. Blond hair, blue eyes, athletic and lean. And a gentle soul, too, like his mother.

Lana glanced at him. “Darling, dry your hair. You’ll catch cold.”

“It’ll dry in a second. There’s like zero humidity outside. Do you need any help?”

“Can you set the table?”

“Where are we eating? In or out?”

“How about outside? Thank you.”

Kate watched Leo with approval. “Aren’t you gorgeous, Leo. When did you get so handsome? Fancy some wine?”

Leo shook his head as he collected place mats and napkins. “I don’t drink.”

“Come on, then, sit down, spill the beans.” Kate patted the stool next to hers and beckoned him over. “Who’s the lucky girl? What’s her name?”

“Who?”

“Your girlfriend.”

“I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“But you must be seeing someone. Go on … tell us. What’s her name?”

Leo looked mortified, muttered something unintelligible, and hurried out of the kitchen.

“What’s wrong?” Kate turned to Lana, mystified. “Don’t tell me he’s single? He can’t be. He’s gorgeous.”

“So you said.”

“Well, he is. Should be shagging away like mad, at his age. What’s wrong with him? Do you worry he’s a bit…?” Kate trailed off and gave Lana a meaningful look. “You know.”

“No.” Lana gave her a quizzical smile. “What?”

“I don’t know … attached—”

“Attached? To whom?”

“To whom?” Kate laughed. “To you, my love.”

“Me?” Lana looked genuinely surprised. “I don’t think Leo’s particularly attached to me.”

Kate rolled her eyes. “Lana, Leo is besotted with you. He always has been.”

Lana brushed this aside. “If he is, he’ll grow out of it. I’ll be sorry when he does.”

“Do you think he might be gay?”

Lana shrugged. “I have no idea, Kate. What if he is?”

“Maybe I should ask him.” Kate smiled and poured herself another glass, warming to the idea. “In a ‘big sister’ kind of way—you know? I’ll talk to him for you.”

Lana shook her head. “Please don’t.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t think you’re the big-sister type.”

Kate considered this. “No, I don’t think I am either.”

They both laughed.

“What’s so funny?” I said as I walked into the kitchen.

“Never mind,” said Kate, still laughing. She raised her glass to Lana. “Cheers.”



* * *



There was a lot of laughter that night. We were a merry bunch—you’d never guess it was the last time we would be together like this.

What could possibly happen in the space of a few hours, you might ask, what could go so badly wrong as to end in murder?

It’s hard to say. Can anyone pinpoint that precise moment when love turns to hate? Everything ends, I know that. Especially happiness. Especially love.

Forgive me, I’ve become such a cynic. I used to be so idealistic when young—romantic, even. I used to believe that love lasted forever. Now, I don’t. Now, I know only this for sure—the first half of life is pure selfishness; the second half, all grief.

Indulge me for a moment, if you will—let me linger there and enjoy this last happy memory.

We ate dinner outside under the stars. We sat beneath the pergola, lit by candlelight and surrounded by sweet-smelling climbing jasmine.

We began with the salty sea urchins, freshly prepared by Agathi. Eaten raw with a sharp squeeze of lemon, they’ve never been to my taste—but if you close your eyes and swallow fast, you can pretend they’re oysters. Then the grilled sea bream, and sliced steak, various salads and garlic-tossed vegetables—and the pièce de résistance: Agathi’s deep-fried potatoes.

Kate didn’t have much of an appetite—so I ate for two, piling my plate high. I eulogized Agathi’s cooking; careful to tactfully praise Lana’s efforts also. But her healthy salads couldn’t compare to those decadent potatoes, grown in the red earth of Aura itself, golden and oozing oil. It was a perfect meal, that last supper.