The Fury(38)

“Me?” I laughed. “I think I’m the least of your problems, mate.”

At this, Jason lost his temper. He leaped toward me, lunging at me, grabbing me by the throat. He pinned me to the wall, raised his first—like he was going to punch me in the face.

“Stop it! Stop it.” Kate was pummeling his back. “Leave him alone! Jason—”

Eventually, Jason let me go. I caught my breath and adjusted my collar with all the dignity I could muster.

“Feel better now?”

Jason didn’t reply. He glared at me. Then, remembering his priorities, he turned around—to appeal to Lana.

“Lana. Listen—”

But Lana wasn’t there. She had gone.





16





Nikos was in his cottage, sitting in the armchair by the fireplace. He was drinking ouzo and listening to the wind outside.

He liked listening to the wind, in all its different moods. Tonight, it was in a rage. Other nights, it groaned like an old man in pain; or wailed like a small child lost in the storm. Sometimes, Nikos could convince himself it was a girl outside, lost in the gale, crying. He’d step out and look into the night, into the dark—just to be sure. But it was always the wind, playing tricks.

He poured himself another ouzo. He was a little drunk; his mind as cloudy as the ouzo in his glass. He leaned back in his chair and thought about Lana. He imagined what it would be like if she lived here, on Aura, with him. This was a favorite fantasy of his.

He felt sure Lana would be happy here. She always came alive on the island—it was like a light shone from inside her the moment she got off the boat. And if she were here, Lana could rescue him from his solitude. She would be like rain falling on parched earth; a cool drink of water, to quench his dry salty lips.

Nikos shut his eyes, drifting into an erotic daydream. He imagined waking up at dawn, in bed with Lana—she was facing him, her golden hair spread over the pillow … how soft it was, how sweet she smelled, like orange blossom. He’d take her smooth body into his arms, nuzzle her neck, kiss her skin. He’d press his lips against her mouth.…

Nikos was half-aroused, half-drunk, half-asleep—and thought he was dreaming when he opened his eyes … and there she was.

Lana.

Nikos blinked. He sat up, suddenly wide-awake.

Lana was standing there, in the doorway. She was there, in reality, not his imagination. She looked beautiful, dressed all in white. She looked like a goddess. But a sad goddess. A frightened one.

“Nikos,” Lana said in a whisper. “I need your help.”





17





Jason, Kate, and I were left alone in the living room. I waited to see who would speak first. It was Kate, sounding chastened.

“Jason. Can we talk?” Her voice had an emptiness. Her anger had gone, burned out—nothing left but ashes. “Jason?”

Jason glanced at Kate—and looked right through her. A chilling look, I thought. As if she didn’t exist. He turned and walked out of the room.

Kate suddenly looked like a little girl, about to burst into tears. I felt sorry for her, despite myself.

“Do you want a drink?”

Kate gave a brief shake of the head. “No.”

“I’m making you one anyway.”

I went to the drinks cabinet and made us a couple of drinks. I made small talk about the weather, to give Kate a chance to pull herself together. But I could tell she wasn’t listening.

I held out the glass in front of her for a good twenty seconds before she saw it.

“Thanks.” Kate took the drink, absently placing it on the table in front of her. She reached for her cigarettes.

I rubbed my neck. It was sore from where Jason had grabbed it. I frowned. “You know, Kate, you really should have come to me. I could have put you straight. I could have warned you.”

“Warned me? About what?”

“He will not leave Lana for you. Don’t delude yourself.”

“I’m not deluding myself.” Kate tapped the unlit cigarette violently against the table. She planted it in her mouth and lit it.

“I think you are.”

“You know fuck all about it.”

Kate smoked for a moment—I noticed her hand was trembling. Then she suddenly stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray. “The question is”—she turned on me, with a spark of her old anger—“why do you care? Why are you so invested in Lana’s marriage? Even if they split up, she’s hardly going to marry you.”

Kate was joking. But then she saw the flicker of hurt in my eyes. She gasped. “Oh, my God. Is that what you think? You really think … that you and Lana—?”

Kate couldn’t finish her sentence—she was overcome by laughter. Unkind, mocking laughter.

I waited until she had stopped laughing. Then I said, coolly, “I’m trying to help. That’s all.”

“No, no, you’re not.” Kate shook her head. “Can’t fool me, Machiavelli. But you’ll get your comeuppance in the end. Just you wait.”

I ignored this. I was determined that she hear me. It was important.

“I mean it, Kate. Don’t put Jason in a position where he has to choose between you. You’ll regret it.”