Too late now, she thought. Come on, Katie, get it together.
Something was needed to steady her nerves. What did she bring with her? Klonopin? Xanax? Suddenly, she remembered the little present she’d left herself, last time she was on the island. Could it still be here?
Kate hurried over to the bookcase, running her fingers along the spines. She found the battered yellow book she was looking for:
The Doors of Perception, by Aldous Huxley.
She took it from the shelf. It fell open at the right page—revealing a little flattened bag of cocaine. Her eyes lit up. Bingo.
Smiling to herself, Kate emptied the cocaine onto the bedside table. Then she pulled out her credit card and started chopping it up.
8
In the kitchen, Agathi was using a small, sharp knife to deftly gut a sea bream. She pulled out the murky gray entrails in the sink. Dark red blood mingled with running water as she washed out the cavity.
She could practically feel her grandmother’s hands working through hers; her spirit guiding her fingers as she performed this familiar motion. Her yiayia had been in her thoughts all afternoon—in her mind, the old woman was inseparable from this part of the world. Both of them had a slight wildness, a touch of magic. Her grandmother had been rumored to be a witch. And Agathi could feel her presence here. She could sense her in the sunlight, and in the sound of the sea—and in the gutting of a fish.
She turned off the tap, dried the sea bream with kitchen paper, and placed the fish on a plate.
Agathi was forty-five years old. She had a strong face, black eyes, sharp cheekbones—very Hellenic looking, to my mind. A handsome woman, who rarely bothered with makeup. Her hair was always pulled back and pinned up. A severe look, perhaps—but Agathi had precious little vanity, and even less free time, which she didn’t waste on her appearance. She left that to others.
She considered the fish. They were on the large side. Three should be enough, she thought. But she’d check with Lana, just in case.
Lana seems happier, she thought. Good.
Lana had been in an odd mood recently. Distant, unreachable. Something was obviously bothering her. Agathi knew better than to ask. She was the soul of discretion and never gave her opinion unless asked—even then, only under duress.
Agathi was the only member of the household observant enough to notice this recent change in Lana. The others—the two men in the house—they spent little time contemplating Lana’s mood. Leo’s selfishness Agathi excused on account of his youth. Jason, she found harder to forgive.
Agathi felt determined that Lana should have a restful and enjoyable few days on the island. No reason to think she wouldn’t.
So far, they were lucky with the weather. No sign of any disturbing wind. The sea couldn’t have been flatter on their crossing. There was barely a ripple on the surface.
Their arrival had been bumpier—in a logistical sense. Agathi was a formidable housekeeper and made everything run like clockwork. But today, things were running late. They had arrived to find Babis in the kitchen, the groceries yet to be unpacked; the cleaners still at work in the house, mopping floors and making beds. Babis was visibly embarrassed, and apologetic. Lana was gracious, of course, insisting it was her fault for giving them such short notice. She thanked all the cleaners individually, and the old ladies beamed at her, adoring, starstruck. Lana and Leo went for a swim and Jason retired moodily to his study, armed with his laptop and phone.
Agathi was left alone with Babis—which was uncomfortable, of course. But she stood her ground. What a pompous arse that man was! Obsequious to Lana, groveling, practically crawling on the floor. And, in the same breath, he’d hiss at his staff, in Greek, dictatorial and contemptuous, as if they were dirt.
Agathi, he loathed above all. To him, she would always be the waitress at his restaurant. He never forgave her for what happened that summer—the first time Otto and Lana appeared for lunch at Yialos, on the hunt for a babysitter; and fate decreed Agathi serve their table. Lana took an instant shine to Agathi. They hired her on the spot, and she became indispensable to them. When their visit came to an end, they asked if she would like to live with them, as a nanny, in Los Angeles. She said yes without even a second thought.
You might think it was the allure of Hollywood that made Agathi so quick to accept—but you’d be wrong. She didn’t care where she went, as long as she was with Lana. She was so completely under Lana’s spell, in those days. She would have gone to Timbuktu, if Lana asked her.
So, Agathi moved to LA with the family, and then London. And she graduated, as Leo grew older, from nanny to cook, housekeeper, assistant, and—was she flattering herself here?—Lana’s confidante, and best friend? Perhaps this was overstepping the mark slightly; but not much. In a practical, day-to-day sense, Agathi was closer to her than anyone else.