But no. Kate accepted the challenge. She tore off her red shawl, twirling it in the air like a red flag in a bullfight—and threw it onto the back of the couch.
Then she brought the glass of whiskey to her lips and drank it all in one go.
Lana was poker-faced but I could tell she was furious. “Jason, can we go upstairs? I’m feeling tired.”
Kate reached out and grabbed hold of Jason’s arm. “No, Jason. Stay right there.”
“Kate—”
“I mean it,” Kate said. “Don’t go. You’ll regret it, if you go.”
“I’ll take that risk.”
He removed Kate’s hand from his arm—a bad move, I thought. I knew it would enrage her. I was right.
“Fuck you.”
Jason looked startled. He wasn’t expecting that level of anger. My heart went out to him, almost.
I understood now. Kate’s anger had betrayed her: this whole charade was for Jason’s benefit, not mine or Lana’s. It was Jason Kate was mad at.
Lana understood this, too. She had the unnerving instinct of a great actor. She knew this was her cue.
As always, she underplayed her delivery: “Jason. Make a decision, please.”
“What?”
“You must choose.” Lana nodded at Kate, not taking her eyes off Jason. “Me or her.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You know damn well what I’m talking about.”
There was a slight pause. Jason’s face was a sight to behold—like witnessing a car crash in slow motion. Caught between these two women, this was about to end badly for him. Unless he managed somehow to prevent it.
What Jason did next would be most revealing. Barbara West once told me an old writing trick—where you give currency to a specific person, or object, by including them in a choice between two alternatives. What you are prepared to give up for something tells us everything about how much you value it.
Jason had a clear choice here—between Kate and Lana. We were about to discover—if we were in any doubt—whom he valued the most.
Barbara would have loved this, I thought. Just the kind of situation she’d steal and put into a book.
Thinking of Barbara made me smile—which was unfortunate, as I realized Jason was staring at me, a look of fury on his face. “What the fuck? You think this is funny, you evil prick?”
“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.