The Holiday (53 page)

‘I thought I’d bring these in,’ he said, opening the dishwasher and bending down to it.

‘You see, Izzy?’ said Theo, as he pulled out a bottle of Veuve Clicquot from the bottom of the fridge. ‘You see how he doesn’t trust me for a single minute to be alone with you. He comes in here under the pretext of being helpful, but really he wants to be very sure I will not push you down on to the kitchen table and kiss you long and hard. I pose an interesting threat to him, eh?’

‘The day I feel threatened by you, Theo, is the day the sun stops shining. Now, shall we just get on with serving the champagne? Laura says she only wants a small glass and I’d like some more water.’

‘Oh, Izzy, can you hear the harsh quality to his words? Are you sure you would not like to reconsider what you have got yourself into? It isn’t too late to change your mind. A lady is allowed to do so.’

‘But this one has no intention of doing so,’ said Izzy, glad to hear the familiar put-downs between Mark and Theo. After the stilted conversations she had had with Mark since yesterday, it came as a refreshing change to listen to their customary rivalry. ‘And if I could get a word in between you two,’ she added, ‘you’re going to have to give me a clue where you keep your glasses, Theo.’

He pointed to a cupboard, gave her a tray, then said to Mark, ‘She is insolent as well as stubborn, that girl, you will need to watch her.’

‘Something I have every intention of doing,’ replied Mark, as Theo went ahead with the bottle, which he was going to open outside. And, wanting to assure Izzy that all was well - just as Theo had instructed him to do earlier that afternoon - Mark took the tray of glasses she had just arranged and set it on the dresser behind them. ‘I’m sorry I’ve been so preoccupied lately,’ he said, holding her hands, ‘I should have warned you that I get like that sometimes. I hope I haven’t upset you.’

She looked at him as though carefully considering his words. He thought for a nasty moment that she didn’t believe him, that she had guessed the truth. ‘But you’re okay now?’ she asked.

Relieved that she didn’t seem to have rumbled him, he rested his hands on her shoulders, drew her closer. ‘Right now at this very minute I’m more than okay. What man in his right senses wouldn’t feel completely okay if he were standing here in my shoes?’ He kissed her deeply. Then he slipped his hands around her waist, determined to convince her that he was his old self, and said, ‘Now what exactly was it Theo had in mind for you on the table?’

She laughed and laced her fingers behind his neck. ‘Never mind Theo, what do you have in mind?’

‘Why, Sugar Lips, you’re doing it again. You’re leading me astray.’

‘Only following your lead, Mark. Nothing more.’

He kissed her once more. But only briefly. ‘Come on, we’d better get back out there or we’ll never get any peace from Theo.’

‘So there you are,’ said Max, when they reappeared on the terrace, ‘We were just debating whether we’d have to resort to glugging the bubbly straight from the bottle.’

‘And don’t tell me that would be a first for you,’ laughed Izzy.

Taking the tray of glasses from Izzy, Theo poured them their drinks, and while everyone entered into the spirit of out-toasting one another, Mark once again let the conversation go over his head. He was finding it an impossible strain to pretend that everything was fine. Staring into the dark night sky, he noticed that a strong warm breeze had sprung up and was sending eerie patches of thick cloud scudding across the moon. In front of him, just a few inches away, the candles on the table were flickering as the wind almost blew them out. He wished with all his heart that the wind was strong enough to blow away the weight of worry and fear that was dragging him down. Despite Theo’s confident assurances that all would be well - that they could disappear to Athens leaving the local police to track down the stalker - he simply didn’t believe that matters could be so easily resolved. His lack of faith in Theo’s unshakeable convictions reminded him of the waking-in-the-middle-of-the-night sensation he occasionally experienced when his subconscious was working overtime on a plot that wouldn’t come together as he wanted it to. It was as if there was an important detail he and Theo were both overlooking; a fatal flaw in their logical reasoning.

He tuned back into the conversation just in time to hear Theo hotly defending his nation. ‘Believe me, Greece’s domestic economic health is better than you English like to think it is,’ he was saying, ‘its international standing in the wider community is — ’

‘Hey, there’s no need to get so defensive, Theo,’ Mark cut in irritably, ‘Everyone sitting round this table knows the contribution you make towards keeping the domestic economy afloat here, and we’re all very proud of you. So give it a rest, will you? I thought this was a party and that we were meant to be enjoying ourselves.’

‘Hear, hear,’ agreed Max.

Theo rolled his eyes. ‘Please, the pair of you, take your patronising sarcasm and stick it up your anally retentive English jacksies!’

‘But that’s where we keep your precious Elgin Marbles.’

‘Max Sinclair, now you are just playing dirty with me. How did I ever get involved with such a disreputable bunch of people? What have I ever done to you to deserve this cruel treatment? Truly, sitting here with you, I cannot think of anything worse. Hand on heart, you are my worst nightmare.’

They all laughed, but then, and in the midst of the light-hearted moment, a disembodied voice said, ‘None of you has any idea of what a worst nightmare is. But after tonight, well, maybe you just might.’

Their laughter died instantly. Coming towards them in the shadowy darkness was the figure of a man, and though Mark could make out little more than a silhouetted outline, he saw all too clearly that the man was holding a gun, and that he was pointing it straight at him.

Mark’s first thought was: this is it.

His second thought was to take charge and make sure no one fancied himself a hero.

‘Nobody move,’ he whispered, scarcely opening his mouth to speak when the initial gasps of alarm had passed and silence had fallen on them. ‘It’s me he’s come to see, so just sit tight.’

He sounded so much calmer than he felt. Gooseflesh was running amok all over him and the rush of adrenaline coursing through his body was greater than any chemically induced hit he had ever experienced: his heart was pounding as if it would burst clean out of his ribcage. Squinting, he tried to get a better look at the man.

Whoever he had imagined to be behind the letters, it was not this thin, ageing, insignificant little man hiding in the shadows. It was tempting to think that they could easily outfight him. But though they undoubtedly had size and numbers on their side, this lunatic sure as hell had the upper hand: he had a gun.

Rising slowly from his seat, so slowly it was hurting the muscles in the backs of his legs, he tried to move a little nearer. His movements were too obvious, though, and the man started waving the gun, acting every inch the madman who wouldn’t think twice about using it. But then he probably was a madman, wasn’t he, and thinking twice was an occupational hazard he would avoid at all costs?

‘Sit down!’
They all jumped at the voice that screeched crazily out of control. Laura clutched at Max who had his arm around her, and Izzy, her eyes frantic with terror, reached out to Theo. ‘I said sit down!’

‘Do as he says, Mark,’ urged Theo, his expression pleading with him not to do anything that would endanger their lives.

But ignoring both his friend’s words and those of his stalker, Mark calmly held up his hands in a see-no-tricks-up-my-sleeves gesture. ‘It’s okay,’ he said. ‘It’s me you want, and it’s me you’ve got. Let’s talk.’ He moved a few inches further forward, his main concern now to shield Izzy. Her place at the table meant that she was nearest to this nutter. The man might be pointing the gun at Mark, but that last letter had said, I’VE CHANGED MY MIND. IT WON’T BE YOU.

‘Who says I want to talk?’ The question was defiant, the tone level.

‘If you’ve come here to kill me, I think the least you can do is explain why.’ From his side, Mark heard Izzy let out a small cry of disbelief. He willed her not to say anything. Please, God, don’t let her move. Make her invisible. ‘So how about it?’ he continued, stealing another small step on his pursuer. ‘After all, it’s a condemned man’s right to have one last request.’ How reasonable he was making it sound. He could have been negotiating with a salesman in a car showroom, asking for alloy wheels to be thrown in for free.

‘I know what you’re doing,’ the man said, ‘I’m not a fool. You think a bit of negotiating will solve this. It won’t. Though if it’s talk you want, then, yes, I’ll go along with you. But you stay right where you are. No nearer, do you hear?’

Knowing that it might be his last chance, Mark gave an exaggerated shrug of agreement and stepped neatly in front of Izzy; the first part of his mission accomplished. Now all he had to do was play for sufficient time for a miracle to happen. ‘So who are you?’ he asked.

The man’s response was to tilt back his head and laugh. It was a horrible, twisted laugh. The sign of a man who had slipped into that dark place of the soul where right and wrong had crossed over. ‘I’m disappointed in you,’ he sneered. ‘I know it’s been a long time, but I would have thought your powers of deduction would have made the connection by now.’ And, as if it had been planned right down to the exact second, he moved forward, the clouds that had been covering the moon slid by and a shaft of silvery light shone down on the terrace. The man’s face was suddenly, and shockingly, visible.

Recognition hit Mark with a sickening bolt of horror. Take away the wilderness of grey hair, the pallid skin that was wrinkled and loose, the stoop of the wire-thin shoulders and it was Mr Percival ... Niall’s father. ‘But ... but why?’ he murmured, finally finding his voice. ‘Why are you doing this?’

There was another burst of hideous laughter, and a look of pure malice in the eyes that stared back at Mark. ‘Because I hate you. I’ve hated you for thirty years. You as good as murdered our only child. It was your fault he died.’

‘But I was a child myself.’ The defensiveness in his words made Mark feel as if he had never moved on from being that frightened boy of twelve who had clung to an upturned hull of a boat while the waves had crashed over him.

‘You were a devil child. You were always making Niall do things he didn’t want to do. You were a wicked, malignant influence on him. It should have been you who died, not Niall.’

‘Don’t you think that there were times when all I wanted to do was to turn back the clock? Didn’t you ever consider that I’d spent most of my life wishing it had been me who had drowned?’

‘Easy words now when you’re trying to save your own skin. But I know you’re incapable of feeling any real emotion. Real emotion was living with that nightmare every day, coming home from work and knowing my son wouldn’t be there. Waking up in the morning and knowing — ’ His voice broke, but he quickly carried on again. ‘It was too much for his mother. She never recovered, never had a happy thought in her head. Because of what you did, grief drove her mad. She spent most of her time shut away in a psychiatric hospital, not knowing what day of the week it was, not knowing who I was. As surely as you killed Niall, you destroyed her. Thanks to you, she took her own life eight months, one week and two days ago. So, tell me, how does it feel to be accountable for two deaths?’

Numb with the realisation that this man had suffered so much, was so desperate to square the account, and that the evening could only have one tragic outcome, Mark couldn’t speak. He couldn’t even shake his head to deny what he was being accused of. And, despite the intense warmth of the night, he felt chilled to the bone. Sweat was pouring off him, running down his back, trickling between his shoulder-blades. He tried to think straight. Tried to concentrate on what Niall’s father had just told him, to make sense of it.

Eight months ago when his wife had killed herself, that was January ... in February
Silent Footsteps
had been published ... A week later he had received the first of the letters. He forced himself to speak, to wrench the words out of his parched throat. ‘So you want revenge for both those deaths? Is that what you’ve come here for?’

‘Doesn’t that seem reasonable?’

‘No. I’m sorry, it doesn’t.’ For a surreal moment they were back in the car showroom and he was haggling over those bloody alloy wheels again.

‘And I am sorry too, but this has gone on for long enough. It is time for this madness to stop.’ It was Theo, up on his feet and standing next to Mark.

Swinging his arm, Niall’s father pointed the gun at Theo. ‘I will decide when this comes to an end. Not unless you want to die first.’ His eyes had turned glassy and his face glistened with a sheen of sweat. His expression was that of a frenzied killer.

‘Please, Theo,’ Mark murmured, ‘no heroics. Sit down and let him say what he needs to say.’ Keeping his gaze steadfastly on the gun, he sensed, rather than watched, Theo reluctantly sit down. He took a deep, steadying breath, and knowing all too well that negotiating their way through this was their only hope, the dialogue, such as it was, had to be kept going. He said, ‘If you’d hated me for so long, why didn’t you kill me before? Why wait?’

‘Oh, don’t get me wrong, I thought about killing you all those years ago. Night after night when I couldn’t sleep, I saw myself taking you out in a boat and leaving you to drown. Some nights I would imagine myself holding you under the water, watching you flail your legs and arms just as Niall must have done. It didn’t help with the insomnia, but it was better than counting sheep.’

‘Oh, God help us, you’re one sick bastard.’

It was Max who had spoken, and Niall’s father’s eyes hovered maniacally over him. Terrified that he might just go ahead and squeeze the trigger for the sheer hell of it, Mark distracted him by saying, ‘So what stopped you?’