The Diana Rivers Mysteries - Volume One - Boxed Set of 3 Murder Mystery Suspense Novels: The Diana Rivers Mysteries Collection, #1

By Faith Mortimer

Welcome to the 1st Diana Rivers, Mystery Suspense Murder Boxed Set featuring the first three books in the series, ‘The Assassins’ Village’, ‘Children of the Plantation’ and ‘The Surgeon’s Blade’. All three books are bestsellers. Diana Rivers our heroine is a writer, sometime actor and amateur sleuth and loves nothing more than getting embroiled in the middle of a mystery – especially MURDER! 
‘The Assassins’ Village’:
When an expatriate theatrical group gather to discuss their next play there will be murder. A blackmailer stalks their picturesque Cypriot village. Unbeknown to each other they all attempt to find solutions to their problems. Some believe it lies in murder. Can they find the blackmailer? And can they find that all important ‘little black book’ – the chronicle of their misdeeds.
A body is discovered and Diana turns detective. After the police get involved one of her suspects is found hanged – is this another murder or suicide? A visit to a villager’s home uncovers an ancient assassin’s device. Could this be the murder weapon? Is it possible that an assassin lives at the heart of this formerly peaceful and idyllic mountain village? The villagers are riven with jealousies, rivalry, sexual tension and illicit affairs. Love, hate, murder and high drama all feature in this classic detective story. With a list of suspects, some dramatic twists and the odd red herring, the reader is left guessing until the final curtain.

‘Children of the Plantation’:
After discovering the truth surrounding the bloody murders in, ‘The Assassins' Village’ our sexy, feisty sleuth and heroine, Diana Rivers and her partner Steve, decide they deserve a holiday. Relaxing at their luxurious, palm fringed plantation hotel in lush, tropical Malaysia; things don't quite work out as they imagined. Diana is approached by the hotel owner, the enigmatic & secretive Miss Chalcot to take a look through some old family documents and help find a solution to put right a dreadful forty-year old misdoing. Diana is given free rein to pursue the mysterious past of the family and discover what lies behind the dark stories. Diana enters into a world of the 1950's and 1960's, where lies, deceit, illicit love, jealousies and perhaps murder all feature. What really happened all those years ago? Who was responsible for events that shocked the whole family and plunged it into despair? And what is the real story behind the façade?
‘The Surgeon's Blade’:
Nursing sister, Libby Hunter wakes up in hospital with amnesia after a traumatic sailing accident. She finds a stranger sitting by her bedside who claims to be her fiancé. Libby remembers nothing about him. Returning home, Libby finds herself in great danger when her house is broken into. Who is the intruder and what does he want? Is this connected with a series of attacks on nurses in London and Southampton? Will Libby be the latest targeted victim? Distressed Libby turns to helicopter pilot, Robert for help and understanding, but is he as respectable and kind as he appears to be? Is her so-called fiancé, Nigel trustworthy? The night time intrusion into Libby's house sets in motion a downwards spiral of cataclysmic and terrifying events, culminating in Diana Rivers stepping in to help solve the case in this chilling mystery.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Faith Mortimer
• Release date: Apr 28, 2013
• ISBN: 9781497774865

Book preview

THE DIANA RIVERS

MYSTERIES COLLECTION

Volume One

Boxed Set of

3 Murder Mystery Suspense Novels

by Faith Mortimer

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The Assassins’ Village

Children of the Plantation

The Surgeon’s Blade

Copyright © Faith Mortimer 2012

The right of Faith Mortimer to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

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All Rights Reserved

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No reproduction, copy or transmission of this publication may be made without written permission.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents originate from the writer’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

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This Edition Published in 2012

by Topsails Charter, Southampton

About the author:

Faith Mortimer: born in Manchester, England and educated in Singapore, Malaya and Hampshire, England. Qualified as a Registered nurse and later changed careers to oversee a number of travel and sport related companies.

Faith is married with a family. Once the children attended University, she decided to join them in reading for a Science degree. Faith obtained an Honours Science degree in 2005 and believes the dedication and stamina needed to sit for a degree while in full-time employment, gave her the confidence to finish writing her first novel.

She has now written and published twelve novels and a volume of short stories. All are available in paperback and as eBooks from your favourite online book store.

For more information about Faith and her writing please follow on Facebook. www.facebook.com/FaithMortimer.Author

http://twitter.com/FaithMortimer

Website: www.faithmortimerauthor.com

Where Faith writes a regular blog about all manner of things!

Acknowledgements

A Big Thank You to my editor Catherine and to my husband Chris for their invaluable assistance and patient support.

TABLE OF CONTENTS (click on title to go to book)

THE ASSASSINS VILLAGE

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CHILDREN of the PLANTATION

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THE SURGEONS BLADE

THE ASSASSINS VILLAGE

by FAITH MORTIMER

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

Alicia, Director of Agios Mamas Village theatre group

Yanoulla, Greek-Cypriot villager, lover to Kristiakis, seamstress

Kristiakis, Greek-Cypriot villager, lover to Yanoulla, set-builder, brother to Antigone

Diana, Authoress and actress, married to Steve

Ann, Expatriate Villager, actress and playwright, married to Pete

Steve, Expatriate Villager and business man, married to Diana

Tony, Expatriate villager and playwright

Pete, Expatriate villager, retired, married to Ann

Leslie, Expatriate villager and artist, married to Sonja

Bernard, Expatriate villager and actor, married to Jenny

Jenny, Expatriate villager and gossip, married to Bernard

Karl, Expatriate and actor, from another village

Sonja, Expatriate villager, cake-maker

Tilly, Fitness Instructor, actress, from another village

Antigone, Greek-Cypriot villager, cheese-maker, sister to Kristiakis

Elaine, Visitor from England, Diana’s sister

Thomas, Visitor from England, son to Leslie

Alexandros, Greek-Cypriot villager, father to Kristiakis and Antigone

Police Inspector Andreas Christopopodoulou

Police Sergeant, Greek-Cypriot Yiannis Loukiades

Michaelis, Greek-Cypriot taverna owner

The Assassins’ Village by Faith Mortimer.

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Cyprus. A Sunday in late August. Present day.

Fair is foul, and foul is fair.

Macbeth. Act 1 Scene 1

~~~

If.  Such a small word and yet... If only he had bothered to take a look at his actions. If he had cared one iota, maybe his life would not have been full of ego, lust, self-gratification and profligacy. Self-denial was unknown to him.

~~~

He awoke confused and disorientated, barely able to breathe, his throat obstructed. He heard a voice; soft and persistent, close to his ear. Struggling against the cotton wool seemingly stuffed in his brain, he forced open his eyes. The man squinted at the blinding light. He knew he was lying down. The agonising pain in his left leg intensified when he attempted to move it from its impossible angle. A pain as sharp as a new razor blade cut through him. He shrieked in alarm, realising his leg was broken.

The whispered voice spoke again. The man looked around him in sudden panic. Who and what was all this? And why couldn’t he function properly? He tried to speak, to answer the phantom voice, but his tongue couldn’t form the words. A sudden movement and a shadow fell across his face... Raising his head, his eyes widened as he remembered being pushed over the limestone cliff into the vineyard below. But that explained nothing. Struggling, the injured man raised himself into a sitting position to confront the shadow.

A firm hand, calloused and strong, pushed him back down.  ‘Keep still. You can’t get up.’

The man recognised an accent. A trickle of blood rolled down between his dry, tortured lips and a thread of fear crept through him.

The shadow spoke in a rasping voice. ‘Soon you will see. You must pay for all you’ve done.’ The shadow hissed in his face. A breath that was hot and sour.

As the shadow bent closer the man gave a start and recoiled; he recognised his assailant. A deep chill spread through his gut despite the heat of the day. In terror, he fought at the cords binding his wrists. With desperation he cried out, spluttering through the soiled coarse cloth in his cheeks. The core of dread in his stomach spread like a foul growth of malignancy. His eyes pleaded mercy.

The shadow gave a laugh, shrill and mirthless. ‘Shall I forgive you? No. I think not. Never once have I seen you give kindness. You treat all like dogs at your feet. Well, you are dirt beneath mine.’

Abruptly the shadow withdrew and walked over to a low stonewall. It returned, carrying a pair of gloves and an old leather bag. The assailant drew on the gloves, before untying a thong at the neck of the receptacle. The man watched, beads of sweat sliding down his face, then he writhed in horror, as he realised what was being thrust before him. He twisted his head aside, gagging at the revolting sight; yelling deep in his throat. ‘No! No! Please! Oh God help me!’ His words were garbled and lost.

‘This is all your doing. Yours! Did you never think how you hurt me?’

As the victim stared with revulsion his throat gagged and he retched. Stomach churning, he felt a warmth spread beneath his loins. Screaming in panic he tried to pull away from the calm face of his attacker, only to realise that it was futile. The end, when it came, was swift, a thrust and a sharp twist.  At first, there was no wound; then the blood flowed and grew like a blossom of deep red peonies spilling their petals to hiss upon the hot honey-coloured rock. Satisfied, the assassin bent down, removed the pretty blue scarab ring from the victim’s finger, placed it in the bag and walked away without another look.

But of course, this is a later scene – let the play begin...

Act 1.

Chapter 1. The previous Tuesday evening. 24th August

Were such things here as we do speak about? Or have we eaten on the insane root that takes the reason prisoner?

Macbeth. Act 1 Scene 3

Alicia stood in front of the hallway mirror. A freckled face, pale and thin, stared back at her. Smoothing back her unruly red hair she heard the deep tone from the old clock striking in the hall. The sound echoed along the hallway and into the living room beyond. Alicia counted the chimes. Seven o’clock! Time to go. Swiftly, she gathered up the sheaf of scripts for the forthcoming play reading, tucked the bundle under her arm and threw open her front door. The evening’s sweet scent from a frangipani tree reached her and she took a few seconds to steady herself before closing the door behind her.

She was going to be late. It was a nuisance; she needed to compose herself. It was important to be in control. Especially tonight as she intended to instigate the first of her carefully laid plans. He would not get away with it.

Alicia told herself, keep calm. The walk would take just a few minutes if she passed through the church grounds. Crunching up the jagged stone steps Alicia glanced at the Greek Orthodox Church that gave its name to the village; Agios Mamas. It loomed in front of her, large, rectangular and faced in the local pale-coloured sandstone. The Church had been rebuilt in 1860 after the earthquake that had shaken its original foundations. Now, it served its purpose well. Its regular congregation of mostly black-clad old ladies was swelled on Saints’ days with visiting families. She imagined the rows of dutiful women as they sat nodding in the back of the church, surrounded by the heady smell of incense and candles. Alicia was not one of the worshippers. Her faith and allegiance belonged to another deity altogether. Something she rarely mentioned to anyone who knew her, and if she did then it was with complete reticence. The New Woman World Alliance was secretive in its ministry to outsiders. When questioned about the order, Alicia remained tight-lipped about its overall aims and functionality. Only once had she made the mistake of letting someone know its secrets.

Years ago, when she was an art student on a year’s sabbatical she had journeyed through Pakistan, India, and far up into Bhutan and beyond.  Somewhere in the wild and arid hills she strayed into a sect different from anything else she had known. Feeling compelled to stay; she had been indoctrinated with its scriptures. Forgetting her people back home in Ireland Alicia turned her back on her College education as she took up the narrow life the sect demanded of her. To this day she remained committed. And because of this commitment she had to stop Leslie and his vile threats.

Alicia walked down the path to the road that wound its way around the hillside eventually leading to the rehearsal venue. The sun’s rays slanted down through the half-ruined buildings, casting long purple shadows in the broken darkened doorways and windows. Tumbledown houses mixed in with the renovated stone works, a startling blend of courtyards, paths, Venetian arches, and gardens drenched with flowers, all behind a jumble of walls.

The air smelt of over-ripened grapes and she could hear the low drone from the wasps as they buzzed in the overhead vines. Swallows and doves fluttered in the soft evening sunshine before disappearing into the gaping holes of the empty dwellings. It could have been creepy, but Alicia never found it so. She loved the solitude in the labyrinth of the deserted houses that stood in quiet sentinel before those still inhabited. It suited her covert nature. A flight of pigeons made her pause. They swooped down from their high roost in an empty two-storied house. Alicia felt the beating of their wings as they swarmed around her; faltering, fluttering, a renewing of position before they made off down the valley.

At the end of the cobbled path she caught up with Yanoulla picking her way down the rough slope. Alerted by footsteps behind her, Yanoulla turned to greet Alicia.

‘Alicia. Kalispera. How are you?’

The slim, blonde Cypriot woman fell in beside Alicia. She was a few years older than the Irish woman and it was noticeable. She was plain, ugly even; her large nose dominated and spoiled her face. Tonight she looked weary, despite the pleasant smile.

‘And good evening to you, Yanoulla. I am well and you?’

‘Yes, thank you. Are you excited about tonight?’

They rounded the corner catching sight of the open-air theatre. Alicia’s heart gave a lurch. Village and town theatres were all very well, but the thought of directing Shakespeare at the amphitheatre always filled her with an excited inner glow. The villagers were fortunate having been awarded a grant from the European Union to build their own theatre and Alicia was determined to make this production her best.

‘Oh yes. I always like beginning new plays, especially Shakespeare. This year we have the makings of a very good cast. I hope everyone will agree with my final choice.’ As she spoke she knew she would have trouble. There was always one or two who would disagree with anything. They had already had their inaugural committee meeting and the cast auditions. Most roles had been allocated and agreed a week ago. However, as director she had the final decision, and had decided to make a couple of changes. Well, she would address that if and when the problem arose.

‘I too am looking forward to this year. Making costumes is a lot of fun and I love the challenge.’ Yanoulla was an expert with her needle and in the past Alicia had been indebted to her. Apart from her sewing, Yanoulla had introduced Kristiakis to the group. His huge physique was an asset when building wonderful stage sets.

Reaching the bottom steps of the amphitheatre they said hello to the members already gathered; lounging and chatting on the stone steps; enjoying the evening sunshine.

A tall dark Cypriot man was sitting by himself near the top. He rose to his feet and approached the two women. After a brief nod to Alicia he took Yanoulla to one side and rapidly addressed her in Greek. Yanoulla’s face grew still as she listened to her lover. When he had finished talking, Yanoulla replied in the same language. Alicia’s Greek was nowhere near perfect but she knew enough to understand a lovers’ tiff when she heard one.

Shaking his head, Kristiakis took a look at his watch. Without another word he left an angry looking Yanoulla and bounded back up the steps and out of the theatre.

Turning to Alicia, Yanoulla looked furious and miserable; white-lipped. Alicia raised her eyebrows in question, waiting for an explanation.

‘I am sorry, Alicia, but, Kristiakis cannot be here for tonight’s casting. He has to go to Limassol. He is –’ she paused, unsure how much to tell her.

Alicia had clearly heard the name Marina mentioned in their conversation and could guess that the predatory Krisitakis had other and better things to do that night. She sought to spare Yanoulla’s embarrassment, as she liked the Cypriot woman.

‘Never mind, it’s not important that he can’t make tonight. You can fill him in later. Come and sit with me at the top of the steps.’ She gave her a smile of encouragement.

Yanoulla shook her head and turned away; her face flaming. She sat down, a pensive, worried look upon her face. ‘Thank you, Alicia, but I’ll stay here for a moment. I’ll join you in a minute.’ Her accented voice was heavy with disappointment.

Alicia knew Kristiakis’ reputation well. He’d always been a womaniser and he would never change. It was probably why he was still single. She couldn’t see their relationship lasting. She nodded her understanding.

Kristiakis and Yanoulla were the only Greek Cypriots belonging to the group. At first Kristiakis had been reluctant to involve himself with any expats; especially the British, it was Yanoulla who had persuaded him to help backstage.  Yanoulla was at least ten years older than the single Kristiakis and Alicia failed to see what Kristiakis could see in her. Alicia was secretly peeved that an older woman could attract a man so sexy and handsome. Kristiakis was a man wrapped in an aura of mystery. Dark tales of his youth followed him concerning his impetuous involvement with the guerrilla organization EOKA. Whispered stories passed down between the older locals, somehow never managed to translate into a comprehensive history for the expatriate community. Of course, embellished anecdotes made it impossible to tell what was genuine. Whatever the truth, Kristiakis was locally known as Kristiakis the Bomber.

Leaving a sour-faced Yanoulla, Alicia made her way over to a group of three people.

Lolling on a step was Tony; hopefully sober this evening with his mind in focus for once. He had made a disgusting spectacle of himself the other night at the annual cast party. The other two with him were Ann and her neighbour Diana. As Alicia neared them, she heard Tony plaintively whining an apology to Ann.

‘I can only repeat what I’ve already said, Ann. Look! I am sorry for ruining your new shoes. If you want to give me the bill I’ll happily replace them. I don’t know what came over me.’

Ann looked nearly as cross as when she first saw her new white shoes being destroyed. She drew her matronly chest up with indignation and launched into him with a tirade. ‘For God’s sake Tony! You’ve got to start to get a grip of yourself. No, no there’s no point in apologising now. This isn’t the first time you’ve over done the alcohol and acted like a complete and utter tosser.’ Sixty-something and a northerner, she was renowned for not standing any nonsense and when angered her northern accent was even more pronounced. ‘What’s more you’re a bloody mess. You need to clean up your act.’

She waved a hand in his direction. Apart from the sour smell of booze, both imbibed and spilt; his off-white crumpled linen shirt and trousers reeked of stale cigarette smoke and his pale brown hair flopped down into his eyes. He was a mess. ‘Shorry, shorry,’ he slurred slumping back down onto the steps.

Looking disgusted, Ann hadn’t yet finished. ‘And finally, Tony no, I am not interested in reading your latest play. The last one was pure filth. Can’t you write something with a story for once?’ Ann didn’t wait for an answer. Mumbling something to the younger woman standing next to her she stalked off to sit further away. Diana gave Alicia an apologetic shrug and followed her.

Alicia knew Tony was writing yet another of his sleazy little plays. Nobody was very interested in performing any of his offerings, despite him saying that it was - very Pinteresque  - and nothing like the ‘usual hackneyed rubbish’ put on out here. Irritated, she too could imagine just what it would be like, awful. No doubt he had been trying to persuade Di and Ann to put his idea forward for a later production. Well, she knew Ann would be difficult to persuade once she had made up her mind and Diana was clear-thinking herself. He stood no chance.

Alicia looked around for a good place to sit. Most people were seated in small groups. Diana and Ann had found seats at the back and were chatting to Steve, Di’s handsome, rugged husband.  They were relative newcomers to the village, and as yet had given Alicia no problems. Diana was about forty years of age. She stood tall, with shoulder length dark-wavy hair and enormous green eyes fringed by long sooty black lashes. She was pretty and vivacious, an asset to the theatrical group.

Alicia turned her attention back to the other regulars. Karl had not yet arrived, but then he was always late. His memory was getting bad. Even so, he made the most of his appearances, both on and off stage, late or otherwise. Karl really was the most irritating man and he was going to be even more irritating later on. She gave a little shudder. He would of course, consider it a God-given right that the lead part of Macbeth was already his. Privately Alicia thought him to be a pompous ass, especially when it came to auditions.

Leslie lounged against the steps. Here was another who relished in being the centre of attention. Alicia was thankful she only had to contend with his artistic talents when it came to set design. She could not have coped if he too had been an actor. She thought it strange that Leslie was here at all. His expertise wouldn’t be needed until they were well on the way with rehearsals. Perhaps he had another reason, he usually did.

Alicia didn’t have time to go and confront him now. She needed to get started with the casting. But just seeing him there made her feel nervous. She had to find a moment to ask him about his book and his intentions, and tonight if possible.

Tony surprised Alicia when he mentioned Leslie’s black book of memoirs at the recent cast party. Actually, Tony was drunk and quite emphatic about it. ‘Leslie’s got a book full of nasty little secrets. I tell you he’s got something on everyone written down in it. He’s an absolute bastard,’ he’d complained.

Tony was right. Leslie had intimated to Alicia that the book contained some very dark and interesting snippets. It was alarming. Her private life was her own and she would do anything to keep it so. Alicia had not had a chance to speak to him lately. She felt he had been avoiding her.

Alicia had wanted to speak to him at the cast party, but Leslie had left after only a sip of the sparkling wine; not his choice of course. Leslie always left early. He was an artist and made it clear they were lucky to have his attention at all. His superior art came before their "little amateur productions." His words and certainly not hers. Leslie reluctantly gave a hand with stage design, and instructions on how best to paint the set. With the set completed, he wanted nothing more to do with them.

Again, Alicia thanked her luck that he did not act. Karl and Leslie, two prima donnas preening on stage would have been hell for everyone.

Alicia took a deep breath; it was time for her directors’ persona to take over. She enjoyed being in charge of what she most loved. She took another glance around at the gathered cast; channelling her vision. She knew she had a talent for directing. She could see with perfect clarity, how to block the moves for each scene in the play that was to come and she rarely made a mistake when it came to casting. She used her actors as puppets of her own making. Now, as she stood in front of everyone her whole demeanour and character changed; firm, direct and skilful in handling a cast.

~~~

‘I don’t want to read Duncan! It’s - well, I don’t consider it’s the right part for someone like me,’ said Karl, his eyes blazing as he confronted Alicia.

‘Sorry, Karl I know what I am doing.’ Alicia continued undeterred. ‘You are perfect for the part.’

‘I have always played Macbeth in the past!’ Karl sat a little apart from the rest of the group. His body was rigid with agitation; his eyes flashed as his temper began to take hold of him.

‘Yes, you have before now. However,’ Alicia replied quietly, taking a deep breath, and hoping her voice would not waver before she finished. ‘It’s a huge part that is both demanding and perhaps more to the point requires a younger, more virile man. You know you much prefer fewer lines to remember these days. You found the last play really tiring and had some difficulty learning your lines.’

An expectant hush fell over the cast as her words hit home. With exchanged glances and raised eyebrows, one or two winced as if they could feel the hatred flare up between Karl and Alicia. Diplomacy had never been one of her finer points.

Karl leapt to his feet, waved his hands in the air dramatically and then stamped his foot. She almost recoiled as he spat his retort at her. 

‘Yes, but Duncan! He’s an old man who’s bumped off early in the play! Are you suggesting that I can’t remember my lines? If so, then you are being outrageous! Really, Alicia I don’t understand your casting and besides, you have no one else with enough stage presence or experience to carry off the role of Macbeth.’ He finished with a flourish, puffing up his chest and managing to splutter in a fine old rage at the same time.

The irregular members of the company shuffled in their seats in embarrassment. They were clearly unused to the tirades of Karl the Actor. Those who knew him of old looked on with amusement on their faces and some with more than a little malicious enjoyment at his fury and discomfiture. Alicia felt she had the majority with her; and she was right. Karl, despite being a fair actor in the past, did find it increasingly difficult to remember long chunks of prose. With long periods rehearsing and the subsequent stress it created, he was left wrung out and exhausted.

Nowadays, every time a new play was cast Karl played up. He threw his weight around with childish histrionics whenever he was offered something that he considered beneath his talents. This evening was no exception as he was clearly demonstrating.

Karl honestly knew that if he had been given the lead he would have been scared to death. That did not stop him playing a role. It was tedious but expected.  Eventually he would settle down and accept the less demanding part Alicia wanted him to play. Before he had a chance to carry the argument further Alicia addressed the rest of the cast.

‘Moving on, there are only a couple of changes,’ she said clearing her dry throat. ‘Steve, I would like you to read Macbeth.’

A ripple of surprise flowed between them. Steve had played cameo roles in two previous productions, but her choice caught them unawares. Steve looked stunned. He opened his mouth to say something and then promptly closed it as he glanced over to Diana with a look of unexpected pleasure. Diana gave her husband a return look of sheer pride.

‘Well done,’ she mouthed and grinned at the dawning consternation on his face.

The others agreed with Alicia. As long as the actors could handle it they welcomed new blood taking the principle roles.

Quickly, Alicia read through her notes. ‘I know Tilly isn’t here, but she already knows I want her to play Lady Macbeth. She will let me know for certain in a day or so.’ Nobody was surprised at this announcement; Tilly played a formidable leading lady.

Alicia carried on, dishing out the other characters. There were a few good-natured moans and groans but most were happy with her casting.

Sitting next to Alicia was Diana. Alicia meant to cast her as one of the three witches, a perfect character role. She hoped she would accept the part.

Pausing, Alicia noted Karl still looked grim and sulky as he threw a furious, black look across to Steve and then back to Alicia. Pouting, and with a voluble and melodramatic sigh, he opened his as yet unlooked at script and turned the pages until he found his opening scene.

There was a bellow of rage from Leslie. ‘Is this some kind of sick joke?’ he demanded.

With a gasp everyone turned to look at him, shock registering on their faces at his rude outburst.

‘Well?’ he asked.

Chapter 2. The same evening

Speak if you can. What are you?  

Macbeth. Act 1 Scene 3

Diana noticed Leslie gingerly holding his script away from him as if he did not want to touch it.

Everyone fell silent. He stood up and strode over to where Alicia was sitting at one of the taverna tables. She was writing some notes before Leslie made his rude and noisy interruption. Leslie towered over her, glaring down.

Despite his age he was a man to be reckoned with. He possessed classic good looks with fine bone structure despite a slight fleshing in the face. Leslie was of medium height with a trim, muscular body, and still carried a full head of steel-grey hair. With pale, icy blue eyes to match he looked Teutonic. With a great flourish he tossed his script down in front of her. It fell open at the page he had been glancing at.

‘You have a very peculiar sense of humour I must say. This is the final straw. I don’t know if I can be bothered, this whole thing is going to be a sham. Honestly, Alicia. I thought you had better judgment but your decision is just too pathetic for words. Typical of a woman! I think you’ve finally lost it. Anyway you’ll be very sorry, you wait and see.’

From where she sat Diana took a sneaky peek at Leslie’s script. With some bewilderment she thought that the opened pages were blackened out. Blinking, and focusing properly, Diana realised that in fact they were not black but red. Blood red. The pages appeared to be seeped in what looked like shining wet blood. ‘What on earth?’ she said to herself. ‘Was she seeing things or was this some macabre joke?

Seconds later, the sun disappeared behind a lone cloud in the sky. A sudden breeze rippled through the trees behind them, and a small flight of bats veered and swooped with disturbed, shrill squeaks upon the party gathered on the terrace.

Away upon the hill, the church bell rang out its miserable dull tone. The sound echoed around the empty forlorn buildings, peculiar, as there was no service this evening, and therefore no reason for its sombre tolling. As if in sympathy to this incongruity, the breeze turned into an unseasonable chill wind that swirled along the paths and around the corners.

Startled, Diana jumped up and looked round her. The branches of the trees silhouetted against the hillside swayed and rustled, a whisper running through the canopy. A shiver tingled down her spine. She could have sworn she had heard something up there. It was something like a shrill cry then a low chant. But staring into the gloom, the space between the trees remained as empty as when they had all first arrived. Feeling silly, she returned to her seat.

You’re seeing things and hearing things, pages covered with blood and spooky sounds, she thought. Next time it’ll be goblins. For goodness sake get a grip on yourself and stop letting your imagination run away with you.

It was strange though, this was not the first time she had felt something here. Almost like a presence. She felt a little giddy as a small wave of nausea washed over her. Her palms broke out in sweat and her heart thudded in her chest.

Perhaps Steve was right and she had been doing too much lately. He’d been nagging at her to take it easier.

‘Your health is beginning to worry me. Can’t you slow down and take it easier, Diana darling?’ he’d said more than once.

Diane sighed.  He really was such a softie. But she was glad he cared and wouldn’t have changed him for anything. But how could she take it easier?

After her conversation the other evening with Ann, she’d already decided a change of genre would be exciting for her next novel. Up until now her subject was historical fiction.

During the cast party while she and Ann stood off to one side chatting, Diana had watched and studied the various members gathered. ‘You know it’s time I wrote another book,’ she said dreamily gesturing with her hand. ‘Something compels me to. Look at this scene before us.’

Puzzled, Ann turned and looked at her, not understanding her gesture. She frowned and tilted her head to one side. ‘Sorry? You’ve lost me.’

‘All these people gathered here, and the setting so romantic, or even dramatic. I know it’s been done before, but surely the whole scene lends itself to something. Look, all around us are people, all different in age, nationality and class. Yes, there’s still a class structure despite what they say. These people are brought together for the production of the play. Here, we act together; we almost live in the same village. For the duration we cannot get away from each other until it’s all over. Then, we part, and go back to our other lives. The outsiders, perhaps we’ll never see again. The play kept us all as one.’

‘Well, apart from the play what else could bring us together then?’ asked Ann.

‘Apart from another play, you mean? I don’t know, a calamity possibly, or a strange or bizarre happening perhaps. I’d have to think about it,’ she broke off musing it over to herself.

Ann gave her a knowing smile, ‘Well, you’re the one with the writer’s imagination.’

Diana grinned back. ‘Something will come to me eventually, even if I have to write something completely different.’

Ann looked interested. ‘Really? What about a murder or a mystery?’

‘Ye-es there could be something there. A group already together, suspects in the making. There are enough weird and flamboyant characters to choose from to be the victim or the perpetrator.’

‘He would have to be evil.’

‘He?’ Diana queried her with a smile.

‘Well, it could of course be a she, as long as they’re horribly evil. The murderer I mean,’ she was warming to the theme. ‘Like in the Scottish play, you know, ‘Of this dead butcher, and his fiend-like queen.’

Diana laughed. ‘Of course, I’ll give it some thought. My agent is breathing down my neck for me to write another novel. I’ve had my time off apparently,’ she grinned ruefully at Ann. ‘I do want to get back into it. But you’re right; it would need an evil person to portray as my murderer. Somebody the readers would love to hate.’

Ann looked back steadily at her for a moment before she replied. ‘Well there’s enough material around to give you some good grounding, and you’ve already noticed a few of the people from here are very weird. I bet Leslie’s right. They all have some dark secret or other to hide. I can even tell you a few stories I’ve heard myself. Not now, there isn’t time. We’ll do it over coffee one morning...’

~~~

...Diana shook her head. How on earth could she have drifted off thinking about the other night? She felt really strange and fuzzy. It took a strong will to turn her attention back to the present and Leslie.

Amazed, she found he’d already turned on his heel and was stalking away from the startled group. There was a stunned silence as they all sat open-mouthed at his rude departure, not believing what they had just heard. Embarrassed, they looked at the stricken face of Alicia. Her freckles stood out like a hectic rash upon her face and throat. Blinking and flushed; an ugly red stain crept up her neck and across her cheeks.

Diana felt sorry for Alicia as she obviously struggled to keep her composure.

Alicia looked up from the script that Leslie had just thrust at her, confusion clouding her features.

She took a gulp. ‘I don’t understand. I only wanted to try something new. Leslie was well aware I was going to make this production contemporary.  I don’t see what’s wrong in setting the play in the present and making the cast into modern armies. Guns and army fatigues would make a fine change from medieval costume’. She paused, then continued shakily. ‘I’m sure he’ll see reason once he calms down.’

‘He was bloody rude and arrogant to boot,’ stormed a nearby member shaking his head in anger. ‘I think you did very well not to have had a stand up row. If it had been me, I’d have bloody well thumped him. ’

‘Well, that’s not my thing, Bernard. Anyway, I’m only relieved he threw a wobbly now and not at some later crucial stage. At least we have plenty of time to plan around him if necessary. It is important that everyone takes part in this production. We want to put our theatre group of Agios Mamas firmly and right with the rest of the Cyprus theatre scene. We have this splendid opportunity with our own open-air amphitheatre so let’s take it. I’m not going to be put off by a minor irritation like Leslie.’

She paused, and then in a firmer but soft voice spoke to herself. Only Diana, who was nearest to her, heard the venom in her words. ‘No. This time he’s not going to be allowed to upset any of my plans.’

Chapter 3. Wednesday 25th 

And make my seated heart knock at my ribs, against the use of nature? Present fears are less than horrible imaginings. 

Macbeth. Act 1 Scene 3

Michael’s Taverna was a blaze of welcoming bright light, merry background bouzouki music and tantalising aromas. Word had swiftly spread; here the mezes, Greek for ‘mixtures’ were reputed to be delicious.

Tilly had arranged to meet Pete, Ann, Bernard and Jenny for an early supper. After hearing others from their theatre group rave about the taverna, they wanted to try out the menu for themselves.

Tilly arrived early, leaving her house before it got dark so she could enjoy the drive up into the cool hills. The sweet herb-scented air played through her hair as she drove up the twisting road and admired the sweep of the countryside. It was always a welcome relief to leave a hot, fume-filled Limassol and get out to where the vineyards and olive groves climbed the ancient hillside. Before she left her car she stole a look around the parking area. With relief she realised she recognised none of the other cars already there.

A shy teenage girl greeted her and showed her to a comfy cushioned settee on the wooden veranda. Tilly ordered a glass of the local white wine while she waited on the others. She sipped it slowly, the crispness of the Xinisteri grape crisp and dry on her tongue.

Michael placed a dish of locally grown almonds in front of her. He flirted outrageously before giving her fingers a last kiss and then, sighing melodramatically wandered back to the kitchen. Normally, Tilly would have relished his playful and amorous attention, but not this evening. She felt stiff and awkward, her thoughts elsewhere. She fidgeted in her seat, scraped her hair back off her face, felt an imagined itch under her bra strap.

Tilly cast an uneasy look around her, willing herself to relax. Something that had evaded her since her unfortunate set to with Leslie. How could she have been so blind? Or weak and stupid! She had never been so annoyed with herself in her life.

A car’s headlights swung into the car park, the tyres crunching over the loose gravel. Tilly peered into the deepening twilight and recognized the battered silhouette of Bernard’s old Hyundai. She smiled, as she pondered, not for the first time, how it continued to trundle up the steep mountain roads to Agios Mamas, let alone pass an MOT.

There was a certain amount of gaiety as the four newcomers wandered up to Tilly. Arranging a smile on her face, she stood up to greet her friends.

‘Here we are at last! I wondered if we were ever going to get out this evening. The girls were playing up a bit. How are you, Tilly?’ Ann enveloped her in a matronly hug of ample bosom overlaid with the sweet scent of her usual lavender water.

As ‘the girls’ were a couple of fat Cyprus poodles; small, fluffy bundles on six-inch long legs, Tilly failed to see how they could give anyone any trouble at all. They lived for their twice-daily meals and hardly needed or craved any outdoor exercise of any sort. Show them their leads and they looked puzzled. She smiled as Ann explained.

‘A kitten got in the courtyard and it couldn’t get out again. The girls went completely bananas. Of course we had to capture the poor terrified thing to let it out, and boy could it run. It was hilarious watching Pete. He eventually threw a towel over it and bundled it up. It was the only way. It was hilarious. You’d have died.’

Pete gave her a mock scowl. ‘You didn’t help at all except laugh when the cat leapt over my head,’ he complained. ‘Still we got there in the end. How are you, Tilly m’dear?’ He planted a smacking kiss on both cheeks. ‘You look a bit peaky. Have you lost weight? Oh, and by the way, Tilly, hearty congratulations on getting the leading lady part. You’ll make a fine Lady M.’

Tilly returned his greeting and mumbled something about ‘working out hard at the gym’ down in Episkopi. She ignored his remark about the play as she turned to welcome the others. She complimented Jen on her very short haircut. The new look suited her short and plump friend.

After admiring the stunning view from the veranda Tilly suggested they might like to take their places and give their order. She had reserved a corner table near an open window, which offered a delicious cool evening breeze. Its position also gave them some privacy.

The old friends sat down and looked around at the new taverna. It was a typical mountain restaurant with local stone and pine giving it a distinct Alpine feel. The walls were adorned with ‘antiquities’ of Aphrodite’s Island; leather wine sacks, wooden bread carriers, black and white silk pictures, yellowed photographed moustachioed men in black hose and bandoliers, paintings of churches, donkeys and gilt religious icons.

The tables were set with blue tasselled tablecloths and yellow paper serviettes. The cheap glass cruets contained lemon juice and olive oil. A terracotta jug stood waiting for the wine and each place was laid with impossibly thin spindly cutlery with plastic handles. Little sprigs of fresh basil and bougainvillea adorned simple jam jars. Their chairs were the usual uncomfortable, backbreaking raffia covered wooden uprights. It was so familiar and yet completely right. The five all loved it.

Delighted to see the group Michael made them welcome with small bowls of olives and nuts to nibble before their meal. A jovial man, he had long been a favourite of expatriates and Cypriots alike when he ran a taverna down on the coastal strip; they were delighted to see him again. They took time to congratulate him on his fine choice of venue for his new restaurant. Michael beamed at their praise.

Bernard ordered litre carafes of both the local village red and white wine. There was no need for bottled water, as they were used to drinking the sweet water that came straight down from the Troodos Mountains. It was filtered through the rocks until it ran crystal-clear.

The dishes were an experience taken only with a loose fitting waistband; Greek salad and dips, accompanied by warmed toasted pitta breads stuffed with Halloumi cheese. Peasant vegetable dishes followed; a stew of black-eyed beans with courgettes and okra in tomato sauce. Cypriots loved their meat ration and the five diners became almost glassy-eyed as their meat dishes arrived.

Just when they thought they were winning Michael swooped in with a complimentary plate of fruits and sugar rich baklava that finished their meal perfectly. He gave a deep throaty laugh at the look on their faces. The three women groaned, but Bernard had no qualms. He finished his sticky sweet in record time and then greedily pounced on Tilly’s when she declared herself incapable of eating another mouthful.

‘You have it, Bernard,’ she said, smiling at his unabashed grin of delight.

‘Don’t mind if I do.  Good job I’m still skinny. It was a great idea of yours to come here. We’ll certainly come again when we’re feeling flush.’

‘I don’t think it’s expensive really. The wine’s a bit pricey, but the delicious food makes up for it, don’t you think?’

‘Mmmm it’s been lovely,’ agreed Jenny taking another sip of her white wine.

There was a companionable silence as they sat back watching Bernard polish off the crumbs on his plate. With his enormous appetite he was the envy of all their friends. He could eat as much as he liked without gaining an ounce. It caused plump Jenny and Ann no end of irritation.

The taverna was full, and lively with the conversation of the other diners around them. When Bernard had finished the baklava and placed an order for some coffees Tilly took her opportunity to address them.

She looked rather nervous as she glanced around the table. ‘Actually, I wanted to talk to you all about something. I need to ask your advice about a problem.’

Jenny and Bernard immediately exchanged uneasy looks with Pete and Ann before turning their attention back to Tilly. Their apprehension was obvious.

‘Oh?’

’Of course, my dear you go right ahead, you know we’re only too willing to help if we can.’ Jenny said.

Appearing agitated and embarrassed, Tilly paused as she looked, one by one, at those seated around the table.

‘It’s a little - difficult. Umm. Look, I shan’t beat about the bush, but I have been having a bit of a fling with Leslie,’ she burst out, her voice low but audible.

They all looked slightly stunned for a moment. Tilly had their full attention. ‘Well, Pete and I had noticed that he hung around you a lot, especially during the last lot of rehearsals,’ Ann confessed. ‘But, I must say I didn’t know it had got that far.’

Tilly flushed. ‘Was it that noticeable? Oh God! Well it’s all over now. I know he’s married and I shouldn’t have got involved. But he was very charming and sweet-talking. I was going through a low period and he just picked his moment. I was feeling a bit depressed over Keith’s death and needed some old fashioned comfort. I know! I know! I feel really bad about it now, but at the time I enjoyed his attention and flattery.’ Tilly looked down at the table in front of her, too ashamed to meet their gaze.

‘It’s okay, really, Tilly. You don’t have to explain it all to us. You’re unattached, and as for him being married, well honestly Sonja is such a plain, cold fish. I’m sure Leslie jumped at the chance of an affair with a pretty girl like you. You’re not the first my dear. He’s always chased women, dozens of them. And you’ll not be the last. I’m sure everyone here agrees with me.’ Bernard consoled her with a pat on her hand and a twinkle in his eye. Despite Tilly’s shocking revelation there were murmurs of concurrence from around the table. Leslie’s affairs were well known.

‘Yes I’m sure you’re right. It’s just, well I feel disgusted with myself. That’s why I broke it off. I suddenly saw myself in someone else’s eyes. I didn’t want to steal anyone’s husband; it was a passing moment of weakness.’

Bernard continued. ‘I really don’t think you would have gone that far would you? Besides, as I said, he has always rather chased the ladies. It’s part of his raison d’etre. As for feeling disgusted with yourself, don’t. He deliberately makes a play for attractive young females. You would have found it difficult to keep him at arm’s length once he’d made up his mind anyway.’

Tilly considered Bernard’s words; she wasn’t entirely convinced. ‘Mmm maybe.’

She glanced across to Ann and Pete.  ‘You say you noticed he hung around me at rehearsals, do you suppose anyone else noticed? If that’s right, then I might have a problem playing Lady Macbeth. I wouldn’t want any tittle-tattle especially if he does get involved with the set. It’s more than likely he will once he’s got over his paddy.’

Jen intervened as chief gossip for the village and the drama group. ‘Nobody else has said anything in my hearing. So don’t worry. I think you can keep it quiet. Of course Bernard and I won’t tell a soul,’ she looked across at Pete and Ann as if asking for affirmation. They both nodded.

‘Thank you,’ said Tilly. Despite her words she still looked anxious.

‘I don’t think you’ve told us what’s really worrying you though, have you? There’s more to it than that, isn’t there?’ Pete studied Tilly over the rim of his wine glass.

‘You’re right. There is something else,’ her voice had a slight quiver. ‘Ever since I ended it, it’s become difficult. Or rather Leslie’s become difficult.’

‘Ah! He’s playing a male that’s been scorned. He’s suffering from a wounded pride and all that testosterone stuff. Serve him right my dear. Bring him down a peg or two,’ Pete scoffed as he took another quaff of red wine.

‘No, you don’t understand. He’s become a real nuisance. He’s an absolute pain and a - a nightmare.’

Pete lowered his glass slowly, his wine forgotten. He frowned at Tilly. ‘What do you mean exactly?’

Tilly paused. She looked down at the crumb-covered tablecloth before raising her tawny-coloured eyes to meet those of her friends. She looked miserable and on the verge of tears.

‘I mean that he’s constantly ringing me at all hours. Sometimes, when I answer the phone there’s no one there, just a silence. But I know it’s him. I’ve seen him sitting in his car just along the road from my house, spying and waiting for me to come out. Then he’s followed me. Sometimes he comes to my door, where he might or might not ring my bell. I tell you it’s unbearable. I now lock all my windows and doors - in this weather too. And I draw my curtains while it’s still light. The back garden is insecure. He sometimes wanders around when I’m sitting there and he unnerves me. It’s creepy. He’s creepy! And I’m scared.’

Her last line she whispered. With some alarm, they watched as tears filled her eyes. Ann looked horrified and covered her mouth with her hand.

Jenny was shocked into momentary silence. Her face had gone pale despite her tan and her own eyes had filled with compassion and concern for Tilly. She gasped. ‘That’s awful!’ and then turned to her husband. ‘What can we do, Bernard?’

Not waiting for his reply she looked back at Tilly and continued. ‘Oh, you poor thing. It’s simply dreadful. What a stupid horrid man!’

Bernard appeared thoughtful for a moment as he took one of Tilly’s hands in his own before he replied. His mouth was pursed as if in anger but he appeared calm when he spoke.

‘I’m not sure what the best course of action is. He’s probably only doing it to annoy you in a fit of pique, and he may well stop when he realizes he’s not getting anywhere. How long has this been going on?’

‘Going on? Oh for about a couple of weeks. But now, he’s coming more and more often. I can’t relax, knowing he may be lurking around outside. He frightens me,’ she gave a quiet sob and bit her lip.

‘Have you thought about telling the police?’ Ann asked, always one for action.

‘Yes. I wasn’t sure if that was a bit extreme at first. There is a police inspector that lives down the road. I wondered if he would help. But, I don’t want it to be official. That would mean the police taking him in for questioning. Surely he’s just a silly old man and I’m afraid Sonja would find out. How upsetting would that be for her? I don’t want to cause any more trouble than I already have.’

‘Okay, what about unofficially then? How well do you know the inspector?’ asked Pete.

‘So-so. He’s always polite if not particularly friendly. I’m not sure he likes us Brits much.’ Tilly gave a half-hearted smile.

‘That doesn’t matter. The important thing is you tell him. He’ll know what to do. We’ll come and give you moral support if you like,’ Pete looked at the others for confirmation. He was big and soft hearted, always a champion for females in distress.

‘Thank you. You are kind. Yes, I will have a word with him. Maybe he can warn Leslie on the quiet. Tell him to back off and stop making a nuisance of himself. That is, unless he thinks I’m being an over hysterical female,’ Tilly looked more forlorn than ever at the thought of what she had to do.

‘Don’t be downhearted. I bet he won’t think that at all. He’ll probably agree a few words will frighten the life out of Leslie. It will do him good. I’d love to see it.’ Rubbing his hands together with glee, there was a note of gloating in Bernard’s voice. ‘You contact the police and let us know the outcome. Now, the first thing is not to worry about it. I’m sure Leslie is no threat really; he’s just an arrogant bully. He’ll soon run off scared if there’s a whiff of the law onto him.’

‘I hope you’re right,’ Tilly still looked scared and depressed. Her hands restlessly pleated the tablecloth in front of her.

‘I think another glass of something my dear. Would it help if you spent the night with us? We’ve plenty of room,’ Jen asked, laying her arm around Tilly’s shoulders.

Tilly made an effort to smile before answering her. Her mind was clearly elsewhere. ‘No thank you. I’ll be fine at home. As Bernard said, Leslie’s probably no danger really. Just a big bore.’

She looked away from the others; out into the darkness beyond the warm glow from the taverna. What if the police wouldn’t help her? If they didn’t believe her, then she would have to think again. One way or another Leslie had to be stopped. Tilly had had enough. She was terrified at the thought, but she was now desperate enough to put an end to this herself.

Chapter 4. Thursday 26th

And nothing is but what is not.

Macbeth. Act 1 Scene 3

July was always stonking hot and this summer the temperatures had risen higher than normal. It was even thirty-six degrees up in the cooler mountains of the Troodos. Down below on the coast it was horribly sticky, and on the plain where the capital Nicosia lay, it was reaching an unbelievable forty-five degrees. To make life more uncomfortable, there was not a trace of wind. The slightest movement caused trickles of sweat to roll down between ones’ eyes and shoulder blades, bringing yet more discomfort.

Diana lay stretched out on the sitting room floor under the ceiling fan. She had exposed her bare midriff to the turgid air that swished around her, giving a temporary sluggish respite from the heat. Sparky, the family cat, flopped down next to her; a pathetic bundle of hot fur.

Steve wandered in from the courtyard, glad to be in the shade and beyond the slash of the sun’s cruel rays. Surveying the scene on the floor in front of him he gave a slight grin as Di opened one eye and groaned.

‘I shan’t state the obvious.’

‘Yeah, hot and horrible! How about going down to Curium beach for a swim?’

‘I don’t know I can be bothered. It’s unbearable just walking from here to the car.’

‘Don’t be idle. Besides you haven’t been in the car since I had the air conditioning re-gassed. Now, as soon as you switch it on it cools down immediately. You can turn it down low and still be cool. It’s much better for the environment, as you keep reminding me.’

‘Bugger the environment. Global warming’s causing this.’

Steve was amused. Di was, and had long been an advocate of the theory of Global Warming even before she had taken her Science degree and studied the full facts for herself. Early on, way back in the 1980s, she had been convinced man was ruining the planet at a breakneck speed.

‘Okay. But I still think a swim would be nice, apart from a change of scene if nothing else. Come on, we can be cooling off in the sea in twenty minutes.’

‘You’re right. I am being idle. It’s just that today is hotter than ever and I’m sure it’s making me feel nauseous.’ She sat up, brushed her long dark hair back from her flushed face and twisted it up into a knot on the top of her head. Despite her dishevelment, Steve could not help thinking she looked beautiful and desirable. If only it had been a little bit cooler he might have been able to entice her into their bedroom.

‘Do you think we should give Jen and Bernard a ring? Jen loves a swim and their car’s not too reliable at the moment? In these temperatures it keeps overheating.’

‘That’s because it’s old and knackered and they need a replacement. Okay. You get your cossie on and I’ll ring and ask them. Do you want to suggest it to anyone else? What about Pete and Ann or Elaine?’ he paused before dialling the number.

Diana looked thoughtful for a moment, ‘No, just Bernard and Jen. Elaine said she has too much to do and needed to ring the UK gallery later. Let’s just make it a foursome. Besides, we owe Bernard and Jen a lunch and it would be a good opportunity to pay our debts. As for their car, they really don’t have the money for a new one.’ She turned to make her way upstairs. 

~~~

‘Mmm. What a good idea of yours this was.’ Lying, floating on her back Jenny looked completely relaxed. Her ears were under the water, blocking out the noise from the shore. The beach was packed with holidaymakers and locals, who had all come down to the sea to catch a respite from the heat.

Small waves rippled the surface making it appear oily and immobile. That is until, out of nowhere a big wave crested and curled and came crashing down over her head.  Jenny disappeared under a ton of water with a small shriek. She tumbled towards the direction of the shore, caught in the frothy energy.  ‘Well!’ She exclaimed laughing as she struggled to stand on the sandy sea bottom.

‘Oh I’m sorry,’ Di spluttered joining in her laughter. ‘I couldn’t warn you in time. That was a rogue wave. It must have come from a ship out at sea. There’s no wind to make any. Are you all right?’

‘Yes of course I am. It’s a good thing Ann isn’t here, as she hates waves of any kind. Let’s swim out once more to the orange buoys and back, and then go in for a drink? Coming?’

With long lazy strokes, they made it as far as the buoys that separated the swimming from the sailing boats area. After taking a breather they agreed to head for the shore. Diana felt the first tell-tale twinges of leg cramp and didn’t want to get caught out.

Massaging her calf, Diana became aware of a long and slim, dark-grey shape gliding in the water nearby. Panic gripped her. A shark! She turned back towards Jenny.

‘Jenny!’ the scream tore from her throat.

‘What is it?’ Jenny puffed up alongside. 

‘Did you see it? I think I saw a shark.’

‘What? Where?’ Jenny’s large eyes darkened with terror. She thrashed around and peered down into the water’s depths.

‘Keep calm and still. Movement might make it come back. Stay close to me.’

‘How can I stay calm if there’s a shark out here? Did you, did you see a fin?’ Jenny squeaked with terror.

‘No.’ Di gasped as she too looked fearfully down into the depths.

They kept close together as they swam steadily towards the shore, terrified and trying hard to keep back the rising panic. Just then, a glistening grey beak poked its head out of the water just in front of them. Its eye was turned towards both women and Diana felt as if it was looking right at her as it moved forward.

Jenny let out a horrified scream of terror and started swimming erratically towards the shore.

‘Jenny,