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THE NEXT MORNING WAS overcast and cold. Janine got up early and tidied the living room, smiling to herself as she thought of the night with Mick. He was gone and she didn’t know when she would see him again. It didn’t bother her—she knew he would return. But even if he hadn’t, she still had that night to cherish. It had been an accidental encounter, a one-night stand, and she didn’t mind that at all. She wasn’t ready for a new relationship; she didn’t want any further tensions and complications. She needed that closure Brian had talked about. The night had made her feel calm and happy, and she was ready to tackle the next canvas. Painting brought Jake to her as vividly as if he had come back. It was his courage that had impressed her more than anything. So calm even when facing mortal danger...
-o-
They raced down the narrow alleys to the harbour. The men Jake had spotted moved from stall to stall, not looking at the merchandise, but peering around, searching, asking questions here and there. Jake had pulled Janine up and pushed her through the throng ahead of him, urging her to walk faster before slipping into an alley and start running.
Breathless, they arrived at the harbour. Janine was about to rush up to the ship when Jake pulled her back. “Look. They made it here before us.”
Janine peered around the corner of a hut and saw two men, their AK47s strapped to their backs, climb up the gangplank. Her heart skipped a beat. “Merde, they’re here already. How did they know we were going on that ship?”
“They didn’t. I guess they’re going from ship to ship. We’d better give this one a miss.”
“But we were supposed to sail tonight.”
“I know. And everyone is getting out of here.” Jake looked at the ship, where the men had just arrived on deck.
“Maybe we could wait until they’re gone and then board?” Janine suggested. “I mean they won’t find us there, and nobody except the BBC men know about us. But they’re still at the market. So, unless they tell on us, the men won’t get any information from the crew.”
“And when they’ve finished there, they’ll go to another ship. Yes. Risky but also clever. They won’t look where they’ve already drawn a blank.” He frowned. “But what if the crew on the ship realise we’re the very couple those goons were looking for? They might have been promised money for information or something.”
Janine’s face fell and she felt tears of frustration sting her eyes. “You’re right. We can’t take that risk. What are we going to do?”
Jake scanned the length of the quay. “There’s a small cruise ship further up preparing to leave. We might be able to get on that one.” He pointed ahead. “See that small ship? It’s packed with people on deck. Tourists getting out of here fast. Do you think we could make a run for it?”
“We have to try.”
“We can run behind the buildings so we won’t be spotted.” Jake grabbed her hand. “Come on, let’s go!”
Darkness fell as they ran along the back of the buildings, peeping around corners now and then, to make sure they were not seen. But the men were still on the rusty freight ship. By the time Janine thought her lungs would explode and her heart seize, they arrived at the small cruise ship with a Swedish flag flying from the aft. About thirty people, mostly tourists, were trying to get onto the gangplank leading to the upper deck, but two burly blond men were already pulling it in, and crew members were undoing the ropes from the bollards on the quay.
Jake grabbed Janine’s hand and pushed through the throng, which earned him angry expletives from some of the people. He shouted something to one of the crew members, who immediately stopped in his tracks and waved Jake forward. “What did you say?”
“I asked how much it would cost to get my wife on board. She’s pregnant and feeling quite sick. So she needs to get out of here fast.”
“Pregnant?” Janine muttered.
“Shut up,” Jake hissed in her ear. “You’re having triplets if it gets you on the ship.”
“What kind of currency?” The man asked.
“Euros. I can give you two thousand in cash.”
The man held out his large hand. “Show me the money.”
Jake pulled out a wad of notes from his jacket. Jostled by the crowd, he counted the amount and put it in the man’s hand. Then he gave the rest of the money to Janine. “Here take it, it might come in handy.”
Janine stared at him. “But aren’t you coming with me?”
“No room,” the Swedish seaman said. “Only you and only because you’re pregnant.”
Janine stared at Jake. “I’m not going without you.”
Jake pulled a small bundle out of his jacket. “Here. Your phone and your wallet.” He pushed her at the seaman. “She’s ready. Please, Janine, go.”
The seaman, having pocketed the cash, grabbed Janine’s arm, and in one heave, lifted her onto the gangplank, where another crew member helped her on board.
“Jake!” Janine yelled.
He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Go on, sweetheart,” he called. “The ship is docking at Naples in a couple of days. Go to the Hotel Rex near the harbour. I’ll try to get to you as soon as I can.”
The people in the crowd protested loudly, but the gangplank was now pulled up, the ropes undone, and the last of the crew jumped on board. Janine stood at the railing, watching Jake wave at her. As the ship pulled away and out to sea, she could see him give her a last wave before he disappeared into the crowd. She touched the smooth turquoise on the bracelet he had given her, as if it would give her the strength to carry on without him.
-o-
Painting took up most of Janine’s days. The studio was lined with canvases, all filled with shapes and colours that became more vibrant as she worked, and the smell of oil paint permeated the house. The large canvas was now beckoning her and the image of what would be there became stronger in Janine’s mind. It was as if she needed to get everything else out before she could tackle what she knew would be startling and heart-wrenching—Jake standing at the top of Cheops, his arms spread out like the wings of Nike from Samothrace, that marble sculpture she had seen in the Louvre. She couldn’t get that image out of her mind. Jake flying out into the sky, into another world, into infinity.
The phone rang early one afternoon, startling her out of her daze. She picked up the phone in the living room. It was Brian.
“Hello there. Just wondering how you’re getting on.”
His warm voice seemed to fill the room. Janine smiled. “Very well, thank you. I’ve done four more canvases.”
“That’s amazing. I’m very impressed. Do you think you might want to exhibit them?”
Janine hesitated. “In the pub? I don’t think so, Brian.”
“No, not in my pub. In my gallery. I’d like to have something different for the spring opening. Maybe do an exhibition to kick off the new season.”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure I’m ready for that yet. I have never showed my work to the public before.”
“Could I have a look at what you’ve done so far?”
Janine suddenly yearned for company. She realised she hadn’t spoken to anyone for days. “Of course. I’d love to see you.”
“I’m on my way to put some flowers on Fidelma’s grave. I’ll call in on my way back. In about two hours?”
Janine looked down at her paint-stained shirt. “Perfect. It will take me about that time to clean myself up.”
He laughed. “You’ll look lovely, even covered in slurry. Looking forward to seeing you.”
“Me too,” Janine said, realising she meant it. Brian was such a comforting man.
She quickly stripped off the shirt and went upstairs to change, leaving a trail of clothes and underwear as she went. She padded to the window to close the curtains, peering out to see if the gathering clouds had brought rain. She would need to take in the towels on the washing line if the rain was heavy. Looking out across the garden, she saw a shadow move beside the ruined tower. Backing away from the window, she looked again. A fox? Or a stray sheep? No, bigger than that. She wasn’t sure but it had looked fleetingly like a man.
-o-
“Nobody there,” Brian said when he came back from the tower. “No sign of anyone or even footprints. The mud’s wet, so anyone walking around would have left prints or something. Are you sure you saw someone?”
“I was, then. But now you’re here, I’m not so sure.”
“Well, I did hear something on the radio about a criminal on the run from Britain. The police are checking borders, and they think he’s come into Ireland. Don’t know the details. My van is so noisy I couldn’t make all of it out. But I don’t think it was around here. Probably the ferry ports in Waterford or something.”
“I can’t imagine that anyone like that would come here,” Janine said, in an attempt to reassure herself.
“Not very likely. I’m sure there was nobody there at all. It could just have been the clouds moving across the sky, casting a shadow. The mind plays tricks when you’re on edge.”
“I suppose.” Janine busied herself with making tea. The kitchen was warm and cosy as the darkness gathered outside. “I haven’t really been on edge as you said, but thinking a lot about...something.”
“Or someone?” Brian took off his navy wool jacket and sat down at the table.
Janine put the teapot and two mugs in front of him. “Yes, as you’re so astute. Someone. A man from my past. Can’t get him out of my mind.”
Brian poured tea into two mugs. “Sit down. Have some tea. Those little cakes look good.”
Janine pushed the plate of tiny sponge cakes at Brian. “Please, have some. They’re madeleines. Typical French teatime snacks.”
Brian stuffed one into his mouth. “Mmm, delicious. You’re a good cook.”
“My cooking is a little accident-prone. I’m dyslexic so I sometime get recipes wrong. But this one I remember by heart. My grandmother taught me to make these. I like pastries but I can’t overdo it, of course. Tends to go to my hips.”
Brian eyed her figure. “Doesn’t seem to have done you any harm.”
Janine laughed. “My hips are perhaps a little wide to be fashionable. I used to stick to a strict diet but now I don’t care.”
“Why would you want to look like a boy? Women should look like...women.”
Janine winked. “Are you sure you’re not French? That’s what a Frenchman would say.”
“Maybe I am a little French at heart. I do like a womanly figure. And I hate diets. Maybe I should make more of an effort.”
“But you look very good, Brian. You’re big man, but most of it is muscle. You must be doing some kind of sport.”
Brian leaned back in his chair. “I still play rugby. I should quit but I love the game. And I work out in the gym a few times a week. That gives me licence to eat and drink a little. Running a pub is hard work as well. Lots of lifting and shifting and cleaning and stuff like that.”
“I can imagine.” Janine sipped her tea. “I don’t exercise much. Too boring. All that sweating and toning. Makes a woman look so butch. I do yoga and I walk a lot. That’s enough for me. And standing at the easel is quite tiring.”
“Must be.” Brian got up. “Where’s your work? I’d love to see what you’ve done.”
“Do you have time? I mean, the pub...”
“I have the day off. My nephew is looking after the pub today and tonight. It’s the anniversary of Fidelma’s death, so—”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. Sad day for you.”
Brian ran a hand over his face. “Yeah. Well, I always go to her grave and put some flowers there and have a little chat with her. Doesn’t help but it’s something I need to do.”
“Of course.”
“But now, let’s go and look at some of your work.”
Janine jumped up from the table. “Of course. It’s upstairs in the studio. To the right of the stairs. I’ll be up in a minute.”
She tidied up the tea things and closed the curtains, looking out into the dark for a moment. She thought she saw a movement beside the shed but ignored it. Don’t let your imagination run away with you, she told herself sternly. There’s nobody there.
Brian studied the paintings in the bright light of the fluorescent tubes Janine had installed in the studio. “Very impressive,” he said, turning a canvas around to the light. “This one’s a lot brighter than your earlier work. I like the beige and sand colours and the sky—if that’s what it is—nearly white with heat. I can feel the sun, even though it isn’t on the canvas. And there is a kind of danger here, mixed with hope and joy.” He kept looking at the painting and then back at Janine. “It’s very strong. All of your work is. It’s like a story.”
“It is a story. But I find it strange that it’s so obvious to you. I thought it might just look like a lot of swirls and colours to most people.”
“I don’t think so. There is such passion here, such despair and such...heat.”
Janine looked at him, bewildered. “Really? Mon dieu, I had no idea.”
Brian put down the painting and glanced at the large blank canvas that was leaning against the inner wall of the studio. “And that one is waiting for something, I feel.”
“Yes.” They looked at each other in silence. Janine took a deep breath. “Do you want to hear my story?” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.
He hesitated, as if he could sense her inner struggle. “Only if you want to tell me.”
“I shouldn’t. But right now, if I don’t share it with someone, I’ll go mad. Do you want to stay for supper? I made some boeuf Bourguignon last night. Or, that’s what I think it is. I found the recipe on the Internet. Could be that I made it into something else. But I’m not sure you’d be brave enough to try it.”
Brian smiled. “I like living dangerously.”
Janine laughed. “I have a bottle of red wine to go with it. At least I’m not colour-blind. And I’ll play you some French music while we eat.”
“Only if it’s Piaf.”
Janine snorted. “Not Piaf! I hate her. All that pain and sorrow and misery. Such a dreary little woman. I know she had a sad life, but couldn’t she have tried to at least do something with her hair?”
Brian laughed. “You have such a different take on everything.”
Janine shrugged. “I see things as they are. Misery is no excuse for bad grooming. Come on, let’s eat, drink and discuss the story of my life.”
As they were about to go downstairs, Brian put his hand on her arm. “You don’t have to tell me anything. I’ll just enjoy the food and your company.”
“I don’t think I could stop myself.”
Down in the kitchen, with Brian at the table, sipping wine, Janine took the casserole with the beef stew from the fridge. “It’s supposed to be best the day after cooking,” she said, lifting the lid to give it a stir. It won’t take long to heat—” She stopped and stared into the casserole. “But...what’s this? There’s only half of it left. I made enough for two days, so I wouldn’t have to cook, and half the baguette has gone.”
“Maybe you ate it without thinking?” Brian suggested. “You might have been so lost in your painting that you weren’t aware of what you were doing. Happens to me sometimes when I have a problem. I look at the pub and wonder who washed all those glasses and stacked up the chairs.”
Janine looked at him thoughtfully. “Hmm, yes, that’s possible of course. I have been quite obsessed with it lately.” She started to heat the casserole on the cooker. “Let’s eat, drink and forget our worries.”
Brian nodded. “Sounds good to me.”
-o-
She knew she would, even though she shouldn’t have. Despite the feeling that revealing the whole story to a stranger would be a dangerous folly, she found herself telling it all to Brian. She came to the end as they finished the last of the wine in front of a blazing fire. The final notes of Jacques Brel’s Ne me quittes pas, trailed away into the dim light, as Janine drew breath after her long tale.
Brian had listened intently, forgetting to drink his wine, looking at her through the gloom, comfortably settled in the large easy chair. Janine was curled up in the sofa like a cat, cradling her glass of wine. She didn’t look at him while she spoke, but stared unseeing into the flames, her whole life playing in front of her like a movie.
She had told him everything, right from her early childhood. It was as if his interest and willingness to listen, combined with her total trust in him, opened floodgates and eased the pressure inside. It all came out. Her early poor days in Paris, spending everything she earned on her art course, then the offer of a modelling contract and her exciting years in New York until she met Steve.
Janine looked at Brian, willing him to understand. “I know I sound like a gold digger, but it wasn’t like that. He was powerful and rich, yes. But he could be so incredibly charming. And so sweet and protective. At first, we had an affair. That was the best time.” She sighed. “I think I make a better mistress than a wife. I like my freedom. I tried to explain that to Steve but he didn’t understand. He wanted to own me. As a husband he did just that—I was his possession. I should have realised that. But—” she shrugged and smiled, “I did enjoy the wedding and being a bride. Stupid Barbie dreams.”
Brian shook his head. “I can’t picture you as a bride. Don’t know why.”
She laughed. “No, not really me at all. All that frou-frou and virginal white. I should have walked up the aisle wearing a little black dress, red stilettos and a silly little hat. But Steve would never have accepted that. In those days, all I wanted was to please him.”
“Lucky man.”
“Yes, maybe. But he didn’t see it that way. He took me for granted once we were married. He turned nasty and possessive. Had me followed everywhere.”
“So you ran away. And met Jake. That mad dash through the desert sounds like A Thousand and One Nights meets Indiana Jones.”
Janine laughed. “I suppose. But it didn’t have a happy ending.”
“I guessed it wouldn’t. So Jake never turned up at the Hotel Rex in Naples?”
“No.” Janine blinked away tears and swallowed, trying to ease the hard lump in her throat. “That’s the hardest part to talk about.”
“Don’t if you can’t.”
“I must.” She cleared her throat, knowing she had to finish her story. Brian, who had so patiently listened for several hours, deserved to know.
-o-
The Hotel Rex was a pleasant little hotel near the harbour in Naples. The cruise ship had docked late at night. After an uncomfortable sailing, crammed on deck with hundreds of refugees, all the passengers rushed to disembark. Janine managed to wash off the henna paint on her face and discard her hijab. She slipped into the heaving mass of people on the quay, trying to melt into the crowd. The border police, who checked everyone’s papers, were surprisingly careless and waved her on when she told them she had lost her French passport. “Go to the French consulate, they’ll help you,” was all a yawning Italian policeman told her. Gratefully, she slipped away and found the hotel, where she was given a double room after paying an exorbitant sum for the night. The next morning, she went to the market and bought a pair of jeans and a tee shirt, some toiletries and a hairbrush before she went back to the hotel to wait for Jake. She knew it would be days before he arrived, but she needed to rest and recover. She also found a stall that sold Moroccan artefacts, and she bought a few trinkets, just because they reminded her of Jake and the desert.
Two days later, as she was washing her hair in the little bathroom, she heard the door open. Jake, she thought. At last! She quickly wrapped her hair in a towel and swung the door open, her heart doing a happy dance in her chest.
But her smile froze as she saw who had just entered. “Steve,” she gasped.
He smiled thinly. “Yes, my darling, it’s me. Your loving husband.” Dressed in a beige Armani linen suit and Gucci loafers, he looked his usual polished self, down to the gold amulet she could glimpse at the open neck of his pink silk shirt. His blond hair gleamed and his tan hadn’t faded since she had last seen him. His eyes were, as always, expressionless. Someone entered behind him. Janine recognised one of his bodyguards. She knew she was cornered.
She pulled herself up. “Hello, Steve. You look well.”
“You look like shit.”
She smiled thinly. “How sweet of you. But you’re right. A week in the desert is not exactly a beauty treatment.”
He stepped closer—so close she could smell the stale whisky on his breath. But she didn’t flinch. He would never frighten her again. Her hatred of him gave her strength. “So, you ran away?” he snarled. “You thought I wouldn’t find you? You were wrong, my sweet. We have been behind you right from the start. Followed your every move.”
She raised one eyebrow. “We? You mean your trained monkeys, don’t you? They got to do your dirty work while you sat on your yacht sipping champagne and having a manicure, I bet.”
“Shut up. I know all about your little adventure. I know about your lover.”
“So? Yes, I had a lover. And he was good. Better than—”
Steve raised his hand and slapped her face so hard her ears rang. “Whore!”
Her cheek burning, she stepped back and wrapped the bathrobe tighter around her. “I was more of a whore when I married you. That was the biggest mistake of my life. You can beat me up and I’m sure you will. But I’m not afraid of you anymore.”
Steve looked at her for a moment. “He’s dead,” he said with glee in his voice. “Your lover is dead.”
Janine didn’t flinch. “You’re lying.”
Steve gestured to his bodyguard. The man pulled something out of his pocket and handed it to Steve. Janine recognised it instantly, even before Steve gave it to her. Jake’s Beretta.
-o-
“So then I knew. Jake would never give up his Beretta. They shot him down on the quay just after my ship left.”
Brian got up and went to sit beside Janine on the sofa. He put his arm around her. “I’m so sorry.”
She sighed deeply. “Thank you. Nothing mattered after that. I didn’t care what Steve did to me. My life was over, so I might as well be miserable. But to my surprise, Steve divorced me. Said he didn’t want tarnished goods. He insulted me beyond what any normal woman would have accepted. But I was so numb I just took it. It didn’t sink in.”
“What did you do?” Brian asked. “Where did you go?”
“I went back to Paris. The divorce was quick. I didn’t want any of his money but he gave me two million dollars. Peanuts to him. I shouldn’t have taken anything. I should have thrown it back in his face. But I just wanted it to be over.”
“Of course,” Brian soothed.
Janine smiled. “I’m glad I did now. Being poor is no fun. And I’m afraid I had developed a taste for pretty things like shoes and handbags.”
“Those things are important too.”
“Absolutely. Being miserable is bad enough. But being miserable in cheap clothes is worse.”
Brian chuckled and squeezed her shoulder. “I like the way you think. So, then, after the divorce you must have been much happier.”
“In a way, yes. With the money, I bought an apartment on the Left Bank, the first home I’d ever owned. That made me feel happy and independent for a while. But I found myself trapped in a different way. There was a horrible year when I was followed everywhere by the paparazzi. The tabloids were full of wild stories about me. I had numerous lovers while I was married to Steve. I was pregnant by another man. I had asked for an exorbitant amount in alimony. All lies, of course. But they never gave up. I couldn’t go to the supermarket without being photographed. So I decided to get away. I arranged to let my apartment and spent six months in London. I thought I’d hide for a while, change my appearance slightly. So I had a little plastic surgery to alter my nose just a tiny bit.”
Brian peered at her. “What was wrong with your nose?”
“Nothing much. It went up a bit at the tip, so I had it straightened. Then I grew my hair longer and stopped wearing make-up and bleaching my freckles. I put on some weight and dressed differently. You have no idea how subtle changes like that can alter your appearance. I thought I was safe and started going out in public more, but I was spotted by someone with a sharp eye and a telephoto lens. At that time, I met an old friend who had just been to Ireland, and she told me about Kerry and how beautiful and remote it is. She said she was sure nobody here would ever have heard of me.” She looked up at Brian. “Does the name Marie-Louise Nikolaides mean anything to you?”
He thought for a moment. “No. Should it? A friend of yours?”
Janine laughed. “That was my name then. It was all over the European newspapers. In the gossip columns and sleazy magazines. But here, nobody seems to know about me or Steve. His name is Stavros, by the way. Stavros Nikolaides. Greek shipping magnate.”
“I’ve heard of Onassis, but that’s the only Greek shipping magnate I’m familiar with.”
“That’s what I thought. Nobody here would have heard of him or me. This is the perfect place to hide. So I changed my name to Janine, which was my grandmother’s name and took her maiden name too. I happened to see this house for rent on a website. Looked perfect for me. Then I came here last autumn.” Janine drew breath. “There you are. The story of my life.”
“Some story.” Brian yawned. “Sorry. Very tired. Should get going.”
Janine unravelled her legs and stood up. “But it’s very late. And you’ve been drinking. So driving would not be a good idea. Would you like to sleep here on the couch tonight?”
Brian stretched and yawned again. “Yes. I think I would. Thank you.”
“I’ll get a blanket and some pillows.”
“You’re very kind. I’ll guard the place against any ghosts or intruders.”
“That sounds very comforting,” Janine said, realising how good it felt to have him there.
When she had made sure Brian was settled on the sofa, she went upstairs with a happy smile. My watchdog, she thought. I wish he could be here all the time.
Humming a little tune, she changed into her nightgown and went into the bathroom to brush her teeth. As she opened the door, a hand grabbed her arm and pulled her into the bathroom. She heard a chillingly familiar ‘click’ and felt something hard against her temple. “Keep very still and very quiet and you won’t get hurt,” a voice grunted in her ear
