Mark was lying on his bed with his first cup of tea of the day. They had pulled out of Southampton early on Saturday morning, and last night had done the short trip around the shoe of Italy, from the Bay of Naples to Dubrovnik. As they approached the port the Yugoslavian coastline seemed no more than a few yards from their cabin window. The new and half-finished apartments and hotels stretching out beyond and to the south of the old walled city itself evidenced Dubrovnik’s growing reputation as a tourist attraction. Mark felt that at last he had some control again, that he had some sort of plan and that things were going according to it. Gemma had gone up to the sun deck earlier; even though it was late autumn, it was still warm enough to justify that name and the early morning views over the Adriatic looked pretty spectacular even from his cabin window, or porthole to use the appropriate nautical equivalent.
Once Gemma had agreed to come on this farewell trip, and to use some of the money they had got from their legacy for it, Mark had swung into action. Fair enough, it was her family’s money rather than ‘theirs’, but it had certainly helped that they had opened a joint bank account when they had bought the house in Petworth together. At the time, Mark had never seen things coming to this; he really had believed that things would be different with Gemma. However, having the joint account had certainly turned out to be a stroke of luck. As well as paying for the cruise he had managed to withdraw most of the money they’d got from selling the various antiques and paintings that Gemma’s family, really her granddad and dad, had accrued. He had been surprised that there was getting on for £55,000 there; he reckoned Gemma must have put some of the money she’d got after her father had died in that account as well. It was a shame she hadn’t put the money from the sale of the house in Farnham there but there was still plenty. Anyway, apart from the hundred pounds or so he’d left in it to avoid the hassle of actually closing the account, it was now all hidden away in the lining of his suitcase. Fortunately it had been quite a rush to get everything sorted in time for the trip and Gemma had left him to it and he was pretty sure she hadn’t been into town to check how much he’d taken from the account. In fact, she had spent most of the last week or so on the phone to estate agents or solicitors and had been up to London again, apparently to sign some documents to do with the flat she was buying. At least it had kept her busy and left him to get on with his back-up plan. Although a part of him still hoped that things might work out with Gemma, that spending some quality time with him would help her see sense and decide to stay with him, being realistic he had to assume that wouldn’t happen and that he needed to make sure he looked after his own interests.
In any case, it wasn’t as if he was doing anything unfair; the thing was, he deserved it. As well as having to inveigle his way into her mother’s affections and then oversee her premature death, he was the one who had done all the legwork in getting a good price for the bits and pieces left in the Farnham house. As well as that and whatever she might have promised him, legally Gemma would still have the money from their house in Petworth when she sold it, plus her shares and the flat in London she was in the process of buying, presumably with the money from her mother’s house. More to the point, did she really think that he would just accept her handout and leave it at that, take a pay-off as some kind of hired assassin and then walk off into the sunset after all they, but mainly he, had done? At least now he would have enough to start again; and if it did come to it, and that was undoubtedly the most likely scenario, he would have to make some kind of new life for himself. At least he had no real ties back in England either, because going back almost certainly wouldn’t be an option.
Mark had realised, within a couple of days after Gemma had told him that as far as she was concerned they had no future together, that she was serious. Of course, he’d felt angry and let down but that hadn’t got in the way of him starting to make his own plans. Fair enough, if by chance they did end up staying together he could cover his tracks, but if she thought this cruise was just a desperate attempt to persuade her to stay with him and that he would have been too upset to consider any alternatives, she didn’t know him as well as she reckoned. He’d been through absolute chaos and more with Justine, it wasn’t going to happen a second time. He may have been misled before, he certainly had taken his eye off the ball with her but that was then. Musing over things since the early hours and as the SS Uganda rounded the south-eastern tip of Italy he had realised that even though he had been putting his doubts about Gemma to the back of his mind over the last few months, they had clearly been there and were clearly merited as well. Mark was well aware that he had a tendency to put his head in the sand, but over the last few weeks he had been keeping an eye on Gemma and had formed the distinct impression that, in spite of her apparent openness and plausibility, something had been going on. That must have been why he had checked up on her accounts of her trips to London; and even though it went against the grain to spy and was hardly the epitome of the coolness and laid-back approach he liked to accord to himself, he was glad he had. Her excuse for staying an extra night on a couple of occasions had started him off: after all, you could get up to London in an hour from theirs. He had made a point of helping to bring her bags in after her last trip to London and managed to have a quick rummage through when she wasn’t hovering over them. The laced negligee and matching knickers hardly seemed the thing for a night or two staying at her friends’ flat and a somewhat crumpled ticket from an AC/DC gig didn’t strike him as the sort of thing her snobby girlfriends would be likely to be into.
While he had been making arrangements for the cruise, Mark had felt himself getting to the point of not giving a damn about the consequences; and it was something of a consolation that whatever came from it all it couldn’t be any worse than what he’d been through before. It really had got to the stage where he needed to get something akin to revenge, or at the very least a fair deal; and if as it seemed Gemma had abandoned him, that was where he’d get it. The idea of dealing with Gemma in any way other than financially hadn’t crossed his mind when he had initially suggested the cruise. However the frustration and annoyance he’d felt when she had just assumed that that was it between them had been smouldering away and developing into feelings closer to anger and betrayal. In particular, the sense of having been used and having not been aware of it had been building as he had started to make steps to ensure he wasn’t left high and dry. It had given him some focus as well as justification. If she thought that she could play him for a fool then she needed to be taught a lesson. And what was wrong with revenge? Retribution had always seemed to him to be the most sensible justification for any form of punishment. However, the main thing was to get what he deserved and the fifty thousand-plus would fit the bill there.
Of course, he was well aware that should anything happen to Gemma everything would point to him, but no matter what suspicions may and would arise, if it came to it he would leave absolutely no trace this time around. And there’d be no confession either; her mates would be sure to assume it was him but they’d have no evidence. This time there wouldn’t be a need for any convoluted or slow-burning poisoning, apart from anything else Gemma would be on the look-out for that. It would have to be an accident, either in one of the ports they visited or, even if a bit dramatic, over the side at night, maybe a domestic row that got out of hand. He reckoned one of their stop-overs would be the best bet and from the little bit of reading around he’d had time to do, Dubrovnik seemed a possibility.
Mulling it over Mark couldn’t really explain where it had all that come from. He pulled on his shirt and jeans in a state close to semi-shock. Ripping off Gemma or more accurately taking his deserved share was one thing, but he had just let his mind wander way beyond that. Sure, it had been at the back of his mind as a possible last resort, but now, thinking it through, he realised it would be a lot easier without having Gemma to deal with in future; and she was hardly likely to let him just walk off with her money. He could feel a surge of adrenalin: maybe that was the solution and he merely hadn’t liked to accept it before the trip. Feeling that he was in charge of his fate, Mark finished dressing and went up to the deck to find Gemma. For the time being it was probably best to see how the next day or two played out.
The cruise had been a bit of a brainwave; they’d be away from England and depending on how it all panned out he could just leave and go to ground in Italy, Yugoslavia, Greece or wherever felt right. Cruising was beginning to become a popular holiday option and living near to Southampton had helped. Mark had wanted them to be as anonymous as possible and had aimed to get them on as large a ship as he could. Initially he had tried to book with P&O on the SS Canberra. However even though it had been re-fitted since being requisitioned as some sort of troop carrier during the Falklands War earlier that year, and had returned to its civilian role a few weeks back in September, it wasn’t offering any suitable Mediterranean trips that winter. The SS Uganda was a good deal smaller but there were places available and he felt more comfortable with the Med than going any further afield. In fact, it was all beginning to work out better than he had planned or even feared. The trip had cost them – and so, effectively, him, given that he had just about emptied their account – less than he’d expected and it looked as if it had been a stroke of luck that one of the options had ended with the two nights in Dubrovnik. As it was a one-way cruise with passengers flying back to various airports in Britain from the different stop-over points, there’d be no real reason for Gemma or him to be missed should they leave before the end of the itinerary. Presumably it would be assumed they’d missed their flights or just decided to continue their holiday.
Today the plan was to go into the old town and do some sight-seeing and exploring; then after a final night on board and the usual heavy breakfast, and assuming he hadn’t got it wrong and Gemma and him were really over, he’d do what was needed with her and melt into a new life, maybe making his way across to the Greek islands, perhaps Crete for a while at least. Mark had stayed there one summer a few years ago when a student and enjoyed the easy-going atmosphere. He had managed to get some work in a bar with no questions being asked.
Mark had had no real plan at the beginning of the trip, apart from a vague idea of some kind of accident-cum-drowning if things didn’t work out. However after Gemma had gone back to their cabin once they had eaten last night, he’d spent the rest of the evening drinking with Derek and Jude, an oldish couple of regular cruisers who’d told him about the little island of Lokrum that snuggled in the bay a few hundred metres from Dubrovnik itself. They had seemed pleased to have someone younger to impress and Derek, in particular, had revelled in being allowed to show off his knowledge of the area, and of life in general. Apparently Lokrum had been the home to Benedictine monks for centuries up to the early 1800s but, apart from being used as a holiday home by Archduke Maximilian of Austria for a few years in the mid-nineteenth century, it had been uninhabited ever since. However it was open to visitors in the day time with regular ferries to and fro from the port of Dubrovnik. Aside from the remains of the monastery, a few paths and a small café, it was largely wooded, although there was a deep salt water lake there, apparently ideal for swimming. Derek and Jude had visited on each of their previous trips to Dubrovnik and, between G & Ts and pints, had explained how it was the perfect place to get away from everyone and everything, and particularly so in late autumn. Their implication, albeit in their slightly inebriated state by the end of the evening, was that a young couple like himself and Gemma could get back to nature and ‘do their thing’, as it was rather inelegantly put. In fact, they had mentioned there was some sort of nudist beach there too, although November probably wasn’t the time to explore that. For Mark, though, it had sowed the seeds of a plan. When he had returned to their cabin for the night, Gemma had been awake still and he’d suggested they visited Lokrum on one of the two final days of the trip.
As the Uganda dropped anchor between Dubrovnik and the island itself he could see what Derek and Jude had meant. The outline of the island, dark green, almost black, against the horizon and early morning light, with the waves from the liner lapping gently along a deserted shoreline, evidenced no signs of habitation.
***
Gemma put down her copy of Robert Ludlum’s latest story of espionage and skulduggery, The Parsifal Mosaic, stretched lazily out of the deck chair, pulled her jacket around her shoulders and wandered down to their cabin to see if Mark was going to bother with breakfast before the first ferry of the day to the old city. She liked a good thriller but this one on the Cold War hadn’t gripped her in the same way as The Bourne Identity or some of his other previous books, and especially The Scarlatti Inheritance, had. This one was a little far-fetched and samey; still, it was alright as holiday reading and nice that bits were set around the Mediterranean. It had been a pleasant start to the final day of the cruise and all in all and in spite of her misgivings she had enjoyed the trip so far. The weather had been unusually mild for early November and the brief stopovers in Malta and Naples had been fascinating, if a little rushed. Mark hadn’t been too much of a strain either. Even though he’d agreed not to expect anything, they had decided to share a cabin and she’d actually let him sleep with her on the second night, partly to keep him quiet but mainly because sleeping on board had turned her on – and why not? After all, if he couldn’t cope with it that was his look out. The thing was that Mark had been really easy-going, in fact in a quite out of character manner, and they had got on remarkably well for what was definitely for her a last goodbye. She had noticed that he’d seemed somewhat distracted too, as if he had something on his mind, but she really couldn’t be bothered to worry or even think about him or what was going on in his head. They had made an arrangement to have this final holiday and that was it as far as Gemma was concerned.
She made her way down to the cabins, checking that breakfast was being served in the dining area. Before she had reached the cabin deck she bumped into Mark who was on his way to find her. He was dressed and looked ready to go.
‘Come on Mark, let’s grab a quick bite and get the ferry into the town, it looks absolutely gorgeous and it’s going to be a nice day by all accounts.’
She gathered her things for the day and reminded herself that she needed to get to a post office or somewhere she could phone her solicitors and bank to check that the details on the sale of her flat in London were being tidied up and it was going ahead as planned.
After a quick breakfast, they joined quite a number of their fellow passengers to clamber down to the ship’s tender for the short trip across to the harbour, which apparently wasn’t deep enough to take the larger ships themselves. It wasn’t a problem for Gemma or Mark but the climb down the side of the Uganda was clearly something of an ordeal for one or two who, along with a good proportion of the cruisers, looked well into their retirement years. It was certainly the case that cruising was generally seen as the ideal holiday for older folk. In spite of being just about the youngest passengers, that hadn’t bothered Gemma or Mark either. In fact the lack of the stereotypical two-plus-two families, and of children in general, was quite refreshing; indeed, the couples on their trip didn’t hold back on eating or drinking and were generally pretty decent company. They weren’t overly bothered about the state of their lungs or the shape of their bodies and were happy to sit around talking and drinking day or night. Both of them, but perhaps particularly Mark, had enjoyed a few late-night sessions with whoever was around and willing.
It was a little after ten when they disembarked at the old harbour, with a good four or five hours to look around before the return trip. Gemma suggested they split up and explore on their own.
‘I’m going to do some clothes shopping which isn’t your thing, I know, so why don’t you look around yourself? I may do the city walls too, so let’s just meet at the harbour around three for the ferry back. I haven’t forgotten you mentioned going over to that island but we could do that tomorrow after they throw us off the boat. We’ve got hours before the flight home and anyway we could always re-arrange that if we had to.’
Mark could hardly believe it and was happy to agree. It was as if Gemma had read his mind; surely she couldn’t have guessed what had been going on in his head for the last few day. He put the thought aside.
‘Yes, good idea. I wouldn’t mind looking round the old cathedral and there’s a couple of museums that Derek and his wife were telling me about last night.’
That was true, anyway. Ever since he had been taken to virtually every cathedral in Britain as part of their family holidays when he was a boy, Mark had always retained a real and genuine fascination with those buildings. The proportions, the windows, the pillars and ceilings had an inspirational quality he was unavoidably and deeply touched by. It never ceased to amaze him that they had been built before the tools and machinery available and taken for granted nowadays. He’d read about the baroque style of the cathedral in Dubrovnik in an old Baedeker guide the travel agent had lent him; it had been renovated over the last few years and Mark was keen to have a look. His more recent and up-to-date Lonely Planet guide book had mentioned that during the renovation another even older cathedral dating back to the seventh century had been discovered under the foundations of what had until then been thought to be the original cathedral, which was itself badly damaged by an earthquake in the seventeenth century. He loved maps and travel guides and couldn’t understand why people visited places without finding out as much as possible about them.
***
As Gemma wandered off through the gate leading from the harbour into town, Mark strolled around the jetty and past a few fishermen pottering about in a desultory fashion, mending nets and baskets and doing whatever they did when they had managed to get rid of their catches. He took a few photos and walked up to the town himself. It was certainly impressive. The marble effect of the main streets sparkled in the autumnal sun; it really did look like marble although he recalled that the Baedeker book had said something about hard limestone. The various shops and cafés on the Placa, the main street running up through the middle of the town, were already geared up for their day’s activity. Mark strolled up to the Franciscan church and monastery, just before the main entrance gate of the city walls, at the top of the Placa. He sat down by the stone fountain opposite; the monastery didn’t appear to be open, and after a quick glance at the useful street map in his Lonely Planet guide he decided to make his way through the smaller side streets back to the cathedral and then perhaps try to find somewhere for a sandwich and drink.
The maze of streets and alleys had led him almost back to the port again when he came across the cathedral. Appearing quite suddenly, almost by surprise, it was imposing without being overpowering. The surrounding square seemed a little dowdy and certainly low-key, but the four columns on the front façade were grand enough. Mark entered the nave which was surprisingly bright and spacious: it gave the impression of being too large for the outside of the building. There was some pretty stunning glass and artwork too, including a 16th century work by Titian that must have survived the earthquake. He wasn’t sure about the policy on taking photographs but there weren’t many visitors inside and only a couple of what he assumed must be local worshippers so he managed to sneak in a good few pictures. Being bothered to take photos struck him as a little strange; he wondered who he’d ever have to show them to. After all, it wouldn’t be Gemma and he wasn’t intending to go back to England for a good while either. Still, there would no doubt be someone, he was sure of that.
It was past midday when Mark emerged into the sunlight and he was ready to find somewhere to sit down and eat. Although the Baedeker wasn’t much help with places to eat and drink, his Lonely Planet book on travelling in Europe had mentioned a small café-cum-bar in Dubrovnik, situated on one of the steep streets just off the Placa and running up to the residential areas of the town, apparently either managed or owned by an English couple. Mark headed back into the centre of the old town to look in to it.
Sure enough, by the time he got to the third or fourth side street he spotted a small Union Jack hovering across the narrow passageway, more than street, that separated the buildings on one side from those on other. There were a couple of tables outside but there was little chance of the winter sun reaching them, let alone the summer one, Mark thought. He went in and sat at a table near the window and let his eyes adjust to the lack of light. Apart from him there were only a couple of what looked to be local builders eating some kind of pasties with their coffees. There was a pile of magazine and papers on a bench by the door and he picked up a copy of the Sunday Times magazine from a couple of weeks back. That was an encouraging sign, he reckoned. Earlier in the day, he had exchanged just a few pounds into what seemed to be a massive amount of dinars and he ordered a coffee from a waitress who clearly wasn’t English while deciding which sandwich to go for. As she brought it over he gave a sudden start, behind her and emerging from what he assumed must be the back kitchen was someone who looked strangely familiar. He couldn’t place when or where but Mark was certain he knew him; surely not from his time in prison. After a second take it came to him: it wasn’t from prison, it was from his university days, and when as a student rather than lecturer. He was sure it was Howard, the quiet lad who’d been in his year at Kent and in a couple of his Sociology classes. He remembered they’d chatted on occasion, mainly about the course and essays, and he had seemed a decent enough type, if a little uncool by Mark’s standards at the time, however embarrassingly dated those seemed now. Mark stood up and called over to him.
‘My God Howard, is that you? It’s Mark, we were at uni together.’
Howard put the grubby pair of oven gloves he was carrying on the counter, took off his glasses and came across to Mark’s table, staring at him.
‘Yes so it is, wow, what are you doing here?’
He looked more shocked than Mark.
‘I don’t believe it, I read all about you, you were all over the news.’
Mark had never really taken the time to consider how people he had known just in passing before the murders and his imprisonment would have reacted and he could see he would have to explain things to Howard.
‘Yes it must have been a shock to people, but look, Howard, I was stupid and did some mad things; but don’t worry, I’m not some sort of out of control maniac killer. And I’ve come over here to start again and rebuild things.’
He thought it probably best not to tell Howard that he was in Dubrovnik as part of a plan for another possible but certainly final murder.
‘It must be more than ten years since I last saw you, Howard.’
Howard pulled a chair over and sat down. He was tall and thin, skinny really, and quite tanned; even in a somewhat greasy T-shirt and jeans Mark reckoned he looked better than he had done as a student in the late ’sixties. Even in his work clothes, he exuded a confidence and sense of control that certainly hadn’t been apparent back then.
‘No I’m not one to judge, but it’s amazing to see you here. I’ll get a bottle of our local wine and you can tell me what happened. I mean, what are you doing here?’
‘Yes, it’s weird seeing you again, you look like you’re sort of at home here, though. Actually I’m on the cruise liner that arrived this morning, I’ve got to get back to the harbour around three but it’d be great to catch up.’
Howard brought a bottle of red over and asked Lana, the waitress, to bring some bread and cheese and to deal with another couple of locals who’d just come in to the bar. He was obviously intrigued to find out just what had happened. And judging from the way he talked to Lana he was obviously more than just a part-time waiter.
‘You know we all thought you were so hip, I was a little in awe of you at uni; you probably don’t remember but I got some pot off you and Tom a couple of times. What happened to Tom? I mean I heard you’d got a job at Sussex University and then, years later, a mate of mine called me and said he’d heard you were on trial for murder. It was massive news.’
The atmosphere in the café bar was pleasant and Mark felt pretty comfy and quite happy to get things off his chest. He had lost touch with so many old friends and contacts and it felt good to have someone from back then to talk to. He launched into it.
‘Well it’s a long story but actually Tom was one of the reasons I did what I did and in the end the bastard took off with my girlfriend. You know he was really well off, well his parents were; he just flashed his money in front of her and turned her head. I know I was married but it wasn’t really working and my in-laws were rolling in it. I needed to sort things for me and Justine, she was my girlfriend and Tom knew I was planning on leaving my wife and being with her. Anyway, as you no doubt heard, I got rid of them to get my hands on some real money. I was only trying to get a future for me and Justine sorted until he intervened; in any case it’s water under the bridge now. I served my time as they say, over six years and the thing is that there is no future back there for me now. Actually I’ve got a decent stash of money, enough to invest in something and start a new life somewhere. But look what about you? Tell me what you’re doing here.’
Howard poured them both another glass.
‘Okay, but I’m not letting you go without finding out all about things. You murdered them – poisoned, I seem to remember. Bloody hell, Mark, I did read about it once I’d heard it was you.’
‘Fair enough, if we get a chance I’ll tell you all about it, but how come you’re here?’
Howard took a packet of Malboros out of his shirt pocket and offered Mark one.
‘Well, I came over soon after finishing at Kent, just for the summer initially but I met this Croatian girl, Branka, and came back the following year and basically stayed here. She had a bit of family money and we decided to open this place. Her family were great; they could see tourism beginning to take off in the area and helped out. I’ve done a lot of the legwork to get it started and they’ve helped with the legal and official stuff, and it’s going okay. In fact, we’re thinking of expanding things. We’re married now but she’s not around today, gone to see her sister in Split for a day or two.’
As he listened, Mark could sense the beginnings of an opportunity opening up, particularly when Howard mentioned that they needed a bigger place to cope with the demand. Even though President Tito had died a couple of years previously and there was a good deal of financial instability in the country, his lengthy period in power had helped create a more modern Yugoslavia and a degree of freedom from the Soviet domination of Eastern Europe. That had opened the country, and especially Dubrovnik itself, up to western tourists, as evidenced by the flurry of hotel building on the hill up from the old town, along with its developing role as a cruise stopover.
‘Look Howard, this could be just what I’m looking for you know – it’s what they call serendipity, perhaps. Like I said, I haven’t got much to go back for and I’ve got some money, quite a bit, and plenty of energy as well. Look why don’t we talk some more, maybe tomorrow?’
Mark sensed that Howard looked less than enthusiastic but put it down to not having had time to think things through. He pushed on.
‘I know it’s a bit sudden and no pressure, Howard. Thing is I’m going over to Lokrum tomorrow morning and was due to fly back in the evening but over the last few days I’ve decided to stay over in Europe for a while at least. Why don’t I come round later tomorrow? Even if nothing comes of things it will still be good to catch up, and you can give me some advice, no doubt. I’ve got to dash now, said I’d meet someone for the taxi-ferry back.’
Howard agreed; when he thought about it, what harm could it do? And anyway it would be interesting to catch up. After all, Mark’s crimes had been a major talking point on the odd occasions that he had met up with any of his old university mates. Also, although quite happy with his new life, Howard still missed England and English people and even though he hadn’t known Mark particularly well before there was no reason they couldn’t get on now.
‘Yes, why not? And like I said, you must tell me about what really happened.’
‘Great, that’s settled then. I’ve got to dash now, as I said I’ve got to meet someone for the taxi-ferry back to the ship.’
Mark thought it best not to mention Gemma by name and anyway Howard had been more interested in his past than his current status. He thanked the still slightly perplexed Howard for the drink and food and headed back to the harbour. He felt good: maybe that was the break he needed and it might change everything. After all, there’d be no need to get rid of Gemma, he would just tell her that she’d won and that he’d leave her alone to get on with her life; and the money he’d taken was fair enough given all he’d helped her with. In fact, after the initial shock when she first got to realise what he’d done, she’d cope with things. There would be no need to tell her before she flew back. Of course she might not be too happy he’d taken it behind her back, but she’d get over it; she still had more than enough, plenty of shares in Cunard’s, and she could sell their house and keep that for herself. In fact, she was bloody lucky; his stake in the Petworth house would have given him close to the amount he had taken anyway. Really, if it was looked at rationally he’d be doing everyone a favour.
Mark passed the elegant sixteenth-century Sponza Palace and went through the gates to what was already becoming known as the ‘old’ port. Yes, why would he want to stay with Gemma even if by some chance she had changed her mind again? He’d be fine and find someone who wouldn’t let him down this time. And why risk another murder, however well-planned and hidden it might be? As far as he was concerned she could sod off, and there was no need to tell her just yet about his meeting with Howard and his ideas for the future. He would merely say goodbye and head off to meet Howard when she went to the airport tomorrow night.
***
There was a winding down of the day’s activities on the harbour side as Mark headed to the jetty for the taxi-boat back to the Uganda. He could see Gemma already standing by the rails of the gangway. Sure enough she was a bloody good looking girl but he’d had enough of self-centred prima donnas who thought they could outsmart him. He smiled as he reached her.
‘Hi, how’s things? What do you reckon of Dubrovnik, then?’
Gemma had decided to leave telling Mark what she had been up to or what she had managed to discover, for the time being anyway. She felt she’d be better off just playing it straight for now, until she sensed that the time was right to confront him.
‘Well it’s beautiful, the architecture and the views too; it’ll be interesting to visit Lokrum tomorrow, everyone I’ve spoken to says it’s worth exploring and it’s quiet at this time of year too.’
Even though his intentions had changed and it wasn’t necessary now, Mark didn’t see any reason not to go there as planned, even if they would both be going their separate ways afterwards.
***
Gemma’s day hadn’t turned out as she’d expected. She had wanted to check out if there were any clothes that might give her something a little different from the high street fashions back in England and maybe to pick up a few souvenirs or even early Christmas presents. She was also a little concerned that she hadn’t managed to speak to her solicitors about the purchase of the flat in London, which should be close to going through by now – if it was going to be completed soon after she got back, she figured that it should at least be at the contract signing stage by now. She had tried to call a couple of times but with no luck: the connections from the ship weren’t very reliable. It wasn’t that she was particularly bothered, it just would be nice to know all was well before she returned home. The post office in Dubrovnik seemed the obvious place to start, and if nothing else she could check the bank balance which would give her an idea of whether everything was in place.
The gift shops on the Placa were gearing up for the day’s business, commandeering their sections of the pavement and competing with the tables and umbrellas of the various coffee bars and cafés. Even though it was early November, the bright sun reflecting off the marble effect pavement gave the whole scene, from the clock tower and Sponza Palace to the Franciscan monastery and entrance to the old city through the Gothic arches of the Pile Gate at the top of the street, a touristy feel.
Gemma popped into one of the stores and was set on by a deeply weather-worn, elderly woman who presumably owned or managed the place and who was keen to extol in surprisingly understandable English the virtues of the range of knick-knacks available. There were few tourists around and Gemma felt a little sorry for her. Even though she would probably be back before it arrived, Gemma chose a postcard to send to Victoria and Rebecca, along with a couple of key rings and a mug embossed with scenes of the walled city. She walked further up the main thoroughfare and the distinctive yellow Posta sign soon came into view. The post office was set amongst the tradesmen’s workshops and small shops just off Ulica od Puca to the left of the Placa itself. Thankfully it was quiet and she sorted enough change to phone the solicitors and bank if needed. As she had found on the previous times she’d tried, the solicitors’ phone sounded as if it was ringing but there was no answer. It took a couple of tries before there was an answer from the Barclays branch in Littlehampton, where she had kept their account even after Mark had been added to it when they bought the house in Petworth and moved away from the town. After she had convinced the cashier there that she was a genuine customer – thank goodness she remembered her mother’s maiden name – she was given the balance. It was just under £100. It took a moment to register; that couldn’t be right. Too confused to respond, Gemma said thanks and put the phone down in a state of shock that must have been felt a thousand miles away in Sussex. She knew that Mark was going to pay for the holiday from it but there was all the money they’d got from the sale of the paintings, furniture and everything else from her family’s estate. There should have been thousands in there.
Gemma sat down on one of the metal-framed canvas chairs, conveniently placed around the large post office hall; it crossed her mind that they were perhaps there for disturbed customers to gather their thoughts. After a couple of minutes she got some more dinara coins from the front desk and phoned the bank again. She was answered by the same man and explained that she couldn’t understand the figure he had just given her and asked him to check again. Sure enough all but one hundred pounds had been withdrawn from her current account on the day before the holiday by one of the account holders. It made some kind of sense now, and of course it wasn’t just her account.
A surge of panic hit her: what if the flat sale had somehow gone ahead without her knowing? Although it didn’t make much sense, maybe there had been some sort of transfer of funds ready for her buying the flat. However, surely that couldn’t be the case: she was certain she had kept the Farnham money in a separate account. She tried the solicitor’s again and eventually they picked up. One of the junior clerks reassured her.
‘No, there’s been no sign of the completion being sorted on the apartment in Holland Park. And anyway you would have to sign a few more papers before that could happen. Is anything the matter?’
Gemma needed to compose herself; there was no point in letting anything out till she’d got to the bottom of things.
‘No, just checking how things were, thanks for your help.’
She left the post office; she needed to sit down and needed to work things out. She went to the nearest café and ordered a black coffee.
So that was his plan, the bastard. All that talk about a final holiday, a nice way to part and so on, but what the hell was he up to? Gemma realised she hadn’t checked their joint account for weeks, there’d been no need to. None of the new cash machines had appeared in Petworth yet and she hadn’t been down to Littlehampton in the last couple of weeks, and anyway she’d known it was in a pretty healthy state so there’d been no need to worry. She did a quick mental tally: with some money she’d put in plus the various things they’d sold from her family’s house she assumed there must have been around £50,000, if not more, there; anyway, she could find that out from the bank later. The question was, what was she going to do about it? If he thought he’d get away with it he was even more deluded than she had imagined.
Her coffee was strong and she went to the counter to get a pastry; she needed to keep her sugar intake up. Okay, she was due to meet Mark at around three o’clock for the trip back to the Uganda and then next morning they’d agreed to go to Lokrum before the flight back to Gatwick. Of course, it must have been him who’d taken the money, but surely he wouldn’t have done that and then just flown back home with her as if nothing had happened. He must have something else up his sleeve. She realised the most likely explanation was that he was probably planning to disappear with it.
Gemma got up and paid for her coffee and pastry. There were a few hours to kill so she figured she may as well have a look around the city and gather her thoughts together. The advantage was that Mark would have no idea that she knew and it would be best to keep it that way while she decided what to do. He had seemed genuine enough about wanting to visit Lokrum tomorrow so it must be after that that he planned to go. It was a lovely autumnal day so she decided to get on to the city walls and find somewhere to sit and work things through in her head. On the way up to the Pile Gate, she stopped and bought a packet of cigarettes and a lighter, something she hadn’t done for years, but it somehow seemed appropriate now.
There’d be no point in confronting him straight away, that was for sure; and it would be easy enough to let him think he was in control. She’d play up to him, maybe even flirt a little on their final evening on board; pander to his basic arrogance. And she’d sort something out, there was no way he would get away with it – that money wouldn’t be going anywhere with him. Gemma was annoyed with herself for not having seen anything like this coming, she had let herself get carried away with planning the move to London and maybe to Simon too.
Gemma was kind of surprised that she’d actually quite enjoyed the rest of the day by herself. She felt one step ahead and surprisingly composed; and she would make sure she got her money back. After grabbing a sandwich and can of coke it was getting time to head back to the harbour and she wanted to get there before Mark, for no particular reason but perhaps just to feel more in control.
Even though the tourist trade had virtually ended for the winter, the harbour itself remained surprisingly busy: baskets of fish were still being unloaded from a variety of sized crafts, most of which had clearly seen a good few years’ service. Gemma wandered across to the railings overlooking the steps down to the usual mooring position for the cruise ship tenders. She lit her second cigarette of the day and even though it tasted as bad as the first she enjoyed seeing the smoke drift over the harbour walls. Before she had finished she noticed Mark heading through the gated entrance from the old city. She stubbed the cigarette out and flicked the dog end into the water; she didn’t want him to sense anything was amiss. He looked pleased with himself, the big-headed bastard, and Gemma could see it was pretty obvious he had no idea she was onto him. Well, he wouldn’t till tomorrow either; she’d bide her time and confront him on their trip to Lokrum.
Annoyingly he had seen her put the cigarette out on his way across to the jetty.
‘Hey, strange to see you smoking a fag.’
Gemma forced a smile.
‘Well, we’re on holiday and I just fancied one. Anyway, how’s your day been?’
Mark decided not to mention meeting Howard; he reckoned the less Gemma knew the better.
‘Yes, what a beautiful city, I’ve just pottered around and met some of the locals. I had a couple of glasses of some local red wine in a little bar I found.’
Mark was full of himself; his misplaced belief that he was in control and about to get away with ripping her off amused but also irritated Gemma.
‘Yes, it is really nice. You know I’m looking forward to our last meal of the trip on board tonight, apparently there’s going to be some kind of band, or DJ anyway, so it should be fun. Then we’ve got a day out to the island tomorrow before flying home.’
Gemma couldn’t resist it. She wanted to check for any kind of reaction from Mark. There wasn’t even a flicker of what might pass for guilt. He certainly seemed to have got over the apparent despair he had shown when she’d told him she’d had enough and wanted to move on and away.
‘Glad you’re looking forward to it, you look great you know, Gemma. I know we’re over but I can say that, can’t I?’
The Uganda’s tender was just pulling in and Gemma let it pass as they scrambled down the harbour steps along with a few other of their fellow cruisers armed with the various trinkets they’d been harangued into acquiring.
***
As well as Mark and Gemma, quite a few of the passengers were also celebrating their final evening and night on board. It wasn’t the end of the cruise itself, with some staying on for further stopovers at Piraeus harbour, for Athens, and then Istanbul. Nonetheless, the ship had put on a slightly wider choice of meals than usual and a disco of sorts. Between courses there’d been a somewhat grandly entitled debarkation talk, and those leaving the next day were told that they needed to sort out the extra costs they might have incurred while on board.
The initial shock of finding that Mark had emptied their bank account had subsided and spurred Gemma into action mode. She kept Mark’s glass full and made sure the second bottle came pretty quickly. As was usual and really still quite quaint, passengers were expected to dress smartly for the evening meals and entertainment on board. Gemma had made sure she’d be able to get Mark where she wanted; she’d put on a low-cut party dress and curled her hair to fall tantalisingly down either side of her still slightly tanned décolletage and deep cleavage. By contrast, Mark always managed to look uncomfortable in a shirt and tie, but she wasn’t going to let that get in the way. It was clear he had no suspicions that his skulduggery had been discovered and Gemma knew the best bet was to get him drunk, add a bit of flattery and flirting and keep an eye on him when they got back to their cabin; he’d be bound to check on his stash of his, or actually her, money and no doubt to try and do it surreptitiously.
The meal itself had been nicely presented – and if a roast followed by Black Forest gateau was a little unambitious it was pleasant enough. The guests had made an effort to dress up and there was certainly more of a party atmosphere than usual. Gemma could see the waiters hovering with jugs of tea or coffee.
‘Come on Mark, let’s leave the coffee and have a couple of shorts, I’ll get us doubles.’
She ushered him over to a table near the DJ, apparently a local resident who offered his services to visiting cruise ships, and went to the bar.
‘A double vodka and Coke and I’ll have a plain Coke.’
It wasn’t as if he was going to monitor her drinks but she didn’t want him to see she wasn’t getting drunk too; from now on she was going to be in control.
‘You know Mark, I’ve quite enjoyed this holiday and thanks for sorting it all out. I feel like having a really good time tonight and enjoying ourselves like we used to. Let’s down these and go for it.’
He really was quite absurdly easy to manipulate. Gemma even felt a little light-headed herself and that was after only a couple of glasses of wine with the meal; she reckoned he must be well on his way to getting drunk. Surprisingly, the DJ seemed to be more on the ball than they might have expected and in spite of a limited selection of discs hadn’t veered back into the ’sixties yet. Even though Mark prided himself on having the coolest tastes in music, Gemma was amused to see his reaction to the first distinctive chords of ‘C’mon Eileen’.
‘Look at you rocking to Dexy’s Midnight Runners! Come on, let’s have a dance.’
She grabbed Mark and pushed him onto the small dance space – floor would be putting it too grandly. By the time that had merged into ‘The Lion Sings Tonight’ by the oddly named Tight Fit, they had been joined by a good few of the other guests.
Gemma needed to make sure his guard was completely down.
‘This is great Mark, I’m getting quite out of it. I think we might have a good time in the cabin later. Let’s have another drink beforehand, though.’
She could see Mark thought he was the one seducing her, silly sod. It amused her that as he got more drunk Mark’s eye contact lowered to an almost permanent fixation on to her cleavage – glancing down herself it wasn’t difficult to imagine what it was that men found so enticing.
‘Here, you sit down, I like going to the bar.’
Gemma got him another double and another plain coke for her. As she wended her way back to their table she could see Mark was looking a bit the worse for wear. She didn’t want him to completely pass out straight away, that was for sure. Of course she could try to locate the money he must have hidden somewhere but that might prove a little difficult in the cramped space of their cabin. The best bet would be to wait for him to check his things. Mark was pretty tidy by nature and certainly liked to keep a close eye on his money; if she didn’t make it obvious she reckoned he’d be bound to give something away.
She brought the drinks over and gave him a quick hug.
‘Let’s take them up on to the deck, get some fresh air and have a cig.’
The night air was cool rather than cold and the lights of Dubrovnik sparkled across the bay, contrasting with the dark outline of the island of Lokrum from the other side of the ship, she could never remember which was port and which starboard.
Gemma put her arm through Mark’s. Lighting a cigarette, she heard Boy George’s distinctive voice begin the lyrics of ‘Do You Really Want to Hurt Me?’ How appropriate, and that bastard really had, or certainly had intended to. She’d make sure it was the other way around before they left tomorrow.
‘Come on Mark, let’s go back to the cabin.’
This was proving easier than she’d imagined, although the whole thing was also tainted with an unmistakeable air of depression. It should never have come to this. Mark really looked and sounded quite ridiculous when drunk; what had she seen in him and how had she managed to waste the last two years? Actually that was rather unfair, the sad thing was that there had been some good times and Mark wasn’t such a bad guy to have met, but it was never going to be forever for her. In any case that was a little beside the point: this all needed to be sorted out, now wasn’t the time for any detailed self-analysis or recrimination. While hardly seeing herself as fatalistic, Gemma liked to believe that things happened for a reason. She didn’t regret it all, but he was the one who messed everything up; they could have just moved on without any hassle if he hadn’t been such a thieving bastard.
Gemma pushed Mark onto his bed, there wasn’t much room to go anywhere else anyway. Although still limited for space, at least Mark had managed to book one of the bigger cabins with twin beds. There was just about room for a chair and two built-in cupboards, which was a good deal more than some of the other cabins she’d glanced into.
‘Ok Mark let’s have some fun on our last night aboard.’
She took off his tie and undid his shirt. Normally that would have been the signal for him to try and take control but he looked pretty wrecked this time. Maybe she wouldn’t even have to grin and bear it. She unzipped his trousers and pulled them down over his legs and ankles. She realised that the way Mark was it should be easy enough to check out his luggage without waiting for him to give things away. Pulling his socks off she moved her hand up his legs and into his somewhat passé Y-fronts. It was fairly obvious he wouldn’t be up to anything for the time being at least. Gemma kissed him on the lips, pulled the blanket over his virtually inert frame and whispered that she would put his clothes in his case ready for tomorrow.
There was no response. Gemma hadn’t really taken a lot of notice of the large suitcase Mark had brought with him. Only now did it strike her as excessive for the limited clothing he seemed to have with him. She gave him another kiss to check and, somewhat unnecessarily given his state, whispered for him to lie back and wait for her. Her mind was clear and it felt good to be back in control. She wasn’t happy that she’d let Mark get as far as he had, and as close as he had to ripping her off; she’d taken her eye off things. Even though he was well away she had to make sure that when Mark did come round he assumed they’d just crashed out together. She needed to be quick and then get back into his bed and drape herself around him.
Fifty-plus grand would amount to a fairly decent sized package and he’d have had to take some care getting it out of the country, although to be fair it was rare to get much attention from HM Customs when leaving, and probably especially when on a cruise ship. It must be in the suitcase lining somewhere, the classic hiding place. She’d have to get to it and fill any space left with something – maybe a couple of her magazines would do. Gemma had noticed there was an empty cabin just down their corridor, it had been used by an elderly couple who’d left the cruise a couple of days before in Italy. For no particular reason apart from nosiness, she’d looked in earlier that evening when passing. She’d been surprised it was left open but then there was nothing in it and everyone else had their own cabins so there wasn’t any need for security. She put her face to Mark’s and murmured that she’d be joining him soon; he was well away still. Quickly she pulled the case from under his bed and across the corridor to the empty cabin, smaller than theirs with bunk beds and just about room to manoeuvre. Just as she’d expected, a tear in the side of the lining and her money neatly packed away in large envelopes. He hadn’t even bothered to sew the lining back – typical of his arrogance, no doubt; he really did think he was invincible. Gemma pulled the money out, put it all into a carrier bag and stuffed her magazines back between the outside of the case and the lining.
With Mark’s suitcase safely back under his bed and his planned escape route and strategy now securely hidden in her own smaller travel bag she got in next to him. She could arrange getting the money back home in due course; probably through some kind of bank transfer which she’d have to check out in Dubrovnik before flying home. That was the least of her concerns; she still had tomorrow to deal with Mark. With the adrenalin still flowing she couldn’t sleep. In fact, the whole thing had made her quite horny and she tried briefly but unsuccessfully to get him to respond; maybe she’d try again in the morning – after all, she was in charge now, so why not? It would help keep him off-guard, too. He was always easier to deal with after sex.
Gemma woke from a fitful sleep just after seven. She could just make out a wintry sun already beginning to catch the higher parts of the old city. She checked again that she’d put Mark’s case, and her own travel bag, away inconspicuously and leaned across to wake him up.
‘That was a good night, we really went for it, are you okay?’
Mark sat up abruptly and soon oriented himself. It had always surprised him that he never had much trouble getting up. Probably his time in prison made that inevitable: the morning roll-call hadn’t allowed any time for luxuriating in bed.
‘Wow, yes, that was great, you were great, we were great from what I can remember. Mind you, I could do with some water pretty quickly, think I rather overdid it.’
Gemma could see that he really had no idea. That would make it easier to keep his fantasy going.
‘Let’s go down to the breakfast bar and get an early start, may as well make the most of our last day, we can catch the first tender across to the city. It’s strange to think that we’ll be back home tonight, or early tomorrow at least. And by the way I read somewhere that a decent cooked breakfast is the best cure for any sort of hangover.’
Their flight was scheduled to leave just after 10 that evening and it was only a couple of hours or so back to Gatwick.
She gave Mark a quick kiss, decided to give a final bit of pointless sex with him a miss, and hurried him into his clothes. She didn’t want to give him time to check his luggage before they set off for the day.
‘We can go across to Lokrum and still get back to the ship early afternoon, in good time to collect our stuff and head to the airport – I found out there’s a few of us getting the same flight so we can sort out sharing taxis later.’
It was essential Mark didn’t take or even check his suitcase before they left the Uganda for Dubrovnik and then the trip to Lokrum. She left her own case as well, now with her money safely stashed away in it, and just grabbed a small shoulder bag; she told him she could take anything he needed for the morning with her. Although she didn’t like leaving the money there, it would look odd carrying a suitcase on their brief excursion to the island. Anyway, it would be safe enough locked in their cabin.
Gemma knew she had to get rid of the money before they left Dubrovnik later; it shouldn’t be too much of a problem depositing it at the post office and hopefully sorting a transfer to her account back home. Maybe she’d pop into the post office before they got the ferry to Lokrum and check out what she could do; then return later in the day on the way to the airport with the cash. She’d think of some excuse to do a bit of shopping or something after they docked at the old city and before heading over to Lokrum; probably leave Mark in a café for half an hour or so. At the moment she reckoned she could get him to do just about anything. He was even giving the impression that he thought he’d won her back – bloody idiot, and bloody typical of him, she thought. For now it was important to keep focused on what Mark had actually done; in due course he needed to know she had sussed him out and he hadn’t got away with it.
***
After a quick breakfast, they managed to get the first taxi boat of the day, along with a few of the Uganda’s crew who generally went to whatever port they were visiting early in the day to stock up on provisions for the next stage of the cruise. The majority of the passengers usually tended to take a leisurely, and typically pretty heavy, breakfast and leave the ship mid-morning. As it was, they docked at the old port just after nine, with the city itself coming to life and preparing for the day ahead. Miguel, the Spanish chef, helped Gemma up on to the quayside with an appreciative glance at her tight jeans. It was never too early in the day for him to flirt.
‘I’m going to miss your smile, you know. It’s so nice to have some young people on the boat, and some pretty ones too. Have a good day.’
Gemma gave him a quick hug, she couldn’t help feeling she would and that things would work out.
‘I reckon I will, Miguel. You take care too.’
She grabbed Mark’s hand and headed to one of the little quayside cafes, more a kiosk than café really but with a couple of chairs set next to a small metal table at the front.
‘Look Mark why don’t you get yourself a coffee or something, I’ve got a little last-minute shopping, souvenirs for a couple of friends, I’ll only be half an hour at most then we’ll get the ferry across to the island.’
***
As the ferry pulled out from the harbour and headed for the island, Gemma settled back to run things over in her mind. Fortunately the money hadn’t proved to be too much of a problem. The counter clerk at the post office didn’t seem fazed by her asking if she could deposit and then transfer the cash; it would be open until six o’clock as well, which would give her plenty of time to get back to the ship again to collect her bags and the money. The clerk assured her that it might even be in her account when she got back home. Surprisingly it had all seemed a good deal more straightforward and civilised than she imagined it would have been in England.
There weren’t many on their particular ferry to Lokrum. An elderly couple, dressed in matching khaki, explorer-type outfits, two single men both equipped with binoculars, presumably planning to examine some particular inhabitants or species found on the island and a youngish lad who seemed to know the crew and might just have been along for the boat trip. It was November, of course, and although bright was also quite cold. They were on the Skala, which along with the Zrinski was one of the two city-owned boats that made the regular trips between the port and Lokrum. Both it and its crew of two weather-beaten, and presumably local, men looked as if they’d been doing the journey for years. As it motored through the channel between their cruise ship and the nearside shore of Lokrum, Gemma snuggled up to Mark. No harm in keeping him unaware and occupied. She could see he was contented and wondered for a fleeting moment whether perhaps he had changed his mind, and even if she might have somehow got it wrong. He’d even told her over breakfast that last night had made him realise how much he wanted her back. Anyway, that was his look out. She put the thought out of her mind: he’d tried to rip her off, there was no way she wanted him and, even if she had, she’d never have trusted him again. Once a manipulative bastard always one, she figured.
They moored at the little jetty toward the south end of the island. The small snack bar gave the appearance of being open, the tables and chairs were set out for business although there was no one around, and no sign of any waiter. Gemma suggested they walk up to the middle of the island where the now deserted monastery was and then over to Lokrum’s own little Dead Sea. They had been told it was a natural and quite deep salt-filled lake that was easy enough to swim in.
‘I love swimming but it’s probably too cold to do that today, still we can have a look and then get something to eat when we come back, if anyone actually appears to serve us.’
She found her thought processes going into overdrive when Mark replied that he had never really liked or been any good at swimming anyway.
They set off on the well-marked path to the former Benedictine monastery. There had only been the one ferry trip so far that morning and as Gemma and Mark headed out across the island it felt as if they were the only ones there; the silence was quite eerie, almost palpable. The path wound up through a mass of shrubbery and small trees that had mostly lost their foliage. At this time of year, the deserted monastery could be seen from a few hundred yards away; no doubt in the spring and summer it would have been quite hidden until actually stumbled upon. They walked through the cloisters, which unlike most of the monastery had remained pretty much unchanged, and had a quick look at the overgrown gardens and courtyard before following a helpfully positioned if slightly decrepit signpost to Mrtove More, the local name for the Dead Sea.
It only took a few more minutes to reach. As it came into view they were both taken aback: it was a stunning sight even on a chilly autumnal day, and it just didn’t seem to fit the rest of the island. It resembled, almost, a mini resort but carved out of the ground. There was a small sort of beach area near where the path had ended and some flat rocks to each side but the sea itself was still and very dark. Across from the would-be beach, and on the other side of the lake, there were steep rocks forming a small cliff, probably little more than thirty yards away, with the water lapping gently against them. It was a clear, bright day and they could make out the Adriatic Sea beyond the far side of the island itself. It would have been the ideal place to while away a summer’s day.
‘Wow, this is pretty smart.’
Gemma flinched, why did Mark have to adopt some kind of American lilt for no obvious reason? It was time to confront him. She knew she couldn’t keep things bottled up much longer.
‘Let’s wander round to the other side, it looks like we’ll get a good view from over there; apparently the water’s so deep that people can dive off those rocks in the summer.’
Gemma wasn’t certain why she had suggested that, they certainly weren’t planning to go swimming. It just seemed like the right place to sort things out. In any case Mark seemed happy enough to let her take the lead.
‘Sure, it’s lovely here, not that I’m planning any swimming; like I said, it’s not really my thing anyway.’
Once they had scrambled round to the rocks overhanging the far side of the lake, Gemma launched into it.
‘Listen Mark, do you think I’m some kind of bloody idiot? I know that you’ve ripped me off, you bastard, and obviously have no intention of coming back to England tonight or even at all. Just what the fuck do you think you’re playing at?’
She hadn’t said she had already found and taken the money; that could come later. She could see his shock at first and then, almost immediately and if she hadn’t known him better almost imperceptibly, his desperate search for an excuse.’
‘What do you mean? I’d do anything to stay with you Gemma, you know that. I thought we might work things out between us. It’s been great these last few days.’
‘Look Mark, stop clutching at straws, I’ve checked the bank accounts, you’ve taken something like fifty thousand pounds from our account, if not more, and presumably brought it with you to start some kind of new life or God knows what. But whatever the hell it is, you’ve certainly ripped me off; and don’t come up with some pathetic sort of denial, you’re the only one who could have withdrawn that money, and in any case the bank told me it was you.’
She wanted to keep him guessing; and to see him try to squirm his way out of things. She could almost feel his brain grinding into damage limitation mode.
‘Okay Gemma, yes I did withdraw that money, but only because I deserved it and if you were going to ditch me I wanted to make sure I wasn’t left with nothing. And anyway, I haven’t done anything with it, I promise, in fact now we’re getting on I really want us to stay together and give things another go. I’d never actually take it if we had a chance of staying together. I love you, you know.’
Even though Gemma knew she was one step ahead, she was finding it difficult to stay calm and control her anger. She folded he arms to stop herself trembling and looked him in the eye.
‘So where is the money then, Mark?’
‘Well I’ve just stashed it away at home so we can talk things through when we get back.’
That was it, so much for his sudden pretence of decency and honesty – qualities which were obviously beyond him. She couldn’t keep the charade going any longer.
‘No way Mark, you’re a fucking liar, you better give me that money back now; and if you mess around I’ll grass you up about Anne’s murder, you know I could, there’s nothing to pin anything on me except your word. I’ll bloody ruin you, again, you arrogant bastard.’
Mark was disconcerted and rattled, his panic fighting a desperation to come up with a plausible explanation.
‘What do you mean give it back now? I haven’t got it here, have I? And as I said I bloody deserve it for all I’ve done for you.’
It was clear Mark was going to hang in there with his excuses. Enough was enough.
‘Okay Mark, let’s stop messing around. I know exactly what you’ve done. I’ve already taken the money from the lining of your stupid enormous suitcase and transferred it all back to an account in my name only. It didn’t have to be like this, you know; I actually used to quite like you. Anyway I’m going back to Dubrovnik, you can get back yourself and then you can go where the fuck you like.’
By the time she had finished it was pretty clear that Mark hadn’t really been listening; his whole demeanour was changing. He grabbed her. He managed to look both white and livid at the same time. His words were almost spat out.
‘But what about last night? I thought we had something. And yes, sure I did take the money but that was before this and over the last few days I’ve hoped we could get back together and that’d be far more important to me. You’ve got to believe me. It was only a last resort.’
Things weren’t going quite as Gemma had envisaged. Mark looked more than a little manic and clearly unpredictable; she realised that she needed to keep things together for now.
‘Mark, last night was a sham, I got you drunk just so as to get my money back. You can’t think I want you in my life anymore, we’re over. Yes, we might have had some good times but that’s finished, we agreed. This was a goodbye trip, you bloody promised.’
She felt his grip tightening around her shoulders and pushed him away. It didn’t make a difference. Gemma felt a surge of fear, she hadn’t thought about any physical threat. Mark’s face was contorted with anger and his fingers dug into the bottom of her neck.
‘I can’t lose you and you don’t want me.’
Mark was plainly desperate and she wasn’t in a position to do much. She needed to calm him down pretty quickly or things could go badly wrong.
‘Maybe Mark, maybe we could. I do still feel something for you. You know that.’
She looked up at him and smiled, he loosened his hold a little. She knew she had to get away from him. She pushed him with all her strength, kicking out at his shins at the same time. He rocked back and toward the edge of the cliff but had kept enough of a grip on her to drag her with him. She kicked again and this time he lost his balance. He stumbled backwards but still with sufficient of a hold on one of her arms to bring her with him. Time stood still as they fell the few yards to the surface of the lake. As they hit the water they separated; she remembered thinking how cold it was, and how surprisingly dark, before her head hit a ledge jutting out from the rocky cliff wall below the water line.