2018
Is Sofia the miracle they hoped and prayed for? Or is her return to Pure Heart a bad idea? Four hours after Sofia’s arrival, Zoe isn’t sure. With her rubber-gloved hands deep in the kitchen sink, tending to a stack of dirty plates with an eco-friendly coconut scourer, Zoe replays the image of Sofia emerging from the Land Rover. The shock like a punch to her stomach. For a moment she thought it was Eva come back from the dead. Ridiculous. Zoe believes in many things – auras, chakras, the healing power of crystals for example – but she knows the departed don’t rise from their graves.
Now it’s nearly 6 p.m. and she’s in the kitchen with Carl, Holly and Joe, clearing up the remains of the lunch Joe put out earlier for the bodyguards. Now Joe is busy stuffing two pale, plucked quails with rosemary and thyme.
When Carl appears behind her and slides his hands around her waist, she jumps.
‘I’ll dry.’ He kisses her neck before yanking a grubby tea towel from the hook beneath the draining board.
‘Thanks,’ she says. After they left Sofia to settle into her accommodation, Quinn announced she needed to go and meditate. There was, she said, a lot to mull over. Everyone drifted away to their rooms, claiming to need a rest after all the excitement. As if they didn’t want to admit how much they had to discuss. In their own room, she and Carl held each other for a long time in a silent embrace, and she wondered if he was thinking of Eva. How beautiful she was.
‘Do you think she’s sleeping?’ Holly asks in hushed tones, as if Sofia might hear her.
‘Maybe.’ Joe drizzles oil over the skin of the birds.
Carl shakes the suds off a large serving bowl. ‘I imagine she’s still unpacking,’ he says wryly.
Zoe has never seen so many Louis Vuitton cases. She remembers her stylist kitting her out with a Louis Vuitton clutch bag for her first and only Brit Awards. A wrap of cocaine tucked in the zipped pocket inside. After she didn’t win the Rising Star award she was nominated for, she sneaked away to the toilets and snorted the whole lot with her publicist.
‘She’ll sleep well here,’ Holly says. ‘It’s so peaceful.’
The window above the sink is open. Through the mesh fly screen Zoe hears only cicadas and birdsong. Peaceful indeed, but Zoe feels anything but. She can sense Sofia’s presence in the building. A presence both alien and familiar. The others sense it too; she can tell. A strange tension grips them all. As if the kitchen is a stage set and they’re waiting for the curtain to rise on the next act of a play so they can burst into action and say their lines.
Zoe has changed her costume for the evening. Loose black yoga pants and a cropped grey T-shirt. She’s still wearing the make-up she put on for Sofia’s arrival and her eyelashes feel stiff and claggy.
She tackles another plate with the scourer and hands it to Carl. She loathes washing up. Until two months ago they still had a functional dishwasher, but it packed up on them and added one more daily chore to the never-ending list. She glances at the wall beside the sink, where a printed, laminated sign warns her not to waste water. Other, similar signs are pinned up all over the kitchen.
Please recycle all tins and cardboard. Follow the colour codes for the chopping boards. DO NOT switch the oven off at the red switch on the wall!!!!!
Zoe bets Sofia has a sleek, modern kitchen in her home as well as staff to run it for her. Sofia is a woman who gives orders. She wouldn’t let laminated signs boss her around.
‘Honestly.’ Holly scrapes the remains of a Greek salad from a large serving dish into a small bowl. ‘Those bodyguards ate almost everything.’
‘I’ve seen starving refugees at the camp eat less,’ Joe says.
‘We’ll have our hands full looking after our guests,’ Holly says. ‘Won’t we, love?’
‘Aye.’ Joe tosses herbs over the oily skins of the quails. ‘We will.’
‘It’ll be like the old days.’ Carl gives the dripping plate in his hand a vigorous rub with the tea towel.
The old days. Zoe remembers the noisy happy chaos of mealtimes. Does Sofia’s visit herald a return to those times?
‘Do you think she remembers leaving us?’ Holly says.
Silence apart from the splash of Zoe’s hands in the greasy water, the squeak of Carl’s tea towel against the plate, the creak of the oven door as Joe opens it.
‘Who knows?’ The roasting dish packed with quails clatters as Joe shoves it into the oven. ‘There’s a lot she might want to forget.’
‘We should have stopped her grandparents from taking her,’ Holly says.
Joe slams the oven door shut. ‘There’s a lot we should have done.’
The kitchen door opens. Everyone turns in anticipation, but it’s only Mel. She strides into the room, face flushed, dark islands of sweat on her burgundy T-shirt. She has dirt streaks on her burgundy shorts and dust on her black trainers.
‘I went for a run up the mountain path to the viewpoint,’ she says. ‘Had to clear my head.’ She glances around the kitchen. ‘Anything happened here?’
Zoe isn’t the only one in the room to straighten up and pull her shoulders back. Earlier, she could tell Mel was dying to interrogate them all about Sofia’s arrival.
‘Where’s Andreas?’ Mel asks.
‘He left a while ago,’ Holly says.
Concern clouds Mel’s features. ‘I thought he’d stay the night,’ she says, as if Andreas is the only responsible adult amongst them and they won’t make it through to dawn without him.
‘He’s gone to visit his mum,’ Joe explains.
Mel sighs. ‘I went to Quinn’s room. Her Do Not Disturb sign is up so she must still be meditating. Although I’m not sure how much peace she’ll get with that bullet-catcher in the next room.’
‘Bullet-catcher?’ Zoe says.
‘A nickname we police used to give bodyguards,’ Mel says.
‘He did seem determined to have that room,’ says Carl.
‘It’s a perfect strategic location.’ Mel sounds as if she’s in a police briefing. ‘Right next to the fire exit that leads to an outside set of stairs. Easy for someone to break into the building. Or break out of it.’
‘It’s all very James Bond,’ Holly says.
Mel frowns. ‘Hardly.’ She marches over to the fridge, opens it and takes out a jug of chilled water. ‘Poor Quinn. I’m sure she needs all the rest she can get just now.’
Poor Quinn? Zoe glances at Carl who rolls his eyes.
‘Aren’t any of you worried about these men being here?’ Mel picks up a glass tumbler from a shelf. ‘They’re armed. Or does that not bother you?’
‘Look.’ Joe wipes his hands on his apron. ‘None of us are in favour of guns, but these guys are just doing their job.’
‘I doubt they’re expecting to shoot any of us,’ Carl says. ‘This must be a cushy number for them.’
Zoe wonders if Mel came up against armed men when she was in the police. She never talks about the specific cause of her post-traumatic stress disorder. Or maybe having men like Sofia’s bodyguards around reminds Mel of her ex-boyfriend. It’s hard to imagine Mel helpless at the hands of an abuser, but Zoe knows how easy it is to become a victim.
Mel pours herself a glass of water and gulps it back. ‘Weird they didn’t travel with a driver. Safety wise. It’s like Sofia doesn’t want anyone knowing she’s here.’
‘That’s maybe the point if she’s a kidnap risk?’ Joe says.
‘Maybe.’ Mel wipes her mouth. ‘They’ve probably done background checks on all of us.’
Joe shrugs. ‘We don’t have anything to hide.’
‘I’m not so sure,’ Carl says. ‘The reviews for my second novel were atrocious.’ His laughter sounds hollow to Zoe.
‘Not as bad as the ones for my second album,’ she says.
‘Poor baby.’ Carl leans in and kisses her. ‘Fuck the lot of them.’
Her laughter is more hollow than his. She doesn’t like the thought of people trawling through the lurid tabloid headlines that prompted her self-imposed exile from the UK. Pop Pixie in mile-high tryst with married rocker. Zoe Tempest’s stormy affair shocks fans. Leon McGregor’s wife stands by her man.
Shame flushes her cheeks. She snaps off her rubber gloves and tosses them on the draining board. Mel has stopped by one of the framed photographs of Eva they put up on the wall. Eva sitting poolside with her feet in the water. Capturing the camera’s curious gaze with her own enigmatic one.
Mel scrutinises the picture, as if it’s a clue pinned up on a crime scene evidence board. ‘Sofia looked really shaken up when she saw the monastery,’ she says. ‘She’s still not over what happened.’
‘Sofia was the one who found Eva’s body,’ Zoe says. She was here, in the kitchen that day, and she will never forget the screams that carried across the courtyard into the house. Piercing, feral screams that chilled Zoe to the bone before she even knew what had happened.
Carl slides an arm around her shoulder. She sags against him.
‘I see.’ Mel leans against the workstation. ‘Traumatic for her, at that age. It’s shocking at any age. The first dead body I saw in the Met was a suicide. Guy in his fifties. Overdose.’ She shakes her head. ‘I’ll never forget it.’
‘Poor Sofia,’ Holly says. ‘Losing your mother at such a young age is tragic.’
Mel nods. ‘I was only five when my dad died, so I can’t really remember him. Sofia had time to get to know Eva. That must be so much worse.’
Zoe has only heard Mel mention her dead father once before. She’s not sure now is the time to bring him up again.
‘There’s no hierarchy of suffering, Mel,’ Holly says, repeating one of Quinn’s favourite quotes. ‘Everything you feel is totally valid.’
‘What if she’s inherited Eva’s… vulnerabilities?’ Mel says. ‘If she has, is it really a good idea for her to be here? I mean she—’
The kitchen door opens, stopping her mid-flow. Dmitri enters the room and shuts the door behind him. He is still wearing his smart trousers, white shirt and black waistcoat. His cold, grey eyes sweep the room. When they settle on Zoe, heat surges across her chest. She eases herself out of Carl’s embrace.
‘Good evening,’ he says.
‘Evening,’ Zoe replies, as the others offer similar greetings. She wonders how old Dmitri is. Mid-forties maybe? The lines on his impassive face hint at a hard life but his compact body is lithe and trim. He is, she decides, quite attractive. She sees the bulge beneath the right-hand side of his waistcoat. Good of him to hide his weapon. He must know he doesn’t need to intimidate them in any way.
Mel retreats to the dining table, pulls out a chair and sits down. One of the white kittens, Zoe can’t tell if it’s Apollo or Artemis, darts out from under the table and circles Dmitri a few times before stopping to look up at him with pleading eyes. Dmitri stares back and, with a wounded squeak, the kitten scurries back beneath the table.
‘Can we get you something?’ Carl asks him. ‘Coffee? A snack?’
The bodyguard shakes his head. ‘Sofia will not join you for dinner. She must rest.’
‘Oh.’ Joe glances at the oven, where the skins of the quails are already blistering in heat. ‘No worries. We can have the big welcome meal tomorrow.’
‘Yes, she must rest,’ Holly says. ‘Rest is very important.’
‘She sends apologies,’ Dmitri says.
‘We could put a tray of something together,’ says Joe. ‘If she’s hungry.’
‘Maybe later.’ Dmitri checks his watch. ‘First she will rest, then she will take a bath.’
Zoe helped to prepare the room next to Sofia’s quarters for Dmitri. She wonders if sorting out meals isn’t the only menial task he performs. She imagines him running Sofia’s bath for her. Turning down her bed covers at night.
‘We don’t have baths here,’ Mel says.
Dmitri stares at her. ‘There is a bath. In the bathroom. I have seen it.’
‘I mean we don’t use the baths,’ Mel explains. ‘It’s a waste of water.’
‘I do not understand.’ Dmitri looks at the rest of them, quizzical.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Zoe says. ‘I’m sure Sofia needs a bath after her journey.’
‘Only the best for our guest,’ Carl says.
Only the best for such a generous guest, thinks Zoe. Mel needs to remember that.
Dmitri nods, turns and exits the room.
* * *
They wait a few moments in silence. Mel gets up and checks the corridor outside is empty. Zoe sighs. Does she really think Dmitri will be listening in on them?
‘We can have the quails cold tomorrow,’ Joe says.
‘Perfect,’ Holly says. ‘They’ll still be delicious.’
‘I have a bad feeling about all this,’ Mel says.
‘Got a hunch have you, Detective?’ Carl’s tone is gently teasing.
‘We shouldn’t have let Sofia pay for her stay,’ Mel says.
‘She insisted,’ Zoe reminds her.
‘Being in debt to these people is a bad idea,’ Mel says. ‘Where do you think Sofia’s money comes from? There’s no way her grandfather was legit.’
‘Not originally,’ Carl says. ‘Eva was very upfront about that.’
‘That’s why she wanted to raise Sofia here,’ Joe adds.
‘When I worked Organised Crime, I came up against the Russian mafia all the time.’ Mel grimaces. ‘They’re hardcore.’
‘Well, you made a mistake coming to Cyprus then,’ Carl says. ‘Andreas is always banging on about the Russian mafia taking over his island.’
‘He’s got a point,’ Mel says. ‘Some of the mafia guys I failed to put away ended up retiring over here.’
‘Sofia’s two generations away from all that,’ Zoe says. ‘We accepted money from an old friend, not a gangster.’
‘There’s a fine line,’ Mel says. ‘Once you cross it you can never get back.’
‘Sofia’s one of us,’ Holly insists. ‘She’s part of the Pure Heart family.’
‘Aye, exactly,’ says Joe. ‘Maybe you’ve still got some limiting financial beliefs you need to work on, Mel?’
‘Who doesn’t?’ adds Carl. ‘We all have blocks about abundance.’
Zoe doesn’t like what Mel is implying. As if they’re the kind of people who would put money before ethics. ‘Quinn says this visit was destined to happen. Don’t you believe her?’
‘Of course, I believe Quinn.’ Mel looks flustered now. ‘I’m just saying we—’
‘We’d never do anything that wasn’t in alignment with our integrity,’ Zoe says. Another of Quinn’s favourite sayings. Perfect for this moment.
‘Hey, I know,’ Carl says, ‘let’s kidnap Sofia ourselves. Get a huge ransom and live happily ever after.’
Zoe smiles at the joke, as does Joe. Holly lets out a nervous giggle.
‘That’s not funny,’ Mel says. ‘Not funny at all.’