The Second Woman Read online

  ‘We need to think about the Stefana crowns …’ Athena continued, bustling towards her and fiddling with the neckline of the dress.

  ‘This feels a bit tight; I wonder if we can take it out a bit here. We don’t want you squashing the baby.’

  She pulled at Artemis’ waist.

  ‘It’s not going to get squashed, I’m only going to be wearing it for a day. And I don’t need a crown; Clive and I don’t want something so traditional …’

  ‘Rubbish,’ Athena retorted. ‘I know it can’t be a formal religious ceremony in the traditional sense, what with …’ she pointed at Artemis’ stomach. ‘But other than the vows, everything will be traditional enough. Rena and I are arranging it all, with the help of Clive’s cheque book. We need to think about the menu – for the youvetsi, do we want lamb or beef? I think lamb.’

  She answered her own question, scrawling something on the piece of paper she was holding.

  ‘How many of Clive’s friends or family are coming, has he confirmed?’

  ‘Oh,’ Artemis shrugged. ‘I don’t know, I hadn’t thought about it.’

  ‘I’m sure he mentioned that novelist who bought a place down by the beach would be coming. You know, the American one? I’ll talk to Clive about it.’

  Artemis could tell the idea of colluding with her fiancé pleased Athena. Not that it bothered her. If anything, it was flattering, her friend’s little crush on her husband-to-be; she liked knowing that other people wanted him and he only wanted her. But the wedding guests? This question unfurled in front of her like an unknown flower. Who were Clive’s friends? Beyond his deceased parents, did he have any family to speak of? Why didn’t Artemis know these things? When she considered it, what did she really know about him at all?

  Harry

  London, the day before Anna dies

  Harry wakes to the muffled sound of his phone ringing. He is covered in sweat; the sound of the radio bleeds into the shift in consciousness from sleep to wakefulness as he sits up in the living area of the boat.

  Pulling himself upright, he feels around for the phone which is vibrating somewhere beneath him on the sofa where he had fallen into a fretful doze that afternoon. Instantly he thinks of Maria.

  Prising the phone from between two pillows, the name on the handset fills him with a rush of hope followed by fear. Why is she calling him now? It will be to offer him work, he reminds himself, reaching for calm. And he couldn’t be more in need of a job – both for the money and the distraction it will provide.

  He doesn’t let himself think any further. Whatever it is that she wants, she will know where to find him.

  Inhaling, resetting himself, Harry presses answer.

  ‘Hey, Madeleine … How’s things?’

  Artemis

  Greece and London, the Eighties

  The night before the wedding Artemis stayed at Athena’s house, kept awake by nervous excitement. Her chest vibrated with it as she listened to the occasional gasps of the sea through the gaps in the shutters.

  Clive had arranged a car to take her to the venue. As Artemis stepped out of the house, she saw the driver waiting, holding the door open for her, and stopped dead.

  Walking ahead, Athena spoke first, her face breaking into a smile. ‘Jorgos! What are you doing here?’

  Jorgos grinned back at his old school friend. ‘I’m your driver for the occasion, madame.’

  Athena laughed. ‘I thought you were living on Skiathos these days – too hotshot for the likes of us …’

  Jorgos turned his attention to Artemis. ‘I’m doing some work with a contact of Clive and he asked if I would do the honours today. Seeing as we go back …’

  Artemis felt bile rise in her throat. Reaching for something to steady her balance, she felt herself falling though her body remained upright. The memory was pulling her down so that she was suddenly back there: the anniversary of the earthquake. She could see it perfectly, the port bustling with people – villagers who had lost their homes coming together in the streets to mark their unity in the face of what had happened to them. She could smell the fish, all sizes and shapes laid out by the fishermen just returned with their catch, as she peered in from the edges of the celebration.

  Markos and Rena pointedly refused to come to these occasions on the basis that they made light of their tragedy – or rather Markos refused and Rena knew better than to argue with him on this subject, at least. Artemis had been about to go home when Jorgos stepped in front of her, blocking her path. Immediately, she took a step away from him, this boy who had taunted her mercilessly over the years. But as he stepped forward that afternoon, he had appeared contrite.

  ‘Are you not coming to the feast?’

  She shook her head, hardly daring to look at him.

  ‘Me neither.’ He paused. There was a moment’s silence while she glanced warily at him, crossing her arms across her chest. He bit his lip. ‘Look, I’m sorry that I was mean to you. It’s just that I like you and I was embarrassed.’

  She felt her guard drop, a moment of doubt instantly replaced by a flicker of hope.

  ‘I don’t suppose you want to go for a walk?’ he asked.

  ‘I can’t.’ She took a step away from him, her body working separately from her mind.

  He held out his hand. ‘Please. I’m sorry. I know I was nasty to you but I’m not really like that. Please, give me a chance?’

  She inhaled, years later, coaxing herself out of the memory, struggling for breath as she returned to the present. But seeing him there, in front of her, at her wedding, she felt herself being pulled back below the surface. He was older by now, his hair pulled back in a ponytail, but his eyes had not changed. The same eyes that watched her resist as he pinned her to the spot. She could still smell his breath on her face as she kicked and screamed, the scent of bubble gum mixed with cigarette smoke.

  ‘Artemis?’ Athena looked between her friend and Jorgos. Artemis’ fingers tightened around the side of her mother’s wedding dress, nausea churning in her stomach. How could Athena not understand how wrong this was? Especially after she had told her what had happened … Except how much had she actually made clear, once she had got away from him, the day of the feast, only the skewed angle of her skirt hinting at what had just happened? She remembered the swell of sound from the port as she approached the door to the bakery, the music and voices of the celebration just streets away. She couldn’t go home. Her parents would be there and there was no way that she could face them. And there was no way she could face being alone – she couldn’t risk him coming for her again.

  She had run from the bakery, praying that her friend would be home, and she was, filling an old water bottle with wine from her parents’ fridge at the kitchen counter.

  ‘Shit, you scared me!’ Athena jumped when she heard Artemis walk in. When she saw her face, Athena’s expression changed. ‘What’s happened?’

  She tried to tell her but the words wouldn’t form properly. It was as if she was underwater, the sounds turning to bubbles in her mouth, only certain phrases forming. In any case, Athena hadn’t wanted to hear what she was trying to tell her, not properly.

  ‘Jorgos? You slut. It’s OK to feel regret. No one likes their first time. Anyway, you’ve done it – no one can call you a virgin any more … Here, have a swig of this.’

  Artemis had felt sick as she drank and now, despite the intervening years, she could still taste the memory of the retsina in her throat that afternoon, as she looked at the man standing in front of her.

  ‘Artemis?’ Athena spoke again, impatience lacing her voice. ‘We need to go, we’re going to be late.’

  Artemis felt a final surge of nausea as the car swung around the bend before closing in on the venue. Woozy, she reached for the door as the wheels came to a halt on the gravel. Light-headedness was a common side effect in this stage of pregnancy, she reminded herself, concentrating her attention on Jorgos’ face as he opened the door, releasing her into the crowd.

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nbsp; Half the villagers seemed to have turned out for the occasion, rats crawling out of the sewers. Artemis kept her eyes on Clive where he stood on the far side of the crowd, between webs of white and blue flowers, pleated in arched formations between the tables and chairs. Keeping her focus straight ahead, she was flanked either side by Athena and Jorgos, her guards of honour escorting her to her fate.

  Dancing had erupted under the canopies by the time darkness fell, the roof appearing to hem her in like the lid of a coffin. Clive was distracted talking to his friends from London – Jeff and May, and another old friend called Clarissa having descended the day before. Artemis had barely spent more than a few minutes in their company and none of them seemed to notice as she disappeared from their group now, keeping her eyes to the floor as she slipped away to the bathroom.

  The sounds of the celebration muted as she closed the door behind her and moved into one of the cubicles. She stood there for almost a minute, pulling deep breaths into her lungs, before she heard the external bathroom door swing open.

  ‘Artemis?’

  It was Athena’s voice. Before she could reply, her friend spoke again.

  ‘What are you doing in here?’

  Artemis opened the cubicle door and walked into the communal space, heading for the sink and splashing her face with water.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she replied. ‘I feel strange.’

  ‘It’s your wedding day, you’re supposed to feel strange … You’re also supposed to be at the wedding, not hiding in the bathroom messing up your own make-up. Come on, the Kalamatianó is starting soon – we’re needed.’

  All eyes turned to Artemis and Athena as they emerged on the dance floor, the beat of the music forming a death knell as they moved towards the circle. The guests clapped out a rhythm, parting ways to draw them into the circle and then clamping it shut again with their bodies.

  ‘Dance!’ Athena laughed as the movement started, the women around them locking arms, getting faster so that their bodies were spinning around them in a circle that constricted and expanded around them. The beat seemed to get louder so that soon all Artemis could hear was a rush of noise merging with her own shallow breathing. Standing back slightly from the crowd beyond, Artemis’ eyes latched onto one face, watching her now with the same empty intensity that she recognised from that afternoon as he had pinned her down, his eyes inches above hers.

  And then she felt herself fall.

  Clive’s house stood at the edge of Hampstead Heath, a blanket of calm amidst the bustle of North London.

  The house was exactly as he had described it, with tiled steps leading up to a traditional Victorian front door.

  Away from the busy London streets, the silence inside the house was deafening. She hadn’t acknowledged the specific sounds of the island – the dragging of the nets onto the port, the calling out of the fishermen, the jangle of plates from beneath the plastic awnings of the new restaurants that had sprung up to cater for the summer visitors – until they were gone. She’d felt them recede as they stepped onto the boat to Athens, a few days after the wedding, the airport awaiting them like a portal into another world.

  ‘Close your eyes,’ Clive said as he guided her through the hallway into the living room.

  ‘Now open …’

  Looking up, she was greeted by one of her paintings, hanging over the fireplace. The view from that spot at the top of the island, where she and Clive had first met, in dusty strokes of blue and rusty greens.

  ‘What … But how did you get this?’

  ‘I had it shipped over, Carolina helped. You’re not going to faint again, are you?’ he joked, noting the shock in her eyes.

  She looked away from him. ‘I’m sorry about that, I don’t know what happened. I think it’s the pregnancy and—’

  ‘I’m joking. All brides are allowed a little freak-out on the big day,’ he said. ‘I’m just glad you’re feeling better. I want you to feel like this is properly your home. The other paintings are on their way; I thought we could hang them along the landing upstairs.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, casting her gaze away from the image of the island. ‘But we don’t have to. I’d like to do some fresh paintings, maybe on the Heathland you mentioned.’

  ‘It’s already arranged,’ he said firmly. ‘The shipments will be arriving next week.’

  ‘Well, I was also thinking about what you said before, about me maybe getting a little gallery space, somewhere local …’

  He regarded her. ‘Absolutely. That’s a wonderful idea. Once you’re a bit more settled into the pregnancy, we will definitely do that. If anything, I think the fainting shows that you need to keep things calm for a while. Besides, you don’t have to do anything. All you need to worry about is staying well. Agreed?’

  He pushed her hair back behind her ear and she smiled weakly. ‘You’re right. There’s plenty of time.’

  ‘There certainly is,’ he said, and she felt his arms tighten around her as she closed her eyes. ‘All the time in the world. You’re not going anywhere.’

  That first night in London, she woke up suddenly.

  The bathroom stood a little way along the landing. The light switch was activated by pulling on a string cord. Reaching for it in the darkness, Artemis stopped herself at the last minute, wary of the sound of the attached extractor fan waking Clive. Moving quickly across the room, she pulled open the curtain to let in the moonlight. As she did so, a gust of wind rattled at the sash windows.

  Looking out, she could see the wall where the garden gave way to the Heath. In late summer, the branches of the trees that lined the horizon were thick with leaves, casting shadows along the lawn.

  Shivering, she pulled the curtain to again and used the toilet, letting her eyes adjust to the dark. When she stood, she caught the rich smell of amber emanating from the crystal perfume bottle Clive had given her the day before.

  It was dark in the hallway as Artemis returned to the bedroom, moving briskly, aware of the shadows cast by the bannisters, like prison bars, along the bare wall where her pictures were yet to be hung.

  Back in the bedroom, she lunged into bed, closing her eyes and then opening them again to find Clive staring at her in the dark.

  His expression was one of concern. ‘Hey,’ he said, reaching out a hand to her arms, her goosebumps exacerbated by his touch. ‘Are you OK? You look like someone walked over your grave.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said, trying to smile. ‘I just needed to use the bathroom.’

  She closed her eyes again and tried to slow her heartbeat, focusing her attention on the sound of the trees rustling at the windows.

  ‘Sleep well,’ he said, turning away from her. ‘I know it all feels new now, a touch overwhelming perhaps. But everything is going to be great.’

  Harry

  London, the day Anna dies

  Parcel Yard is almost empty but for a couple of men in kilts drinking pints in one corner of the pub, a group of office workers laughing too loudly in the other.

  Harry arrives first, taking a seat at a table overlooking the train tracks, the sound of King’s Cross station rattling around him, surveying the room as he waits, his back straightening as he sees Madeleine appear at the door, teetering across the room on too-high heels.

  He doesn’t blink, watching her face closely.

  ‘Harry,’ she says, smiling, business-like, and leaning forward to kiss him on the cheek. ‘Early for that. Shall we walk?’

  He looks at his drink before downing it, ignoring her quip. If there is one thing he knows about Madeleine it is that she isn’t one to judge.

  ‘Sure, let’s go,’ he says, and they move outside and through the crowds gathered outside the departure boards, exiting the station and turning right towards Coal Drops Yard.

  ‘How have you been?’ she asks, noting the red rings around his eyes. He looks away.

  ‘I’ve had better days.’

  She looks enquiringly at him and he shrugs. ‘It was a nice
distraction to get your call. What’s up?’

  ‘I need you to help move someone,’ she says above the drone of the traffic. ‘An old colleague of mine … She has a family. Three young children and a partner. I need you to meet them at Plymouth tomorrow.’

  ‘Tomorrow?’

  ‘I know it’s short notice but I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t urgent. I need someone I can trust …’

  Harry nods. ‘I’m touched.’

  ‘I’ve lined up a people carrier. You’ll meet them near the ferry. There will be someone waiting to take their car and get rid of it. You’ll continue on with them. There is a house, I’ve written down the address.’

  ‘A family, though? Jesus, Mads, what is this about?’

  Madeleine shakes her head, biting the inside of her mouth.

  ‘They are witnesses in a case the NCA are building.’

  ‘So why aren’t you keeping this in-house?’

  She shoves her hands deep into her pockets.

  ‘OK,’ he says. ‘Obviously you’re not willing to tell me everything, but I need to know what I’m signing up to. I think you’d worry if I didn’t ask …’

  Madeleine nods. ‘You can’t report this, ever. What I say now is strictly off record. It can never come out.’

  Harry smiles, showing his palms. ‘You have my word. I haven’t worked for a newspaper for five years …’

  She doesn’t ask why. Pausing, she clears her throat. ‘The NCA is building a case against a network of international criminals. They need Gabriela – that’s my former colleague – to help convict a woman called Irena Vasiliev. They’ve been trying to get her for years; they’ve been working with international agencies, pushing to prosecute offences from involvement in something called a VAT carousel to a number of arguably more serious crimes that are equally hard to pin to her, especially with her legal team as litigious as they are – but this is where Gabriela comes in.’