The island - PART TWO

After a storm almost capsizes their boat Beth and Tom are rescued by a mysterious stranger. Then, just as they are about to return home, Beth faces a difficult choice...
The lush green garden looked incongruous on the otherwise barren island, and the beautiful yellow castle crowned with the slowly rotating metal sun was even more unlikely. As they approached, Beth wondered if she was still dreaming. Maybe the storm that had nearly sunk their little boat had just been a nightmare, and any minute she would wake up back in the safety of their hotel room?

Tom threw the two taciturn men in boiler suits a rope and they pulled the boat in alongside the jetty. Beth glanced at Tom, noticing the pulse in his jaw. He didn't look at her. The elegant wooden sailing ship moored in front of them made their battered little boat look tragically inferior.

The handsome man was talking to the other men in Greek. He seemed to be issuing instructions, evidently in charge. She wondered who he was. Demetrius had been so insistent that they mustn't go to the island when they had rented the boat from him. Her imagination raced with thoughts of drug barons, cult leaders and tourists who were never seen again.

As their boat bumped against the jetty the man bent and held out his hand to Beth. She noticed that despite his dark hair and olive skin his eyes were the same aqua blue as Demetrius's. She saw the sea in them but also sadness, and all thoughts of danger disappeared.

His hand felt strong and firm in hers as she scrambled somewhat inelegantly with her wicker basket onto the hot wooden planks. Her hair was still dripping and water poured from the loose straw weave of the basket. Her sodden dress clung to her body and she looked down to see the linen streaked with threads of seaweed. Puddles were forming at her feet, as though she were melting. From the corner of her eye she saw Tom being helped out of the boat by the men.

'I can manage,' she heard him say tersely. 'I'm quite alright.'

Beth didn't feel alright. Her head began to spin and in front of her the horizon tilted.

'I have you,' the man said, and she felt an arm around her shoulder.

'I'll look after my wife.' Tom stepped forward to hold her up. Beth steadied herself.

She heard an engine and saw a Land Rover bumping its way down a zigzag path.

'We will go to the castle,' the man said. 'You can rest there.'

The men in boiler suits were talking to each other. The name Demetrius was repeated several times.

Suddenly there was a splash, and then a gurgle, as the little boat they had just stepped out of tipped up on its prow and slid into the sea. They all peered over the jetty to see it lying at the bottom of the clear water, a long stream of bubbles rising as though the boat were issuing one last breath.

Beth felt the ground shift beneath her feet and her head began to spin again.

The next thing she knew she was in the Land Rover, bumping along a path edged with purple lavender and neatly trimmed hedges. There were several sculptures in the garden: a leaping horse, a giant minotaur, a winged figure balancing impossibly on a rock.

The Land Rover stopped outside the castle. Tom made a show of helping Beth out.

The man led them through an archway to some garden chairs set out on a bougainvillea-shaded terrace, the pink flowers bright against the pale yellow stone of the ancient castle walls. There was a jug of water and two glasses already laid out on the table, a pot of coffee and a plate of what looked like almond cakes.

'My bag!' Beth looked around in a panic for her wicker basket.

'Here it is,' the man said. 'But I fear the contents are very wet.'

He handed it to Beth. She took out the sodden loaf of bread and slab of cheese. The bottle of wine had survived but at the bottom of the bag Beth's sketchbook was saturated. As she lifted it, dripping, from the basket the pages fell from between the cardboard covers and flopped onto the marble flagstones of the terrace.

'You are an artist?' The man stooped to pick up one of the pages, smoothing it out with his hands.

'It's just her latest hobby,' Tom said as he poured himself a glass of water.

Beth could feel her cheeks reddening.

'Just a hobby?' The man's voice was questioning as he studied the wet page. Beth could see that the colours were bleeding together, the stripes of the boys' T-shirts smearing into the inky lines of the cat.

'There's always a hobby with my wife,' Tom continued. 'Last year she took up poetry.'

'Poetry?' The man's voice was still questioning. He smiled at Beth. 'You are an artist and a poet?'

'No, not at all.' Beth's cheeks burned. 'As Tom says, just hobbies.'

The man began to spread Beth's pictures on the flagstones. They were a visual chronicle of the week's holiday: the pretty pastel-coloured houses tumbling down the hillside to the sea; the horses lined up on the quayside laden with the tourists' luggage; women sitting outside shops selling jewellery and leather sandals; an ornate church; seafood stalls and baskets piled high with shells and sponges.

'I think they're ruined,' Beth sighed. 'They've got so smudged.'

The man shook his head.

'No, they are not ruined. They are beautiful. You and the sea have worked together to make something wonderful. You are collaborators.'

Tom let out a laugh.

'The sea certainly wasn't collaborating half an hour ago. I thought it was trying to drown us.'

The man looked at Tom, his expression serious.

'The sea is like a wife. Never forget to respect her.'

Beth saw Tom shift uncomfortably in his chair.

'What do you do?' he asked the man. 'Your line of work, I mean.'

'I am a sculptor.' He paused. 'I was a sculptor.'

'And now?'

'Now I am just a man, living here on this island.'

'Alone?'

'No, I have my staff. I am never alone, though there are some who are convinced I am lonely.'

Tom put a proprietorial hand on Beth's knee.

'Do you not have a wife?' he asked.

'I am a widower,' the man said quietly. 'My wife died ten years ago while giving birth. The baby was stillborn.'

Beth was starting to say she was sorry but Tom interrupted.

'That's tough.' His tone failed to match his words of sympathy.

'And you?' the man said to Tom. 'What do you do?'

'I'm in renewables,' Tom smiled. 'I started small but I'm expanding rapidly.' He took his hand from Beth's knee and reached across the table for a cake.

'So, you are the creative one?' The man turned his attention back to Beth.

'She helps out in my office,' said Tom through a mouthful of sponge cake. 'Accounts and wages, that sort of thing.'

The man's eyes met Beth's but he didn't speak.

Tom pointed up to the crenelated rooftop above them. 'Is that some kind of wind turbine up there?' he asked, indicating the revolving sun sculpture. 'How much energy does it kick out?'

'It is not a wind turbine. It is a memorial to my wife.' The man still looked at Beth as he spoke. 'She was my light, my warmth. She was my sun.' He raised one hand upwards. 'I made this to remember her.'

'It's so beautiful,' Beth said. 'You are so talented.'

'It was my last sculpture.'

There was a commotion as the men in boiler suits appeared and began an animated exchange with the man.

'Demetrius has sent the water taxi to collect you and take you back to the mainland,' the man explained to Beth and Tom.

'I'm sure he'll be very annoyed with us,' Beth said. 'He specifically told us not to come here when we hired the boat.'

'And now you have not just come here, you have sunk the boat.'

Beth was sure that she could see the hint of a smile on the man's lips.

'The old fool rented us a leaking bucket,' said Tom, standing up and brushing crumbs from his lap. 'He'd better not expect any compensation.'

The man looked at Tom for a long time, before turning to the pictures from the sketchbook spread out on the floor.

'They are still damp,' he said. 'It is best they stay here to dry. I can have them sent to where you are staying later.'

Beth shook her head. 'Just throw them away. We're going home tomorrow anyway. Leaving on the first ferry.'

The man held Beth's gaze for a few seconds. She had the distinct impression he was going to say something more, but instead he turned, walked through a door and disappeared inside the castle.

Beth suddenly felt as though the air had cooled. She shivered.

'You look like a drowned rat,' Tom laughed, removing a strand of seaweed that was tangled in her hair.

'Come! Come!' One of the boiler-suited men beckoned them to follow him back to the Land Rover. As they set off down the path Beth could see the bright colours of the water taxi that was waiting by the jetty.

She looked back expecting to see the man again. But there was no sign of him, just the small blank windows of the castle and the golden sun on the roof slowly spinning around and around. For the first time she saw it had a carving on it - the face of a beautiful woman.

Beth and Tom waited on the harbour with their suitcases beside them. They were part of a crowd of people silently scanning the horizon for the first ferry of the day. The sky was still streaked with the pink of dawn, but the early morning sun was warm on Beth's arms, which were freckled and brown from her week's holiday. Tom moved away as he typed a message into his phone.

The crowd grew larger: couples with backpacks, families with suitcases and pushchairs, with babies bleary eyed from the early start. There were local people with boxes of produce, an old woman with a cockerel in a wicker basket, children in school uniform and a priest with a flowing beard and long black robes.

'I'll have to go to a meeting as soon as we get back,' Tom said. 'The deal needs finalising, so it will probably be a late one.'

A low murmur rippled through the crowd as the ferry appeared in the distance.

Beth's gaze went to the island for the hundredth time. There was no flash of gold, no sailing ship, no sign there was anything there but bare rock.

She saw a figure pushing through the crowd, an old man with a scarlet scarf around his neck. It was Demetrius, who owned the boat they had hired.

'Bloody hell,' Tom muttered. 'I might have known he'd try to find us.'

'Kalimera,' said Demetrius, wishing them good morning as he approached. He stopped in front of them, his smile wide.

'I told you yesterday,' said Tom, drawing himself up. 'That boat wasn't fit for purpose, you'll not get a penny from me.'

'Yes, you made that quite clear.' Demetrius was still smiling. 'You will not be paying financially.'

'We could sue, you know,' Tom bristled. 'We almost drowned.'

Demetrius shrugged. 'I did tell you not to go to the island.'

'But it's hardly any distance.' Tom gestured over the water.

'Yes.' Demetrius's genial smile was back. 'I knew a man like you would not be able to resist.'

Beth wanted to laugh. It was true: if Tom was told he shouldn't do something he always went ahead and did it anyway.

The ferry was close now, ploughing its way through the water towards the harbour wall. People were getting tickets out of their pockets and picking up their bags.

Demetrius crossed his arms and stared straight out to sea.

'Are you going on the ferry?' Beth asked.

Demetrius shook his head. 'I am waiting for my nephew.'

Beth could see people on the deck of the boat, but Demetrius wasn't looking at them, he was looking at the horizon.

The ferry docked and people began jostling each other. The cockerel crowed and a baby began to cry.

Tom pulled up the handle of his wheeled suitcase with a short sharp click. 'Come on,' he said to Beth. 'We want to get a good seat.'

Beth bent to pick up her own case, but Demetrius put a hand on her arm. 'He is coming now.'

Beth looked towards the island, where Demetrius was pointing. At first she couldn't see anything, then suddenly she saw tall masts and a white sail.

Demetrius picked up Beth's suitcase.

Tom looked askance. 'That belongs to my wife!'

Demetrius nodded towards the sailing ship gliding around the headland. 'My nephew has been unhappy for a long time.'

The ferry crew called out for the passengers.

'Come on!' Tom pulled the case from Demetrius's hand and put one foot on the gangplank. He glared at Beth. 'We have to go!'

'I think your wife has also been unhappy for a long time,' Demetrius said. 'I see it in her eyes.' He frowned at Tom. 'And I hear you on your phone.'

'What do you mean?'

'Talking, talking. Words of love.'

Beth watched Tom's face go pale. She glanced at the sailing ship as it came closer.

The ferry captain shouted something in Greek.

'Beth!' Tom began to walk up the gangplank, carrying the two suitcases. 'We have a flight to catch.'

'It is your choice,' said Demetrius, his aqua-blue eyes glittering as he looked at Beth.

'The old fool is evidently mad,' Tom called. He was almost at the top of the gangplank, and the captain was gesturing that the ferry was about to leave.

The sailing ship was very close now. Beth could see the man at the wheel.

She stepped onto the gangplank of the ferry. It shook under her feet as she walked. At the top she looked into the face of her husband, at the familiar steely eyes.

She took her suitcase from his hand and turned, her steps steadier as she walked down.

'Good luck with your deal,' she called up to Tom from the quayside.

His reply was drowned out by the loud blaring of the horn as the ferry started to move away.

Beth began to smile as she followed Demetrius to the waiting rowing boat that she knew would to take her to the sailing ship.

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