The Forgotten Palace, page 15
Picking up Josh’s pillow, she felt her heart contract in horror. There was a lingering breath of perfume. Opium. A heavy, recognisable scent and one Eloise avoided as it made her sneeze. A sick swooping feeling filled her and she found herself sitting on the bed. When the same thing had happened before but with a lighter scent, lily of the valley, she had explained it away to herself as the new fabric softener she had bought. But this scent was unmistakable. It was definitely Opium. Aware Josh was on the phone to Nahjib and would be distracted, she searched the room to see if any more clues remained but there was nothing, although, she noticed the rubbish bin had been emptied.
During the long drive to the house in the Lake District the following day she had pondered Josh’s roving eye, wondering whether it was a trait she had failed to notice when they first met or if it was a new development. Feigning sleep in the back of the car, Eloise decided her husband’s philandering was a state brought about by Josh’s new-found confidence in having secured a wife. His self-assurance in his looks had been boosted and was making him flirt – and more – in a way Eloise had not witnessed before, and it was disquieting.
‘How many cards?’ Claud’s voice broke through her thoughts.
‘Two.’
They were placed face down in front of her and, bending back the corners to assess her hand, she forced herself not to react. If her calculations were correct he would have a hand worth less than her own royal flush. She would win again, unless Claud folded first but she doubted he would give in. He was enjoying the challenge as much as she was. Gradually, the others dropped out, leaving Eloise and Claud bartering over which pieces of clothing the loser would remove and, when they had no more to bargain with, dares.
Josh sat behind Eloise, sullen, brooding. She could sense his bubbling jealousy and, in her annoyance at her husband, a demon rose in her. Long buried flirtatiousness surfaced as she made her final wager.
‘Dance naked on the table to the song of my choice,’ she challenged.
Claud held up his hands in surrender while the others howled with laughter, suggesting songs.
‘Those stakes are too high. I’ll see you.’
With a smug smirk he put two pairs on the floor in front of her. With an equally triumphant gesture, she fanned her royal flush and placed them next to his, smiling with all the sweetness she could muster, fluttering her long eyelashes and giving him the full benefit of her dimpled green-eyed gaze.
‘The rest of your clothes, please,’ she laughed, amidst cheering and clapping from the others. Even Josh, who seemed to have thawed, shouted encouragement to Claud.
With good grace, Claud began his striptease, flinging the remaining pieces of his clothing around the room while the others watched agog, wondering how far he would go. Eloise stared in fascination, hiding her eyes in embarrassment as he struggled out of his jeans. Martin’s mouth hung open, Nahjib was wolf-whistling, Josh, to Eloise’s surprise, was shouting for a complete strip. Davina, Claud’s on-off girlfriend, was hiding her eyes behind a cushion. Marcella sat in silence, her eyes flashing around the room from one face to the next, unsure how to react to the banter and the noise between the friends.
Finally Claud stopped, clad in his boxer shorts and took a theatrical bow.
‘The next performance will be at seven o’clock this evening,’ he said, amid huge laughter and cheers.
Josh slid his arm around Eloise, leading her into the kitchen, as Claud gathered his clothes. As Davina threw him a blanket from the sofa, with a ‘Cover yourself up, man’, Eloise caught a waft of the distinctive perfume and she sneezed.
‘Sorry,’ Josh whispered. ‘I didn’t mean it. I do love you.’
‘Oh, Josh,’ she sighed. ‘I love you, too.’
They hugged, but Eloise could not shift her feeling of unease.
‘It’s stopped raining, do you fancy a walk?’ Behind her back she crossed her fingers, hoping he would refuse.
The card game had been a way to fill time until the football began; an international match of huge importance, an event Claud, Josh and Nahjib had been hinting they would like to watch from the moment they had arrived two days earlier. Josh hesitated and Eloise continued, ‘You can watch the football, I don’t mind.’
‘Would you rather I came with you?’ he asked, and Eloise could hear his reluctance.
‘No,’ she replied. Experience told her if he was made to abandon his friends and an England game, she would never hear the end of it. ‘It’s your holiday too. You have fun with your friends.’
She appreciated his offer to accompany her, even though it had been half-hearted, and was relieved to have earned herself some solitude away from the enforced friendship of Marcella and Davina.
‘I’ll be fine.’
With both feeling they had secured the better part of the deal, they separated for the afternoon on good terms, Eloise slipping away before anyone else could ask to join her. She walked for an hour, finding a space high enough to get a signal on her mobile phone. Then she called Rose, who was enduring a weekend with her in-laws.
‘Lo, thank god,’ came Rose’s voice, rich with unnecessary drama. ‘I want to kill them all.’
‘An awfully messy idea,’ Eloise replied. ‘Any particular reason?’
‘The shits want us to move here and look after Aged Parent Female. After all, I am a woman and therefore my career is a mere hobby, dispensable when others need me to administer to their needs…’
‘But you and Leon wouldn’t survive without your money. He’s doing well, but the money hasn’t quite reached what you would need for you to give up work. We know he’ll be appreciated soon and the financial security will follow, but until the rest of the world catches up, you’ve got bills to pay.’
‘They have a solution to their son’s poverty. They’ve been in discussions with their solicitor to try and pass over the inheritance with immediate effect. Heaven forbid they should ask me for legal advice.’
‘What, even the title?’
‘No. Only when Aged Parent Male dies does dearest hubby become Lord Arsewipe.’
‘Are you being rude about the landed gentry, you upstart wench? Flogging’s too good for the likes of you.’
‘I hate them all!’ Rose screamed in frustration, and they both laughed. ‘Anyway, how’s your weekend with the Horsemen of the Apocalypse?’
‘Delightful. I saw Claud in his pants.’
‘Good or bad?’
‘Surprisingly good. I beat him at strip poker.’
‘How did dear Josh react to his pure wife being sullied by such behaviour?’
‘He had a minor strop.’
‘Jesus, Lo, what is wrong with the guy?’
‘I have my suspicions.’
‘Sounds ominous.’
‘Perhaps, maybe I’m overreacting.’ Eloise could not bring herself to voice her fears on the phone; she wanted to be face-to-face with her friend. And there was another reason. Saying it aloud would make it real, and she continued to hope, if she ignored it, the problem might dissolve. A mist vanishing with the morning light.
‘I’ll tell you something, though,’ Eloise continued, forcing lightness into her tone. ‘Marcella is a weird one.’
‘Have you only just noticed?’
‘I found her counting the knives in the kitchen last night.’
‘Freak! Make sure you lock your bedroom door.’
‘You’re going crackly…’
The connection broke and the phone refused to work again. After several minutes, Eloise abandoned the idea of resuming her conversation with Rose and set off for the house they were renting, aware the usual argument of the evening meal would be brewing. Should they go out or cook, and if so, who should be in charge and what should they eat?
‘Oh, the joys of married life and a holiday with my husband’s friends,’ she sighed, burying her hands in her pockets and marching back to the old farmhouse.
Martin appeared to be alone when she let herself in. He was absorbed in throwing himself around the room to very loud pop music.
‘Hi,’ he said without missing a beat. ‘The others have gone for a walk, they thought they’d try to find you.’
‘I’ll start dinner, then,’ Eloise said, finding herself unable to say more without giggling.
Martin embraced dancing with more enthusiasm than talent and as he closed his eyes, to really feel the beat, Eloise walked away, keen to hide her mirth. Her mother had insisted all three of her children learn to dance: ballroom, Latin American and tap from an early age. Jessica, however, had gone further, taking up ballet too. Gareth had protested until his father had assured him that learning to dance was a great way to attract girls later in life.
‘It’s how I persuaded your mother to go out with me,’ he had confessed to his sulky son.
Eloise had continued dancing into her twenties, only abandoning it when she left university, but it was something she loved. On another of their weekends away, she had taken pity on Martin and taught him some basic steps, and ever since, he had been angling for more lessons. On occasions Eloise would oblige, but today she was too tired and in desperate need of a hot drink.
Sitting on the stairs, she removed her wellies and jacket, then padded on silent feet into the darkening kitchen. She had no real intention of starting dinner, but making coffee was high on her list of priorities. Humming along to Martin’s twangy music, she filled the kettle, feeling her way through the purple dusk, avoiding the moment when yellow electric light would shatter the gentle shadows of the damp spring day and bring another evening of bickering upon them.
She gazed out of the window, soothed by the craggy, haunting hills, watching the colours drain away with the twilight. It was hard to believe in two days’ time she would be back in the heart of the city, London beating all around her like a pulse, while she watched with gathering concern as her new husband metamorphosed into a belligerent stranger.
‘Too soon,’ she murmured.
As she contemplated her uncomfortable thoughts, a movement caught her eye and Davina clambered over the stile at the bottom of the garden. She must have heard someone calling behind her, because she paused, peering through the gloom, a smile lighting her pretty face. Presuming it was Claud, Eloise stepped back into the shadows of the kitchen, watching the woman whom she feared was her rival, standing in a position where she could see but not be seen, wanting to gauge Davina’s reaction to Claud, to see if there was genuine affection between them. But, the person who followed her over the stile was too short to be Claud. It was Josh.
One small action can change everything. Eloise, frozen in the kitchen, watched as Josh kissed Davina. No mere peck on the cheek but a kiss of passion, longing and desire. Her stomach tightening, Eloise turned away, her brain refusing to acknowledge what she had witnessed. Then adrenaline flooded her and she took flight, hurrying to the bedroom she shared with Josh, slamming the door, throwing herself on the bed as she tried to rationalise what she had seen. But she knew no amount of calm evaluation could explain the curl of his arm, the curve of her spine and the intensity of their desire. Opium.
19
The thirteen golden cups gleamed on the altar. Candles flickered in the twilight world of the labyrinth. Strings of crystals created their own tunes around her neck as she prepared the tinctures for the sacrifices. The soothing herbs to ease their path to the next world, taking them to the place where they would all end their days. As she worked, the footsteps began, each dragging, clawing movement bringing him closer. Smiling, she continued to work, knowing he would never hurt her. The pungent smell of his breath and the shuffling footsteps heralded his arrival, and as she turned to look at the disfigured beast hidden in the subterranean hell, the words floated through the air. A woman’s voice. ‘I love you.’
20
‘I look like an explorer.’
Alice stared at her reflection in the mirror and, despite the undercurrent of sadness that continued to permeate her days, she could not help but grin. Her pale cream skirt and matching blouse were light enough to keep her cool, but covered her arms and legs to protect them from the heat of the sun, which was gaining strength with each new morning. A lightweight pith helmet with a wide length of gauzy fabric attached to the rim would protect her face from flies and sand, the soft leather gloves would be ideal for both assisting and guarding her hands as she dug in the hard Cretan soil.
‘It suits you,’ Florence said. ‘Mrs Perrin sent this over, too. It’s her own recipe, one passed down through her family. It’s a cream to repel insects and to protect your skin against the sun.’
Alice opened the glass jar and breathed in the scents of lavender and lemon balm. Rubbing a small amount on her hand, she was surprised at its softness.
‘Thank you, Florence,’ she said, placing the jar in her canvas bag, which was full of all she would need for a day at the Knossos dig.
She hurried from the room and down the spiral staircase.
‘What do you think?’ she asked as she entered the drawing room, spinning around for her aunt, brother and cousins to admire. Hugo was already waiting, dressed in a lightweight suit and with his own pith helmet. He had added some dashing dark-lensed glasses.
‘Quite the adventurer,’ he exclaimed.
Aunt Agatha beamed. ‘Alice, you look wonderful. I’m quite envious. Perhaps I shall order myself similar attire and join you.’
‘Mother, yes!’ exclaimed Andrew. ‘What a top-hole idea.’
‘Mr Evans would be delighted to show you around, Auntie,’ said Hugo.
‘Perhaps later in the week,’ said Agatha. ‘Ah, sounds like George is here. Run along and enjoy yourselves. Robert, Andrew and I shall be studying the stories of Crete while you are uncovering their origins, then we’ll have lunch at the vineyard.’
From outside came the sound of the donkey cart.
‘Good morning,’ George called as Wendbury threw open the front door, while the cook, Gaia, whom Mrs Perrin had hired to look after the family, passed him boxes of food and water canteens. Alice dropped her own bag into the back, where it clanked as her trowels and the small hand axe she and Hugo had bought in Heraklion, hit the wooden floor.
‘Impressive,’ said George.
‘Don’t underestimate my sister,’ said Hugo, helping Alice on to the narrow seat next to George and climbing up beside her. ‘She’s the cleverest person I’ve ever met, and that includes all the chaps at Peterhouse. She’ll be having very deep discussions with Mr Evans, you can be sure of it.’
Alice blushed. ‘It’s true, I do enjoy learning,’ she agreed.
‘Arthur will be delighted to add you to the team,’ said George. ‘The number of people involved in this site grows with each day. When they began, they employed fifty local workmen to help, along with Evans’s assistant, Duncan Mackenzie.
‘He’s the chap who knows Ross,’ said Hugo. ‘From the highlands of Scotland, isn’t he?’
‘Yes. There’s also Theodore Fyfe from the British School of Archaeology at Athens. He’s an architect.’
‘Marvellous,’ said Hugo. ‘Architecture fascinates me. I shall very much look forward to hearing what he has to say about the buildings that are being uncovered.’
‘He and Arthur believe at least part of the palace was destroyed by fire as they’ve discovered blackened walls. Arthur has suggested this could have been caused by smoke from a “great conflagration”,’ said George as he guided the well-fed donkey down the narrow lane beside the house and out on to the wider track.
Upon their arrival on Crete, Alice had been surprised to discover there were few roads, only tracks, making travel a bumpy and often hazardous experience.
‘There are also large quantities of broken pottery,’ George continued as they lurched over a pothole and Alice made a grab to steady herself, snatching her hand away as she realised she had grasped George’s leg. Instead, she leaned towards her brother, who tucked her arm into his, squeezing her hand. ‘But the most exciting thing is that the team has discovered nothing Greek or Roman,’ George continued, ignoring Alice’s mistake.
‘Why is that a good thing?’ queried Hugo.
‘It means this is an ancient site,’ explained George. ‘Everything in it dates from a period that goes back to the era now known as pre-Mycenaean, although some people refer to the people as the Minoans and the Minoan period.’
‘Which is what?’
‘Prehistoric,’ replied George. ‘Evans has estimated it’s between 3500 and 3600 bc.’
‘Bronze Age, then,’ added Alice.
Alice was aware of George’s surprised glance in her direction. Hugo grinned in appreciation.
‘This means the writing system Evans believes he’s discovered is prehistoric,’ said George. ‘The diggers have uncovered up to a hundred writing tablets and they believe there are more. Arthur is confident these are the oldest documents yet to be found on the doorstep of Europe He’s named them Linear A and Linear B.’
‘How unromantic,’ said Alice. ‘He’s discovered an entire new writing system and he’s chosen such a utilitarian name.’
Hugo laughed. ‘What would you have named it?’ he asked.
‘Mycenaeans, at least, but why has he given it two names?’
‘There are two distinct styles,’ replied George, guiding the sturdy donkey down the steep slope towards the bustling archaeological dig. ‘One is linear, formed of lines and outlines, making it akin to European languages, while the other is pictographic, resembling Egyptian hieroglyphics.’
‘How fascinating,’ said Alice. ‘The question is, will we be lucky enough to discover our own version of the Rosetta Stone to help us decipher its meaning?’
‘We can but dream,’ laughed George, his spirits higher than Alice had yet witnessed. His dark hair was ruffled by the breeze, which brought the smell of wild basil into the air. ‘I saw the Rosetta Stone in the British Museum and it is a truly remarkable object.’
