Page 79 of The House Swap

My thoughts turn to Poppy.

She doesn’t belong here. Not really.

You can see it in the way she moves – careful and slightly guarded. She is not an attention-seeker, and there is something about her that suggests she would prefer to blend into the background.

Most people wouldn’t look twice. But then, most people aren’t paying attention.

She spends a lot of time at the villa. Working on her laptop. Occasionally reading, and she likes watching the sunset, sat on a lounger by the pool, with her legs folded beneath her.

She believes she is alone most of the time. And that assumption is understandable. The other villas along this road are empty for most of the winter. Their owners won’t return until the warmer months. It gives her privacy. But, also, she is secluded.

Her isolation suits me perfectly.

Sometimes I sense she knows I am close by.

Perhaps it’s simply a shift in the air or a moment where instinct tells her she might not be as alone as she thinks.

I enjoy those moments as curiosity draws her in, and she looks towards the pool or the olive trees beyond the terrace wall.

Watching is its own kind of knowledge. I like seeing how she reacts to uncertainty and how quickly she tries to fill the gaps.

Some people become cautious, others fascinated. Poppy is definitely the former.

My job as a maintenance manager reassures a lot of people. People trust me and no one ever questions why I am always pottering around in the background, fixing things. Homeowners always give my name as a point of contact to any guests.

But little does she realise that my job gives me access to everything.

People rarely look too closely at the man who is there to help.

Eventually, she will come to understand that.

27

TUESDAY 10 NOVEMBER

Poppy arrived at the old harbour just before eleven.

A few fishing boats bobbed gently against their moorings, the ropes creaking softly with the movement of the water, and beyond the pale blue sky, the sea beyond the breakwater looked deceptively calm; its surface glittering under the autumn sun.

Tom had warned her that she wouldn’t be able to go out if it was too rough, but it seemed that she was in luck. She was relieved. After his suggestion yesterday about going out on the water, she had found herself relaxing. Settling into work easier knowing she had something to look forward to.

She paused now at the edge of the quay and checked her phone.

His message was already open and on her screen.

Kostas will meet you by the jetty. His boat is called Calypso. Enjoy Spinalonga.

Poppy slipped her phone back in her bag and scanned the harbour.

There were only a few boats tied up by the jetty. The one nearest was a white motorboat with a faded blue stripe running along its hull. Calypso was painted in looping script across the side.

The scent of salt and diesel hung in the air as she approached, the wooden boards beneath her trainers creaking with each step, and a flutter of excited nerves churned in her stomach.

She had never been out on a boat before, so she had no idea what to expect. Had no idea even how to dress for it. Would it feel colder out at sea?

In the end, she had put leggings and a hoodie over her bikini, packed a towel in case it was warm enough for swimming, and a bottle of water for if she was thirsty.

This was exactly the sort of thing she needed. Fresh air and open space. She would do the touristy thing and try to relax and enjoy herself.