Page 10 of Villa of Secrets

Heleny shook her head. ‘You always do what your man says?’

‘Don’t be stupid. Am I actually talking about it or what?’

Naomi stared into her magazine. ‘Cut the dramatics, you two. What door? What trouble?’

‘The mysterious door in the police station. Seventy years locked and the key tossed aside. Secret information concerning the dead . . . Ouch!’ She reached down and rubbed her shin while glaring at Heleny.

Heleny turned to Naomi. ‘Those poor people. Obviously the malákas were hoping the room full of war-time statistics would rot to nothing. Nobody wants to remember those times, do they?’

Georgia narrowed her eyes. ‘I wish you wouldn’t swear.’

Naomi turned a magazine page with no awareness of the article she’d stared at. ‘I still don’t understand what you’re talking about. Anyway, I’d rather not talk about the war thank you very much. I’m not in the mood.’

A frangipani flower floated down and landed on the table. Naomi picked up the waxy blossom, sniffed it, and tucked it behind her ear.

Heleny turned her head dismissively. ‘Will you stop blaming the Italians, just because Rhodes was under Italian rule? The Italian army were all murdered by the Nazis, or sunk by the British, in forty-three. It was the Greeks that hated the Jews as much as the Germans. They wanted rid so they could steal everything the poor Jews owned. Hypocrites!’

‘Poor Jews?’ Georgia retorted. ‘I’ve never seen a poor Jew in my life!’

Naomi’s anger rose. ‘Well, look this way, why don’t you?’

Georgia blinked. ‘But you’re not Jewish.’

‘Well, my mother was Jewish, and my grandmother is Jewish. My father was Greek Orthodox, like his father before him. So I’m half Jewish . . . but I’m not half rich.

‘And as for the Italians,’ Heleny continued, ‘they were pawns in a game between the British and the Germans. Cast aside by one lot, and gathered up and murdered by the others.’

‘You’re talking rubbish, Heleny. The Italians had changed sides, again! Like in the other big war,’ Georgia retorted.

‘Girls, stop it!’ Naomi said. ‘It was a long time ago, and I doubt anyone here will have their facts straight. Why are we bickering about it now?’

‘Because’ – Georgia drew the word out for effect – ‘behind the door at the police station they found a census the Italians did before . . . you know . . .’ She lowered her voice further. ‘Auschwitz.’

Naomi supressed a shiver. She didn’t want this conversation outside the post office when she had a gun in her bag. ‘Look at that cake,’ she said, focusing on the magazine. ‘We’re getting too Americanised. It’s just a multi-coloured sugar bomb.’

Georgia nodded at her phone. ‘I’m addicted to Candy Crush. That’s got multi-coloured sugar bombs.’

Naomi blinked at her. ‘You’ve completely lost me.’

Heleny leaned in and poked the glossy magazine picture. ‘It’s for Mother’s Day. Why don’t we all make a cake, and have one of those “bake-off” things? Let our mothers judge them.’ She stopped and her eyes turned to the floor. ‘Sorry, Naomi, tactless of me. I always think of Bubba as your mother.’

‘Bubba is an old Jewish term for grandmother,’ Naomi said pointedly, her eyes fixed on the page as she scored a point.

Georgia broke an awkward silence. ‘That cake recipe’s a bit out of date, isn’t it?’

‘Costa came home yesterday, brought me a stack of mags off the cruiser. They’re like new. Where’s the post?’ Naomi peered up the street. ‘Bubba’s on her own. I’ve got to get back.’

‘On her own?’ Heleny sounded alarmed.

‘Well, not exactly. Papas Yiannis is there, but if she needs the bathroom . . .’ Naomi shrugged. She had no intention of telling them about the gun, but she couldn’t think of anything else.

‘Go,’ Georgia said. ‘If there’s any mail, I’ll text you.’

‘Is that thing glued to your hand?’ Heleny quipped.

Naomi nodded at her backpack. ‘Thanks, Georgia, but I’ve a parcel for London and I want to see it go into the last sack. I’ll wait.’

‘Why the last sack?’ Georgia asked.