Page 11 of Villa of Secrets

‘Stands to reason. If it’s the last sack into the van, it’ll be the first out, won’t it? Sorted and sent off right away,’ Naomi said.

Heleny stretched her neck. ‘A parcel? I thought you and Rebecca weren’t speaking. What’s brought on this sisterly love?’

Naomi blinked and turned away. Heleny hadn’t a sarcastic bone in her body yet the thoughtless words stung her. She ignored the question, peered up the street, and saw Elias step into the bakery. ‘I need to buy bread before old dirty-fingers squeezes every loaf in the shop. I haven’t time to bake today. I’ll catch you later.’ She stood and slung her backpack over her shoulder.

‘Wait! I nearly forgot,’ Georgia said. ‘I’ve three orders for the lemon and honey hand cream.’

Naomi grinned. ‘Great, thanks. I’m just making a fresh batch. Text me.’

‘Just bring it to poker night, okay? It’s brilliant for age spots. Mine have almost gone.’ She turned the back of her hand for Naomi to inspect. ‘Better bring a few extra jars. Word gets around.’

‘I hope to . . . but I’m not sure I’ll make cards night,’ Naomi said.

‘ ’Course you can,’ Heleny replied. ‘I’ll sit with Bubba for a couple of hours. You need a break. What’s in the parcel?’

‘I’ll tell you later,’ Naomi lied. ‘Got to run!’

Halfway to the bakery, she spotted the mail van coming towards her, turned, and marched back to the post office.

Chapter 6

Bromley, London.

Rebecca took the parcel into her white gloss and black granite kitchen. She almost broke a nail extension getting through the swaddle of brown paper and layers of tape. Frowning, she stared at the tube-shaped black metal.

It must be a car part for Fritz.

The old MG Midget had stood in the garage for five years. Fritz’s enthusiasm for its restoration was periodic. Sometimes, when parts arrived, she hardly saw him all weekend and in desperation had placed a table and two chairs in the garage. She would take a drink and have a sandwich with him rather than sit alone in the kitchen. But why didn’t this package contain an invoice, and why was it addressed to her?

‘Nothing to do with me,’ Fritz said when she placed it before him that evening.

Perhaps the garage had made a mistake. A computer error. Papagopoulos Autos were the only Greeks Rebecca had any contact with. Even so, it didn’t make any sense. She studied the stamps. How long since she’d stood inside a Greek post office? Over ten years?

*

The next morning, Rebecca turned the page of her kitchen calendar and stared at the first of the month. Her stomach flipped, jumpy as a bag of frogs. A spiral of red Biro surrounded the first, and even more scribbling around the fifth. For a second, she recognised a couple of red-rimmed eyes with black numerical pupils, glaring at her.

She closed her eyes and imagined herself in the cellar of her marriage: a small dark place surrounded by cold grey concrete, impossible to go any lower, or be any more alone. Ten years and still no children. Time was stealing Rebecca’s childbearing years, and the walls were closing in. Her only window of escape was the round glass Petri dish in the IVF clinic.

Her last chance loomed ever closer. Please, God, let the procedure be successful. Third time lucky, they say. . . but it wasn’t. Now, about to embark on her last try at in vitro fertilisation, Rebecca was afraid. Whatever the outcome, they decided this would be their final attempt, and then forget it. As if ‘forgetting’ was simple.

Rebecca shoved the mystery parcel on the hall dresser, ready to give to the postman if she should catch him. She glanced at the dresser mirror, noticed the fine lines around her eyes and between her brows, clearly visible in the morning light. As a wedding photographer, she was expected to pay attention to aesthetics, and look the part. The last thing a bride wanted was to see worry lines on the photographer’s face.

Fritz bounded down the stairs and grabbed his briefcase off the hall stand.

‘Morning, handsome,’ she said, slipping her arms around his waist. ‘Coffee? Toast?’

‘Late. Got to run.’ He broke free, pecked her cheek and reached for the front door.

‘Don’t forget we’re at the clinic at six, darling,’ she said, the waver in her voice hardly noticeable.

Fritz stopped, his hand on the latch. ‘Damn . . .’ he said under his breath. Still for a moment, then turning to come back to her.

After ten years, Rebecca’s heart still skipped when her tall blue-eyed blond husband approached. But when their eyes met, a stab of panic caught her.

He took her slender frame into his arms, pulling her close. The scent of freshly applied aftershave zinged about him.

‘Sweetheart, I’m terribly sorry, but you’ll have to cancel,’ he said. ‘I’ve a shareholders’ meeting that’ll probably overrun. Crucial that I’m there.’ He pushed her auburn hair back and kissed her forehead. ‘Don’t look so worried; you’ll get lines. Just reschedule for next week.’ He sighed, peppermint mouthwash clouding his breath. ‘I didn’t realise; the month’s raced by.’