Page 9 of Villa of Secrets

‘Pure poetry!’ Naomi called over her shoulder. They both laughed. Ahead, a taxi pulled up beneath a peeling blue and yellow sign: RENT ROOMS IN PARADISE. A couple in party gear tumbled out of the car, paid their fare, and wilted into the apartment. Naomi remembered Marina’s tryst and tried to recall if she had ever stayed out until sunrise with Costa.

Passing Naomi, the taxi driver beeped his horn. She lifted her chin, turned her head away, and flat-lined a smile. Cheeky devil.

She marched down the shopping street and headed for the post office, hoping for a letter from England. Then, she wouldn’t have to post the bloody gun.

A queue of elderly people reminded her it was pension day. Two yellow sacks stood on the kerb, confirming the mail van hadn’t arrived yet.

She slumped at a café table under a frangipani tree, pulled a magazine from her rucksack, and stared at the page, but her mind was lost in questions about the blasted gun.

‘Naomi!’ The urgent voice made her jump.

Her neighbour, Heleny, a large Greek woman with Italian roots, dropped into a white plastic chair that appeared alarmingly inadequate for her hips. She glanced about and whispered, ‘You remember that perfume you gave me?’ Naomi nodded. ‘You won’t believe the weird effect it’s having!’

‘In what way? Perhaps you’re allergic to something.’

‘No, nothing like that. It’s . . . well . . .’ She gulped and widened her eyes. ‘It’s men. They keep looking at me and, you know, paying attention.’

‘I see. Best not wear it then.’

Heleny shook her head. ‘No, you don’t understand. I want more. That perfume is amazing, makes me feel . . . hot! I was just—’

Georgia rushed up to the table and interrupted. ‘Girls, I’ve brought the latest gossip. A sex shop has opened in the village!’

Naomi needed a lift and couldn’t resist a little fun. ‘That’s interesting. Do they need any staff, Georgia? I’m looking for a part-time job.’

Heleny tried to hide a chuckle but her chest bounced and quivered.

Georgia stared at Naomi, her mouth hanging open for a moment. ‘You wouldn’t! It’s disgusting. Children might go in. They’re selling all sorts of erotica.’

‘What, the children?’ Heleny said, losing the struggle to keep a straight face.

Georgia huffed. ‘You can laugh, but never mind that. What about the secret door, the documents, the historian investigating? I’ve just come from the church. They’re saying it’s a real genuine miracle.’

‘What’s a miracle?’ Naomi asked sitting up, snapping her mind away from the parcel in her bag.

‘They say God was searching for someone pure, a man that wasn’t corrupt, to get the door in the police station opened. And it took Our Lord Himself seventy years to find an honest man in Greece.’

Naomi hooted with laughter, and then saw her friend was deadly serious and slightly offended.

‘Georgia, get your facts straight,’ Heleny said. ‘Firstly, the historian isn’t Greek; he’s Italian. Secondly, the Italians are even more corrupt than the Greeks. Who do you think invented the mafia?’

‘They can’t all be corrupted. Isn’t the Pope Italian?’ Georgia said flatly.

‘No, he just lives there,’ Heleny retorted. ‘Free accommodation, a perk of the Pope job. The Vatican’s probably a registered charity, tax deductible too. Anyway, it’s got nothing to do with God. He’s too busy causing wars, and cancer, and starving children.’

Georgia’s pinched face blanched. With her slender, long-fingered hand, she crossed herself three times before sitting at their table. She turned to Naomi.

‘It’ll bring trouble, you’ll see. No good ever came from poking around in the past.’ The words rushed out. ‘My man says it was all the Italians’ fault.’

Heleny glared. ‘Don’t blame the Italians! They’re the ones who brought tourism to Rhodes. If it wasn’t for the Italians, you’d be in the fields picking olives right now.’

‘No, it’s far too early; they’re not ready.’

‘You know exactly what I mean, Georgia.’

Naomi supressed another giggle. She loved her friends.

‘The point is,’ Georgia continued, scratching her nose and talking from behind her hand, ‘someone didn’t want the contents of that room discovered, but they hadn’t the guts to burn the lot. Isn’t that right? My husband says it’s dangerous, we shouldn’t talk about it. He says there’ll be important people who don’t want questions asked.’