Chapter 25 Camilla

25 CAMILLA

NOW

Camilla wakes to the sound of the air-conditioning whirring above the wardrobes, the mosquito nets around her bed billowing softly. Light swells in the room, a celestial ray spilling through a gap in the blinds.

The night before returns to her in a warm rush. God, that was one hell of a shag. Three shags, actually, and they were more than shags. It was the first intense, actual lovemaking session she can remember for… years. Camilla’s wary of one-night stands now, after a few encounters with men who seemed decent but turned out to be outright weirdos in the bedroom, but she’s been on edge about this trip, and Antoni was there at the right time. A delicious distraction.

Antoni is a handsome man, but it was only when he removed his clothes that she really believed he was a professional dancer. What a body! And what a lover… They tried everything, all inhibitions flung to the wind. From behind, on the dining table, her in the highest heels she could find in her suitcase. On the stairs, in the shower…

To think it all started in such a somber fashion. They’d walked along the beach and talked about her brother. Antoni had told her about his dead wife, Estella, and they’d wept a little together. Quite a different kind of one-night stand. She usually makes a point of not talking about her brother, not thinking about him, if she can help it, but she ended up spilling her guts to Antoni. She’s in a different place, far from home, slightly jet-lagged, so she feels undone by the memories that keep rising up in her, like the ice caps melting and releasing ancient toxins into the air.

And all the questions about Cameron’s death that have never been answered.

She and Antoni planned to have breakfast together this morning, and she liked his company. She liked him . But he’s not in the bed, nor is he downstairs in the kitchen, or in the shower. Usually, she’s the first to slip away the morning after, or, if she’s at home, she pretends to be asleep until the guy takes the hint and leaves. Now, though, she finds she’s disappointed that Antoni has gone, that he snuck out before she woke up.

She stands in the living room, nothing but a bedsheet wrapped around her, feeling confused. Oh God. How stupid of her. The dead wife, the commiseration… it was all a tactic, then. No depth or meaning to it, as she’d supposed. She gives a sigh, regretting it all. Most of all, she regrets sharing so much.

The rest of her time here is going to be awkward, she thinks. She’ll have to avoid him, which is easier said than done on an island the size of a soccer field.

She catches sight of something on the side table, a small black object. A phone. Not hers, and when she lifts it up the screen flashes a picture of Antoni and his nephew. Her heart leaps. He wouldn’t have left his phone if he intended not to come back, right?

She feels a breeze from somewhere, glances up toward it. It’s coming from the French doors that lead to the outside dining area on the balcony. With a start, she thinks perhaps Antoni is out there, waiting for her. Why didn’t she check sooner?

She heads out to the dining table, noticing that things have been rearranged since she was last out here—the day she arrived, she thinks. The centerpiece on the table has been slid to the side and the ashtray moved a few inches toward the lip of the table, as though someone has sat here to have a smoke. There are only a few tiny crumbs of ash in the tray, too, as though the smoker had tossed the rest.

So he’s been here this morning. But where is he now?

She looks down the ladder that leads from the side of the balcony to the lower deck, and from there to the ocean. Perhaps he’s gone for a swim.

A mark on the pale white wood of the deck below draws her attention, and she stares, trying to figure it out. It looks red, glossy, but it could just be the sun reflecting color in a puddle. It’s too bright to tell. Her heart racing, she steps onto the ladder and quickly moves down to the ground-floor deck to get a closer look. The front window of the living room catches her reflection as she pads toward the mark that sits close to the edge, where seawater laps and a school of dark fish billows in the translucent waves.

She stares at the spot, but it’s gone now, a wave having lifted above the deck and washed it clean. Camilla scans the sea, her thoughts racing. Is she seeing things now, or was it a splash of blood? Did Antoni go swimming and hit his head? The ladder is stainless steel. She looks over it, both sections: the one that leads straight into the water from the lower deck and the section that attaches upward to the balcony above. Nothing.

Keep calm , she thinks. No one has drowned . The realization that today is the anniversary hits her like a rock. That’ll be why she thought she saw blood. Old trauma rising up to play tricks.

NONETHELESS, CAMILLA PLUCKS UP ANTONI’S phone and heads quickly to his villa. After a few knocks, someone stirs behind the door. It’s Antoni’s nephew, Salvador, dressed only in a pair of pajama shorts. He stares at her, clearly just out of bed. She remembers he doesn’t speak English.

“Is Antoni here?” she says, enunciating the words in case he might suddenly grasp her meaning.

“Antoni?” he says, glancing at the phone in her hand. He turns and shouts into the villa: “Antoni!”

No answer. He turns and says something in Spanish that she presumes means he’s not here.

“OK, it’s just… I have his phone.”

He nods, reaching out to take it, and for a moment she pulls away, inexplicably reluctant to give it back. He eyes her, uncertainly. He doesn’t seem worried about his uncle, and it occurs to her that Antoni probably does this sort of thing all the time.

She makes the sign of a phone with her fingers against her head.

“Will you tell Antoni to phone me?” she says, and he nods. More Spanish. God, she wishes she’d learned it.

Salvador closes the door and she steps away, deciding to head to the restaurant for breakfast. No doubt she’ll find Antoni there, and she’ll bump into Kate and Darcy, who’ll help take her mind off her brother.

ANTONI ISN’T AT brEAKFAST, AND nor are Kate and Darcy. Camilla browses the bread baskets, the yogurts and cereals, and decides she’s not hungry. She plucks a glass bottle of water from the counter and opens it, relieving her thirst as she glances over to the row of wooden loungers by the outdoor pool. She does a lap of the island, resolving that it will kill two birds with one stone—she’ll get her steps in while keeping an eye out for Antoni—and when he doesn’t appear, she determines that Salvador was probably covering for him. Poor guy must have slunk back to his villa, only to leave his phone behind. Well, if that’s the case, she’s fine with it. But that mark on her deck… she can’t get it out of her mind.

She heads to the main office. She reckons she’ll feel better if she tells someone about it. Stop her from ruminating and overthinking.

The main office is a small white building by the jetty, where the colorful boats that take guests out on excursions are moored. Inside, a blast of air-con brings relief from the sun, and she eyes the woman at the desk, who is wearing a white hijab that matches her uniform. Camilla clocks her name badge. Nura, the resort manager. She remembers her from the restaurant, apologizing to Antoni after Rob’s tantrum.

“Hello,” Camilla says, giving a small bow. “I wondered if I could report something? An accident, perhaps.”

Nura stops writing in her ledger and watches Camilla with a furrowed brow.

“An accident?”

“Well, maybe.”

Nura gestures at the chair in front of the desk and Camilla sits down, feeling flustered and self-conscious.

“I spotted something on the deck, outside my villa,” she says. “I think it might have been blood.”

“Blood?” Nura says, straightening. “Which villa was this?”

“Number four,” Camilla says, almost wishing she hadn’t bothered coming in. It’s not like she saw anyone getting injured. If it turns out to be some spilled food, she will be mortified. “I mean, I think it was blood. Just on the side of the deck. But it’s gone now.” She thinks she must sound completely mad.

“Was it your blood?”

Camilla shakes her head, and when it throbs she realizes she’s still wobbly after drinking last night. “No. And I didn’t see anyone get injured. I just thought I should report it, in case…” She bites her lip, falling silent. She feels stupid for reporting it. She’s hungover, and it’s the anniversary of her brother’s murder. She’s ragged with emotion.

She stands abruptly, feeling her mood crumble, and Nura looks even more puzzled.

“Sorry,” Camilla says, and Nura rises, too. It crosses Camilla’s mind that she’s much too fragile to be thinking clearly. She’ll have a nap, that’s what she’ll do. It’s what she does most years on the anniversary. She usually puts her out-of-office on and stays in bed, with weed or a large bottle of vodka.

“Thank you for telling me,” Nura says then. “We’ll check out the villa.” Camilla nods, feeling a little less embarrassed.

“It’s probably nothing,” she says, and Nura throws her a gracious smile and a polite nod.

IT’S JUST AFTER TEN IN the morning. Camilla moves slowly past Antoni’s villa, glancing up at the balcony, then out at the handful of kayakers a little way off the shore. It’s the Italian family, the ones with the adorable four-year-old who Camilla had spotted in the restaurant, a little girl with the most beautiful Italian accent. Non voglio, Mamma! Non voglio!

No sign of Antoni.

She stands outside the villa for a moment, wondering if she should risk disturbing Salvador again and harassing him in a language he doesn’t understand.

Ordinarily she wouldn’t have a problem harassing anyone, but today is different. A protective skin has been removed from her, and she feels raw and fragile. She can’t face Antoni opening the door and being awkward over her presence, as though she’s chasing him.

Not when the wounds of grief have reopened.

She knocks on the door of Darcy’s villa, but there’s no answer. She tries Kate. No answer, but the door is open, and she steps inside.

“Kate?”

“In here.”

She follows Kate’s voice to the dining room. There’s a note of distress in it. What now? she thinks.

“Morning, darling,” Camilla calls, spotting Kate by the dining table. “Shall we get some breakfast?”

But as she moves closer, she sees Kate is rigid, a hand pressed to her mouth, staring down in horror at something on the table. Camilla follows Kate’s gaze to see a bouquet of long-stemmed roses, wrapped in white tissue paper and tied with twine. Such a gorgeous bouquet. The roses are bloodred. But Kate looks horrified.

“What’s happened?” Camilla asks, looking again at the bouquet, scanning it for a note or some clue as to the sender. “Kate, what’s wrong?”

“They’ve found me,” Kate whispers. “Even here, they’ve found me.”