Chapter 13 Nina

Chapter 13

?Nina

I squint to reread the note as it gently flaps in the breeze across the terrace.

You need to leave. Now.

I don't know why, but it makes me angry. I rush to it and grab it, accidentally dislodging the rock holding it in place and sending the stone tumbling over the side of the wall and down the cliff where I hear it smack into the stone steps leading down to the beach. I look over the edge, down toward the sea, the rock shattered on the steps beneath.

Whoever left the note must have come up to the property that way, from the beach; there is no way they could have gotten past the locked gatehouse and perimeter walls.

I study the note in my hands. Someone obviously wants me to leave, but for my benefit or theirs? Is it a threat or a warning?

I wonder if they knew my father, if perhaps he never told me about this place because it was in some way dangerous. I bat the idea away: he would not have left me a house he knew to be dangerous, at least not without some kind of warning. But then isn't that exactly what I'm holding, a warning?

Someone knows something about this house that I don't. Or my father could quite simply have enemies. The idea seems ridiculous—that my kind, soft-spoken father could have ever made an enemy—but I suppose sometimes enemies find you.

I think of who else, aside from James, might know anything about my father's life out here. Someone on the island must have known him, and someone must be able to tell me something, anything.

I look at the note again and shiver. Leave. Now.

And then the thought occurs that, given my secluded location, how does anyone, other than James, even know I am here?

I lean over the railings and look in both directions, but there is no way to see out of the property to any potential neighbors. And no way to see in. There is no way anyone could know I was here unless they saw me arrive yesterday or if they work for James's firm.

I call James from the seating area beside the pool where the cell reception is strongest and he is blessedly quick to answer.

He is surprised to hear from me so soon and even more surprised when I cut to the nub of things and ask him if anyone else has access to the property except for me. If anyone has been out to the house from his firm. I do not immediately mention the note.

"No, you have both sets of keys and you are the only person entered into the building's biometric system. Aside from me yesterday, and the supervised servicing team last week, no one else has been to the property. But if you'd like to add anyone to the system, I can set that up with the company?"

I decline. I ask James about the neighbors: does he know them, what they are like?

"I'm not sure offhand, I'll be honest with you, Nina. But again, I can look into it. Privacy is at a premium on the island obviously, so sometimes it can be tricky to nail names to faces, as it were. But I can certainly make inquiries. Is there an issue at the property?"

I look down at the note in my hand and consider not mentioning it but then remember I am out here completely alone and I don't care if I sound paranoid.

"Yes, someone's left me a bizarre message on the terrace."

"Oh. Really?! What kind of—"

"It just says, Leave now. "

I hear James clear his throat. "Er. Right. Okay." This is obviously not in his wheelhouse. "Very strange. Would you like me to contact a security company? Perhaps hire a staff to monitor the access points."

Suddenly I feel a little mad. I find one note written in Sharpie and I need a twenty-four-hour security crew.

"Have you checked the CCTV footage?" James continues.

"Oh no, not yet. I haven't set that up yet. And I'm not sure security is necessary. I just thought I should tell somebody."

"Yes," James concurs, "that's a sensible instinct, I should think. Would you like me to contact the local police perhaps on your behalf?" Again I feel like a loon, the A4 sheet feeling flimsy and unthreatening as it flaps in my hand.

"No, no, I think it will be okay. Perhaps I just need to leave the terrace lights on at night—set up the CCTV system."

"Yes, well, not to play things down but I do imagine that perhaps it might just be the work of local kids. It is the school break after all and there isn't as much to keep young minds busy on the island as you might imagine. I'd say, sit with it for another day and see if it's something that reoccurs. It may just be a kind of prank. Also, the CCTV system is very easy to operate if you do want to activate it. Everything is explained in the pack."

After I hang up, I have a strange feeling: I am simultaneously embarrassed and unnerved.

I head inside and search out the CCTV setup information. There is no way I am sleeping another night here without the security blanket of those cameras.

—

The system is up and running within the hour. I flick between shots across the property but of course in the warm light of day there is no one there. Until I flick onto the kitchen camera and leap into the air at the sight of a woman in her thirties leaning on the kitchen counter staring into a laptop. It is of course me. And at this point I make the bold decision that perhaps it is time I left the house and got out amongst people. And by people, I mean my neighbors.

Someone must know something about the note, prank or not, and I'm fairly confident that I will be able to sniff out a local issue if there is one. Either way someone might be able to tell me something about my father and this house.

Dressed in hastily steamed linen, I decide I have done all I can do in terms of dressing to impress my new neighbors as I sling a straw bag over my shoulder. After all I am who I am: and at this moment I am not the person with the identity problem, my father is. And both he and this house have a lot of explaining to do.

As I leave, I raise my voice self-consciously to Bathsheba—it still feels odd talking out loud in an empty house, to something I know isn't a real person. "Bathsheba, turn off all electrics."

My command is ignored. The room remains lit and the kitchen radio continues to pump out the reassuring tones of the BBC World Service. I try again.

Bathsheba does not respond. Huh, weird.

I head to the main system console and manually use the touchscreen, sliding off the mains. There is a chance I pressed something I shouldn't have while setting up the CCTV system earlier. I will have to get James to send someone out to look at the system.

Luddite that I am, I have probably disabled something.

I stuff my phone, some water, and the note in my bag—on the off chance, I suppose, that someone might recognize the handwriting. Then I give the house a cursory look to make sure everything is fully secured and locked before I head out the front door.

At the bottom of the steep stone steps, I look back up at the house, but down by the gatehouse it is blocked from view by the ascent. Down here you would never know what was happening up there—if there was a problem there would be no way to tell.

I shake off the odd thought and tear my eyes from it before heading to the gatehouse. Beyond the fob-activated security gates is a rough-hewn untarmacked Caribbean country lane, tufts of sunbaked hardy grasses springing at intervals along the caked central mound.

As the gates close behind me, I look up and down the road. To the left it curves down to the public cove, our own private beach inaccessible from there—though since receiving the note on the terrace this morning I am not so certain it is truly inaccessible. The road to the right leads back inland and to the nearest neighboring properties. I look up its slight incline and with a deep intake of breath head inland, making a pact with myself to knock on the first neighbor's building I come across no matter how daunting it may look.

—

It takes me thirty-five minutes at a brisk pace to reach the next property from mine. Flushed with exertion, I attempt to tidy myself before pressing my nearest neighbor's gatehouse buzzer.

As it sounds, I step back and take in what I can see of the property over the electric gates. It is larger than Anderssen's Opening, a three-story, Caribbean-pink-sandstone colonial-style villa. Its proportions are intimidating, though I remind myself that Dad's house, or rather, my house, has its own beach, so…

The buzzer sound stops and the entrance camera flares to life.

"Yes," a female voice answers abruptly, the tone blunt.

I lean in toward the camera so the speaker can hear me better even though I am aware there is no need, something stupid, and British, inside me desperate to be amenable. "Yes, hello. My name is Nina. I've just moved into the place next door." I wait, then add, "To you."

"Okay?" the voice asks, clearly not getting any inherent social cues from our apparent connection. She needs more to go on…

"Oh, right. Um, my father—well, it's a long story—I was wondering if I could pop in. Say hello. Ask you a few questions?"

"Ask me questions? About?" the voice asks, clearly appraising me.

"Well, about my father."

"I don't know your father. Who is your father?"

I let out a short sigh and regroup. "He lived next door to you. He left me the house. The next house along from here. I just moved in. I'd like to speak to you, as a neighbor. If that's all right? About the house. The area?" I give the voice a second then dig into my bag and pull out the note, holding it up to the camera. I follow up with, "Also, I got a weird note this morning."

A moment's silence, then, "Huh. Interesting."

"Could you open the gate?" I prompt hopefully.

A tart huff on the other end of the line then the mechanical sound of the gate's motor being engaged. It rolls back on its rails to reveal a cobbled courtyard, fecund with bright tropical blooms. Beneath a heaving imported ancient wisteria bough, the front door opens slowly as I approach, a young man in uniform giving me a gentle nod.

"She says you can stay for a cup of tea, as neighbors, but she is very busy and then you will have to go."