Ginnie came back after half an hour, accompanied by Spiro. His eyes were even darker with concern, as he sat down beside Mrs Pargeter. “I am so sorry, lady, for what has happened. It is very sad, your friend, very sad.”
“Yes.”
“The police will be along to the villa soon, Mrs Pargeter,” said Ginnie. “Obviously there’s no way the other holidaymakers aren’t going to find out what has happened eventually, but I’d be grateful if you could keep quiet about the death for as long as possible.”
“That goes without saying.”
The rep picked up her shoulder-bag. “I must go back to the office in Corfu Town. There’s going to be a lot to sort out, informing next-of-kin, that kind of thing.”
“Joyce just had the one daughter. Conchita. I think I’ve probably got her address somewhere if…”
Mrs Pargeter was saved the trouble of riffling through her handbag. “It’s all right. We’ll have all the details in the office.”
“Oh, very well.”
“Are you sure you’re all right, Mrs Pargeter? I mean, I could easily call a doctor if you want some sedation or…”
Sedation is the last thing I want after the night I’ve just had, thought Mrs Pargeter, but all she said was, “No, I’ll be fine, thank you.”
“Spiro will keep an eye on you. Won’t you?”
“Of course, Tchinnie. Will you have something to eat, please?”
It was interesting, Mrs Pargeter noticed as she refused Spiro’s offer, that the Greeks couldn’t pronounce the ‘J’ sound at the beginning of ‘Ginnie’. The consonant came out as a kind of ‘Tch’. ‘Tchinnie’.
“Mrs Pargeter, obviously you won’t want to stay in the Villa Eleni…”
“I hadn’t really thought about that, Ginnie. I mean, I don’t mind. I’m not squeamish.”
“I was thinking maybe you’d want to go straight back to England?”
Oh no, not yet. Mrs Pargeter was very firm in her mind about that. She wanted to wait at least until the police investigation was under way. She wanted to be sure that her friend’s murder was getting the attention it deserved. And if it wasn’t, she didn’t rule out the possibility of doing a little mild investigating herself.
In which event, she would be well advised to stay at the Villa Eleni. Murders are much easier to investigate if you’re actually on the scene of the crime.
“No, I think I’ll stay around for a while,” she said coolly. “Probably find it easier to relax and get over it out here than back in England.”
“Very well, if that’s what you feel. I’ll arrange to book you into the Hotel Nausica and have your belongings moved there.”
“I’d think I’d rather stay in the villa.”
“That would not be appropriate,” said Ginnie firmly.
“No,” Spiro endorsed. “The police will want as little disturbance as possible. They will need to do very thorough investigation of this suicide.”
Well, it won’t be thorough enough if they start from the premise that the death was suicide, thought Mrs Pargeter, but all she said was, “I should think having my bags moved to the hotel would cause quite a bit of disturbance.”
“That will of course be done under police supervision,” said Ginnie. She looked at her watch. “I’ll ring through now to sort out the hotel, and get a message to you there when I know how long your bags will take.”
“Thank you. I can manage overnight with what I’ve got here, if necessary.” Mrs Pargeter tapped her flightbag. As she did so, she remembered what else it contained. Yes, she looked forward to opening the package that Joyce had given her at Gatwick.
“Good,” said Ginnie. “There’ll be no problem with the hotel – they’re not fully booked – so you can go up there as soon as you like. Spiro’ll show you the way.”
“Of course. I drive you if you want.”
“That’s very kind.”
“Right, I’ll go and sort things out,” said Ginnie, unable to erase from her voice all traces of resentment at the inconvenience she was being put to. Then she disappeared into the taverna to phone the hotel.
“Very sad,” said Spiro, his melancholy black eyes moist with compassion. “Sad when someone feels so bad to do this to themself.”
“Yes, if that’s what happened…” Mrs Pargeter hazarded.
Spiro looked shocked. “What you mean – if that is what happened?”
She shrugged. “Well, I’m sure the police will find out the truth.”
“Of course. Yes, of course.”
They seemed to have run out of conversation. “Look, I’ll be fine, Spiro. I’m sure you should be getting on. You’ve got lots of customers.”
“No problem. The boys can deal with them. No, you have had shock. I stay talk with you.”
“Very well. Thank you.”
Though no doubt kindly meant, this solicitude was the last thing Mrs Pargeter required. All she really wanted was to be left on her own. To give her thoughts a chance to organise themselves. Maybe to go back up to the Villa Eleni for another look round. Certainly to investigate the package in her flightbag.
Still, if she was going to be stuck with him, she’d have to make some conversational effort. “There seem to be a lot of people on Corfu called Spiro,” she began safely.
“Oh yes. It is the name of our saint. Saint Spiridon. You can still see his bones in Corfu Town if you want to.”
“Thank you very much.”
“He has been good for our island, so many men are called Spiros. First son often called Spiros. My father Spiros – I Spiros – if I had a son, he would be called Spiros.”
Mrs Pargeter looked out over the tranquil harbour and wished that this conscientious nursemaid would leave her to her own devices.
“Very sad,” said Spiro, returning to an earlier theme. “Very sad for someone to kill themself. Your friend, Tchinnie say, lose her husband not long ago…?”
“Yes.”
“Very sad, death of someone close. I know. My brother die, my father die. When something like that happen, people go a little crazy.”
“Yes.”
“They crazy – they think they can’t go on – they kill themself – no problem.”
“Well, it is a bit of a problem for those who are left behind.”
“Yes, of course. I mean, no problem for them to do it. It seems the right thing to do – if you are a little crazy.”
“Perhaps.”
The conversation had once again trickled away, but Spiro showed no signs of leaving, so Mrs Pargeter moved on to another safe topic. “You do speak very good English.”
“Thank you. You own taverna, you have speak English. So many English people come on holiday.” A gloomy shadow crossed his face. “Not so many this year. Number of visitors down this year. But you have to speak English all the same.”
“Did you learn English at school?”
“A little. But it was not my best. Science best… chemistry and so on.”
“And did you continue your studies after school?”
He shrugged. “Not possible. I leave school early. My father die, I have to take over taverna. Family business more important than school.”
“Ah. Do you ever regret you couldn’t go on with your education?”
He was a little affronted by this question and answered defensively, “Taverna is a good business. Good business for last twenty years with many tourists. Not so good last two years, but good business.”
“Yes. Yes, of course.” Mrs Pargeter decided to make use of the subject, since it had come up. “And you say the taverna’s a family business?”
“Of course.”
“So everyone working here is related?”
“Yes. Cousins, nephews, so on. All related.”
“And it’s your sister who works in the kitchen, isn’t it? Theodosia?”