her telephone switched firmly to off. No, I'm certain that this is just Lucy being Lucy. I just fancy having a nose around Helen's place."
"Good luck to you," replies Terry. "You'll need that cake though. It's one hell of a climb up there on foot. I'll give you a lift if you like."
Tempting though the offer is, I make it a rule never to accept a lift from Terry once he's had three beers. Painful experience tells me that when past that level he struggles to keep the moped upright on the twisty lanes. Goodness knows how he hasn't killed himself yet, but he's not getting me. Lucy returns with the best-looking cake this side of Athens.
"Terry has just pointed out that Lady Helen built her castle on a very high hill," I say. "Normally I would be happy to walk but I've got a slight hamstring twinge."
"She's not a lady," replies Lucy.
"I was joking."
"She's a Countess I think."
"Are you serious?" I ask. "That's a little bit of information you left out earlier. Whatever title she may or may not have her house is still bloody high up."
"I'll go and fetch the quad dad bought me to replace the moped," said Lucy. "I haven't had seven beers."
"Six," Terry and I reply in unison. I've never had the pleasure of being taken for a ride by Lucy on her quad, but I've seen her pass by on it many times. I'm going to be as safe as houses. From what I've seen she rides it as though she is taking part in a royal funeral procession. I'm happy to accept her offer. We'll be up to Helen's and back before my next beer has had time to warm up.
Five minutes later I'm sitting behind Lucy who revs the quad and pulls away at what seems to me to be just above walking speed, borderline jogging. She is wearing a full helmet and offers me one too which I reject theatrically. Only the holidaymakers wear helmets on the island. We take a left and drive along behind the boats. I wave at the people on their yachts, resting now after their sail, and enjoying a well-earned drink. We turn right again past her flat and out towards the marina at which we turn left and serenely climb the windy road up towards Helen's pad. As we go, Lucy half turns.
"There's just one thing," she says. "I told you it's got a massive electric gate. How are we going to get in?"
I tap the side of my nose, missing the first time but connecting on the second attempt. "Don't you worry about that. Roydon has his little secrets," I say.
Chapter Five
I climb off the quad a little reluctantly. The view from up here is stunning even for an old salt like me who's been everywhere and seen everything. Helen has certainly built her villa in a great spot. I can see north to Lefkas, west to Palairos, and south towards the island of Kastos. Down below me is the marina and from here I can see the scars of the building works on the other side of the entrance to the village. Stark modern villas will soon line the hillside.
"So, superstar, how are we going to get over this?" Lucy is standing beneath a wrought iron gate that must stand at least eight feet high.
"You not able to climb it then?" I ask.
"I skipped that bit when I was doing my basic training," Lucy replies.
"For what?"
"The army of course."
"You were in the army?" I say, "well I'd never have guessed that."
She smiles at me and I realise that she's having me for a kipper. I move towards the gate and grab hold of the uprights. "Don't just stand there." I nod my head to show her where she should take hold of it.
"You seriously think we'll be able to push it open?"
"No sweat," I say. I flex my muscles to demonstrate.
"Please be careful," says Lucy, "I don't want you to have a hernia or anything. You must be a bit careful at your age."
Ouch. That hurt. "OK. Ready? One, two three, push." Together we strain against the gate trying to slide it open. I stretch out my arms and grunt. Lucy follows suit and is giving it her all. After a couple of minutes of noisy effort, I fall away from the gate and groan, hands to my chest. Lucy is worried. I can tell from the sheer panic across her face that she's running through the very limited emergency medical options on the island. One to be precise, the overweight doctor in the next village who apparently tells all his Greek patients, whatever their ailment, that they should eat less cheese pies and lose weight. He is isn't popular. To the ex-pats he is charm personified, all smiles and concern for their condition, as he pockets their fifty euros.
"Are you OK?" she asks. I throw myself to the ground. "Roydon, Roydon, are you OK?"
I look up, a pained expression on my face. She has her made up face centimetres from mine and I can see her complexion beneath. I wink at her.
"You complete bastard," she says.
"Let's call it one all," I say jumping to my feet. I wince as I feel a muscle pull in my thigh.
"If you've finished being a dickhead, perhaps you can tell me how we are going to get through this bloody gate," she says. Her eyes shine with anger.
"Bien sur," I say. I walk over to the gate and put my arm through the upright bars. There's just about enough room. I reach behind the metal box that houses the motor which operates the gate and flick away the contact. I stand up and easily slide the gate open. "Voila," I bow low. "After you madame."
"Sometimes you are such a child," Lucy says as she sweeps past me. The grounds of the house are impressive. As with most of the villas built here, Helen has pulled out most of the local flora, save for a few isolated olive trees that sit in little islands of imported soil surrounded by flowers that wouldn't grow here of their own volition. We walk up to the house. To be fair it's much more modest than it looks from way down below. I would think it has no more than four bedrooms. The pseudo Tudor fascade however is just as bad close to. The house has been built to take advantage of a north easterly view towards Palairos. The front door is therefore at the rear of the house facing us as we walk up the drive. There is a detached garage off to our left. I branch off to inspect and Lucy follows me. The windows are grubby from the dust that blows in the air, especially up here where there is a constant breeze to cool you down. I rub away the grime and peer inside. Parked inside is an MGB GT convertible. I think I've seen Helen driving around the island in this bright red car with UK plates.
"Is that her car?" I ask.
Lucy nods. "I love her car. I would kill for one like that."
I think better of suggesting that perhaps she could ask her dad to buy her one to add to the moped, the quad, the Smart Car, and the new RIB that I've heard she is lining up. Good old dad.
"Well, if she's gone visiting, she's gone on shank's pony," I say. Lucy looks at me as though I'm speaking a foreign language.
"She's got a quad too," Lucy says. "I think she normally keeps it under the sunshade round the front. Let's see."
On the way we decide it's sensible to try the front door just in case. There's a doorbell which I ring. Inside we hear the musical chime play, but there is no movement, and no-one comes to the door.
"I'll try the door," I say. Lucy nods. It's locked. I peer through the windows either side of the stout wooden door. Just like you'd
