A Most Auspicious Star*
Posted on: 2008-09-23
"You must admit, Bea, that it has to be more than a coincidence!" Miranda smiled across her coffee at me. "It was meant to be."
"Am I supposed to believe that when our scatterbrained mother named you, she was prompted by some divine power, and not simply her penchant for Shakespearean heroines she hoped to one day play? Don't tell me there's some guy called Benedick living in the other villa, just waiting for me to come along."
"No, silly. His name is George. Don't give me that look -- he's a nice man -- but I promise not to set you up. Though if I were you . . ."
"I thought you were so completely gaga over this Ferdinand Bingley that you couldn't look at another guy?"
Miranda rolled her blue eyes. They were the colour of wild gentian at daybreak, and huge, fringed with soft brown lashes of unbelievable length but totally natural. "Just wait till you see Ferdinand," was all she said and then her lovely eyes glazed over and a dreamy look overspread her face.
I gazed out the window at the sage green hills and the brilliant sky -- the water was not visible from the villa, obscured by stand upon stand of pines that funnelled like smoke down the slope towards the sea. Corfu in April was heaven after the dismal spring rain of London. I blessed Miranda for having invited me to share the villa with her. The offer couldn't have come at a better time.
Miranda is my older sister and my only sister. Our mother is an actress, very flamboyant but not terribly good at her craft. She started out life as Mary Gardiner, but changed her name to Titania for the stage. Our father was Sir Thomas Bennet, a rather sedentary and impoverished landowner who had been charmed by her beauty on one of his rare visits to the theatre. She only stayed with him long enough to give him two daughters with rather fanciful names and then ran off with the leading man of a local production, back to the allure of the boards and bright lights.
We grew up on our crumbling estate in Hertfordshire. When father died, Longbourn became Miranda's -- the old entail keeping it to the male line having long been broken. But the inheritance was more of a burden than anything else. Our distant cousin, William Collins, was fond of saying that he was glad the entail had been done away with because the last thing he needed was such a great albatross around his neck. Miranda did what she could to save our neglected but beloved home and now the main portion of the house and grounds belonged to the National Trust, the small west wing being all she could afford to keep up.
But Miranda was born under a lucky star. In March she had been approached by an American businessman who wanted to experience the true life of a British country gentleman. He offered her six months in his villa in sunny Corfu in exchange for six months in the draughty west wing of Longbourn and England's inclement weather.
When Miranda rang me in my London flat and begged me to join her, I was in no position to refuse. I had followed my mother's footsteps and taken up acting as a career. The play that was to have been my first big break had died a silent death with not one bit of fanfare, no rave reviews, no sell outs at the box office. Nothing to impress prospective casting directors when they glanced at my resume. Her invitation saved me from a string of depressing auditions that would have crushed my meager self confidence and weather that was already dragging my spirits into the doldrums. The very thing I needed was a prolonged stay on a lovely island with a balmy climate and the promise of good company. She had already been settled in at the villa for a week when I arrived.
"So how did your Mr Bingley come by the name of Ferdinand?" I asked her. "Was it after that pansy of a bull?"
Miranda giggled. "You haven't been listening, Bea. I told you it was meant! He's named after Ferdinand in The Tempest, just like I'm named after Miranda. And when you finally meet him you'll see that he's no pansy and that ain't no bull."
It was my turn to roll my eyes. I'd like to say that they are huge and blue and beautiful, but they're a rather tepid shade of grey and quite ordinary. As is the rest of my face. "And you say he's a local Corfiote, even with a surname like Bingley? Where does this Shakespearean connection come in?"
The only word to describe Miranda's expression was smug. "Have you heard the theory that Corfu was the actual setting for The Tempest?"
I stared at her. Though our mother is an actress of the stage, Miranda has never held much of an interest in the theatre, and beyond knowing the names of the main characters of the play which boasts her namesake, she knows little else and cares less. "Who have you been talking to?"
"You could say he is a literary gent."
"Ferdinand Bingley?" I asked, ignoring the obvious -- she wanted me to go for the bait and ask about her literary gent.
"No," Miranda sighed. "Don't be so obtuse. Those intellectual types don't appeal to me. Ferdinand's father was British, and his mother's family are from here. They owned the whole estate -- the original Castello and the two villas. But apparently it's his godfather who is responsible for his name, and that of his twin sister."
"Don't tell me. His sister is called Claribel."
"See -- I'd never have guessed that in a million years. "
"And the godfather is this literary gent you were referring to," I relented.
"Yes! And I've heard rumours that he's really their father and not his friend Bingley, not that I believe them, mind."
"So, I know you're dying to tell me. Just who is the godfather with a horrific taste in names to equal our mother's?"
Miranda grinned. "Just the one and only Julian Darcy!"
"Sir Julian Darcy?" I gasped. "You've been talking to him? How? Where?"
Not only is Sir Julian the greatest living Shakespearean actor of the day, he is my idol. I'd seen every production he'd been in at least once since I'd been old enough to go to the theatre in London on my own. But two years ago his wife and daughter had died in a car crash and he had gone into seclusion. Last fall he'd returned to the stage in a production of Hamlet. I'd seen it. He'd been incredible. All his suffering had clearly been channeled into the part. And it took a lot out of him. He'd left the show a month ago, claiming fatigue, but the word on the street was that he'd had a mental breakdown.
"He's staying with the Bingleys. I'd love to introduce you, but really he's not having visitors -- apparently the gardener throws all trespassers over the cliff. I just sort of met him by chance when I was out with Ferdinand."
"And he discussed The Tempest with you?"
"He remarked on my name and it went from there. According to Ferdinand, Sir Julian is quite obsessed by it. He claims that Corfu's Saint Spiridon's name is really a corruption of Prospero."
"He believes The Tempest is based on fact?"
Miranda shrugged. "You know me. I lost track of his rambling almost at once. I just remembered that tidbit for you. Anyway, I wish you could meet Ferdinand right away, but he's gone out on his boat and won't be back till tomorrow."
"So until then I'll have to make do with whatever you can tell me about him. For starters I'm guessing he's tall, dark and handsome?"
"And rich!" Miranda winked.
"Mama will be pleased!" Our mother had little to do with our lives since she had left us with our father at a tender age, but lately she took quite an interest in trying to set us up with some likely chap or other. Money was always her biggest selling point. None of her suggested beaus had ever appealed to us, but she made up for it by going out with one or two of them herself. Mother had never stopped playing the field.
After a long girly chat during which Miranda extolled Ferdinand's many virtues again and again, she stretched leisurely and stood up. "I'm boring you with all my gushing when I know you'd really rather be exploring. Why don't you go down to the beach while I have a little nap. I was up ever so late last night."
She didn't have to say, "With Ferdinand." That much was obvious from our conversation. I went to my room and unzipped my bag that was still on the bed, where I'd thrown it when I'd arrived. I slipped into my bikini and pulled on a long t-shirt to wear over it on my walk down through the pine woods. A towel and a pair of flip flops completed my ensemble, then I headed down the staircase and out the wide-open French doors onto the patio. Miranda was already snoozing on a lounge chair with a romance novel over her face. I took the shadowy path she'd pointed out earlier and was soon in the dusky shade, smelling the warm, resinous scent of the pines as they baked in the Mediterranean sun.
The villa Miranda and I were staying at was high on the promontory of a horseshoe shaped cove which had at one time all been part of a grand estate. On the opposite headland was another villa, now privately owned as well, and nestled between was the old Castello, set high above the curve of the bay, and hidden in the lushly growing woods that covered the entire hillside. All three still shared rights to the private crescent of silver beach at the bottom, and a network of trails led from each house in a winding descent to the sand below, and the crystal blue waters of the Aegean.
Miranda had warned me not to stray onto the wrong path, for fear that I would find myself on the Bingley estate and incur the wrath of the gardener who appeared to act as sort of bodyguard to Sir Julian Darcy. Of course, the last thing I wanted to do was infringe upon the privacy of the man.
A little over half way down I came upon a small clearing where a stream tumbled over rocks and roots to drop into a pool of lilies overhung with honeysuckle. I sat on a smooth boulder and caught my breath while dragonflies dive-bombed over the water and golden koi came up to the surface to inspect me, hoping for handouts. I noticed another path climbing steeply through the tangled undergrowth, and far up, barely visible through the lushly growing plants, the stone balustrades of the Castello.
After a short rest I continued down to the sand, spread my towel in the sun, and sat and gazed across the tempting ultramarine waters of the bay. A huge band of white rock strode out into the bay to my left. To my right the hillside came more gently to the sea. Trees and grass edged a strip of white sand dotted here and there with bleached driftwood. Before me the sand stretched like velvet, darkening where the gentle swell of the water rose and fell in a soft, even cadence.
I sighed and spread my arms out to the sun. It was raining in London, but I had escaped to this paradise. Laughing from sheer bliss, I jumped up and ran to the water, splashing through the shallows and throwing myself in as the bottom fell steeply and the water deepened. I struck out swimming, making for the far rocks, relishing the fresh cool water, the salt sting, energised now after the slow, lazy warmth of the morning.
The rocks had been my goal and I grabbed a hold of them, a little out of breath. I narrowed my eyes to the glare of the sun upon the water as sparkling flashes bounced, glittering, upon the soft roll of the waves. Suddenly the water surged, billowing over my head, again, and again. I grabbed tightly to the rock and scrambled higher, looking for a vessel that could have created such a strong wake. I saw nothing but the sea calming gently around me. I lowered myself, and something broke from the water sending an arc of spray flying. Grey-blue and smooth, it arched in the sky only a few metres from me, then returned to the water with a resounding splash.
I was gripped by momentary fear till I realised it was a dolphin. Her head broke the water, closer to me than I expected and she regarded me with a timid eye.
"Hi beautiful," I whispered. "Have you come to play?"
At the sound of my voice she plunged in once again, but resurfaced soon a little further off.
"Don't be scared. I won't hurt you." I held out my hand.
A bee buzzed by. The water broke with a splash close to the dolphin's shoulder. She dove and then emerged again, nearer to me this time.
"Closer," I coaxed, holding my hand out, the desire to pet her strong.
Another bee whined between us and smacked into the water, sending up a spurt of droplets. It took me a few seconds to realise that it was no bee but something far more sinister, as another sped between us, nearer to the dolphin, and sent up another surge of spray.
Bullets. And judging from the lack of noise, from a silenced gun. Someone was shooting at the dolphin. Obviously the shooter couldn't see me, hidden from view as I was by the jutting rocks.
I threw myself into the water, yelling and splashing with all my might. I'm not sure what I yelled, I just wanted to scare away the dolphin before she got hurt, and let whoever was trying to shoot her know that he wasn't going to get away with it.
My plan worked and the dolphin dived. I watched as she cut through the water and out of the bay, and then turned my attention to the land. As my eyes swept the hillside I saw a glint of light from high in the trees, dead centre, where I assumed the Castello to be. I could make out the rock balustrade peeking through the greenery. I saw the flash of light again and then a figure came into view. A man, and youngish, as far as I could tell from this distance. Certainly too young to be Sir Julian.
Probably the gardener, carrying his diligence a bit too far.
Angry as I was, I let my senses overtake thought and swam to shore as quickly as I could. I grabbed my t-shirt and towel and made for the path, loosely throwing the towel over my shoulders. When I got to the little waterfall and pool, I unhesitatingly took the steep path that led up to the Castello.
"Stop! This is private property!" a voice called from above, but I ignored whoever was shouting and hurtled up the little used path, brushing through overhanging branches.
I heard footsteps rushing down and broke out onto a wide landing at the same time as a man dropped from a rising stone staircase to stand squarely before me. "I said stop!" he bellowed. "Don't you understand English?"
"What were you doing shooting at the dolphin?" I countered, just as belligerently.
That silenced him for a moment, and he stared at me long and hard. His eyes were dark and piercing -- so dark I couldn't make out their colour -- and his expression was severe, strong jaw set. I had just enough time to think, inconsequentially, that he needed to shave, when he finally answered me.
"What on earth are you talking about?"
"Throwing intruders over the wall is one thing, but shooting at a dolphin -- that's outrageous! How does a dolphin in the bay affect Sir Julian's privacy? You ought to be ashamed at yourself!"
"Shooting? Are you completely sane? I saw you jump out of nowhere into the water and frighten the poor dolphin away and now you accuse me of shooting at it?"
"I was protecting it from you!" I yelled. The argument was going nowhere. Even for a gardener, he wasn't terribly bright. Pity, because, angry as he was, he was still incredibly good looking.
"From me? And my sharp-shooting binoculars, I presume!" He waved a pair of inoffensive looking black binoculars at me.
"Well, you would hardly bring the gun down with you!" It was at that moment that I realised I really ought to feel scared. Not only was he far taller than me, and muscular, but he had to be psychotic into the bargain. After all he got his thrills from tossing trespassers off cliffs and shooting harmless dolphins.
"Gun? I didn't hear any gunshots!"
"Because you silenced it, of course!"
"Of course. How stupid of me not to have realised that. I used a gun with a silencer to shoot at a dolphin because I thought it would come up here and disturb my father and I was afraid I'd have a hard time throwing it over the cliff."
It was my turn to stand stock still and stare. "Your father? You're not the gardener? You're Sir Julian Darcy's son?"
He smirked. "Sorry to disappoint you."
"Still," I said, recovering, "someone was shooting at the dolphin. The bullets were ricocheting off the water. That's why I jumped in and scared her away!"
"You endangered your life to stop the dolphin from being shot? By a mythical gun with a mythical silencer? I've never heard a more far fetched story from a crazed fan trying to get to see my father. If you admire him so much, could you please respect his privacy and leave now before I do throw you over the cliff?"
Of all the arrogant jerks. "You tell your gardener to stop shooting at the dolphin or he'll have me to deal with!" I retorted, trying to sound as menacing as I could. But the effect was spoiled as I stomped away, and my towel, which had caught on a bramble, slipped from my shoulders and I was left standing there, practically naked, in my skimpy bikini.
Grabbing at my towel, I scrambled to cover myself up with it. I glanced back towards him, but he was already gone, back up the stone steps. I could hear muffled conversation coming from above.
"Nothing important. Just some ditzy fan."
"I do hope you weren't rude." came the melodious voice of Sir Julian that I knew so well.
"No ruder than she deserved," was his son's response.
*title from the first act of Shakespeare's The Tempest,
Posted on: 2008-10-06
I ran down that path and up the other without paying attention to anything other than how furious I was with both Julian Darcy's son and myself. I couldn't wait to tell Miranda. Even she, with her ability to see the best in everyone, would have to admit he was an overbearing ass. Unfortunate that a fine gentleman like Sir Julian would have such a git for a son, but it was known to happen even in the best families.
I stormed into the living room, only to discover that Miranda had a guest. The bleakness on her face and that of the man standing beside her made me wonder what exactly I was interrupting. It was obviously no lovers' tryst, and though he was quite handsome, I decided that her companion couldn't be the entrancing Ferdinand I had heard so much about.
"Something terrible has happened," Miranda said, stepping towards me. "Ferdinand was . . . is . . . oh my God!"
She threw herself at me and I grabbed her, holding her close. Over her bent head I cast a questioning look at the man.
"Nothing is certain," he was quick to say. "I found Ferdinand's boat out in the strait this morning -- drifting and empty. There was no sign of him."
"How could it happen?" said Miranda through her sobs. "How could he fall overboard? Why did he go out alone?"
I kept one arm firmly around her and stroked her hair with the other hand, but I didn't take my eyes off her friend. He appeared to be almost as shaken up as Miranda but managing, with great effort, to keep his emotions in check.
After a brief hesitation, he responded in a careful, overly calm voice, "He was a good sailor. He regularly went out alone."
His eyes flickered under my unwavering gaze and he turned towards the window to stare out at the waves of billowing pine. It was clear his intention had been to soothe her with simple reassurances, but I sensed that he was keeping something to himself. His evasive action -- breaking eye contact with me -- only strengthened that impression. At least his motives were good. Anything aimed at relieving Miranda's distress was welcomed by me.
I returned my attention to Miranda whose sobs had eased somewhat, though she still clung to me fiercely. "He's bound to turn up soon, honey," I whispered into her hair. "Don't worry."
She turned her head against my shoulder and stared up to me, the picture of woe. "There are terrible currents!"
"He was a good swimmer, but . . ." The man stopped, looked at me apologetically, and then continued. "I've contacted the police and the hospital and talked with all the local fishermen. He hasn't turned up anywhere. I even checked with people on the Albanian coast. Nothing yet, but as soon as I get news I'll let you know, Miranda. Till you hear anything definitive you must hope for the best."
She wiped her eyes and turned a weak smile on him. "Thanks George. I know you've done everything you can." Miranda let go of the towel I was wrapped up in -- the one she'd been clinging to in desperation and luckily hadn't dragged off me -- and seemed to recollect herself. She looked from me to him in mild embarrassment. "Sorry -- I should have introduced you. This is my sister, Bea. And this is George Manning. He lives in the other villa."
George held out his hand and I took it. He had a warm, firm grip.
"Sorry we had to meet under such circumstances," he said. "Ferdinand was a great friend of mine, and Miranda got very close to him, too, in her short time here. Naturally we are terribly worried."
I'm a great believer in first impressions, and George was making a much more agreeable impression upon me than Sir Julian's son had. During times of crisis people act and react unthinkingly, with honest emotions. Their true selves come out, good or bad. George was displaying natural empathy and consideration, not only with his words but his actions and expressions. I warmed towards him.
"Do you really think Ferdinand didn't drown?" asked Mranda with a heartrending catch in her voice.
"We have to think that, sweetie," he said. His expression was sincere and consoling. "Buck up -- we'll find him."
"Maybe I should go and leave you two . . ." My words trailed off as both Miranda and George insisted that I stay.
"I have to go soon anyway," said George. "I'm hoping to hear back from the police."
"But surely you gave them your cell number," said Miranda.
"Yes, but . . . " he hedged.
I realised that he was being tactful. There most likely were things he wanted to discuss with the police that he didn't want Miranda to hear. I decided changing the subject was the best option.
"What is it you do, George?" I asked.
He smiled at me in relief. "I'm a film maker. Nature-oriented travel documentaries mostly. I'm actually working on one here, about Corfu and the local flora and fauna. Pretty small-time, really."
"Don't listen to him, Bea," said Miranda. "What I've seen so far is brilliant."
"Which isn't much. I was actually supposed to go out with Ferdinand yesterday to do some night work, but in the end I couldn't make it." His expression changed as sadness clouded his eyes. "This never would have happened if I were there!"
"It's not your fault, George!" Miranda cried.
"Isn't it? Instead of filming with Ferdinand last night I went on a wild goose chase half way across the island trying to find an address that doesn't exist."
"How could you have known something would go wrong?" Miranda said. "You already told us that Ferdinand went out sailing at night regularly."
"Yes, he did." admitted George. He sat down heavily and drew one hand over his face, then addressed me. "Photography was his hobby, and he was something of an artist at the craft. He loved to catch the nuances of colour dawn spreads upon the sea."
"You both take great pictures," said Miranda. "Show Bea the portfolio you left here the other day."
"I'd love to see it," I urged as he hesitated.
Miranda went over to a side table and picked up a large, black folder. She sat me between her and George on the couch and placed it on my lap. I wasn't sure what to expect as I opened it, but the last thing I thought I'd be faced with right off the bat was a picture of the missing Ferdinand -- half naked with water droplets glistening on his bronze skin -- and my new friend from earlier in the day, the dolphin, arching out of the water to meet him. I knew the man was Ferdinand the instant I heard Miranda's sharp intake of breath and choked-back sob. And because he was absolutely beautiful, just as she'd described him. No wonder she'd fallen so deliriously in love so quickly. And now -- I didn't want to follow that thought, so instead I just stared in awe at the photo.
"It's breathtaking," I said.
"He was very photogenic." George's voice was reverent and tinged with sorrow.
"Is," I said adamantly. "And the dolphin too. You've caught her shy playfulness exactly."
"You've seen her?" he asked, his interest sparked.
"Oh yes! I was just down at the beach swimming and she came to join me. You won't believe this, but some raving idiot tried to shoot her!"
"What?" cried Miranda.
"Yes, but I threw myself in the water and scared her off."
"Didn't you think you might have got shot too? Bea, you are such a fool when it comes to animals."
"This afternoon?" George asked. "I never heard any gunshots."
"Of course not, because Julian Darcy's maniac son used a silencer!"
Miranda shoved the portfolio aside and stared at me. "Max Darcy shot at the dolphin? That makes no sense!"
"Well," I admitted, "he did say he didn't do it."
"Of course he didn't," said Miranda. "And don't give me that look, George. I don't care what you think, it wasn't Sir Julian either."
I stared at George too. Why on earth would Miranda expect him to suspect Sir Julian of such an atrocity? The man was a true gentleman in every sense of the word. My good opinion of George was in danger of plummeting fast.
"I wasn't going to suggest anything of the kind," said George. "Despite his emotional breakdown, I don't think him capable of it."
It was clear by his expression that there was still something George wasn't saying."But?"
"What I think is merely supposition," he hedged, "so it's best not to say anything."
"It must have been a poacher," said Miranda. "His gun might have gone off by accident."
"Three times?" I asked.
"Well no one would want to shoot that sweet dolphin," she reasoned.
My earlier anger was returning. "So, I imagined it? And I imagined Max Darcy's snarky attitude? When I met him on my way up to the Castello he treated me like I was some sort of deranged lunatic!"
"I told you not to go up there without an invitation."
"So it's okay for him to shoot dolphins, but not for me to tell him off for doing it?"
George chuckled.
Miranda widened her eyes and then chose her words carefully as if speaking to a young child. "Bea, Sir Julian is recuperating and Max is recording a new album, so of course they don't want to be disturbed."
"An album?"
"Yes. Don't tell me you don't know about Max Darcy, when you are such a big fan of his father! Remember -- he put out an album just over two years ago, before his mom and sister died in that crash. His band is called Storm -- they had that big hit, Dragonflies and Tornadoes."
How could I have forgotten? Of course I'd heard the album before, but after the tragedy he'd stopped promoting it. I should have recognised him from the music video but that was the last thing I'd have thought of when I confronted him in my bikini about the dolphin.
"So, he's a rock star! That doesn't give him a license to shoot at every dolphin he sees."
"But that does give him the right to be wary of trespassers who might be obsessed fans of his or his father's."
I had to concede Miranda's point, though it still didn't excuse his obnoxious attitude. But then, being a rock star, he obviously thought he was better than an ordinary little peon like me.
"Look," said Miranda, "could you two excuse me? I think I'm going to go lie down in my room for a bit. George, promise me you'll let me know the moment you hear anything about Ferdinand, good or bad."
"I promise," he said, kissing her on the cheek.
I gave her a big hug. "I'll be in to check up on you really soon," I whispered.
As soon as Miranda left the room and I'd heard her shuffle up the stairs, I turned to George. "This whole story about Ferdinand missing from his boat is just terrible. I appreciate your tact and consideration for Miranda's feelings, but what is it you're not telling her?"
"Nothing."
"Please, I'm not a fool. I know you want to protect Miranda because she's in love, but let's face reality now. Do you really think there's a chance Ferdinand is safe somewhere?"
"It's hardly likely," he said in a flat, tired voice. "That current is treacherous, especially in the area he told me he'd be going. And . . . no -- I really shouldn't say anything more."
He dragged his hand over his face again as he had done earlier, and I almost relented, seeing how worn and dejected he looked. But I had Miranda's welfare to consider and I needed to know if all my worst fears had foundation."If you don't tell me what you're thinking, I could imagine something infinitely worse."
George shrugged and let out a huge sigh. "All right -- he didn't go out alone."
"What? Two people went overboard?"
"That's not what I mean. Someone was with him and that's why he went overboard. There was evidence on his boat -- an empty wine bottle and two used glasses." His expression was completely serious. I could tell he was as convinced that there had been some sort of foul play involved in Ferdinand's disappearance as I was that Max Darcy was shooting at the dolphin.
"And you think you know who it was."
"I do -- but it wouldn't be right to say who I think it was without having any proof, only a personal bias."
I thought back to his earlier comment, the one about Sir Julian not being capable of shooting at the dolphin. He hadn't wanted to explain what he really suspected then, either. If not Sir Julian, then who? I know who I suspected in that case. It wasn't a big stretch to go from there and come to a chilling conclusion."Max Darcy," I whispered.
"I have no proof," he said again, but he didn't deny my guess.
"But -- they're good friends."
He nodded. "Best of friends. Forget I said anything. For all we know Ferdinand will turn up tomorrow a little worse for wear with an amazing story to tell, and I'll look like a spiteful fool for having voiced such preposterous accusations."
"Spiteful?"
After a brief hesitation, George shrugged his shoulders and admitted, "Max and I have a history. Most people think because he's a celebrity of sorts he's a great guy, but he's far from it."
I thought about his angry scowl, his abrasive words and the way he'd dismissed me to Sir Julian so flippantly as an unimportant ditzy fan. "I can believe it."
"His father, now there's a class act. I worked for him, you know. I was doing a documentary on his life -- it was my chance to really make it big -- but Max put an end to it. He didn't like how we got on so well together, the old man and me. Pure jealousy. Max is the kind of guy that wants all the attention for himself. Sir Julian took more interest in my work than the album he was putting together at the time. But who could blame Sir Julian? Did you ever hear Storm's first album? Songs like Sunstroke, Starflight, Supermassive Supernova? Didn't anyone ever tell him alliteration can be taken too far?'
I giggled.
He flashed me a devastating grin back. "But seriously, it's dangerous to get Max Darcy's back up. In retrospect I should have played it cool and put some space between Sir Julian and me. Instead I got carried away with his ideas for developing my talents and sponsoring some of the films I'd always dreamed of making. Max caught wind of the plans and the next thing you know I was set up. He made it look like I'd leaked private information to the paparazzi and the gossip rags. Now I've been blacklisted with all the big production companies so all I can do is work on insignificant independent films."
"But that's terrible! He totally destroyed your career! Couldn't you expose him?'
"I have so much respect for Sir Julian, I'd never make this public. Besides, who would listen? It's my word against his."
"Anyone who has met him would listen! He's so arrogant and full of himself, and you are so down to earth and sincere."
George laughed. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Bea," he said. "But with most people, money talks. They're blinded by his star standing."
"He's just riding on his father's coattails."
"You know that, and I know that." George had stood and was now pacing the floor. "But let's forget about my little problems -- this business with Ferdinand is much more serious. For the old man's sake I sincerely hope that I'm wrong and Max had nothing to do with Ferdinand's disappearance. Whatever the case, I'm going to do my utmost to find him, dead or alive. Not just for myself, but for Miranda, and his sister Claribel, and Sir Julian, and that shy little dolphin that he tamed." He stopped and dragged a hand through his hair. "And now, not only is Ferdinand missing, but someone is shooting at the dolphin!"
"The only thing I don't get is why Max Darcy would want to harm his best friend. What makes you so sure it was him on the boat?"
"I don't get it either. If it were me who had gone overboard, it would make sense. He was livid when he found out I was his next-door neighbour. The reason I suspect Max -- besides the fact that I'll never trust him an inch again in my life -- is because of the empty wine bottle. It's the same stuff they have in the cellars of the Castello -- specially ordered for Max Darcy. Maybe Ferdinand discovered something Max was trying to hide. There are all kinds of intrigues going on between Corfu and the Albanian coast."
"You mean . . . smuggling?"
"Yes. And that would explain shooting at the dolphin too. It was beginning to attract too much attention to this bit of coast. Though I could be completely wrong. I hope I am."
"I hope you are too, but the shots at the dolphin were real." I took a deep breath."I'll keep watch at the beach. If I'm down there, neither Max nor his gardener will try shooting at her again."
He leaned over to pick up his portfolio from where it had fallen on the floor, and absently shuffled the pictures in order. "You take care nothing happens to you. And watch out for his cousin Colin -- the so-called gardener -- he's just about as bad as Max himself."
"They don't frighten me."
"They should," he said warningly. He hesitated, then put the portfolio back on the sidetable where it had been earlier, and came over to crouch in front of me. He reached out and took me by the wrists, not roughly, but with purpose. "Bea, we could be mixed up in something that is way over our heads. I know we've just met, but I'd hate for anything to happen to you." His eyes stared intently into mine -- silver-grey and serious. "Promise me you won't do anything foolish. And please, keep all that I've said to you about Max Darcy to yourself."
"Don't worry, I wouldn't dare upset Miranda any more than she is already."
"Good girl," he said, and leaned towards me.
I almost thought he was going to kiss me, but all he did was give me a swift hug before saying he would see me soon. Then he was gone through the French doors that led to the patio -- the same ones I'd stormed through what seemed like eons before. Back then I'd barely known of his existence and now, now I was his committed ally in this sordid mystery. I'd do everything possible to protect the dolphin from the Castello sniper and try my best to discover the truth of what happened to Ferdinand, for Miranda's sake.