When Vittorio returned to the terrace, the garden smelled even more strongly of honey than before. It wasn’t really down to the baklava; the boat had long since cast off from the jetty and was now nothing more than a dark silhouette on the water. But the scent seemed to cling to Vittorio’s cassock and to the bottle of Uhudler that the cardinal was holding in his hand, as if it were a piece of evidence presented to him.
“I’ve decided,” said Emmett as he stepped back towards Justin and Brian, “that military training is much sweeter with baklava.”

“Wait till they learn to shoot,” said Brian.
“I’m sure they can already do that.”
Vittorio placed the bottle on the small side table next to the carafes.
 
On the terrace, new platters were being passed round. Small pieces of toasted bread with olive paste, stuffed vine leaves, chickpea balls with yoghurt, artichoke hearts in oil. Mary chose just a piece of bread and examined it intently before taking a bite. Fiona picked up a stuffed vine leaf with a silver appetiser fork. Meghan declined at first, but then reached for a fig stuffed with smoked mackerel fillet.
Justine stood next to Lito and pretended not to be relieved that her friends had survived their first encounter with her family. Lito had opted for an olive and was scrutinising it with the same seriousness he might have shown towards a bad review.

“I don’t think,” he said, “I’ve ever eaten an olive harvested in Greece.”
Mary heard this and turned her head. “Olives have been most welcome in Greece since ancient times. That sets them apart from many second-rate artists.”
“And from some Furies,” said Justine.
Meghan closed her eyes briefly. Fiona touched her arm – not firmly, more as a reminder that one could also exercise restraint with a touch.
Vittorio stepped in without visibly intervening.

“The olives come from the neighbouring island. That’s also where the film adaptation of Phaedra was shot, featuring highly talented actresses such as Melina Mercouri.”
Brian picked one up with his fingers. “Was the film poorly marketed, or why haven’t I heard of it before?”
“Perhaps, Mr Kinney, because you are unfamiliar both with the ancient tragedy of Phaedra and her stepson Hippolytus,” said Mary, “and with the 1962 film adaptation mentioned by the Cardinal, which was made several decades before you were born.”
Justin looked from Brian to Mary. He recognised the name because Justine had mentioned it, but coming from Mary’s lips, it didn’t sound like a woman’s name, but rather that of a demoness. 
Emmett raised his glass. “Then here’s to Phaedra, tragedies and the love between Australia and Greece, between Hydra and Drogheda. May they all survive!”

For a moment, it grew quiet enough to hear the oars of the barge again from below, even though it was already further out. Wolfgang took a piece of bread with artichokes and seemed unable to decide whether to follow the conversation or simply let it pass like a weather phenomenon.
“In Berlin,” he said at last, “people rarely argue about houses so politely.”
“Not in Pittsburgh either,” said Brian.

“In Mexico they do,” said Lito. “And even more dramatically than with flamenco and paso doble.”
Sun stood a little apart by a small lemon tree. She had barely touched her glass. Justine noticed.
“You don’t have to join in the conversation if you don’t want to.”
“I know.”
Justine looked towards the narrow passageway running along the side of the house. Beyond it lay the sheltered courtyard Sun had mentioned earlier. “Do you want to go now?”
Sun nodded. “Just for a few minutes.”
Wolfgang looked up. “On your own?”
“Yes.”

“I can come with you.”
“No.”
It wasn’t a firm ‘no’. Just one that needed no further explanation. Wolfgang accepted it. Lito raised his glass, as if wishing her a safe journey of thirty metres.

“If you find enlightenment there,” he said, “please bring some of it back for the dining room.”
Sun smiled almost imperceptibly. Then she walked along the wall of the house, through the narrow strip of shadow between the terrace and the back garden. Her dark dress vanished briefly in the warm light of a wall lantern and then beyond it.
Mary watched her go.
“A serious young woman.”
“She has family reasons,” said Lito.

“Most people do. It doesn’t automatically make them any more pleasant. Here, we’re mourning a son, a grandson, a grandnephew, a brother and, of course, a priest – our Dan. If Justine invites friends to join us, they really ought to take part in the aperitif together. Miss Bak will have plenty of time for Asian meditation on the boat when you sail back to Hydra later – three hours’ worth.”
“That is a great truth, modestly put by Mrs Carson,” said Lito. “But in the East, people mourn and hope through different gestures than in the West; that is why Sun, although it may seem otherwise, is doing the same as us, just in the back garden rather than the front garden. She lost her father last year; her brother is in prison.”
Mary replied thoughtfully, after taking a very small sip of wine. “For Australia, Japan is north, not east; Chile is to our east. But I will respect the fact that she has lost her father. Let’s not talk about it any longer, though.”

Bianca returned from the house. “Your Eminence, the dining room is ready.”
“Five more minutes; we’ll say a short prayer for Dane on the terrace, then we’ll see our aperitif guests off and sit down to dinner.”
Bianca placed a final bowl on the table—thin slices of cucumber with mint and yoghurt—and glanced briefly towards the courtyard passageway.
“How many people work here in the house?” asked Justin.
Vittorio turned to him. “Today? Just Bianca. The two kitchen assistants and four maids have gone back to Hydra in the little boat. Why? If you need anything, I’ll be happy to fetch it myself, but I didn’t want too many staff stirring up the Cleary family’s grief.”
Justin nodded: “That’s very considerate. And we won’t be disturbing you much longer either, as you used to say.”

Emmett took a piece of stuffed vine leaf. “I’m having a look around too. I see silver, candles, dangerously good starters and three women saying things to one another as if knives were too direct.”
“Mr Honeycutt,” said Mary, “you should be careful. Sometimes knives are more honest than words.”
“Then I very much hope your kitchen is more honest than your family.”
Meghan drew in a sharp breath. Justine grinned, but it vanished immediately when she saw her mother’s face.
Vittorio raised his glass. “Before we finish the aperitif and bid farewell to our additional guests, I’d like to say a prayer for Dane.”
Everyone set down their plates or glasses and folded their hands, even Brian.
The cardinal recited a prayer in Latin, to which everyone replied ‘Amen’, before he blessed the sea beneath them. After a brief silence, he raised his hands.

“I haven’t prayed for ages,” said Brian.
“It reminded me of school,” added Justin. “I went to a Catholic boarding school. We had three prayer times a day: one in Latin, one in French and one in English.”
Fiona set her glass down. “Where’s Sun?”
Wolfgang looked towards the passageway. “In the courtyard.”
Justine turned around as well. “She wanted to meditate.”
“How long does one normally meditate when mourning? We don’t want to keep the Cleary family away from the wake any longer than necessary. And I’m sure the boatmen both want to get back quickly too; after all, there are still three hours to get to Hydra before the rising tide,” asked Emmett.
Suddenly, a scream rent the night.

It wasn’t loud like in a theatre. It was shorter, sharper – and all the more terrifying for it. Not a full-blown scream, not a cry for help, but a sound torn from a body before language could give it form.
Meghan dropped her glass. It shattered with a clatter on the stone.
For a moment, everyone stood still. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
Then they heard a second sound: a dull thud from the direction of the back garden, followed by a lighter sound, as if stone had slid over stone.
Wolfgang was the first to move. Brian followed immediately. Justine ran past Mary towards the passageway, paying no heed to her dress. Justin followed her. Lito set his glass down so hastily that wine ran over his hand. Fiona reached for Meghan, but Meghan pulled away and went with them.
“Slow down!” cried Vittorio, but nobody listened to him.

They ran along the side of the house. The narrow path was lit only by two street lamps. Shadows of lemon tree branches lay on the ground, swaying in the wind. Behind the house lay the small courtyard Sun had mentioned: light-coloured stone, three walls, a low bench, an old well with water splashing in it. Above it, the rock face rose steeply, and behind a locked door, the chapel path led along the cliff up to the chapel.
Sun was kneeling on the ground.
A woman lay beside her.

For a moment, the scene made no sense. The woman was lying half on her side, one arm unnaturally tucked beneath her body, her dark hair covering her face. One shoe was missing; the other still hung from her foot. Her dress was light enough for the dust and dark stains to be visible. Small stones lay beside her, as if they had fallen with her.
Sun had stretched out a hand, but wasn’t touching her. Her other hand rested on the stone, as if she needed to hold on to the ground to stop herself from slipping away.
Wolfgang stopped so abruptly that Lito nearly bumped into him.
“Sun,” he said.
She lifted her head. Her face was pale, but not panicked.
“She’s fallen.”

Justine took a step closer and then stopped. Justin saw her expression change: first shock, then realisation, then an attempt to hide both again. Mary had stepped into the courtyard behind Meghan. She, too, saw the dead woman. Her face remained composed, but her hand clasped the emerald around her neck.
Fiona didn’t make a sound. Meghan did.
 Just a small, ragged intake of breath.
Vittorio was the last to arrive, not because he had been slow, but because he had asked Bianca to fetch a light on the way. Now he stepped past the group and knelt down beside the woman. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, not to cover anything, but to check her carotid artery without moving the body unnecessarily.
No one spoke.
The lantern above the courtyard flickered. High up on the rocky ledge, a stone came loose and fell, small and belated, onto the top of the wall.
Vittorio withdrew his hand.
“She’s dead.”

Emmett pressed both hands to his mouth. Brian stood beside Justin, so close that their shoulders touched. Justin looked not only at the dead woman, but at the wall, the position of her body, the scattered stones. He didn’t know why he was doing it. Perhaps because the face would have been too much.
Sun stood up slowly.
Mary’s voice was cool and very clear. “What were you doing here?”
Wolfgang spun round. “Nothing.”
Mary didn’t look at him. She looked at Sun.
“I asked what you, Miss Bak, were doing here!”
Sun didn’t answer straight away. She looked up at the edge of the cliff, then at the dead woman.
“I was standing there.” She pointed to the low bench. “Then I was doing my exercises, but suddenly… I heard footsteps above. Then a scream like that of a carrion crow. And out of the dark sky, suddenly: a woman!”
“Right next to you?” Mary was growing increasingly suspicious.
“Yes. I can’t explain it. I was standing there to meditate.”
Emmett was astonished; he looked up and raised his hands in a dramatic gesture: “Are we supposed to believe that?”
Justine stepped between Mary and Sun: “It’s not a matter of belief when a woman falls at your feet out of the darkness.”
Mary’s gaze shifted briefly to Justine. “Do you know this woman?”

Justine fell silent.
The question hung in the air for a moment too long.
“I can’t see her face,” said Justine.
That wasn’t a clear answer.
Vittorio straightened up. “Nobody touches the body. Nobody goes up to the chapel or even opens the gate. Then I’ll radio the police on Hydra.”
“How long will it take her to get over here?” asked Fiona.

Vittorio touched the door latch with his handkerchief, but the gate was locked, as it should be. “I don’t know. At this time of night, certainly three hours.”
Emmett let his hands drop. “Hours?”
“The sea isn’t kind to us after dark. Even your boats would take three hours against the tide.”
Mary looked down at the dead woman. “And until then?”
Vittorio looked round the room. His face was no less friendly now, but more resolute.
“Until then, no one stays alone. We’ll go into the house together. We’ll eat, as far as we can, because we have a long night ahead of us. And before we go, we’ll pray.”
“For her?” asked Brian.

“For her. And for all those who now think they already know what has happened.”
Mary looked at him. This time she didn’t reply.
Vittorio made the sign of the cross. Fiona did so immediately; Meghan with a trembling hand. Justine hesitated, then followed suit. Lito did the same. Emmett looked uncertainly at Justin, then bowed his head before making the sign of the cross himself. Brian did nothing, but remained silent. Wolfgang stood beside Sun, as if his mere presence could shield her from any suspicion. Unlike the others, he made the Orthodox sign of the cross.
Vittorio spoke softly, first in Latin, then in German.

“Lord, grant her eternal rest. And may perpetual light shine upon her. Let her rest in peace. Amen.”
The wind ruffled the dead woman’s hair.
Bianca came out of the house carrying two lanterns. Her gaze fell on the body, then on Sun, then on Vittorio. She didn’t scream. She just turned very pale.
“Your Eminence.”
“Bianca, send the two boats away. All the guests are to stay for dinner. I’ll radio the police to ask them to come over, but none of us must leave the island until the police give permission. And close off the lower entrance. After that, prepare water for everyone in the dining room. And whilst we’re eating, stock the guest rooms with more blankets, for I fear we won’t all be able to have a single room.”
Mary heard the word ‘close’ and looked at the housekeeper. “Are there any other ways out of the courtyard?”

Bianca replied after a brief hesitation. “Only the path up to the chapel. And the path back to the garden.”
“Only,” Mary repeated.
Vittorio raised his hand. “Enough.”
Then he turned to Sun. “Can you walk?”
Sun nodded.
Wolfgang briefly touched her elbow, but she gently pulled away. She walked on her own.
The group did not leave the courtyard in an orderly fashion. Mary walked slowly, because she had never fled before. Fiona held Meghan. Lito stayed with Justine, without looking at her. Brian took Justin by the wrist and didn’t let go until they reached the narrow path to the terrace. Emmett walked very quietly.

Behind them, the dead woman remained in the courtyard, illuminated by two lanterns.Above her, the chapel lay bathed in moonlight. And for the first time that evening, she looked paler than death itself.