A Terrible Beauty (31 page)

The man stopped in the camp, and called out. Philip, unwilling to come down to his adversary, replied from above.

“You shall have to come up here, Hakan,” he called.

 

23

I ran in the direction of the two men, who were pounding each other with blows that turned my stomach with every sickening thud, and I stopped only when I saw how close they were to the edge of the ridge. “Please!” I cried, feeling Colin come up from behind, grabbing me and restraining me from going any nearer to them. “You must stop!” I called again, so loudly that my voice started to break. The sound must have caught Philip's attention, for he turned his head in my direction, giving his enemy the chance to land a swift punch to his face. I struggled against Colin's strong arms—futilely, as he was not about to let me go—realizing only too late the catastrophic error of my decision to yell that final time. I had given his enemy the chance to topple Philip.

“You should never have taken what was not yours, Chapman,” said the man. I recognized him as the tall man I had seen on Nea Kameni. Philip was swaying dangerously on his feet, trying to shake off the effect of the blow, which had left him visibly dazed. In a flash, Colin dropped his hold on me as the Turk lunged at his adversary, sending Philip sprawling backward over the ridge. In that same instant, Colin pulled out a pistol and fired it. The man, who had started in my direction, crumpled to the ground.

I rushed to the edge of the cliff and looked over. Philip's fall had been stopped by a large rock. His body contorted grotesquely, but his eyes were open, and he looked at me, pleading. Trembling and moving with extreme care, I slowly made my way to him, crouching down low to the ground, not wanting to risk taking a fall of my own. By the time I reached his side, his breathing was shallow and rough.

“I should never have troubled you,” he said.

“Quiet,” I said, pushing his sandy hair back from his forehead. “None of that matters now.” Blood spattered his lips as he started to cough. “You must focus on breathing and taking care not to move. Colin will go for help, and before you know it you'll be on your way to recovery.” The words sounded inane, and I knew them to be a lie, but I did not know what else to say.

“You don't understand, Kallista,” he said. “I had no right. I—I am not—”

“I know,” I said. “You are not he. I knew yesterday when you said you hadn't read
Lady Audley's Secret
. Nothing pleased me more on my wedding trip than learning Philip had read it even before I had. And yet, even after realizing you are an impostor, I still chose to come after you today, because I want to help you. I will hold your hand while you tell me your story, and you will see everything is going to be fine.” I had heard Colin approaching from behind and looked back at him.

“The man is injured, but not so severely that I can't question him,” he said. “I aimed carefully to make sure he would be able to stand up to interrogation. I have secured him, but should go back and get him to talk. I will not be out of sight. Call for me if you require any assistance.”

I blinked back tears. “Mr. Chapman is telling me a story.” The look in my husband's eyes told me that, like me, he knew the poor man was not long for the world. Nothing mattered now other than making him as comfortable as possible through these last minutes. “Though if there's any champagne to be had … I understand our adversary is finished. Did you hear that, Mr. Chapman? You need not worry any longer. You are safe.” Colin slipped off to return to the man he had captured.

“I am most grateful. But you should leave me be,” he said. “I am not worthy of—”

“I shall be the judge of that,” I said. “Now tell me, friend, how all this came to be.”

“I knew Philip quite well,” he said. “I worked in an antiquities store in London that he frequented, and over the years we came to be close. We shared a passion for Greece and Homer, and he respected my opinions and analysis. I read classics at Oxford, you see.” He paused to cough. “I had distinguished myself at Harrow. My mother always insisted I receive a top-notch education and my father ran a shop successful enough to ensure I could get one.”

“So you and Philip were intellectual equals and enjoyed a lively discussion,” I said. “I can see why you were friends.”

“I thought we were friends, Kallista—but I should not call you that any longer, Lady Emily.”

“You may call me Kallista.” His hair had tumbled back over his brow. I brushed it away from his eyes.

“We spent a great deal of time together when he was in London. One day he came into the shop and we got embroiled in a discussion about Alexander the Great and Achilles—” He coughed again.

“A favorite topic of his,” I said.

“Quite. It was time for me to close up, and he suggested we go to the pub for a pint so we might continue our conversation. From that day on, we met there regularly when he was in town. In general, the only topic we addressed was classics. He told me everything about how he came to love the subject, from his boyhood when his grandfather gave him a copy of
The Iliad
to his approach to learning Greek and the topics of his essays at Cambridge. One day, he was sitting at our usual table, beaming, and I asked him what had caused this joy—I expected it to be a frieze, at least—and he surprised me by saying he had fallen in love. He told me all about you, down to the details of what you were wearing and whom you'd spurned that night at Lady Elliott's.”

“How very indiscreet,” I said.

“It was not that way, madam, truly. He waxed enthusiastic about you like nothing I'd ever seen. I promise, he did adore you, no matter what you think about infatuation and the rest.”

“I believe you,” I said.

“As I said, I considered him a friend. I even sent the two of you a wedding gift—a small sculpture of Hera, goddess of marriage.”

“I remember the piece,” I said. “Philip told me it came from an old friend. I have it in my gallery in our country house.”

“He told me of his plan to give a photograph of you to the artist Renoir and have him paint a portrait from it. He showed me the ivory brooch he purchased for you as a wedding gift,” he said. “He thought its beauty to be as delicate as yours. I agreed, which is why I chose a similar one to give you here on Santorini. I do hope you will keep it, although I have no rights to ask.”

“Of course I will keep it.”

“At hearing the news of my friend's death, I was terribly grieved. When the time was appropriate, I came to Berkeley Square to see you—to make a call of condolence. The butler brought me inside, but your mother refused to let me see you. An education alone does not a gentleman make, and I suppose she saw me for the shopkeeper I was.”

“She is a dreadful woman,” I said. “You ought not to have taken it personally.”

“I did not, I assure you,” he said. “I might have forgot about it altogether had I not seen you, later, in the British Museum, engaged in a lively conversation with the Keeper of Greek and Roman antiquities. I confess I fell in love with you on the spot. You made such intelligent observations about the differences between Praxiteles and Polycleitus, stating in no uncertain terms that Praxiteles' wit made Polycleitus' sculptures look more like academic studies than passionate works of art. How could one not fall in love?”

“Indeed,” Colin said, returning from his post. “Emily is constantly drawing in unsuspecting classicists. It is one of her most charming characteristics.”

“I am most sorry, Hargreaves. I have behaved abominably toward you.”

“Think nothing of it, old boy.” Colin said. “Might I have a quick word, Emily?” He pulled me a few feet away and spoke in the barest whisper. “The man is not Demir, but admits that he killed Kallas. If he is not Demir—”

“Demir could be nearby and we are in danger,” I said. “I cannot leave him alone here to die.”

He looked at me, all seriousness, and I half expected him to argue, but he did not. “Very well,” Colin said. “I shall do my best to keep watch for any unexpected visitors.”

“Your husband is a very good man,” Mr. Chapman said after Colin had stepped away.

“Yes,” I said. “But now you must take a little water.” He could not raise his head, so I tipped my canteen to his lips.

“I did love you in that first moment, I confess,” he said, “but I had no intention of declaring myself to you. Your mother had made it clear my attentions would not be welcome. But I kept coming across you in the museum—you spoke to me once. I was with one of the keepers. He introduced us and we discussed red figure vases.”

“I am sorry I do not remember.”

“There was no reason you should, particularly as I wore a beard then and looked quite different,” he said. “Regardless, our conversation was enormously significant to me, because during it I realized that my soul longed for you, and I believed that we could be the sort of couple Shakespeare made immortal.”

“Things didn't turn out well for most of his couples,” I said.

“You are right, of course, but I felt certain we were intended for each other. At the same time, I knew I could not court you in any ordinary fashion. Earls' daughters don't marry shopkeepers, and what could I do to correct that injustice?”

I assumed the question to be rhetorical.

“I decided to take matters into my own hands. If I could not win your affection openly, I would try another approach. I cannot take credit for the initial inspiration. It came, one day, most unexpectedly, when I had gone back to Oxford to visit the Ashmolean Museum. While there, a gentleman I did not recognize approached me, calling me
Ashton
. Confused, I told him my name, and he apologized, saying I looked so much like someone he had known at Cambridge that he had assumed me to be him.”

“And the man he thought you were was Philip,” I said.

“Yes. We laughed about it, reminisced about him briefly, and went our separate ways. Almost immediately the seed of an idea took hold in me. I had all the time in the world before me, and I knew that with great care and patience, I would be able to realize my dreams. Twice before, when Lord Ashton was still alive, people who knew us both commented on how striking it was that our eyes were identical shades of blue.”

“But Fritz—and his story of meeting you in Africa—he is nothing more than your accomplice?”

“No.” He coughed again. “I am glad I will not be alive to see his reaction to my duplicity. I had managed to acquire a rather tidy sum of money from my shop over the years, and that, combined with what I acquired from selling it, enabled me to embark on my plan. First, I traveled to Africa, where I hunted with his favorite guide—I knew I would need firsthand experience in stalking big game if I were to convince anyone I was Ashton—and spent nearly a year there. I got the scar your husband recognized there, after convincing a group of Masai guides to take me on a lion hunt. I was so terrified standing there, as we encircled the thicket into which they had driven the beast, that I dropped my spear on my leg, injuring myself, not realizing how fortuitous the accident would prove. I knew Ashton had taken part in a lion hunt that resulted in him getting a scar, but I could never have anticipated being saved from exposure by having one of my own. I only regret that mine came from cowardice, unlike Ashton's.”

His breath was becoming more ragged. “I did fall ill in Africa, though not seriously, and after I had more or less recovered, I went in search of a group of travelers whom I could convince to bring me to Cairo. My emaciated appearance brought veracity to my story.”

“So Fritz knows nothing of this?” I asked, pulling a handkerchief from my pocket. I moistened it with water from my canteen and wiped the dust and blood from his face.

“No. We had become close during our travels, sharing as we do an interest in Greece. From the first day we met on the Dark Continent, he has proven his sincere friendship time and time again. He even insisted I go with him to Munich, where I stayed in his parents' house. You know most of the story from there. Everything I told you about seeing you with Hargreaves at Berkeley Square and the rest was true. Reiner never suspected me to be anyone but Ashton, because I have lived as him for all these years.”

“The story you told me—surely Philip was not so indiscreet as to have discussed our wedding night?”

“No, not at all,” he said. “You told me the story, Kallista. All I did was respond accordingly and pause long enough for you to fill in the details. I knew a gentleman would have had port after dinner. I apologize for having prompted you to reveal something so intimate.”

“What could you have hoped to achieve by coming to me here?” I asked. “You knew I had married again.”

“It was my dearest wish that you might come to love me. Or rather, to reignite the love I firmly believed you had felt for your first husband. I removed myself from the villa deliberately, hoping my gentlemanly offer of keeping away would impress you, that you would see my nobility and start to think you ought to give me another chance. If that failed, I was prepared to pursue my legal options. Your second marriage would have been declared invalid if Ashton were still alive.”

I wanted to shout recriminations at him, but the gray pallor of his skin and the bluish tint beginning to color his lips changed my mind. “I am here with you now, on Santorini, just as you always wished.”

“Yes.” He was struggling to keep his eyes open.

“Would you do me one kindness?” I asked. “Would you tell me your name? I do not want to know you, a man of such devotion and conviction, only by your nom de guerre.”

“Alastair Jones,” he said.

“Thank you.” I stroked his forehead. “Would you like some more water?”

“No—I don't think I could swallow it. But there is more I have to tell you.” He reached for my hand. His skin felt cold as he recounted several more things that had transpired in the course of his masquerade. That done, he turned to the subject of the man who had died the night the archaeologists arrived at the villa. “You must know I did not mean Bohn to be harmed in any of this. It is my fault he fell, though. He was trying to save me. I brought on all this horror. He came into my tent the very night I was planning to go to the villa. I was going to feign illness.”