They Thought I Was Dead: Sandy’s Story

33 23 July 2007 — Looking back

Nicos was late. We’d arranged to meet at 1.30 in the Casino d’Azur and it was now 2 p.m. I was starting to get concerned, all my random fears that he might be in cahoots with Albazi growing stronger with every minute that he did not appear.

My head was in a very strange place. My anxiety was through the roof and my self-medication by way of another Valium was not helping. Nicos had a snake tattoo running down his neck. Could I trust someone with a tattoo like that? Why was I even so bothered about his tattoo? As goes the last line of one of my favourite films, Some Like It Hot, ‘Nobody’s perfect.’ The universe seemed to have gone weird on me, as if it was against me, and having a big joke at my expense.

I was dangerously in debt. I couldn’t stay with my husband, as I would bring no end of humiliation on him, and I very definitely did not want to tell him I was pregnant. Because then I would be stuck. Stuck in a relationship I could not be in any more, even if I somehow managed to sort the Albazi shit out, and trapped by a lie.

The lie that Roy was the father.

He could be, but, shamefully, so could Cassian, who I had slept with a year ago, but also more recently just before I told him I didn’t want to continue seeing him. I was faithful to Roy for most of our marriage. Not that I’m trying to justify anything.

Right now the only option I can see is to leave Roy before my bump starts to show. And before Roel Albazi’s boss sets the knifeman on me. Thanks to my small inheritance, I’ve got enough cash to tide me over for a bit. So long as I don’t lose it all this afternoon on more spins of the wheel.

But where do I disappear and how?

There were two of us in this now. Unless the test was wrong. But that was unlikely.

OVER 99 % ACCURATE!

I was actually gambling sensibly for maybe the first time since I’d got the bug. Just small stakes this afternoon — one-pound and five-pound chips. Just as well I was keeping my stakes low, because I was on yet another losing streak. The roulette wheel wasn’t speaking to me, the ball wasn’t speaking to me, nor were the numbers and colours. Only the nice young croupier was speaking to me, but even she wasn’t saying much, other than she liked my hair colour, and she asked me where I’d bought my cream blouse and seemed excited when I said Zara in Brighton. She had a day off tomorrow and would go there, she said.

I started to raise my stakes a little because I was increasingly annoyed about Nicos. He was definitely a no-show. Great. How had I misjudged him so badly? I was now certain he was an Albazi plant and I was just a dumb sucker. Over the next half-hour, gambling recklessly, I lost the equivalent of about thirty Zara blouses.

And my patience.

3.25 p.m.

Sod you, Nicos. Go to hell. My anger was making me reckless. I dropped another £5,000 on the wheel. Great stuff. I’d managed to turn £30,000 into £20,000. And dwindling.

Suddenly, my phone, which was on silent, started vibrating. I looked down: it was a call from Roy. I ignored it.

I wanted so badly to take another Valium to calm down even though I knew it was becoming more and more of an addiction. A way to cope with the crisis I had got myself into.

I was about to reach for one when, over two and a half hours late, I saw Nicos across the far side of the room, heading towards me with an urgency and a look of apology that instantly melted all my anger towards him.

I felt a thrill at seeing him that I found hard to put into words. Like I’d taken a drug that instantly filled me with warmth and confidence. I didn’t need the tranquillizer, I had the sense, at that moment, that my future had walked into this grand room that was filled with gaming tables and hung with chandeliers. My white knight. Not in shining armour, but in a lightweight leather bomber jacket, black T-shirt, blue chinos and brown loafers.

On Nicos they looked incredibly sexy.

I raised an arm, signalling him to stop in his tracks, held up my phone and pointed to it, then with the index finger and thumb of my free hand made a zip-it sign across my lips.

He stopped and nodded. He got it.

Of course he did, he was smart.

I turned my phone off, waited until the display had died completely, then gave it a few more seconds before I gave him the thumbs up, and he continued over to me, hooded eyes locking onto mine.

‘Forgive me,’ he said.

Just the way he said those words in his charming accent, while smiling at the same time, made me feel ready to forgive him instantly, before even hearing his apology.

‘To be this late is inexcusable,’ he continued. ‘It was a flight that was badly delayed. I had important business. I’m so glad you are still here.’

I gave him a reproachful look. ‘What business was more important than me?’

Instantly I regretted saying those words. They sounded pathetically shallow. So not me.

To my relief he grinned. ‘The business of protecting you, Sandy Grace, OK?’

‘Maybe.’ I said it with a teasing grin.

He produced a small phone from his jacket pocket. ‘We will communicate via this from now. Switch your old phone back on only when you absolutely have to. And be very careful what you say when it is switched on.’ He looked at me sternly. ‘If I’m going to keep you safe, you must always do exactly what I say to you. I’m making good plans for you.’

I looked back into his eyes, searching them for any hint of deceit. But if it was there, I couldn’t find it. ‘You’re making plans for me, Nicos? Is this like a job phone? Like the one my husband is attached to?’ I laughed. ‘I barely know you.’

‘Do you really know anyone, Sandy? How much does someone let anyone else into their life — even their husband or wife? Isn’t trust a gut feeling?’

I shrugged. ‘I guess it is,’ I said.

With his stare fixed on me, he said, ‘There is no mathematical equation for trust. No matter how long you and I spend in each other’s company, you will never really know me any more than I will know you, beyond what I choose to let you know, and beyond the superficial.’

‘Fine,’ I replied. ‘So let’s be superficial. I know nothing about you. Tell me about where you grew up, tell me about your parents. Your family?’

He shrugged. ‘I was raised on a small island in the Aegean Sea, Mykonos. It’s a cool place, but I didn’t appreciate that when I was a kid.’

‘I know it,’ I said. ‘I absolutely love it there. I’ve always wondered what it is like out of season, as I’ve only been as a tourist and it’s so busy. But so beautiful, those white buildings against the blue skies, stunning!’

‘It is very quiet in the winter months, that’s when I like it the most. My father was a tobacconist, with a little shop in the town selling cigarettes, cigars, soft drinks, ice creams, cold cappuccinos. My mother worked with him until she got cancer, when I was twelve, and died a year later. My sister and I helped my father out in the shop during our teens.’ He hesitated. ‘You want more?’

‘I do,’ I said. And I genuinely did.

‘I guess my horizon was bigger than the tiny island of Mykonos. When I joined the army I wanted adventure, but I never saw any action. So when I was discharged, as you call it — I think — I figured maybe the police would be more my thing. I moved to Athens and after being promoted to detective was asked to be an interrogator. Since then, bigger opportunities beckoned, and now a new one beckons.’

‘Which is?’

‘Helping you to hide.’

I remember looking at him, still unsure quite where he was coming from, and asking him, ‘Why do you want to help me?’

He stared at me levelly. ‘Because I like you.’ His eyes sparkled with charm.

I tried to read his expression. To find a subtext. But beyond his eyes there was nothing but steely resolve.

‘I know you need to hide. And you have three days to do it. I can help you. Trust me, I’ve had previous experience. But you will really have to trust me. If I tell you, jump, will you do that?’

‘I guess that will depend on how high,’ I replied, smiling.

He gave me a deadly serious, almost mesmerizing look then said, ‘In the situation you are in, Sandy, that is really not funny. If you want me to help you, I need you to take me seriously. Are you able to do that?’

We stared at each other for several seconds. ‘I am,’ I said finally.

‘Good,’ he replied. ‘I’ve found out a little about the people you owe money to. These are not nice people. When you tell them you cannot pay they are not going to pat you on the head and say, Never mind, dear, let us know when you can.’

‘I’m aware of that.’

He shook his head. ‘You’ve led a protected life, married to a cop. Taking that loan from those people, you’ve stepped into a jungle where the normal rules of society don’t apply. Even if you stayed with your husband, he wouldn’t be able to protect you. Believe me, Albazi is a nasty man, but the people he works for make him look like your favourite childhood uncle. You understand what I’m saying?’

‘I do,’ I replied.

‘So get real.’