‘Then who did?’

The sun suddenly went behind a cloud, and time seemed to slow to a crawl. Mariana could hear the first drops of rain, tapping at the stone windowsill in the folly, and an owl screeching somewhere in the distance. And in this timeless space, Mariana realised something: she already knew what Zoe was going to say, and perhaps, on some level, she had always known.

Then the sun came out again – time caught up with itself with an abrupt jolt. And Mariana repeated the question.

‘Who wrote the letter, Zoe?’

Zoe stared at her, her eyes full of tears. She spoke in a whisper.

‘Sebastian, of course.’

      Part Six

   Oft have I heard that grief softens the mind,

And makes it fearful and degenerate;

Think therefore on revenge, and cease to weep.

   William Shakespeare, Henry VI, Part 2

1

Mariana and Zoe stared at each other in silence.

It was raining now, and Mariana could hear and smell the rain hitting the mud outside. She could see raindrops breaking up the reflections of shivering, shaking trees in the river. Finally, she broke the silence.

‘You’re lying,’ she said.

‘No.’ Zoe shook her head. ‘I’m not. Sebastian wrote the letter. He wrote it to me.’

‘That’s not true. He—’ Mariana struggled to find the words. ‘Sebastian – didn’t write this.’

‘Of course he did. Wake up. You’re so blind, Mariana.’

Mariana glanced at the letter in her hand. She stared at it helplessly. ‘You … and Sebastian …’ She couldn’t finish the sentence. She looked up at Zoe, desperately, hoping she would take pity on her.

But Zoe only had pity for herself, and her eyes glittered as they brimmed with tears. ‘I loved him, Mariana. I loved him—’

‘No. No—’

‘It’s true. I’ve been in love with Sebastian ever since I can remember – ever since I was a little girl. And he loved me.’

‘Zoe, stop. Please—’

‘You have to face it, now. Open your eyes. We were lovers. We were lovers ever since that trip to Greece. On my fifteenth birthday, in Athens, remember? Sebastian took me into the olive grove, by the house – he made love to me, there, in the dirt.’

‘No.’ Mariana wanted to laugh, but it was too sick to laugh at. It was horrible. ‘You’re lying—’

‘No, you’re lying – to yourself – that’s why you’re so fucked up – because deep down, you know the truth. It was all bullshit. Sebastian never loved you. It was me he loved – always me. He only married you to be near me … And for the money, of course … you know that, don’t you?’

Mariana shook her head. ‘I’m – I’m not listening to this.’

She turned and walked out of the folly. She kept walking.

Then she started to run.

2

‘Mariana,’ Zoe called after her. ‘Where are you going? You can’t run away. Not any more.’

Mariana ignored her and kept going. Zoe followed her.

The dark clouds thundered above, and suddenly, there was a massive streak of lightning. The sky was almost green. Then, the heavens opened. Rain started falling heavily, pummelling the earth, churning up the surface of the river.

Mariana ran into the wood. It was dark and gloomy in the trees. The ground was moist, sticky, and it smelled dank. The interlocking branches of the trees were covered with intricate cobwebs, mummified bluebottles, and other insects, suspended in silken strands above her head.

Zoe followed, taunting her; her voice echoing through the trees.

‘One day, Grandfather caught us in the olive grove. He threatened to tell you – so Sebastian had to kill him. He suffocated him right then with those giant hands of his. Then Grandfather left you all that money … So much money – it dazzled Sebastian – he had to have it. He wanted it for me, for him – for us. But you were in the way …’

The branches from the trees grabbed at Mariana as she fought her way past, tearing and scratching her hands and her arms.

She could hear Zoe close behind her, crashing through the trees, like an avenging Fury. All the time, she kept talking.

‘Sebastian said if anything happened to you, he’d be the first suspect. “We need a distraction,” he said, “like in a magic trick.” Remember the tricks he used to do for me when I was little? “We need to make everyone look at the wrong thing – and in the wrong place.” I told him about Professor Fosca and the Maidens – and that’s when he got the idea. It grew in his mind like a beautiful flower, he said – he had such a poetic way of talking – remember? He worked out every detail. And it was beautiful. It was perfect. But then … you took him away – and he never came back. Sebastian didn’t want to go to Naxos. You made him. It’s your fault he’s dead.’

‘No,’ Mariana whispered. ‘That’s not fair—’

‘Yes, it is,’ Zoe hissed. ‘You killed him. And you killed me too.’

Suddenly, the trees thinned out in front of them – and they found themselves in a clearing. The marsh spread out before them. It was a large pool of limpid green water, overgrown with weeds and brambles. There was a fallen tree, split open and slowly rotting, covered in yellow-green moss and surrounded by spotted toadstools.

And there was a strange smell of decay, a stench of something foul and rotten – was it the stagnant water?

Or was it – death?

Zoe stared at Mariana, breathless, holding the knife. Her eyes were red and full of tears.

‘When he died, it was like I’d been stabbed in the guts. I didn’t know what to do with all my anger – all my pain … Then, one day – I understood – I saw. I had to carry out Sebastian’s plan for him, just like he wanted. It was the last thing I’d be able to do for him. To honour him, and his memory – and have my revenge.’

Mariana stared at her, incredulous. She was barely able to find her voice. She spoke in a whisper.

‘What have you done, Zoe?’

‘Not me. Him. It was all Sebastian … I just did what he told me to. It was a labour of love – I copied out the quotes he selected, planted the postcards like he said, underlined the passages in Fosca’s books. When I had a supervision, I pretended to go to the bathroom, and planted some hairs from Tara’s head in the back of Fosca’s wardrobe – I spattered some of her blood there too. The police haven’t found it yet. But they will.’

‘Edward Fosca is innocent? You framed him?’

‘No.’ Zoe shook her head. ‘You framed him, Mariana. Sebastian said all I had to do was make you think I was afraid of Fosca. You did the rest. That was the funniest part of this whole performance: watching you play detective.’ She smiled. ‘You’re not the detective … You’re the victim.’

Mariana stared into Zoe’s eyes, as all the pieces came together in her mind, and she finally faced the terrible truth she had wanted to avoid seeing. There was a word for this moment in Greek tragedy: anagnorisis – recognition – the moment the hero finally sees the truth and understands his fate – and how it’s always been there, the whole time, in front of him. Mariana used to wonder what that moment felt like. Now she knew.

‘You killed them – those girls – how could you?’

‘The Maidens were never important, Mariana – they were just a distraction. A red herring, that’s what Sebastian said.’ She shrugged. ‘Tara was … difficult. But Sebastian said it was a sacrifice I had to make. He was right. It was a relief, in a way.’

‘A relief?’

‘To finally see myself clearly. I know who I am now – I’m like Clytemnestra, you know? – or Medea. That’s what I’m made of.’

‘No. No, you’re wrong.’ Mariana turned away. She couldn’t bear to look at her any more. The tears streamed down her cheeks. ‘You’re not a goddess, Zoe. You’re a monster.’

‘If I am,’ she heard Zoe say, ‘Sebastian made me one. And so did you.’

And then, Mariana felt a sudden force to her back.

She was knocked to the ground, with Zoe on her back. Mariana struggled, but Zoe used all of her weight, pinning Mariana down in the mud. The earth was cold and wet against Mariana’s face. And she heard Zoe whispering in her ear.

‘Tomorrow, when they find your body, I’ll say to the inspector I tried to stop you, that I begged you not to investigate the folly alone – but you insisted. Clarissa will tell him my story about Professor Fosca – they’ll search his rooms – find the evidence I put there …’

Zoe climbed off Mariana and flipped her onto her back. She loomed over her, raising the knife. Her eyes were wild, monstrous.

‘And you’ll be remembered as just another of Edward Fosca’s victims. Victim number four. No one will ever guess the truth … that we killed you – Sebastian and I.’

She raised the knife higher … about to strike—

And Mariana suddenly found her strength. She reached up and grabbed Zoe’s arm. They tussled for a moment before Mariana swung Zoe’s hand as hard as she could – making Zoe lose control of the knife—

The knife flew out of her hand, and whizzed through the air – disappearing into the nearby grass with a thud.