"No sweat," I say. I flex my muscles to demonstrate.
"Please be careful," says Lucy, "I don't want you to have a hernia or anything. You must be a bit careful at your age."
Ouch. That hurt. "OK. Ready? One, two three, push." Together we strain against the gate trying to slide it open. I stretch out my arms and grunt. Lucy follows suit and is giving it her all. After a couple of minutes of noisy effort, I fall away from the gate and groan, hands to my chest. Lucy is worried. I can tell from the sheer panic across her face that she's running through the very limited emergency medical options on the island. One to be precise, the overweight doctor in the next village who apparently tells all his Greek patients, whatever their ailment, that they should eat less cheese pies and lose weight. He is isn't popular. To the ex-pats he is charm personified, all smiles and concern for their condition, as he pockets their fifty euros.
"Are you OK?" she asks. I throw myself to the ground. "Roydon, Roydon, are you OK?"
I look up, a pained expression on my face. She has her made up face centimetres from mine and I can see her complexion beneath. I wink at her.
"You complete bastard," she says.
"Let's call it one all," I say jumping to my feet. I wince as I feel a muscle pull in my thigh.
"If you've finished being a dickhead, perhaps you can tell me how we are going to get through this bloody gate," she says. Her eyes shine with anger.
"Bien sur," I say. I walk over to the gate and put my arm through the upright bars. There's just about enough room. I reach behind the metal box that houses the motor which operates the gate and flick away the contact. I stand up and easily slide the gate open. "Voila," I bow low. "After you madame."
"Sometimes you are such a child," Lucy says as she sweeps past me. The grounds of the house are impressive. As with most of the villas built here, Helen has pulled out most of the local flora, save for a few isolated olive trees that sit in little islands of imported soil surrounded by flowers that wouldn't grow here of their own volition. We walk up to the house. To be fair it's much more modest than it looks from way down below. I would think it has no more than four bedrooms. The pseudo Tudor fascade however is just as bad close to. The house has been built to take advantage of a north easterly view towards Palairos. The front door is therefore at the rear of the house facing us as we walk up the drive. There is a detached garage off to our left. I branch off to inspect and Lucy follows me. The windows are grubby from the dust that blows in the air, especially up here where there is a constant breeze to cool you down. I rub away the grime and peer inside. Parked inside is an MGB GT convertible. I think I've seen Helen driving around the island in this bright red car with UK plates.
"Is that her car?" I ask.
Lucy nods. "I love her car. I would kill for one like that."
I think better of suggesting that perhaps she could ask her dad to buy her one to add to the moped, the quad, the Smart Car, and the new RIB that I've heard she is lining up. Good old dad.
"Well, if she's gone visiting, she's gone on shank's pony," I say. Lucy looks at me as though I'm speaking a foreign language.
"She's got a quad too," Lucy says. "I think she normally keeps it under the sunshade round the front. Let's see."
On the way we decide it's sensible to try the front door just in case. There's a doorbell which I ring. Inside we hear the musical chime play, but there is no movement, and no-one comes to the door.
"I'll try the door," I say. Lucy nods. It's locked. I peer through the windows either side of the stout wooden door. Just like you'd have seen in Tudor times I'm sure. Inside the house is tidy. Nothing seems out of place. The sun is shining into the house and making rainbow patterns through the cut glass chandeliers that Helen has installed. Lucy and I give up on the front door and wander around to the other side of the house. Pretty much the whole of this floor level aspect is glass. Excessive glazing combined with wooden beams on the first floor are an unusual combination. The window frame is a minimal design so as not to interrupt the view from inside. I try the handle on the sliding door, but it doesn't move.
"I'm not sure we are going to get inside," I say to Lucy. "Anyway, from out here it looks as though everything is in order. Certainly no sign of a struggle or anything like that."
"But unless we can get inside we are not going to know where Helen is, and that was the whole point of coming up here, wasn't it?"
I turn around to face the sea view and to think. In front of me is a patio and the regulation infinity pool. Above me is a balcony that presumably also acts as a sunshade for downstairs. Very necessary for the heat of the summer. I move to my right to take a look. It is indeed a balcony, more the size of a terrace really. "OK, if you want to get inside, I think I probably can," I say. "But I don't want there to be any comeback. I don't fancy being banged up in a Greek jail for breaking and entering."
"Helen's my friend, I'm worried about her. It's not as though we are going to do any damage or steal anything. So please, if you can get us in, then do. I'll explain if necessary."
Lucy does speak excellent Greek and the chances of a police patrol passing by seems slight. At this time of day, the island's policemen will both be sitting in some Taverna somewhere enjoying the owner's hospitality.
"OK. I'll give it a go," I say. "No promises though."
I don't know if Lucy is pausing to consider why I am familiar with breaking into houses, but she doesn't let on if she is.
"Help me push the table over here can you Lucy?"
Once the heavy wooden table is in place, I put one of the chairs up on top of it. It leaves a slight scratch as I move it into position. Shit. I climb up onto the table and do a Greek style dance for Lucy's amusement, before climbing up onto the chair and pulling myself up over the railings of the balcony.
"It's an even better view from up here," I call.
Lucy shows no sign of intending to join me. She's sat down on one of the other chairs which she has pulled next to the swimming pool. I take a split second to look out seaward. The afternoon wind has whipped up the sea so that it is covered with bright white crests backlit by the sun. Twenty or thirty yachts are taking advantage of the perfect conditions. There is an all-weather sofa up here, presumably for enjoying the evenings away from any house guests. There's also another wooden table and chairs, smaller than the one below. I move past the furniture towards the patio door. In my experience it is amazing how many times otherwise careful homeowners forget to lock their upstairs windows and doors. I feel the bulge in my trouser pocket. I've got my trusty little tool with me in case Helen is one of the few who do remember. As it happens, I don't need to break and enter. The door slides open. I'm in. The bedroom is very pink and fluffy. Cushions everywhere, piled high on the bed that has been neatly made since it was last used. There are photographs in frames and plenty of knick-knacks. Reminders of past holidays and the like. This bedroom is not to my taste, but it takes all sorts to make a world and I suspect my bijou floating bedroom would not be to Helen's taste. There's a curious smell in the room too. I'm guessing essential oils.
"Are you in?" I hear Lucy calling from below.
"I am," I shout. "I'll come down and let you in."
The house has a rather nice open staircase in its centre. Downstairs is open plan. There's a kitchen area to the left and a table for dining to the right. Towards the patio window, through which I can see Lucy peering with her hand shading the reflection, is the seating area. A modern L shaped settee with a glass and chrome coffee table in front. The settee points not towards the view, or even the wood burning stove on the far wall, as I would have expected, but in the direction of the largest TV I think I've ever seen. I imagine Helen sitting here watching EastEnders or Emmerdale. No, definitely she's more EastEnders.
"Hurry up," Lucy calls. I smile at her through the window. As I do so I move towards the sofa and sit down. I pick up the remote control and peer at it closely. I lean back as if I've found something interesting to watch.
"You can be a total prick,