Fool's Gold Read online

  FOOL’S GOLD

  PJ SKINNER

  The Sam Harris Series

  Book 1

  Second edition

  Copyright 2018 PJ Skinner

  For my Family

  Discover other titles in the Sam Harris Series

  Hitler’s Finger

  The Star of Simbako (Summer 2018)

  Go to PJSKINNER website for more info

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  License Notes

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  PJ Skinner

  Table of Contents

  Chapter I

  Chapter II

  Chapter III

  Chapter IV

  Chapter V

  Chapter VI

  Chapter VII

  Chapter VIII

  Chapter IX

  Chapter X

  Chapter XI

  Chapter XII

  Chapter XIII

  Chapter XIV

  Chapter XV

  Chapter XVI

  Chapter XVII

  Chapter XVIII

  Chapter XIX

  Chapter XX

  Chapter XXI

  Chapter XXII

  Chapter XXIII

  Chapter XXIV

  Other Books in the Series

  Coming Soon

  Connect with the Author

  Chapter I

  Sam woke with a start. The room was dark, and she didn't recognise her surroundings. She left her bed and crossed the hall into another bedroom which had a view of the valley. There was a double bed against one wall. Sam lay on it until the sun rose, watching the sunlight working its way down the slopes of the El Grande Volcano meditating on the luck that had brought her there. She finished her Master’s degree in geology a few short weeks ago and already she had a contract to work in Sierramar, on the north-western coast of South America. A certain amount of serendipity was involved but her perseverance had been rewarded. You make your own luck.

  Two months earlier, she had been reading the travel section of a newspaper in the London University library when she had noticed that one of the travel agents had a cheap package holiday on offer to Rhodes, a Greek island she had visited before. While her last visit left her with unpleasant memories, Sam needed somewhere to finish her thesis after her lease ran out. She was a pragmatist who found it hard to resist a bargain.

  She smiled as she replaced the receiver after her call to the travel agent. She could feel the sun on her back already. It was cheaper to go to Rhodes than stay in London, and she loved Greek food. There was a free swimming pool on her doorstep in the form of St Paul’s Bay, the smaller of the two bays at Lindos. Later her mixed feelings about going to an island she had visited with Simon made her wonder if she had made the right choice. He’s not ruining this holiday too, the bastard. She pushed him out of her mind.

  ‘You’re going to Rhodes again? That’s nice, dear,’ her father said, as he drove her home from the university in a car filled to the roof with her belongings.

  ‘Yes, it’s so cheap, they are almost paying me to go.’

  This elicited a smile of approval. As a member of the Harris family, it was compulsory to buy cheap and get a good bargain. They frowned upon full price goods as the territory of the squander bug as both her parents were still obsessed by the make-do and mend culture of World War II. Sam had bought into this and spent her life rummaging in sales and looking for cheap offers. Sometimes she wished she could go into a shop and buy something nice in her size at full price like her sister, Hannah, did. But she always waited for the sales.

  ‘Going back to Rhodes, darling? Are you sure that’s a good idea?’ her mother said. ‘You know, with the whole Simon episode and everything?’

  ‘Yes, Mummy, I’m sure. I can’t cross half the planet off my list because I’ve been there with Simon. He came here, remember? Are you suggesting I stop visiting you, too?’

  ‘Don’t be silly, dear. I’m worried that it might upset you to go back to the scene of the big break up.’

  ‘It’s fine. I won’t have time to think about Simon. I’ll be far too busy.’

  The charter flight to Rhodes was full of crying children and grumpy parents, on their way to all-inclusive family resorts. Thank goodness Lindos was so child-unfriendly. The steep cobbled streets and tiny beaches of Lindos didn't suit buggies. She woke with a start as they landed at the parched, concrete airport and stepped out into the heat blinking in the bright sunlight. Within seconds her shirt stuck to her back. She left the airport and found the travel agency’s bus to Lindos ready to leave, its driver idling the engine and releasing black smoke into the still, hot air. She showed him her voucher, and he directed her to the back of the bus. It was air-conditioned, and she sighed with contentment as she leaned back against her seat in the cool air.

  The bus made good time and arrived at Lindos as the tourist buses were leaving the car park on the outskirts of the village. Sam jumped off, collected her luggage from the hold, and set off down the main street following the map she had been given. She only lost her way once before arriving at her temporary home, but her rucksack had got heavy by then and the straps dug into her shoulders. The sign above the door said Sotiris Villas. She swung her bag onto the ground in relief and rang the doorbell. The owner who waited for her in the cobbled courtyard, let her in and grabbed the bag from her grasp. His rough, dry hands felt like the branches of an olive tree.

  ‘Welcome. You’re Sam?’

  ‘Yes, and your name?’

  ‘I am Sotiris, the owner of the property. Follow me.’

  Shade covered the courtyard, but it was still as hot as an oven. He took her to a door off one corner of the courtyard and led her up a short staircase into a studio flat. He showed her the little bathroom and kitchen and stood with her in the main room with the bed tucked into a cool corner at the back.

  ‘Nice, eh? I put the typewriter on the terrace for you.’

  ‘Thank you. It’s lovely.’

  ‘You a writer?’

  ‘No, I need to finish a project.’

  ‘You’re working on holiday?’

  ‘A bit.’

  ‘Well, have fun. I live behind the red door if you need anything.’

  He left, shaking his head.

  Despite the sweat running down her back, Sam felt as if she had landed in heaven. It was perfect. The building painted white inside and out, had a balcony running along its length. Built into the steep side of the hills encircling the bays of Lindos, it provided a view of the entire town. She stepped out on the balcony and found a small table with an ancient typewriter sitting on it. She squinted out over the glittering sea, breathing in the dry air. A cool breeze dried her sweat-soaked shirt. She sat on the balcony until it dark and the mosquitos found her. She thought about her last trip to the island when she had discovered that Simon was a serial cheater. They had broken up after being together throughout their time at university, and missing the chance, as her mother pointed out, of meeting someone nice. She still missed him a year later. His charm and wicked ways combined with his handsome exterior mean that Sam was as shallow as a puddle where he was concerned. It was hard to believe she would never see him again.

  Sam soon felt at home in her small paradise on the hill. Every morning, she descended the steep stone steps that cut through the
cobbled streets of white, flat-roofed houses to St. Paul’s Bay for a snorkel. After her swim, she climbed the hill to her studio for some Greek yoghurt with fresh peaches or apricots and honey for breakfast. She followed this with a morning of work on her dissertation. Inking in the diagrams and charts was a painstaking business, but one made much less tedious sitting in the shade of her balcony and gazing across the low, flat, white houses of Lindos to the Crusader Castle. The shadow of Simon lifted and flew out to sea on warm zephyrs.

  Most days, she spent an hour or two on the beach after the worst of the heat had dissipated, and she became as brown as a nut. One afternoon, she struggled up the hill to the castle in the blistering heat, narrowly avoiding being knocked over by some donkeys coming down from their last shift of the day, taking fat tourists up the hill to the castle, their grey coats caked in dust. She flattened herself against the cool wall and let them clatter past, their hooves slipping on the polished cobbles, their musty smell lingering in the air. She made her way up to the top where she stood on a platform in the ruins and gazed out to sea. A large yacht sailed into the bay opposite her studio. Several people sunbathed on the top deck, and even from the castle she could see they were naked. She walked back to the studio in the cooling evening and got ready for dinner.

  Sam walked to Philomonas’ restaurant, where she ordered a small Greek salad and a portion of moussaka. She enjoyed a gin with lime cordial and soda at her favourite corner table when a party of people arrived and sat opposite her. The five men and two women, tanned to a deep mahogany, had the aloof aura of the wealthy. Had they come from the yacht? Both women were tall and willowy. They looked alike although they appeared to be mother and daughter rather than sisters. The men were also tall, except for one, older and stockier than the others, but still in good shape. He seemed familiar, but she couldn’t place him.

  Her food arrived, and she concentrated on the delicious meal, savouring every bite. She ordered another drink. When she had finished most of her food, she glanced over and saw that some members of the party had already left. Only two men remained. They spoke in a manner that suggested a row but they did not raise their voices. She asked for her bill and attacked the last mouthfuls of food, wanting to get back to her studio to continue reading. The older man stared at her. She still didn’t remember where she had seen him before. A friend of her parents? Out of the blue, he asked her if she was hungry. He meant it as a joke but it humiliated her that he had seen her bolting her food and she blushed to the roots of her hair. He asked her why she was alone and seemed to want to chat. Too embarrassed to stay, she excused herself and left, bumping into the wall in her haste to leave.

  The next day she descended to the bay for her morning swim. She had to swim around the yacht, moored beside the best snorkelling area, as if someone had parked in her space. No one else was swimming and soon her observations of the local sea life absorbed her. A shy octopus, a master of disguise, fascinated her for an hour before she turned back to shore, swimming around the prow of the boat. She heard someone shout from above her and looked up. The man who greeted her the night before leaned over the railing, waving to get her attention. Even through the fog of her goggles, she recognised him. There was no way to pretend that she hadn’t seen him. She pulled the goggles up on top of her head and tried not to look surprised.

  ‘I thought it was you,’ he said, in his broad cockney accent.

  ‘Hello,’ said Sam. ‘You ate in the restaurant last night, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes. I’m here on a friend’s yacht.’ He grimaced. ‘I’m sorry if I appeared rude last night. Too many whiskies. Would you like to join us for dinner tonight?’

  Sam was not a social being, and she still felt embarrassed about the evening before, but she would not turn down dinner with Mike Morton, the famous entrepreneur.

  ‘That would be nice. Same place?’

  ‘Yes, we’re meeting up there to eat and then on to Lindos-by-Night for dancing, if you fancy.’

  ‘What time?’

  ‘Is eight o’clock okay?’

  ‘Yes, I’ll be there.’

  She swam to shore and walked up to the studio. She sat at the table but found it hard to do any drawing. Mike Morton had asked her to dinner. That counted as a significant event. He was a celebrity. Born in the East End of London, he became a successful businessman but his unfortunate habit of abandoning get-rich-quick-schemes and leaving his investors to flounder around without him, had made him notorious in City financial circles. Her father had fallen prey to one of these schemes and the name Mike Morton was rarely mentioned in the Harris household unless it was linked with an Anglo-Saxon insult. The newspapers often featured him in their gossip columns, and he had once been profiled by the Sunday Times magazine. His personal life was also incontinent but his long-suffering wife stayed with him despite the tabloid reports of his various dalliances. Sam found it hard to believe he had an interest in her for any reason, but the chance to meet him up close was way too tempting to turn down.

  ***

  Mike Morton stayed looking over the railings into the translucent water watching the shoals of small fish, their scales flashing in the sunlight. A stocky man with a handsome face, he was forty-two years old and had lost most of his hair. What he had left had been cut short. He wore baggy linen shorts and a light-blue short-sleeved shirt, which emphasised his blue eyes in his craggy face. He shook his head hardly believing his luck. After his conversation with Edward Beckett last night, he had been standing on very thin ice.

  ‘So far, the whole Sierramar venture’s been a complete cock-up. All I can see is my money going down the drain. You spend it faster than my wife does,’ said Edward.

  ‘It’s true that things didn’t go so well this time, but it’s new ground for us. There’s still plenty of opportunity for us to make a big discovery. We have to chalk this up to experience,’ said Mike.

  ‘Experience, eh? In my humble opinion that’s exactly what we’re lacking. We need a geologist.’

  ‘Well, yes, of course, in ideal circumstances that’s exactly what we want. But it will cost more money.’

  Edward had glared at him over the lip of his glass. The conversation was getting a bit awkward. He looked around for a distraction and there was Sam sitting alone in the corner. She was eating her food with the ferocity of someone from a large family or a stint at boarding school.

  ‘Hungry?’ he said, trying to be funny.

  Sam had coloured, a bright traffic light red. She ate the final mouthful, chewing savagely on the food, and then gathering her things, she stood up to leave.

  He had apologised. Despite her scarlet face, he couldn’t help noticing that she was attractive, in a boyish sort of way, not the sort of woman who normally interested him, but there was something about her, an independence of spirit, a proud bearing. The fact that she didn’t seem to want to attract attention had only made her more interesting.

  ‘Are you alone?’ Damn. The wrong thing to say. She folded her arms defensively over the book she carried as if defying them to comment.

  ‘Yes, I’m here finishing the dissertation for my Master’s degree.’

  The two men looked at each other.

  ‘What subject?’ said Edward.

  ‘Geology,’ she said over her shoulder. Mike glanced at her sharply to see if she was joking. She headed for the exit with the air of a startled deer and she hit the doorframe at speed.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  But she was gone, rubbing her shoulder as she took the stairs two at a time. An opportunity lost but he had pretended not to be dismayed. He raised an eyebrow at his companion who looked amused and raised both in reply.

  ‘So, what were we saying about needing a geologist?’ said Edward. He chortled into his whisky. Mike snorted. He was not used to being upstaged. He smiled at Edward, the tension dissipating from his broad back.

  ‘The one that got away?’ asked his friend.

  ‘No woman has ever escaped from me. When I
want a geologist, I snap my fingers.’

  ‘So, you’d employ a female geologist, then? I didn’t know you were a feminist.’

  ‘Edward, Edward, where have you been all your life? I guarantee you she’s desperate. Do you imagine it’s easy for her to get a job? I know it’s 1987 but she hasn’t a hope of being employed in the real world.’

  ‘You may have a point. Well, it’s a small town. I expect she’s here on holiday so I’m sure you’ll see her again. I suppose it’s worth a try.’

  ‘She’ll come cheap and accept crap conditions. It’s a win-win situation for us.’

  ‘Ha! You’re even more of a bastard than I thought you were,’ said Edward. ‘Don’t tell my wife. She’ll start a diatribe about women’s lib. How about one for the road?’

  ‘Yes, that sounds good. Waiter?’

  ***

  As the day wore on, the prospect of going to dinner with a man of such notoriety loomed larger in her mind and Sam decided that she needed to dress to impress. When she looked at the options, her sparse wardrobe alarmed her. She had not anticipated any glamorous evenings in Lindos, nor did she frequent such events. She had nothing suitable to wear. Not wanting the two elegant women in the party showing her up, she walked down into the narrow streets and looked for something to fit the bill. Most of the shops had their dresses hanging outside, so searching for a suitable one didn't involve much effort. She chose a white dress with brocade on the bust, perfect for the warm evenings in Lindos. It was cheap but stylish enough to disguise its humble origins.

  Sam tried to style her hair but ended up putting it in a messy bun as usual. She examined her reflection in the mirror and decided that she looked good. Five feet six in her socks, she had an athlete’s body, mousey brown hair and green eyes, and skin that had tanned to a mocha colour. Some stray freckles marked her nose and cheeks, making her look even younger. She twirled around in her dress and stood on her toes to make herself look thinner. Her only footwear was an old pair of Greek sandals, but her budget did not stretch to anything better and they would come into their own if she needed to dance. She tried to imagine why Mike Morton had invited her to dinner but gave up.