Easier to run
Chapter 10
At the airport, Lara breezed through the dedicated EU lane at border control. Sam with her American passport was taking longer to process.
So Lara found herself hanging around in baggage claim, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible once she had hauled her and Sam's luggage off the carousel. Mostly it worked. She received plenty of looks but her reputation for explosive, unpredictable violence meant most people kept her distance. Most people.
"Oh my God! Lara!"
At that specific moment she was busy checking email on her phone, wishing she had worn a hoodie.
She turned to find two girls bouncing side by side. Barely two feet away from her. "Lara, we love you!" they squeaked in unison.
By their accents she was going to assume they were Australian. Given their plump jowled youth and monstrous, grubby backpacks, she was also going to assume they were slap-bang in the middle of a gap year adventure. Doing some tail-end of the season island hopping, no doubt.
The girls were very tanned. Both wearing shorts and low-cut vests that left little to the imagination. One girl – the one with auburn hair split in pigtails – was especially well-endowed. Her top forced her breasts together in a way that made her cleavage impossible to ignore.
Of course Sam would appear at Lara's side at the exact moment the archaeologist's appreciative gaze travelled down between those perfectly bronzed orbs. She couldn't help it, just as she couldn't help her slightly dazed, illicit smile.
Though that didn't last very long once her eyes met Sam's, and she took a full blast of her companion's scowl.
Sam wasn't the only one to catch Lara checking out the girl. So did the girl herself. She looked pleased, like a rumour had been confirmed.
"I'm a big fan," she breathed.
Engage Brazen Lara Croft mode.
"I can see that."
"Um," the girl bit her lip. "Could I have your autograph?"
"Of course."
The last thing the archaeologist wanted was an influx of admirers; more curious eyes. After they had been so loud on spotting her, giving the backpackers what they wanted seemed like the safest, most discreet course of action.
The girl handed the Englishwoman a marker and immediately tugged aside her own shirt strap. "Would you sign? It's kind of a dare." Then she glanced at her friend. Lara tried to look utterly unfazed as she scrawled her name across the girl's breast, even though every breath the girl took caused her bare skin to brush Lara's hand. A flush crept up her neck. Meanwhile, the girl's companion was filming with her phone the entire time.
The encounter ended with Sam being recruited to take a picture of the two friends flanking Lara. The archaeologist was sure that Cleavage Girl copped a feel of her arse while they posed. At the touch, she turned her head to the young woman, and was answered with a wink.
Sam sighed heavily, and thrust the phone back at the tourists. She shouldered in-between Lara and the girl on the way to retrieve her equipment.
"Right, let's do this."
Lara practically gaped as her former roommate shouldered her bag in one motion, and began hauling off the case filled with camera equipment. When did she get so strong and self-reliant?
Lara smiled one last time at the girls before jogging after her travel companion.
A driver was waiting for them in the arrivals hall, holding up Lara's name on a sign board. He was of the older generation of Greeks who spoke next to no English, and Sam was furious with her, so the couple of hours' drive to Delphi was silent. In fact the only thing her companion said to her during that stretch of the trip was an acidic "Wow, Lara, Just wow" when she tossed her bag in the boot.
So the archaeologist sat stressing over the prospect of her speech that evening. She had spent so much time alone the past five years that she was out of practice in crowds and social situations. More so than before.
Then there was the distraction of Sam, silently fuming next to her. It cracked open a deep, painful hollowness that manifested in the damaged nerves of the Englishwoman's side.
Back at college, Lara had always thought she was good at hiding her feelings for Sam. That was until a Friday night in second year. Sam had dragged her off to a society fundraiser at one of the local pubs, and, as usual, abandoned her roommate as soon as a cute guy smiled at her. Or guys, as was the case that particular evening. Sam was at that moment sandwiched between two members of the rowing team on a square of space that had been hastily designated the impromptu dance floor.
Lara snorted at the sight before her, and then sipped on her half pint. She was standing at the bar, busy debating with herself whether she could slip away unnoticed, when a woman's voice piped up next to her.
"Straight girls will always tie you in knots."
Startled, Lara turned to her left. She had been so caught up in her thoughts that she hadn't realised anyone had settled into the vacant space next to her.
She faced a young blonde woman, with a very familiar face.
There was nobody else that she could be talking to except Lara. But the conversation starter just didn't make sense. The Englishwoman frowned, "I'm sorry?"
At that, the blonde's smile broadened. Perfectly white straight teeth flashed. "You're wasted on Samantha Nishimura. She's completely wrapped up in herself. There are half a million women who would crawl over hot coals for you. Beauty, brains… your accent, Jesus."
Lara was vaguely aware that the woman had an American accent herself. More prominent in her mind though was the fact that the compliment had actually warmed her cheeks. Lara was used to men flirting with her. Well, used to it. Certainly never comfortable. Apart from her complete lack of skill at small talk, she always felt skittish and awkward and aloof as she tried to brush them off without hurting their feelings. This was different though.
As flustered as she felt, Lara couldn't look away. The woman was striking. She was the rare blonde who could actually could pull off the goth look, combining dark clothing, dramatic make-up and an even more dramatic bob.
Breaking the archaeology student's wide-eyed silence, the woman held out her hand. "Lara, right? I'm Amanda. Amanda Evert. I'm in your Anthropology class."
That's where she knew her from – a brilliant exchange student over from the States for a semester.
Lara accepted the handshake tentatively. The way she did it made Amanda grin. "You seem new to this?"
"I don't know what you're talking about." She knew her cheeks were red. The way the girl was looking at her; so intense, so predatory.
Amanda flexed her torso away from the bar as she sipped on her vodka and Coke. It caused her top to ride up, exposing more of the cream skin above her belt. Jagged tattoos disappeared down into her low-rise jeans.
Amanda caught the Englishwoman looking, arched an eyebrow and chuckled.
Lara swallowed hard. She wasn't used to feeling this rattled. She cleared her throat and muttered, "I think you've received the wrong impression about me. I'm not –"
Amanda interrupted her with a hand wave. "Ah, still at that stage?" She cocked her head in Sam's direction. "Be honest. Are you worried about her? Or are you jealous it's not you she's grinding against right now?"
"What? No!" The Englishwoman felt a fresh surge of panic. She didn't know anxiety was so tidal. "You've made a mistake. I –
"Trust me. It's a lot easier when you admit what you really are."
Lara attempted to dart away to her right.
Immediately Amanda's arm came down on the bar, blocking the archaeology student's escape. Caged, Lara turned back to her companion. Amanda ignored the scowl she received, and pressed her body solidly against hers.
"Just don't waste your time on her, Lara. You could do so much better."
Out of corner of her eye, Lara spotted a couple of guys nudge each other and look in their direction. Their leers gave dirty, drunken minds away.
The thought of putting on a show for them revolted her even as the proximity of Amanda's body excited her. God, she had to admit that it excited her.
The American's mouth not even an inch from her ear. Breath warm and delicious on her neck. The thigh that had slid up between her legs.
She had tried to suppress it, but Lara was sure her involuntary shudder at the touch gave her away.
"You have so much more to offer the world," Amanda purred. "She will hold you back from your true potential."
Heart hammering, Lara shoved her classmate away. "You don't know me!"
She gave Amanda her best Don't Follow Me glare but it felt like too little resistance, too late, especially since the blonde was laughing at her.
And if she didn't feel embarrassed enough, the girls' audience had started booing her for prematurely terminating their fun.
Sam was by this stage busy making out with one of the rowers in a booth. But Lara was too shaken to remember her manners.
She stood in front of the face-eating couple. "Sam!"
The American girl was drunk. She broke from the kiss, and slurred, "Huh? Hey, sweetie, what's wrong?"
"I'm going. I'm not feeling well."
She didn't even wait for a response. Practically hyperventilating, she bolted for the door.
The young Englishwoman was especially appreciative of the crisp Fall air during her brisk walk home. It cooled her face, if not her temper. She was upset; angry. With herself. With Amanda.
What was wrong with American girls? Insatiable sexual predators, all of them.
She kicked out at a lamppost.
And then felt stupid. And guilty.
What if it wasn't just Sam she was attracted to? What if Amanda was right and she was into women in general? What did that mean? Where had the feelings come from? And was she really so obvious?
After that, she had tried to avoid Amanda whenever possible. The anthropologist's perceptiveness unnerved Lara. The Englishwoman would look up in class and find the blonde staring at her. Smirking. It made her feel highly uncomfortable.
At least Amanda was very smart. That made camouflaging animosity easier for Lara. Sam simply put it down to jealousy on her roommate's part, even if the filmmaker was still curious about the uncharacteristic reaction. Although reserved, Lara was usually so amiable; quietly getting along with everyone. To see her bristle like she did at the sight or mention of Amanda, was very odd.
Things carried on like that until shortly before the Easter break. Lara had bowed under Sam's pressure to end the term with a wild night out. So the Englishwoman was already drunk when they ended up at the Flaming Flagon, and she spotted Amanda there, smirking at her over the lip of her drink.
The American's presence triggered a sobering shudder of doubt. To dispel it, to reclaim some confidence about herself, and especially to prove Amanda wrong, Lara hooked up with Dan Perkins that night.
And she made damn well sure to catch Amanda's eye while she snogged him shamelessly there in the pub.
It was easy with Dan. Her inhibitions were lowered to begin with. Plus she knew that he liked her. She could actually have a conversation with him. And he was a good looking, genuinely nice guy. Given their evenly matched energy reserves – the hiker and the mountaineer – there was little sleep that night.
Dan was the second man she'd ever slept with. The first had been a short fling after her first semester at uni. She'd been terrified Sam would find out she was a virgin, and attempt to force her into an odious one night stand, so she decided to take matters into her own hands the next time she was on Roth's ship.
As usual, as a deckhand, she fitted in where necessary, performing whatever duties needed filling. In the process she found herself working frequently side by side with a post-grad history student saving money for his PhD.
Looking back, the weird thing was that she couldn't recall his name. But she remembered that he made her laugh. That he had a great smile. And that he was an even better kisser.
One night she invited him into her cabin, and her bunk.
It was as sore as she expected, but he was gentle. Sweet. He was just what she needed.
She remembered their gasps in the dark as they tried to keep quiet; the awkwardness of not knowing what to do with her hands. Eventually she just clung to his broad shoulders as he moved inside her... that night, and every night for the remainder of their short shared time on the Endurance.
The look Alex gave her after that first evening; she was pretty sure he saw her lover leaving her room before dawn the next morning. She was even more certain that he ratted on her. There was no other reason why Roth would suddenly knock on her door, all uncomfortable and asking if she needed to have The Talk.
It was horrifyingly embarrassing for the both of them. Roth was the salt of the earth, but he was a man of action; not talk. Discussing birth control with an eighteen year old girl was beyond awkward. It was moments like that when Lara wondered what it would have been like to grow up with her mother around. The closest she came was Reyes, and the ex-cop had some weird grudge against Lara that the young woman didn't understand. Reyes was always so cold and dismissive towards her, despite clearly being a loving mother to her own daughter.
At that particular moment, Lara didn't want to think about her mother. Or Roth. Or Amanda. Or Sam. Or anyone else she had used or hurt or clashed with over the course of her own personal history. So many ghosts. So many regrets.
She gazed out the window.
The long hot Mediterranean Summer refused to end. So in-between the hillsides of olive groves, cypress trees and pine, there were expanses of sun-beached rock and dirt. Centuries and centuries of history ground down into that white earth. With the only intrusion of the recent past being the tiny, weather-battered roadside shrines erected here and there. On the other side of the road, the land slid into the sea. It was hypnotic the way the sunlight glinted on the water.
Sam was also in its thrall. However, she seemed to sense that Lara's gaze had shifted from the view to her, and her head swung in her companion's direction. Their eyes only locked for a moment but there was melancholy there; not temper. Then the filmmaker looked away again.
Lara looked away too. In another life, she would be sitting there holding hands with Sam; their fingers interlinked as they leaned casually into each other. In this life though, she had thrown that all away.
They arrived at their accommodation with refreshingly little fanfare. Greece was entering the tourist low season and although Delphi didn't hunker down and hibernate like many of the Greek islands, it was certainly quieter than she remembered.
The Meander was a four-star boutique hotel that had sprung up among the other guesthouses, restaurants and cheesy souvenir shops that lined the town's narrow streets. Lara wasn't sure where the developer had found the money during the recession, but the hotel was an upmarket take on the rustic but homely aesthetic of the buildings around it. So while the familiar stone-blocked façade, wood finishes and wrought iron balconies were all there, so was a liberal amount of glass and marble.
Mr Manolis, the young bespectacled assistant to the museum curator, was waiting in reception. He was who she'd been corresponding with, and he immediately leapt up on spotting the archaeologist.
"Lady Croft." He glanced at his watch before seizing her hand. "Kalimera. Welcome to Delphi."
The Englishwoman winced at the use of her title, as usual, but managed a polite "Thank you."
There was the expected small talk, sycophantism and hefty load of administrative matters before Lara was allowed to retreat to her room.
The bellboy escorted her and Sam together, as the two women were staying on the same floor. Lara would be travelling alone to the museum though, as her companion was leaving much earlier to scout the location and set up.
Sam was busy on her phone, presumably talking to Steven again, so the archaeologist didn't get to speak to her before the filmmaker vanished into her room.
Lara's room, well, clearly she had been given the best suite at the Meander. She wasn't used to such opulence. Normally when she travelled, accommodation with hot water and a decent mattress was her idea of comfort. This was pure luxury – a huge open plan living area with gas fireplace, flat screen TV and lounge suite on one side, and a monstrous bed on the other. In the adjourning bathroom there was even a spa bath that would comfortably accommodate a couple for some soapy shenanigans.
Lara sat down on the edge of the bed, plucking at a complimentary bowl of grapes on the side table while she brooded. She had been too physically passive that day, and nervous energy had pooled in her limbs and mind. She felt on edge; troubled by the unwanted memories, fantasies and an irrational sense that something awful was looming.
Please let my instincts be wrong. For once. Please.
"Ugh." She slapped her hands down on her thighs, and leapt up. She would drive herself mad if she stayed still any longer.
She unzipped her suitcase and began scrounging around inside. There were still a few hours before the commemoration – her driver was only scheduled to pick her up at 6:30 that evening. That was more than enough time to practice her speech and squeeze in a run.
The town of Delphi was relatively small, but given the way the buildings clambered over each other up the slopes of Mount Parnassus, there were plenty of stairs and inclines to wear her out.
On her way outside she paused before Sam's door. She thought about knocking – they really needed to talk – but even though she had gone so far as to raise her fist, ultimately she lowered it again. What difference would it really make?