Strangers May Marry Page 10

  'How beautiful you are…' He took her in his arms, pressing the solid, muscular frame of his body against the pliant softness of hers; he stared down into her pale countenance and seemed to shake his head in a gesture of inexplicable disbelief before, bending his head, he took full possession of her moist and softly parted lips, while his hands wandered, disturbingly sensuous and strong, over the outline of her rib cage to span her waist before moving down to spread intimately over her delicate curves.

  She quivered as emotions were brought alive to filter into every nerve cell of mind and body. Her hands moved, as with a gesture of shy abandon she dropped all restraint and voluntarily caressed his shoulders, his throat, and the back of his neck where the hair was thick and strong between her fingers. She felt him shudder as if nerve vibrations were affecting him from head to foot, felt him press even closer, so that he could feel the smooth warmth of her body fuse with his, could experience the thrill of her breasts crushed against the granite hardness of his chest. She heard a throaty sound of pleasure as he rubbed his cheek on hers, looked up between her lashes to find that his eyes were closed.

  Languor spread its exquisite balm through her mind; every misgiving, every anxiety and doubt melted as she clung to him, as she gave her lips willingly and felt pleasure, where once she had felt resentment, at the fiercely possessive way in which he kissed her. His hands moved to her shoulders, then cupped her face, while his blue eyes seemed to devour her beauty, remaining on her face for what seemed an eternity before, with gentle tender manipulation he had slipped the nightdress from her shoulders, and she was naked before him—shy and pink-cheeked and amazed that she knew no anger, certainly no shame that he should be looking at her with wide, sensuous eyes that roved to find her every delicate curve, every outline and intimate place. She watched him discard the dressing gown, then the pyjama trousers which were all he wore. She closed her eyes in shy avoidance and heard the low and tender laugh as, swinging her into his arms, he carried her to the bed.

  It was a week later that Laura met, for the first time, the glamorous beauty whose photograph Mandy had shown her only the day before.

  'What are you doing in Daddy's room?' she had asked the child when, on hearing a low, humming sound, she realised that Mandy was in Paul's bedroom. Laura had stood in the open doorway between the rooms as Mandy danced towards her, waving the photograph.

  'I was going to try and find that big toffee he took from me,' she said. 'Do you remember it, Mummy?'

  Laura shook her head, staring down at the photograph which Mandy had given her, but with one-half of her mind on just how easily Mandy had been able to call her 'Mummy' after calling her 'Aunty' for so long.

  'Daddy said it was too big for my mouth and made me give it to him, so I thought, Never mind; I can find it in his room when he isn't there. But I can't find it, but I saw this.' She reached up to touch the photograph. 'Isn't she a lovely lady? Do you think she's a film star?'

  The chubby face was, as usual, wreathed in smiles which faded only slightly when Laura admonished her about going into Paul's bedroom.

  'He'll never know,' returned Mandy airily. 'Is that lady a film star?' she asked again.

  'I don't know.' Laura spoke slowly, her eyes fixed to the flawless beauty of the face looking back at her. Beauty? Yes… but wasn't there something unfathomable lurking in the depths of those enormous blue-grey eyes? The mouth, too, seemed hard, somehow. 'Where did you say you found this?' She brought her eyes away at last to look down at Mandy.

  'In a drawer.'

  'Then go and put it back.'

  Mandy took it from her and ran across the room to a small chest of drawers, the bottom one of which she opened to drop the photograph inside. Laura watched her close it and turn, frowning.

  'I wonder where that big toffee is? It cost three drachmae—well, I bought two for that. I'm glad I ate one before Daddy saw them both, because he'd have taken the two of them.' She swung around on her toes, eyes searching. 'I wish I could find it,' she said with a deep sigh.

  'I'll give you a bar of chocolate.' Laura was still thinking about the photograph and wondering who the girl was.

  And the following day she was in Mandy's bedroom when, glancing through the window, she saw a low-slung sports car sweeping along the drive to disappear round the bend which led to the front of the house.

  For some reason Laura went into her own room, reaching the window in time to see the girl alight and stand for a few seconds, the sunlight making pure gold of her hair. Something heavy settled in the pit of Laura's stomach as she recognised her as the girl in the photograph.

  What was she doing here? More important, who was she and what was her relationship with Paul?

  Frowning, she tried to dismiss the questions, but they persisted. Yet what had it to do with her if, before his marriage, her husband had had a girl friend? Laura felt sure she had been his girl friend, for otherwise he would not have her photograph in his drawer.

  It was with some reluctance that Laura eventually went along to the sitting room where, she surmised, the girl would be—with Paul. Laura need not have gone into the room at all, but curiosity drove her there, and as soon as she entered, Paul got up to make the introductions.

  'Laura—Marilyn—this is a friend of mine,' he said.

  'How do you do?' Laura shook hands mechanically, her eyes moving from the girl to Paul and then back again.

  'Marilyn's been away from the island for over a year.' Paul spoke quickly. Not like him, thought Laura, and it seemed to her that he was eager to pass on the information to his wife. Obviously he did not want her to be upset by the girl's presence, surmising things that did not exist.

  'Happy to meet you.' The girl's voice was husky and low, without much expression. In her gaze, though, there was that certain something Laura had noticed in the photograph, and which she did not like. 'Paul's sprung a surprise on me and that's for sure. Married! I couldn't believe it when he told me just now.' Marilyn was English and Laura wondered if she lived here in Crete. Paul soon enlightened her.

  'Marilyn's parents keep an hotel in Heraklion. It was left to her mother by a distant cousin who was Greek.'

  'So you live here permanently?' Laura, conscious that Paul was standing, took possession of a chair and he sat down at once.

  'Yes, I do.' Marilyn's glance was travelling over Laura's figure, her blue-lidded eyes narrowed, her mouth tight. 'Paul tells me you and he have adopted a child.'

  'That's right… Mandy.' She glanced at Paul, wondering how much he had told the girl.

  'You're starting married life encumbered!' Marilyn shrugged. 'Wouldn't do for me. I'd want children of my own or none at all.'

  'It happened to be a necessity.' Paul was frowning darkly. 'Would you two girls like some tea?'

  'That would be nice.' Marilyn stretched her legs and crossed them with the grace and elegance of a model. 'Well, Paul, you haven't asked me about the course I've been on.' Her lashes fluttered and the red-tipped nails flashed in the sunlight as she lifted a hand unnecessarily to twist a strand or two of fine gold hair. She leant back languidly and stared almost challengingly across to where Paul was sitting with his back to the window through which the afternoon sun was shafting as it began to descend.

  Paul rose to ring the bell and for a moment Laura felt he was not intending to answer Marilyn's question. But on sitting down again he said, 'How did you get along, then?'

  'I passed everything quite satisfactorily.'

  'So now you're qualified to manage an hotel?'

  'Not to manage one, but I am hoping to find a post as assistant manager. I think,' she said, but noticeably without enthusiasm, 'I might try Switzerland.'

  'One of the best places to learn about the hotel business.'

  'What kind of work did you do in England?' enquired Marilyn of Laura, flashing her a supercilious glance, as if expecting her to say she'd worked in the rag trade or something equally third-rate.

  'I was an interior designer. I wor
ked for Douglas Hendrick.'

  'Oh… an interesting job.' Marilyn was obviously not impressed.

  An awkward silence fell then, and as she met her husband's gaze Laura knew he was as conscious as she of the strained atmosphere. But the appearance of Marco provided a diversion, and while Paul gave him the order Laura decided to make at least some attempt to resume a conversation.

  'Your work, too, is interesting,' she said, managing a smile to accompany the words. 'Those who work in hotels meet so many different kinds of people, and many nationalities.'

  'I daresay you also met many people.' Marilyn lifted a slender white hand to suppress a yawn. Laura wondered why she was here at all; more than that she wondered why she stayed, seeing that she was so plainly bored.

  It was a relief when Paul began to chat with the girl and Laura could subside into quietness and her own thoughts. She felt these two had once been intimate…very intimate. Why, then, had they parted? It hadn't been a hostile parting, obviously. Had Marilyn been responsible for the break, or Paul? Somehow Laura felt it was Paul, because of the way Marilyn looked at him. She still liked him, and that was to say the least.

  The tea was brought and Marco set down the tray. 'Shall I pour, Mr. Pavlos?' he asked, dark eyes slanting surreptitiously from Marilyn to Laura and then to Paul.

  'I can do it, thank you, Marco,' interposed Laura graciously. And then she asked, 'Have you any idea what Mandy is doing?'

  'It is all right, madam; she is playing in the garden with Pelaya. Always Pelaya likes to have some time with the little Mandy when possible. Pelaya is very good with children, like a mother!'

  'Thank you, Marco. But Pelaya will be leaving soon, surely?' Automatically she glanced at her watch.

  'Then Julia will play with Mandy.'

  'If not, then tell Pelaya to send Mandy in here, please.'

  'Very good, madam,' returned Marco with a smile.

  'Aren't you having a full-time nanny for the child?' Marilyn had been watching with narrowed eyes as Laura and Marco conducted the interchange, her expression almost baleful—certainly it had a quality of resentment about it.

  'It isn't necessary,' answered Paul. 'Mandy will soon be at school. I've already booked her in, here in the village.'

  'This school,' echoed Marilyn with a disparaging ring. 'She'll learn precious little there.'

  'Enough until she's a bit older,' from Laura as she poured tea from an ornate pot which matched the rest of the set of Georgian silverware, including the tray. 'As for a full-time nanny—I wouldn't want one anyway.

  I can look after Mandy myself.' How much had Paul told the girl, Laura wondered again, deciding to ask him once Marilyn had made her departure.

  Conversation became light and unimportant as they drank their tea, and when at last Marilyn stood up to leave, there was a quiet knock on the oak-panelled door and Marco came in to tell Paul he was wanted on the telephone.

  'Excuse me,' he said and left the two girls together.

  Laura stood up, expecting Marilyn to go, but instead she sank down again into the chair she had just vacated. Laura looked askance at her, then she also sat down again. 'Would you like another cup of tea?' she asked politely, feeling the pot. 'It's still fairly hot—'

  'No, thank you,' broke in Marilyn rudely. Her whole manner had changed dramatically; Laura regarded with some surprise the tight mouth, the glint of malice in the eyes, the heavy frown marring the wide, smooth-textured skin of her forehead. 'Your marriage was very sudden, wasn't it?' Marilyn's glance flickered insolently over Laura's figure.

  'What exactly do you mean by that?' Laura's colour was heightened, but more with anger than embarrassment at the subtle implication of that glance.

  'Paul doesn't usually act impulsively, but he's certainly broken the rule with you. How and where did you two meet?'

  Laura's eyes grew wide and a gasp of incredulity escaped her. 'You're insolent,' she snapped. 'Just what has it to do with you how and where we met?'

  An ugly look was the only answer for a full thirty seconds. It was plain that Marilyn was under some disturbing emotional stress. She seemed to be searching for words, and Laura gained the impression that she wanted to say something and yet not lose her dignity At last she said, in quivering tones that betrayed both pain and anger, 'I can only think that Paul married you on the rebound. You see, we were almost engaged then we quarrelled and I went away. I felt that Paul would realise just how important I was to him, but instead he retaliated by marrying you. I see now that my going was a mistake… and he sees it too.' She paused but Laura could not immediately find anything to say, and she went on, 'I knew he'd probably take a mistress, being a Greek. But I never for one moment thought he'd commit the supreme folly of marriage.' Again that flickering glance before she said blatantly, 'Are you pregnant?'

  Another gasp fell from Laura's lips. The girl must be crazed with jealousy and hatred to talk like this! 'I think,' said Laura with admirable control, 'that when you have left here you will bitterly regret what you've been saying. You appear to be a woman with rather more pride than most, but by this talk you are lowering that pride. I am hoping to save you further embarrassment by asking you to leave.'

  Sheer venom flashed in Marilyn's eyes. She was plainly furious at the dignity which Laura was able to portray with such ease, when any other girl would have flown into a raging temper.

  'This child—' Marilyn seemed to be in the power of some driving force, and although Laura tried to interrupt, she seemed determined to have her say. 'Paul told me she's a relative of yours who lost her parents and you've been looking after her since babyhood. I pretended to accept the story, but—' A sneer caught her underlip and her expression became contemptuous. 'I didn't believe a word of it.'

  So that was the story Paul had given. Laura had been intending to ask him later, when they were alone.

  'It's immaterial to me whether you believe it or not,' she returned in icy tones. 'My husband has proof that Mandy isn't mine, if that is what you are insinuating.'

  'You're clever!' Malice and virulence lent a high-pitched tone to the voice, and again Laura tried to interrupt, but without success. 'How you managed to hoodwink him I don't know, but as I've said, he sees now that my going away was a mistake.'

  'Have you some good reason for making an assertion like that?' Although a trifle troubled, Laura managed to adopt a reserve and coolness bordering on austerity. 'What you are really saying is that Paul's marriage to me was a mistake which he now regrets.'

  'Yes, that is what I am saying. Paul still loves me—' She stopped abruptly as the door was thrown open unceremoniously, and Mandy skipped into the room.

  Laura said with a smile as she took the child's small hand in hers, 'This is the little girl you were talking about… Mandy. Mandy, dear, say how do you do to the lady.' It suddenly struck Laura that Paul hadn't mentioned Marilyn's surname.

  'How do you do,' repeated Mandy obediently, her big eyes examining the girl from head to foot. 'You're the lady in the picture!' she cried at length. 'Are you a film star?'

  Laura bit her lip; the fact that Mandy might recognise Marilyn had not for one moment occurred to her.

  'The picture?' repeated Marilyn with quick diversion. 'What are you talking about?'

  'Your picture's in my daddy's drawer. I showed it to Mummy yesterday. I was looking for a big toffee that my—'

  'It isn't important, Mandy,' broke in Laura. 'Where is Pelaya? Has she gone?'

  'She's just going so she brought me here to be with you for a few minutes till Julia or Lefki can come out to play with me.'

  'So Paul keeps my picture…' Marilyn might have been speaking to herself, so low-pitched was her tone. But she was looking intently at Laura, a triumphant sneer curling her lips. 'You see,' she murmured and rose from the chair. 'I'll be going,' she said, and swinging round towards the door which Mandy had left wide open, she passed silently through it.

  Lefki came within seconds, a ready smile on her round, homely face. 'I
'm free now, Mrs. Pavlos,' she said with a glance at Mandy, who was now standing before an antique glass cabinet wherein eighteenth-century English porcelain mingled with surprising harmony side by side with limited editions of glorious modern art in the form of birds and flowers. Some groups were there too in Spode, Worcester, and Wedgwood. But on hearing the Greek maid's voice, she spun around and trotted to the door.

  The two had just left the room when Paul returned. 'Marilyn's gone,' he observed casually. 'Is there another cup of tea in that pot?'

  'Paul…' Laura paused, but only momentarily. 'Who is she?'

  'Who?'

  'Marilyn, of course.'

  'I've already said she's a friend of mine.' Paul's voice was deliberately curt.

  'Yes, but—she was more than a friend, wasn't she?' Doubts and fears chased shadows into her eyes. She was thinking of Marilyn's assertion that Paul knew he had made a mistake in getting married.

  'If you must know,' he said after an impatient moment of pause, 'she and I were—er—I believe in your country you call it "going steady".'

  'I thought so.'

  'And what made you think so?' Terse the tone but interest lay in his expression.

  Laura hesitated, loath to repeat what the girl had said. It was not that she deserved any consideration, but for Laura's part it seemed both malicious and petty to give her away. However, Paul was waiting for an answer and at last she said, 'I sensed her being very upset on learning you were married—'

  'What did she say after I left the room?' he interrupted brusquely.

  'I'll pour you your tea,' offered Laura, wishing she had not broached the subject of Marilyn in the first place. 'It's warm but not exactly hot now.'

  'Leave the tea.' His voice was stern, authoritative. 'I asked you a question and would like an answer.'

  She looked at him standing there, his lithe and powerful frame erect, his eyes hard, like tempered steel. It was clear that he meant to have an answer.