Pagan Lover Page 13

  ‘It’s purely business. Had you been coming with me it would have been different. I’d have taken you around. You’ll like Athens, Tara; there’s so much to do and see.’

  ‘I have heard that it’s interesting, and thought I’d like to see it one day’

  ‘Then come with me?’ His voice was low and persuasive, and not in any way commanding or arrogant. Her eyes flew to his; to her amazement she was thinking that it would be rather nice to be going with him. And if she gave the promise she could go with him.

  But she would then have burned her boats for ever. Once the promise was given her sense of honour would never allow her to go back on her word.

  ‘Next time,’ she said again, and with that he had to be satisfied.

  She was in the bedroom when he was ready to leave and he came to her, took her in his arms and kissed her on the lips.

  ‘You have so much to offer me,’ he told her, his black eyes looking deeply into hers. ‘Your body when it moves against me is wonderful! Move again,’ he said gruffly. ‘And again.’ She did as she was told and within seconds his passion had flared. But he had to let her go, as the ferry was leaving in half an hour’s time. Tara stood on the terrace and watching him make his way down to the harbour, buoyancy and youth in every step he took. She caught her breath, thinking of his attractiveness and the easy way he could use his power and his magnetism to draw her to him. He had stated emphatically that she would miss his lovemaking if she left him, and she had secretly admitted that it was true.

  He was lost to sight at last and she turned back to the house. Nico would come; she was sure of it. The last time Leon was away Nico had visited her three times, and she had been half afraid that one of her husband’s servants might just mention the fact to his master. But, aware of the wide gap between master and servant in Greece, and especially in Leon’s household, she had not been too anxious. She wandered about the grounds during the afternoon, restless and expectant, waiting for Nico to come. Perhaps, she thought as the hours dragged by, Nico was not aware of Leon’s absence from home—or perhaps he had changed his mind about helping her, considering it was not worth the trouble, seeing that he was gaining absolutely nothing from it.

  Dinner time arrived and he still had not come, but just as Tara was about to sit down Stamati came to the dining-room to tell her that a visitor had arrived.

  ‘Miss Flourou, madam. She asked for Mr Leon, but I told her he was away. She’s in the sitting-room, madam.’

  Elene! She had come to see Leon....

  ‘See that my dinner’s kept hot, please, Stamati,’ she said, and went along to the sitting-room where Elene was seated on the sofa, a cigarette in her long, perfectly-manicured fingers.

  ‘Good evening,’ Tara greeted her, marvelling at the cool and dignified manner she was able to adopt. ‘You wanted to see Leon—’

  ‘He’s away, so Stamati said. I had need to discuss something with him about the coming fashion show n Athens. I’m sorry I missed him. He went today?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’ll see him when he comes back.’ The girl cast her a scornful glance and immediately Tara was conscious of her clothes. Dining alone, she had not troubled to change out of the slacks and shirt she had been wearing during the afternoon. ‘Did you not want to go with him?’ asked Elene curiously.

  ‘No; I like it here.’

  ‘But, since you’re newly married, I should have thought you’d want to be with him.’

  ‘I shall probably go with him the next time.’ Tara sat down, feeling uncomfortable and wishing the girl would leave. There seemed no reason why she should have stayed in the first place, seeing that the man she had come to see was away.

  ‘He’ll be very busy the next time. We have a moat important fashion show on, with buyers coming from Britain and Paris and America.’ She spoke condescendingly, as if determined to impress Tara with the knowledge that she knew everything about the House of Hera, while Tara knew nothing. ‘I suppose,’ added Elene slowly, ‘you know that I am Leon’s top model?’

  ‘He did mention something about it,’ replied Tara in a casual tone.

  Elene’s eyes glinted.

  ‘Without me, Leon would be lost’

  ‘He would?’ with a slight lift of Tara’s brows. ‘But surely no one is indispensable?’

  Colour flooded Elene’s cheeks. She drew on her cigarette and exhaled, her narrowed gaze fixed on Tara through a fun of smoke.

  ‘Did you know that Leon was practically engaged to me?’

  Tara gave a start.

  ‘That’s a strange thing to say to his wife, isn’t it?’

  Elene shrugged. Looking at her intently, Tara saw that she was very close to tears.

  ‘He let me down badly. Everyone else knows about it, so I don’t see why you shouldn’t.’ Elene inhaled deeply, her dark eyes fixed and brooding. Tara had the impression that the girl was talking like this because she had to—she could not help herself. And from this impression another was born: Elene was boiling over inside, crazed with jealousy of Leon’s wife. ‘I don’t know how you and he met, or how you came to get married, but I do know that he married you from a feeling of pique, because he and I had quarrelled—oh, it wasn’t anything really serious, even. He was angry because he thought I’d—’ She stopped, frowning, angry with herself, apparently, for revealing so much. And yet within the space of less than ten seconds she was saying, ‘Leon’s like that, unpredictable, impulsive.’

  Tara was shaking her head.

  ‘My husband would never be impulsive,’ she argued. ‘Why do you say such a thing?’

  ‘Because of the speed with which he married you.’ Elene crushed the cigarette out in an ashtray and proceeded to extract another from the gold case that lay on the table. ‘He couldn’t have known you any time at all?’ A question which Tara chose to ignore. ‘How long did he know you?’ persisted Elene, flicking a lighter and setting it to the tip-of the cigarette.

  ‘I don’t think it matters to anyone how long he knew me.’

  ‘He’s not in love with you— No, don’t interrupt! If he was in love with you then he’d have wanted you with him. He’s been away twice now and you haven’t gone with him.’ She looked directly at her. ‘He would never ever have gone away without me—when we were keeping company, that is.’

  ‘I could have gone with him,’ said Tara. ‘But I chose to stay at home.’

  ‘Then obviously you don’t love him either. Did you marry him for his money?’

  Tara gasped incredulously. The girl was so mad with jealousy and anger that she seemed not to care what she said. Rising from her chair, Tara said quietly, and with a wave of the hand in the direction of the door,

  ‘As it was Leon you came to see—I’m sure you will not be wanting to stay. My dinner will be spoiling. I’ll tell my husband that you called, and he’ll probably be in touch by telephone.’

  She heard Elene’s teeth snap together, but she rose at once and moved gracefully to the door.

  ‘Goodnight,’ she almost spat out, her dark eyes again roving Tara’s figure contemptuously.

  ‘Goodnight, Miss Flourou.’

  Tara went to the front door with her—although it was Stamati who was there to open it and close it after her.

  ‘Your dinner will be served at once, Mrs Leon.’

  ‘Thank you, Stamati.’ She looked at the man, noticing his expression and recalling Kleanthes’ amazement when Leon introduced her as his wife.

  ‘Your wife, Kirie Leon!’ Kleanthes had exclaimed.

  ‘But what about Miss—?’ He had obviously been going to mention Elene’s name but had managed to stop himself in time. All Leon’s servants—and indeed almost everyone on this small island—must have known of the close relationship which had existed between Leon and his model. And everyone seemed to have expected him to marry her.

  Did he care for her? Tara could not imagine his caring for anyone but himself. Love was something about which he knew nothing.


  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THE waiting for Nico seemed interminable. Tara had risen early, which made the day longer and more trying to the nerves. Leon had been non-committal about how long he would be away, so Tara had not the faintest idea when to expect him back. He could be back tomorrow, or even tonight— No, not tonight. He could not possibly get through all his business in less than two days.

  ‘Oh, Nico—why don’t you come!’

  She went from room to room in the house, admiring the large, marble-paved rooms with their finely-carved ceilings, and cornices, their lovely antique furniture, their exquisite porcelain-filled cabinets, trying all the while to fix her attention on things other than the idea of getting away from here. Through one huge window she saw the marble fountain and was drawn into the grounds. Here was peace, usually, but today everything in her was unrest, anxiety and uncertainty. She knew that if Nico should let her down she would feel that her life was finished, for she would have to give Leon the promise or go raving mad! She could not stand this imprisonment much longer. Also, if she should be pregnant, and the child was born here, then she would indeed be unable to gain her freedom—at least, not for years and years, because after one child there would be another, and perhaps another.

  She wandered listlessly about the garden, glancing at her watch about every ten minutes or so. ‘Nico,’ she whispered fervently, ‘please come.’

  She was working herself up into a state of near hysteria and decided to do something about it. She went inside for a book but, back in the garden, she found she could not concentrate. Even the flowers with their exotic perfumes made no impression on her, nor the gossamer-winged butterflies skimming through a patch of starry white blossoms to settle on the passion flowers. All of these things had fascinated her up till now, but as she walked, the book in her hand, she saw nothing except the wide expanse of sea beyond the busy harbour ... the sea over which she had .expected to travel to freedom.

  Davos and Kleanthes were in the orchard, spraying the orange and lemon trees; she saw Davos glance up because of something said by his companion and when Tara followed the direction of his eyes she saw a man coming up the steep path leading to the gate. Both men stopped and waited, but Tara turned away, concluding the man had come to see one of the servants. She was on the patio, the book open on her lap, when Kleanthes brought the man to her.

  ‘I haf a letter for Mrs Leon,’ the man said, but did not offer it to her. ‘It was forgotten when the post was brought up this morning. It might be important, so I bring it for you.’ The man spoke with a pronounced accent, and he pushed a hand through his hair and gave, a little gasp as he added, ‘It is so hot! I very thirsty for big glass of water!’ His gaze was fixed—wooden almost—as he stared into Tara’s eyes. With lightning speed she grasped everything and, turning to Kleanthes, she said,

  ‘Bring a glass of water— Or perhaps you would like a fruit drink?’ she amended, looking at the man.

  ‘Very nice! Plenty much orange juice!’

  Kleanthes inclined his head, but, about to move away, he said curiously,

  ‘I haven’t seen you before.’

  ‘I haf come to visit my sister; she is the post—post— lady?’ it was a question, because obviously he did not include ‘post mistress’ in his vocabulary.

  ‘She has many brothers,’ said Kleanthes with a careless shrug. ‘Welcome to our island!

  ‘Efkharisto poli!’ returned the man with a huge smile which revealed several bright gold filings.

  ‘I bring the drink for you,’ said Kleanthes, and walked away. The man sat down at Tara’s invitation and withdrew an envelope from his pocket. She held it for a moment, as a fit of trembling seized her. What did the note contain . . . good news or bad? Either Nico was going to assist her as promised, or he had sent an apology for not being able to do so.

  Her fingers moved over the envelope and she realised that there was a pencil inside it. So Nico wanted an answer! With hopes soaring she swiftly slit the top of the envelope and withdrew the folded sheet of paper.

  ‘I am Savvas,’ said the man. ‘I take answer to Mr Nico.’

  Tara nodded absently; she was already reading.

  ‘Before you read further, write on the envelope the exact location of your bedroom and give it to Savvas.’

  This was written in bold capitals at the top of the single sheet of paper. Tara immediately did as instructed, passing the envelope back to Savvas. Her heart was pounding against her chest. She felt that already she was free.

  The man put the envelope into his pocket and sat back. Kleanthes returned, having been gone less than two minutes. Tara could see the reason for those urgent instructions; there might or might not be much time during which Tara was alone with Savvas, Nico had thought, and in consequence had even provided the pencil.

  Kleanthes stood and watched Savvas drink thirstily, then accompanied him back to the gate. Tara had slipped the letter into her pocket and she rose, casually, and entered the house. In her bedroom, she began to read the letter, her heart still beating overrate.

  ‘Dear Tara,’ it began, ‘Although I knew, yesterday, that Leon had caught the early ferry, I felt it best not to come up—and I know that you must feel the same. It is best to maintain total secrecy if possible. So I sailed to Poros yesterday and picked up a man who has, often done casual work for me on the boat. No one on Hydra knows Savvas, so the little ruse I worked out will succeed. The plan is this: I want you to be ready at two o’clock tomorrow morning, when I shall be putting the ladder up to your window. I expect you will want to bring clothes. Wrap them into a bundle and drop them out of the window. I shall provide the suitcase to put them in. The bundle will make no sound, whereas a suitcase might waken someone in the house. Also, have a folded blanket on the sill, so that the ladder will rest on it silently. That is all you have to do. I am sending Savvas back to Poros on the seven o’clock ferry this evening, so he will be well out of the way. My boat is ready and will take you to Piraeus. I don’t know why I do this. Perhaps it is exciting, or perhaps I like to rescue a maiden in distress. Or it might be that I like you very much.’ It was signed with his name, nothing more. Tara tore the paper into tiny pieces, and flushed them away in the toilet.

  Never had Tara known time to drag as it did between the reading of Nico’s letter and the moment when, silently opening the window, she laid the folded blanket on the sill. All was ready and she peered down into the inky darkness of the garden, her heart throbbing wildly, every nerve tensed. No sound or sign of movement. Her bundle of clothes was on the sill, ready to be thrown down as soon as the ladder came up. Yes! The shadowy impression of a human form ... the ladder was raised and she held her breath, terrified that it would sway with its own weight and crash into one of the other windows. But Nico was strong and the ladder came into place. Tara dropped the bundle, and was just about to step through the window on to the ladder when she saw the shadowy figure move, then race away to the black outline of a copse at the end of the lawn. Petrified, she saw another shadowy figure, tall, with a springing step....

  Her heart seemed for a moment to stop beating altogether. It wasn’t true! Leon could not possibly be here at this time of the night! But who else had that tall lithe frame? Sheer terror kept her rooted to the spot as she watched the figure stand and stare, then stoop to pick up the bundle. The next instant the bundle was flung down again and she sensed rather than saw the savage kick it received; the oath that accompanied it she heard plainly, and she felt almost faint with fear.

  She was still rooted to the spot when her husband walked into the bedroom, his face twisted into lines so evil that he seemed to her terrified imagination to be Hades himself. What would he do to her? She had seen him in the grip of fury many times, but never had she seen him like this. He would murder her, she thought, a terrified hand going to her throat. Yes; he would strangle her—

  ‘Who was helping you?’ The very quietness of the voice shot suffocating fear through her whole body; she felt phy
sically sick and could not speak a word even if she had wanted to. ‘I asked you a question!’ The pagan voice was a whiplash now, but still quiet. She swallowed convulsively, tears starting to her eyes.

  ‘I w-won’t—won’t t-tell—you————’

  ‘By God, you will—if I have to get it out of you by torture! ‘His leap was silent, the grip on her trembling hand a vice that made her cry out with the excruciating pain of it. ‘Answer me!’ he snarled, the thin lips curled back so that the teeth were bared . . . like those of a tiger ready for the kill! ‘Answer me before I choke the life out of you!’

  ‘I c-can’t.’ She lifted her face and she knew it was drained of every vestige of colour. She wondered how he had had the luck to arrive home at the exact time she was to have escaped from his ruthless clutches. He had the devil’s own luck always—he was the devil! ‘Please d-don’t ask me to—to do what I can’t in honour—’

  ‘Honour!’ he cut in violently. ‘You speak to me of honour?’ The black eyes raked her trembling body with the sort of contempt that made her cringe. Sheer rage caused him to pause before being able to continue. ‘That pose you adopted for my benefit—the stratagem of acting as if you were defeated and would have to make the promise The way you gave me the impression that you were resigned—you even said that as I had won every round I was bound to win this! And all the time you were putting me off, playing for time because this attempt at escape had already been planned, hadn’t it—hadn’t it!’ He jerked her body forward and thrust her head right back with his hand beneath her chin. His hand remained there and she was compelled to look at him, look into the fiery rage of those fierce black eyes. ‘Hadn’t it?’ he repeated again.

  She nodded, wondering if she would collapse in a heap when he released her.

  ‘Yes, it w-was.’

  ‘With whom? It must be one of the servants that you bribed, because there isn’t anyone else who could possibly have helped you!’