Man Without Honour Read online

  'Moreover,' he added after a pause during which he again consulted his notes, 'there is another story, of much later origin, giving an account of the disasters that befell the descendants of the child who was left an orphan. She herself married and had eight children, seven of whom died very young, either by illness or accident.'

  'In those times the infant-mortality rate was incredibly high,' submitted a woman on Kathryn's right. 'You've only to go around an old churchyard to see how many died.'

  Dr. Marney nodded his agreement but said nothing. Kathryn was still held back from mentioning the ring, but now her reticence no longer puzzled her. To mention that she had found a diamond-and-sapphire ring in the grounds of the house in which Guy St. Clere had lived would give rise to the kind of excitement which she would find far too embarrassing. She did say, however, when an opportunity presented itself, 'This set of jewellery was all of diamonds and sapphires—the whole of it?'

  The professor nodded. 'Yes, it was, Miss Dalton.'

  'It must have been worth a fortune,' someone interjected.

  'It must.' The professor glanced at the man who had spoken. 'But I daresay those who inherited it didn't think so.'

  'I wonder where it is now?'

  'It's probably all split up.' The young girl who spoke added with a laugh, 'Curse or no curse, I'd not mind owning a necklace of sapphires and diamonds!'

  Others added their comments before Dr. Marney, intimating that the time was up, brought the lecture to a close.

  The following day, Sunday, the seminar broke up, but Kathryn decided to have a few words in private with Professor Marney. She found him in a small room to which she had been directed on asking at the desk in the hall where he would be found.

  She told him about the ring. He was naturally amazed and asked her if he could see it.

  'Of course. Would you like me to fetch it now—or perhaps you'd call at my flat after you've finished here?'

  'Yes, I think so,' he decided, telling her he had only to collect all his papers, make some notes for the college authority to retain, and then he would be free. 'I should be with you in an hour at the most,' he said finally.

  Kathryn was showing him the ring a short while later, watching his face intently, wondering what she hoped to read from his expression.

  'It's an extraordinary story,' he said, fingering the ring as though it were hot. 'It must have lain for many a long year, taking no real harm, and it's been disturbed by gardeners over and over again but never come to light until you found it.'

  She said, taking it from him and putting it down on the table, 'What would you suggest I do with it, Dr. Marney?'

  'It's yours by law,' he told her, smiling as she shook her head vehemently. 'You're afraid of it, maybe?'

  'No, it isn't that. I don't believe the curse could affect me in any way at all. But I do think that there is someone somewhere who has more right to this ring than I.'

  But the professor was shaking his head. 'The family definitely died out, Miss Dalton.'

  'You can be sure—absolutely sure?'

  'I've tried to trace some descendant…'He shook his head and added firmly, 'There are none of the St. Cleres left, I can assure you of that.'

  'This other branch of the family,' she began. 'Surely they have a claim?'

  'No, and if it were me, I wouldn't give it up to them. They're enormously wealthy, and in any case, in my opinion they do not have any right to this ring at all.'

  But Kathryn felt it was her duty to contact the head of the St. Clere family, whose ancestral home was in Lincolnshire. She wrote a letter saying she had come into possession of an article of jewellery that might belong to them.

  The reply came, and the following week-end found her showing the ring to Sir Algernon St. Clere, who immediately thrust it back at her and said, his voice rising to a pitch that was almost like a woman's, 'Take it away, girl! We don't want it! Off you go…' And to her amazement and disgust, he rang for his butler and within five minutes of entering the mansion she was being shown out.

  'Well, that's that!' she exclaimed, putting the ring on her finger. 'To the devil with them! It's treasure trove and so it's mine! I shan't give it up to anyone now!'

  Kathryn and her colleague were looking through holiday brochures during their lunch-hour break.

  'I fancy Paris, but Jerry wants to go to Italy.' Averil Pagenham's voice was a trifle petulant. 'Aren't you glad you're single, Kate? You've no one to please but yourself.'

  'That's true, but on the other hand it can be lonely, going on holiday on your own.'

  'You never seem to mind, I've noticed.'

  That was true. Kathryn always managed to find a way of enjoying her solitude when on holiday. She supposed it was partly owing to the keen interest she invariably took in things around her, especially if she was in a foreign country where the people and the cultures were so different from her own, to say nothing of the scenery and the pleasure of living in an hotel and having everything done for her.

  'I've been thinking I'd like to try Greece this year,' she said, thumbing through the brochure she held. 'Either Athens or one of the islands.'

  'My sister's been to several islands. She was very taken with the Peloponnese, though. There's a lot to see in the way of ancient sites.'

  Yes, of course, reflected Kathryn. There was the famous Citadel of Mycenae, for one thing; she felt that that alone would be worth going for.

  By the time she had returned to her desk after the lunch hour, Kathryn was all fixed for a holiday in the Peloponnese, having visited the travel agent, signed the form and paid her deposit.

  Chapter Two

  There was a cool and heady atmosphere about the gardens of the Hotel Hermes, situated on a promontory surrounded by the sea. Kathryn had chosen Nauplia as her headquarters because it made a convenient centre for visits to several archaeological sites besides that of Mycenae, which of course was to be the highlight of her holiday.

  She had booked in at the hotel, then wandered from the grounds down to the waterfront, where the odours of fish and fruit mingled with the scent of the sea which penetrated deeply into the Gulf of Nauplia. She noticed a delightful taverna where seafood was a specialty and decided to try it for lunch one day. She walked beneath waving palm trees, delighted in the mountains that dominated the coastal plain, thrilled to that clear crystal air which, she had been told, is unique to Greece, land of pagan gods, great philosophers and poets.

  There were not many people about; the clerk at the travel agency had told her that, despite its wild beauty and all it had to offer in the way of ancient sites, this part of Greece had not yet succumbed to the onslaught of modern tourism. It was still the haunt of those who craved peace and relaxation away from the noise and crowds and a view of layer upon layer of concrete slabs relieved only by windows absurdly aslant to enable those behind them to glimpse the sea or mountains or whatever scenery the particular place had to offer. The Hotel Hermes was not a concrete block; on the contrary, it was low, and built with taste and a regard to what nature provided in the way of a setting. Trees had been left, even though it had meant building around them; a little rivulet was allowed its sparkling freedom instead of being culverted to provide more space. Pretty little bridges of rustic wood spanned this dancing stream which flowed into a lily pond before escaping at the other end to make its way to the sea.

  The afternoon had flown; it seemed no time at all before Kathryn was again in her luxurious bedroom, taking a shower before preparing for dinner. She had bought three new evening gowns, a couple of full-length skirts and several glamorous tops, two of which were identical in style but one was knitted in silver thread and the other in gold. For her first evening she chose a white dress in cotton, very plain except for the silk cording that made a flower pattern on the front of the high-necked, tight-fitting bodice, and the flouncing on the bottom of the long, flowing skirt. A bracelet of plain gold, and the ring she had found, were her only pieces of jewellery. Yet as she entered
the dining-room almost every head was turned. She knew she looked nice, that her russet-brown hair was lit with honey lights, that her eyes were happy, her figure supple and slim with curves which at this moment attracted the attention of many people, mostly men.

  But it was the interest of one man in particular that affected her, a dark, clear-skinned Greek immaculately clad in a loose-fitting safari suit of white linen. The sole occupant of his table, he had seemed to catch a glimpse of something to her side, causing his dark, metallic eyes to widen in what seemed to be an expression of astounded disbelief. Kathryn felt her nerves tense as she wondered for one horrifying moment if her dress was torn, or tucked up in some way, but on glancing down swiftly she saw nothing amiss. As she proceeded to her table in the wake of a square-shouldered waiter, she was still wondering what had arrested the Greek's attention.

  She had a table to herself, and as she sat down her eyes naturally sought him out. To her amazement, he had moved so that he faced her rather than having his back to her! She felt the colour rise in her cheeks and she picked up the menu quickly and held it in front of her face. But every few seconds she glanced at that table again; it was as if she had no control over her mind… or was it that he possessed some strange magnetism that drew her eyes to him all the time? The waiter appeared, but she was not ready and he went away again. She saw him go to that particular table and take the order. The wine waiter appeared, but the Greek was still considering; the choosing of a wine was obviously of major importance to him.

  After dinner there was a floor show, then dancing until midnight. Kathryn decided to watch the show and then go to bed. Somehow she was not even surprised to find herself seated next to the dark Greek. She had chairs vacant on both sides of her, and he took possession of one of them. She expected him to speak and was not disappointed.

  'Are you here on holiday?' he asked, his eyes resting for a moment on the hand nearest to him—her left hand.

  'Yes, I am,' she answered, some strange tremor of excitement rippling along her spine. The man interested her, seemed to hold her in some kind of suspended state where she waited, breathless, for something momentous to happen.

  'You're staying here? At the Hermes?'

  'Yes,' she said again, wondering why she did not resent the questions being put to her.

  'Are you alone?'

  She hesitated this time, her nerve-ends taut. But his glance was open, his lips curved in a half-smile, and she found herself answering, I'm alone, yes.'

  'When did you arrive?'

  'Only today.'

  'How long will you be here?'

  'Three weeks,' she replied. Then, feeling it was her turn to ask a question, she said, without giving him time to speak again, 'Are you staying here?'

  There was the slightest hesitation before he said, his attention appearing to have strayed to a group of people looking around for seats, 'Yes, as a matter of fact, I am.'

  'On holiday?'

  He nodded his head. 'That's right.'

  'What part of Greece do you come from?'

  He looked at her in some amusement. 'My turn to be questioned, eh?'

  'Well, I don't see why I should be cross-examined without putting the odd question myself,' she retorted.

  'I'm on my own here; I'm not married, nor do I have any children to my knowledge,' he thought to add, amusement edging his voice. 'I can stay as long as I like, so I might just stay three weeks. Is there anything else which will be of interest to you, I wonder?' He still hadn't answered her last question, Kathryn realised. 'No, I don't think so, not at this stage, anyway.'

  'At this stage?'

  Kathryn looked questioningly at him.

  'Forget it…' He took her hand, holding her fingers very much in the grand manner of a gallant in days gone by who was intending to kiss them. 'That's a pretty ring you're wearing,' he murmured. 'A most unusual setting. You're engaged?'

  She shook her head. 'No, I'm not engaged.' And on noticing the faint inquiring life of his brows, she added, 'I wear it on this finger because it won't fit any other—except my little fingers, but it would slip off and I might lose it.' She gave him a smile, her eyes wide and honest, like a child's.

  He still held her hand, retaining his hold when it did not seem in the least necessary to do so. She could not understand why she allowed this. All she did know was that the touch was pleasant, that the contact of flesh against flesh was sending absurd tremors racing along her spine.

  'It's… pretty… isn't it?' she managed at last, and he nodded, still thoughtful. He released her hand.

  'Very, and worth a lot of money. Where did you get it?'

  'It's… er… been in the family for years…' She stopped, and stared, staggered by the lie she had never meant to tell.

  'It has?' A long pause; and then, 'Would you sell it?'

  She shook her head at once. She had never really considered it was hers to sell, despite her angry declaration to the contrary after being almost ordered off the premises of Algernon St. Clere. She still had the conviction—vague, it was true—that one day she might just run across the legal owner, in which event she would willingly give it back.

  'No, I would never even consider selling it.' She paused and looked at him, wondering what he, a Greek, could want with it. Perhaps he was getting engaged and wanted something antique, and different. 'What makes you want to buy it?'

  'I… collect antique jewellery,' came the response. Kathryn looked at him again, puzzled by the hesitation. 'That ring would make a most interesting addition to what I already have.'

  She said, hoping to veer the subject from the ring she wore, 'Do men usually collect antiques? I mean, jewellery is associated with women, usually.'

  'People collect all sorts of things these days, as investments.' His voice had a casual edge to it; he lifted one lean brown hand to suppress a yawn. 'Your stay here seems rather long,' he remarked, changing the subject. 'People usually spend no more than a couple of days and then move on to somewhere else.'

  'Two days wouldn't be anywhere near enough for me,' she asserted. 'There's so much to see. I imagine one could spend a whole day at Mycenae for a start; then there's Epidaurus and Tiryns, and the Roman baths at Argos, and the ancient theatre…' She flicked a hand expressively. 'There's more than enough in these parts to occupy me for three weeks!'

  The hint of a smile touched the handsome,, classical lines of his face. 'What is your name?' he asked after a pause.

  She frowned then, deciding it was time she made some protest against his questions. 'I don't think there is any need for me to give you my name,' she said stiffly.

  'Only that I would like to know it,' he said in some amusement.

  Kathryn felt at a loss, aware that she had no answer to this. She slanted him a glance, taking in facial qualities which were already impressed on her mind— the distinctive classical features of the Greek with those high cheekbones and rigid jawline. His mouth was thin yet in some indefinable way sensual; his eyes, the colour of harsh grey serpentine, were long-lashed and deep-set below finely marked brows. His olive skin was smooth and shiny. His raven hair waved a little; it was wiry and clean and greying at the temples. Kathryn judged his age to be around thirty-five, although he could be older—thirty-eight, perhaps. Certainly he had all the confidence and savoir-vivre of the mature aristocrat, the noble qualities characteristic of those silent statues carved so many centuries ago by the pagans of Greece.

  'I never give my name to strange men,' she said at last, aware that he was waiting for her to speak.

  'I shall give you mine, then,' he said coolly. 'It's Leonides Coletis. I prefer Leon for short.' He leant back in his chair, totally at his ease. Anyone would think he had known her for months!

  'Are you telling me to call you Leon?' she asked, nerves quivering as once again she felt excitement flooding over her, along with the expectancy that something was about to happen.

  'That's right—but of course you'll have to tell me your name, won't you?'
r />   She had to smile. His charm was devastating when he glanced at her like that, with the glint of amused satire in his eyes. She suddenly realised that she was acting in a manner completely alien to her—picking up a man like this at an hotel. Nevertheless, she found herself giving him her name, then heard it repeated. It rolled off his tongue in a way that made her catch her breath; his accent gave it an attractive richness which was exceedingly pleasing to her ears.

  She coloured adorably as he repeated it again, and lowered her head when he murmured, almost to himself, 'It's a delightful name. I hope that people do not shorten it to Kate?'

  'Sometimes they do, yes.'

  'You ought not to allow it.' His eyes strayed to the ring and he added, 'Is Dalton your family name?'

  She frowned in puzzlement. 'Of course. What a strange thing to ask.'

  The wailing rhythm of the bouzouki intruded into Kathryn's words and she wondered if he had heard them. If so, he made no remark on what she had said, offered no excuse for his question. Instead, he seemed to become absorbed in the music, his eyes moving from one mandolin-type instrument to another. The strains filled the room, mournful and sad, like a lament on the pathos of life. The floor show began, but very soon Kathryn decided she did not care for it and she turned to tell the Greek she was leaving.

  It was as if he sensed her intention, because even as she opened her mouth, he was saying, 'Do you care for this, Kathryn?'

  'No…' She stopped, becoming vexed by his familiarity. 'If you'll excuse me… ?'

  'I'm leaving myself,' he said, rising at the same time as she. 'Let me buy you a drink.' It was a firm statement rather than a question, and again Kathryn's anger rose. What right had he, a total stranger, to speak to her like that?

  'Thank you,' she returned coldly, 'but I'm going to my room straightaway. I've had a tiring day.'

  She swept out, managing to find a pathway through the crowd watching the show. Her seat was pounced upon immediately, and so was the Greek's. He stayed beside her, though, close and proprietorial. He even took her arm when, turning as she left the room, she almost collided with a man carrying a tray.