Wife For A Night

by Devine, Angela

  'What on earth do you think you're doing?' demanded a familiar voice behind her.

  Kate spun round.

  'Oh, Philip. I was just making up another bed.'

  Philip gave a contemptuous snort of laughter.

  'I am not sleeping on the floor,' he said in a low, throaty voice.

  'No, not for you! For me! What...what are you doing?'

  Without a word Philip seized the pillow, dusted it off briskly and replaced it on the double bed. Then he kicked one rug into place, folded the other and set it in a corner, and smiled charmingly at Kate.

  'Now some dinner, I think. But you will want a wash first, won't you?'

  'Philip! You...you've just destroyed the bed I made. Why? Why did you do it?'

  He looked at her appraisingly, but said nothing. A slow smile spread over his face, as if he thought the whole subject too absurd to comment on. Then, whistling softly to himself, he began to unpack his overnight bag and set his toiletries on the bedside table. Furious at being so rudely ignored, Kate snatched up the pillow she had just set down. To her rage and disbelief, she found her wrist caught and held.

  'What do you think you are doing, Katarina?' Philip's voice was low and threatening.

  'Making up my bed,' she said through her teeth.

  'Oh, no, you're not,' he said softly. 'You are sleeping with me.'

  Cold chills of panic and excitement chased one another up Kate's spine at these words. Then a warm, treacherous wave of desire flooded through her.

  'I thought you said my honour was safe with you,' she said challengingly.

  'And just suppose it isn't?' demanded Philip.Shock, outrage and a tremor of anticipation went through her. She looked at his dark, brooding face and felt an overwhelming urge simply to open her arms to him and let him take her.

  Shame coursed through her at the thought. She was every bit as bad as the tourists he had been denouncing. After all, she had only just met him and she knew nothing about him. Her eyelashes fluttered as she blinked back tears.

  'Philip...you wouldn't,' she said in a tremulous voice.

  He took the pillow from her nerveless fingers and laid it neatly on the bed.

  Then his arms came round her. Warm and safe and reassuring, but with a hint of steel in them.

  'No, I wouldn't,' he said huskily. 'But supposing I did decide to? What do you think you could do to prevent me, down there on your concrete slab? If I chose to possess you, couldn't I simply take you?'

  She was silent, conscious of the thudding of her heart, of the warm, spicy scent of his aftershave lotion, of an urgent longing that was spreading all through her, driving the blood into the tips of her fingers.

  His arms tightened around her. 'Couldn't I?' he insisted.

  'Yes,' she whispered.

  She knew then that he was going to kiss her. And it was every bit as powerful and overwhelming as she had feared. His deft fingers tilted her chin and his mouth came down on hers with a deep, passionate tenderness that left her aching for more. Her bones seemed to melt beneath his touch as his sensitive hands moved caressingly down over her shoulders and back, moulding her against the warm, muscular strength of his body. She uttered a small whimper of longing and let herself relax into the passionate certainty of his embrace. For an instant she felt the sudden flare of excitement that coursed through him, then he thrust her roughly away from him. His breath came in a swift, shallow gasp as he unclenched his fingers from her shirt and she could see the rapid throbbing of the pulse in his neck.

  'Don't think I'm not tempted,' he said hoarsely as he released her. 'But you'll be as safe with me in the bed as on the floor, and a good deal more comfortable. Besides, Kyria Georgia is sure to be coming in and out of the room with coffee and such. I don't want her thinking I can't control my own wife.'

  Kate laughed, caught between amusement and outrage.

  'Supposing I really were your wife and we had quarrelled?' she demanded.

  His brows drew together.

  'Then the quarrel would most definitely be settled in bed,' he said with authority. 'Now go and have your shower.'

  The shower was only tepid, but it was wonderfully refreshing after the rigours of the afternoon. Kate shampooed her hair and lathered herself vigorously with soap to try and get rid of the grime from the mountainside.

  The bathroom was so tiny that she almost needed to be a contortionist to get dressed in it, but somehow she achieved the feat. And vanity made her put on her one decent outfit. A crush-proof jade-green and white pleated skirt with a crisp white blouse and cardigan.

  Even so, she realised that she was hopelessly outclassed when Kyria Georgia showed her out on to a vine- clad terrace lit by a single lamp. Philip too had changed, and his fashionable navy sports jacket, striped shirt and grey trousers bore the unmistakable imprint of expensive tailoring. He rose to his feet as she appeared and strode towards her. Kyria Georgia smiled fondly as he dropped a swift kiss on Kate's cheek and led her to the edge of the terrace.

  'Don't stiffen like that,' he chided. 'You're my wife, remember, and Kyria Georgia is having a wonderful time reliving her youth as she watches us.

  She particularly wants me to show you the romantic view over the It was romantic, no question about that. The house was set on a hill-top, and down below the other dwellings of the village clustered together, like a flock of timid white chickens, surrounded by silver olive groves. Behind the village was a vast amphitheatre of rocky cliffs, bathed in moonlight, and in the distance was the silvery, shimmering surface of the sea. As Philip's hand rested casually on her shoulder Kate felt a hungry pang of longing dart through her. But what she was longing for, she really could not say.

  'Kali oreksi,' said the kyria, setting out the last of the dishes and withdrawing with another beaming smile.

  'Kali oreksi?' asked Kate in a baffled voice.

  Philip pulled back her chair for her and smiled.

  'It means "good appetite",' he explained. 'And I hope your appetite is good, because she'll be mortally offended if we don't eat every scrap of this.'

  'In that case I'll consider it my duty to make a perfect pig of myself,' said Kate, twinkling at him. 'Anyway, it looks delicious.'

  It was delicious. The water jug and a bottle of retsina wine stood huddled in the middle of the table surrounded by a positive banquet of hearty peasant food. There was a wicker basket of crusty bread, various dips made of aubergine and smoked cod's roe, a salad of feta cheese, Spanish onions, black olives, tomatoes and cucumber and a main dish of souvlaki on skewers with fried potatoes. When the kyria brought in a plate of sticky baklava and Turkish coffee to finish, she smiled approvingly at the inroads they had made on the meal.

  After a long, exhausting and rather frightening day, Kate was content to sit in silence, sipping her coffee and gazing down at the silvery sea. Inside the living-room, Kyria Georgia switched on a radio and the haunting rhythms of Greek dance music swirled out across the terrace. An impulse to laugh and dance and cry swept over Kate, and she gave a small, ragged sigh. Philip looked at her questioningly.

  'What is it?' he asked.

  She spread her hands, unable to explain adequately.

  'Just one of those moments of magic,' she said with a self-conscious smile.

  'It's such a beautiful evening, the meal was delicious, and now there's this music that makes me feel like dancing. Sometimes I think I'm awfully lucky just to be alive.'

  He gazed at her indulgently.

  'Are you really so easily pleased?' he asked disbelievingly. 'Some women I know would be insulted if they were asked to stay in such a humble place and eat such a simple meal.'

  'Then some women just don't know how to enjoy themselves,' retorted Kate.

  Philip's liquid brown eyes rested searchingly on her face.

  'Sometimes, when I've been working in the city with the noise and the crowds and the so-called sophistication, I feel a desperate need to escape,' he said thoughtfully. 'When that happens I just abando
n the city and flee to

  some place like this that's simple and wholesome. Deep down I think that's what I crave most. But I can't help wondering sometimes whether women aren't rather like cities.'

  Kate frowned in bewilderment.

  'What do you mean?' she asked.

  'Perhaps there are two kinds,' he said cryptically. 'One is fast, noisy and sophisticated. The other is simple and wholesome. Do you want to dance, Katarina?'

  When she rose from her seat she stumbled, and he had to catch her arm to save her from falling.

  'I'm sorry,' she said. 'It must be the retsina. I'm not used to drinking it.'

  'Two glasses can't have hurt you,' replied Philip with a smile. 'It will be just enough to make you relax andgo with the music. Now hold on to my hand and let me guide you.'

  A moment later she was stumbling through the steps, certain that she would never be able to match her movements to his. But a moment after that she saw that he was right. Something seemed to click into place, and suddenly she was moving effortlessly in step with Philip, her feet going faster and faster as she followed him through the intricate patterns of the dance. First to the left, then to the right and finally in dizzy circles that left her breathless and laughing as the music came to an end.

  'Bravo!' said Philip admiringly. 'I think you must be a true Greek at heart, Katarina. Now come and sit down and get your breath back.'

  Kate collapsed into a chair and fanned herself vigorously with a paper napkin.

  'I love Greek music!' she exclaimed. 'I only hope I'll get a chance to hear some live bouzouki-playing before I leave the country.'

  'Really?' asked Philip with interest. 'If I had a bou- zouki here I could grant your wish right away. I used to play a little when I was younger, although I'm a bit rusty now.'

  'There's a bouzouki on top of the cupboard in the living-room,' said Kate. 'I wonder if Kyria Georgia would lend it to you. Why don't you go and ask her?'

  Philip hesitated.

  'I haven't played for a couple of years,' he confessed.

  'Go on,' urged Kate. 'I'd love to hear you, and I promise I won't be critical.'

  With an eagerness he could scarcely conceal Philip went back into the house. The radio music ceased and, after a couple of minutes, he came back out on to the terrace with the bouzouki in his hands. Kate could not help noticing how he caressed the honey-gold wood of the instrument with loving fingers, almost as if he were fondling a woman. He played a couple of minor chords, his head bent thoughtfully to catch the sound.

  'What would you like to hear?' he asked.

  'Do you know anything by Xarhakos?' asked Kate.

  Philip hummed a few bars of 'Poverty' and looked at her questioningly. She nodded approval and, with a suddenness that shocked and enthralled her, the bouzouki leapt into life. Philip played like a man possessed, with a fire and passion that made Kate feel she was being swept along on a wild current of sound. When the last, lingering cadence died away she stared at him, speechless with emotion.

  'Well?' he asked offhandedly.

  Kate saw that his nonchalance concealed a profound urgency. Obviously her opinion really mattered to him.

  'Surely you don't need to ask me?' she said slowly. 'It was magnificent, Philip. Utterly magnificent. I've never been so moved in my life.'

  'Truly?' he demanded.

  'Truly.'

  'Let me play you a love-song,' he suggested. 'I'd like to know your opinion of it.'

  This time the music was quieter, softer, more haunting. It stirred a poignant memory in Kate's breast. A memory of an achingly sweet evening in a Greek restaurant in Sydney that had turned to ashes. The evening when Leon Clark had broken the news that he was already married. Tears gathered in her eyes and she had to bite her lip as Philip's low, husky voice sang the lyrics of love and yearning. Swallowing hard, she turned her head away as the song came to an end and Philip set down the bouzouki.

  'Katarina?'

  She was silent, too overwhelmed to speak. Then she felt his powerful fingers grip her shoulder as he turned her to face him. Horrified, he saw the tears gleaming on her lashes.

  'What is it? I've upset you, haven't I? I'm a brute, a fool! I should never have played this stupid instrument!'

  'No! No, Philip. You're no brute, you're an artist. It's just that you brought back.. .memories.'

  'Of a man who hurt you?' he asked shrewdly.

  She nodded, blinking back the tears. His hand came up and touched her face.

  Then with a low groan of emotion he threaded his fingers through her flame-coloured hair and drew her in hard against him. She could feel the tempestuous thudding of his heart, the rapid rhythmic rise and fall of his breathing, the warmth radiating out from his body.

  'Oh, agapimou,' he sighed. 'You wake a part of me that I thought was gone forever.'

  This time his kiss was as gentle as the opening of a flower. Her lips trembled as he raised her mouth to his, and for an instant she clung to him, feeling as if she had found a safe haven. Then the warm flame of yearning in his eyes made her suddenly self-conscious. She had never before met a man who made her feel all woman as she did at this moment. Tender, aching, vulnerable. She sat there, twisting her fingers together, unaware that her feelings showed so clearly in her face. Desperately she fought to remain impassive. This is ridiculous, she told herself. I'll never see him after tomorrow. The thought stiffened her pride.

  'Thank you for a lovely evening, Philip,' she said formally. 'If you'll excuse me I think I'll go to bed now.'

  Sensing her change of mood, he helped her to her feet without comment and stood aside to let her pass.

  'Goodnight, Katarina,' he replied. 'Kalinichta. I won't come in until you're asleep and I won't disturb you. You have my word for that. Oh, and I meant to ask you— do you have any of your photos with you that I could look at?'

  'Of course,' she said, feeling suddenly shy. 'They're in my bag in the bedroom. I'll get them for you.'

  After Kate had left him alone with the photos Philip opened the folder and began to flick through its contents. At first he gazed idly, and then with mounting interest. Soon he was spreading the prints out on the table, looking at them from different angles and pursing his lips thoughtfully. Eventually he poured himself a glass of ouzo and sipped it slowly. For more than two hours he sat on the terrace, drumming his fingers on the table- top and staring out at the moonlit sea. Shortly after midnight he went inside the house and fetched his briefcase. Then he set some documents and a photograph out on the table and brooded over them for a long time. At last, with an exclamation of impatience, he flung them into the briefcase and slammed the lid. Striding inside, he opened the bedroom door.

  'Katarina?' he whispered softly.

  Stirring in her sleep, she made a faint sound like the purring of a kitten. The darkness was soft and velvety around her, and she wasn't sure whether she dreamt or felt that faint brush of warm lips against her cheek. So faint that it was no more than a butterfly's touch.

  'Goodnight, Katarina,' said Philip.

  CHAPTER TWO

  KATE woke from a deep and dreamless sleep to the sound of clucking chickens and distant voices. An arrow of sunlight slanted through a gap in the curtains and lit up a blanket with an unfamiliar pattern of pink roses. For a moment she was baffled, then it all came rushing back to her. The earthquake, her meeting with Philip... Colour rushed into her face and she turned over shyly, stretching out her hand. But the bed was empty. Philip had gone.

  A flood of contradictory feelings swept over Kate at this realisation. Relief, disappointment, annoyance, disbelief. Then reason reasserted itself. Philip wouldn't just leave her like that; she knew he wouldn't. He was probably only in the bathroom or out on the terrace. But something drew her gaze inexorably to the bedside table, and she saw that it was empty. Sitting up, she stared bleakly around the room. Every trace of him was gone. His toiletries, his clothes, the dark briefcase, the Louis Vuitton overnight bag.

  He had
vanished as completely as if he had never existed.

  The discovery sent shock waves through her. Somehow, even in the few short hours she had known him, she had come to depend on Philip Andronikos. The Common danger of the earthquake had plunged them into an intimate relationship of trust and sharing, but she would have sworn that there was more to it than that. No man had ever kissed her as Philip had done last night, igniting a flame that still seemed to rage inside her. She had never known a man at once so irresistible and so infuriating. Arrogant, domineering, disdainful and yet warm, protective and passionate. He kissed me as if he really cared, thought Kate miserably, and now he's gone! And how on earth am I to get away from this village? The hire-car is smashed up and I've hardly any money left... Her anxious thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door.

  'Come in,' she called, unable to recall even a syllable of the simplest Greek.

  Kyria Georgia came sailing through the doorway with a beaming smile and a tray laden with coffee and rolls.

  'Kalimera,' she said cheerfully.

  ' Kalimera, ' replied Kate despondently, knowing that she must ask an extremely awkward question.

  Her mind raced as she groped for the right words. How on earth could she ask this woman where Philip had gone? Wouldn't the Kyria simply be shocked that she didn't know about her own husband's movements? And, even supposing the older woman did know where he was, would Kate's abysmal Greek be good enough to understand her answer?

  ' O . . . sizighos mou?' she stammered. 'My husband?'

  'Ne, ne!'

  The woman nodded, smiled and indicated that Kate should drink her coffee.

  Then she rushed from the room and returned with a letter, which she laid on the tray. With a final, encouraging pat on Kate's shoulder, she swept out of the room to deal with the hens, which had strayed on to the terrace. Sighing with relief, Kate leant back against the pillows and took a gulp of strong, sweet Turkish coffee to steady her. Then, setting down her cup, she tackled Philip's letter.