Devil in Disguise

by Jessica Steele

  Her feet took her way from the villa, away from the main road. What point in going in that direction? She just couldn't trust herself in her wild fear not to beg a lift should she see a passing motorist. She owed it to Kit to try and be brave, to try and find a way out of this horrifying predicament that would save him from physical violence and a way that would save her from having to go through that door and into Lazar's bedroom.

  Entirely unaware where her feet were taking her, her mind too full with worry, she saw with surprise that she had reached the private beach belonging to the villa. Turning her eyes seaward, she gazed at the waters of the Aegean, looking at the sea that went on for miles and miles as though hoping she might find some source of inspiration out there.

  A sound behind her had her swinging quickly about, the fine beige-coloured sand having muffled the tread of her persecutor. He was less than five yards away and she backed hurriedly when he advanced further. But his strides were longer than her stumbling paces, and a soundless scream left her when his hard hand came down on her arm to halt her in her retreat.

  Panic with her, she pulled violently out of his grasp, backing some more as she cried, `Leave me alone! I don't want—you! '

  He made no move to come after her, but regarded her frightened look cynically as though he thought it was purely an act she was putting on to get him to change his mind about what he intended should happen between them.

  'It was not my intention to come looking for you with seduction in mind,' he told her curtly, reminding her cruelly, 'I thought I had made it plain enough that the amorous approach should come from you.'

  Clare felt her whole body break out into a sweat at that, and knew then by the determined look of him that he meant every word he said.

  'I merely came to find out why you are not eating. You haven't had a thing inside your stomach since last night. Phoebe tells me you didn't want any lunch.'

  If he thought he might get her to come to him quicker by pretending a concern for her she knew was entirely phoney, then he could jolly well think again! she decided, glad to feel anger spurt inside her where before she had felt too defeated to fight back.

  'I don't want anything from you,' she said ungraciously. 'I'd rather go hungry than eat at your table.'

  His chin jutted furiously, and it wouldn't have surprised her then if he had yanked her back to the villa and stood over her while she ate. Indeed, for a moment his look became so grim she thought he was going to do exactly that. She took a step away in fear of having that hard hand touching her again, and his jaw clenched as he witnessed her movement. Then suddenly he looked completely and utterly fed up with her.

  `Then go hungry,' he bit out at her, and turned to go, striding in the direction of the villa.

  For ten minutes more Clare stood exactly where she was, taking some small pleasure in the thought that she had for the first time in her life had to stand up to someone, and had actually won.

  Her pleasure was shortlived as she gazed about her wondering what she should do now, having no intention of following the way he had gone. It still gratified her that after years of being a nothing kind of person, since knowing Lazar Vardakas she had discovered she had a temper, could be angry, albeit at the moment it . only came in short bursts, she did have a small supply of courage. Though she didn't thank him that she was learning that she wasn't entirely the wishy-washy creature she had been beginning to suspect she was.

  Gradually as she stood there, she became aware of the scenery, and as the breathtaking beauty of the spot where Lazar Vardakas had his villa began to fill her senses, so for a very short while did she become lost in the wonder of what nature had created.

  To the right of her lay the sea, warm-looking, inviting to even a non-swimmer like herself. In front of her a sun-kissed beach that was broken some way away by a jetty, and behind the jetty a boathouse. She looked to the left where the land rose higher and higher, to hills covered with lush pine trees, the foreground grass green and inviting to a goat she suddenly noticed tethered to a tree, contentedly nibbling away. She turned to look at the villa and noticed now, where before agitation had kept her blind, that it lay in a semicircle of forest with the Aegean at its front. A place of complete seclusion for any busy executive who needed somewhere to come and relax.

  Her senses still filled with delight at her surroundings, she ousted Lazar Vardakas from her thoughts. To let him intrude would ruin such beauty, would have her feeling ill again. Her feet took her towards the pine trees, no conscious thought in her mind now of where she was going, only some inner being telling her that for a short while at least she wanted to be part of the peace and tranquillity of that scene. Some part of her hoped that once there in among those trees she might find rest from those thoughts that would have her running scared.

  How far she walked, the sunlight breaking through the tall pines, or how long it took before she found a clearing and sat down in the still beauty of the wooded slope, Clare had no idea. But she was in no hurry to go back. Though the tranquillity of thought she had hoped to find was missing as again and again the knowledge refused to be kept at bay of what was to happen to her if she was to secure Kit's safe keeping.

  At last it was the frightening cogitations she thought would drive her out of her mind that had her leaving the sanctuary of the pine woods. Unable to sit quietly, she stood up and retraced her steps back to the villa.

  Having found a footpath, she turned to go left at an olive tree, and was almost up to the sliding glass door of her room when she saw Lazar standing there, and pulled up short. By the none too pleasant look on his face she guessed he was waiting for her. He saw her, but didn't move, and she knew she would have to go towards him if she was to gain her room. She went slowly forward, admitting she was more than a little wary of him.

  He barely waited before she was level with him before he was biting, `Where the hell have you been?'

  'Where would I go?' she asked in return, her voice bitter. He knew as well as she did that Kit's physical wellbeing depended on her staying put.

  His expression didn't lighten any as he grunted, 'I see you are aware that the phone call will be made asking Aeneas to act in my stead should you try to escape me.' Then, terminating the conversation, 'We shall dine in an hour's time. Make sure you are there.' Clare stepped round him and into her room, telling herself she was going to ignore the pangs of hunger that had begun up on the hillside and were now gnawing away at her. She was glad of the coffee Phoebe had left, cold though it was, as thirstily she drank it down. Then, feeling hot, sticky and miserable, she found fresh underwear and a clean dress and went to the bathroom, placing a sturdy-looking linen bin against the door without too much hope that it would stop Lazar from coming in if the thought crossed his mind so to do.

  Bathed, and dressed once more in one of her loose print dresses, she had to own that she was starving. She told herself she was only going to the dining room [because she was hungry and not at all because she was terrified Lazar Vardakas might come to her room and take her there by force.

  He was already in the dining room when she went in, wearing black trousers and a fine rollneck black sweater, and to her distracted senses, he looked more menacing than ever as he looked her over.

  `Do you not possess anything but bell tents in your wardrobe?' he enquired, nastily she thought, realising that because this was the only type of dress she ever bought he wasn't likely to see her in anything else.

  `I must apologise for not wearing a dinner gown,' she

  said, to her amazement discovering another first—she had a touch of sarcasm in her make-up too, or was it just that she was fighting with everything in her not to collapse in a bundle of frightened nerves? 'I hadn't realised,' she went bravely on, `that I'd come here to ...' Her voice petered out as it quickly came back why she was here. But she tried to get back on top. `I ... I only packed dresses suitable, as I thought, for nursing a sick brother.'

  He ignored her reminding him that he had told
her countless lies to get her to come with him, and remarked, `Then you didn't think to bring a swimsuit with you either?'

  'No,' she answered shortly, and could have told him she didn't possess one, but she didn't, any more than she could have told him that even if she had brought one with her, nothing would have got her changing into it. It was her opinion, if only she could have her way, that he was seeing as much of her as he was going to see of her right now. Anything else was unthinkable.

  Lazar offered her a pre-dinner drink, which she refused with a short, `No, thank you,' only wanting to eat her dinner and go back to her room. She fully intended not to get into conversation with him. If he required an answer to anything he had to say, then she was going to limit her answers to a brief `yes' or `no'.

  But to her surprise, quite how she was never afterwards sure, maybe because at first he began by telling her something of his own family, his parents and sister living in Athens, Aeneas with his wife and family living near by, that she found herself stringing complete sentences together.

  And by the time he had brought the conversation round to her family, she had forgotten she had resolved to give him monosyllabic answers only. That was, until the conversation got round to her personally, and by then her reasons for not wanting to talk to him were that she knew anything she could tell him about herself added up to what must be a very dull person when set against the sort of women she was sure he usually dined with.

  `And what type of work do you do?' he enquired, as the very satisfying meal came to an end and he passed over the sugar bowl so she could spoon some into her coffee, taking it for granted that she, like most of her contemporaries in England, did a job of some sort.

  `I—er—don't,' she said. Then in self-defence, `My mother prefers to do her own housework, so I help her at home.'

  'So,' his eyes were watching her too intently for her peace of mind, `you do not mix with other young people of your own age during the daytime?'

  'No,' she answered briefly, and wished she could have added something to that—but there was nothing. `How about the night-time?'

  `What do you mean, the night-time?' she returned, unlikely to tell him that she seldom went out after dark, and certainly never by herself.

  `You have boy-friends, of course,' he stated. `With your unusual colouring,' he added, his dark eyes on her silvery-white hair, `apart from the rest of your beauty, there must be many eager young men coming to your home to call.'

  To tell him she had never had a boy-friend wouldn't be believed, she saw, and a flush of pink stole across her creamy skin that he thought she had beauty. Was she beautiful? she wondered, doubting it as the wary thought came that this might be a lead up to something she would far rather not know about.

  'I don't go out all that often,' she said, hoping her answer would kill the conversation dead and taking a quick gulp of her coffee, anxious suddenly to be away from him.

  'Oh,' he said, giving her that considering look again, and causing her to wonder what the `Oh' meant. That was until he said, `Do you have one special boyfriend who comes to your home' he paused, then tacked on, `You have a close—relationship with one man in particular?'

  The very idea appalled her. `No!' she said sharply, and was rash enough to add snappishly, `There's no special boy-friend. If I want to go out at night I go out with my brothers or my parents.'

  Immediately she saw the way one eyebrow went up she knew she had said too much. But it was too late to take it back, so she put all her faith in hoping he didn't believe her.

  He didn't believe her. That much was obvious when his face took on a mask of coldness. `Credit me with at least some intelligence,' he told her gratingly. 'I lived in England for a time when I was studying. I am quite well aware of how the code of behaviour for young women there differs from my own country. You have no need to try and make me believe you have never had a boy-friend. No need at all to lie to me.'

  So she had told him she had never had a boy-friend, for all it had been in a roundabout way, and as she had suspected he didn't believe her. Well, she wasn't bothered what he believed, all she wanted to do now was to get to her room and away from the coldness in his face. She stood up, the remainder of her coffee unwanted.

  `Why shouldn't I lie to you?' she found herself saying. `You haven't cared about the lies you told me in order to get me here.'

  He didn't answer, but fixed her with a sour-tempered stare she found unnerving. It had her leaving the subject of the lies he had told her, and she was asking:

  `And anyway, what about you? Do you have a special girl-friend?' And as the thought struck, `Are you married?'

  `No, I'm not married,' he answered, his eyes taking on a devilish look that tormented her even before the sense of what he said next came. `How could I be? Adultery is a legally punishable offence in Greece.'

  As if that would bother him ! And then it hit her, hit her what he was really saying, and as suddenly her senses were alarmed again. He was saying that because he was unmarried he would not be breaking that particular law by ... There was a hard aggressive look to him that had the thought screaming in that he didn't appear to be content to wait until she was ready to go to his room.

  `Lazar,' she said quickly, in her urgency forgetting she had intended never to call him by his first name again, but stammering on because she needed his answer without delay. `Y-you won't—I mean ...' Her hands were sweating as she tried to get the words out. `It is still up to me to—to open that c-communicating door, isn't it?'

  She waited, nausea welling up in her that he was taking his time in answering. From the look of him he seemed to think her question unworthy of an answer.

  But she had to know, she just had to. And so she tried again.

  'Please,' she said, 'p-please tell me you won't b-be that you won't ...' Her voice tailed off as his impatience with her got the better of him.

  'For God's sake go to bed!' he snapped, standing up , and towering over her, frightening her further, 'and drop this display of the terrified innocent!' But Clare found she couldn't move, not until she had the answer she wanted.

  His eyes went deliberately from her wide pleading eyes to become fascinated by her trembling mouth. Then as he took his glance from her more full lower lip with its partnering perfect upper lip, his night black eyes looked into hers, and very quietly, he said:

  'The prerogative in opening that door is all yours, my dear,' and there was something so sensuous emanating from the very air around him that her breath was stifled as he added, 'I shall be waiting any time you choose to call.'

  Clare slept only fitfully that night, only half believing she could trust his word. But as dawn filtered through the night sky, she dropped into a lower depth of sleep, and awoke to a glorious morning that called her out of bed and had her going to take a shower.

  Half an hour later she wandered from her room to be met by a smiling Phoebe who greeted her shyly with, 'Kaliméra, thespinis,' and received Clare's own shy response of 'Good morning, Phoebe,' then directed her to the terrace where she saw a table had been set.

  Fortunately Lazar was not anywhere about, and Clare was glad to breakfast alone, having been able to get through to Phoebe that all she wanted was fruit juice, toast and coffee.

  Somehow, she thought, somehow today, now that the shock of Lazar's proposition had receded, she had to try and get through to him that what he suggested just wasn't possible. Yesterday she had been so sickened and alarmed by what he had said she had been able to do nothing to get him to change his mind.

  She found the idea of tackling him scary, but it had to be done. He had given her until the end of the week to come to terms with his ultimatum. But he might just as well have given her a year, because she knew she just couldn't do it.

  Having decided she wanted to have her interview with him as soon as possible, when Phoebe came to bring her coffee, with the aid of sign language, she was able to ask her where he was.

  Panic, this time for Kit, had her in its gri
p when she learned he had gone out. She was terrified he hadn't waited until the weekend but had, after her display of fear last night, for all she had thought he hadn't believed in it, taken the boat she was sure must have been in the boathouse she had seen yesterday. She was certain he had gone to Niakos to deal with Kit personally.

  However, some frantic signs to Phoebe assured her some few minutes later that he had gone out in his car and not the boat.

  Yes when five minutes later she saw the Mercedes appearing round the olive trees that flanked the drive, the top open with a shirt-sleeved Lazar at tile wheel, she was out of her chair and heading for her room, which had not been her intention at all.

  Perhaps it would be as well to rehearse what she had to say to him, she thought, pacing up and down, knowing she had to get the courage from somewhere, had somehow got to try and get through to him.