Devil in Disguise

by Jessica Steele

  But she was to find she had no time for rehearsal. Because he could not have stopped longer than to halt the car in front of the terrace, for without him bothering to knock her door was opened and Lazar stood there. He hadn't waited to drop off his shopping either, she thought, seeing he was holding a paper bag in his hands.

  She didn't want him in her room, and darts of panic had her speaking without thought.

  `You can't do this,' she said on a gulp of fear that his visit meant he wasn't waiting for her to cross the threshold of his room.

  `Do what?' he asked innocently, his eyes noting that she was wearing another of her `bell tent' dresses.

  `Y-you know,' said Clare, seeing he had left the door open and didn't look as though he meant to close it. Oh, if Only her agitation hadn't got the better of her! If only she had waited for him to mention the purpose of his visit, she thought, the feeling growing since he was making no move towards her that he was still waiting for her to make the first approach.

  Casually, he propped himself against the wall by the door, not saying anything, just waiting for her to continue. Damn him! she thought, glad of a flare of anger.

  `Look, Mr—Lazar' why pretend, she thought of him as Lazar more often than not, `you must see that all this is wrong.' His face was inscrutable now, nothing showing to give her encouragement to carry on. Yet she knew she just had to, just had to, try and get through to him. 'I c-can't do what you're asking,' she said pleadingly. 'I just can't—p-please don't make me.'

  For one glorious moment she thought she saw a softening in him. Those dark eyes didn't appear to be as hard as she had seen them. But as he still had nothing to say, she pressed on with what she thought was her advantage, hope surging that he wasn't the devil she had thought him yesterday.

  'Kit couldn't have done what you say he did. I know he couldn't,' she said, and saw straight away that she had made a terrible mistake in bringing her brother's name into it. For she had reminded him, if he needed any reminding, exactly why she was being made to pay in the way he had chosen.

  `You are calling Sophronia a liar,' he said tightly, all the proud honour of his Greek forebears in every line of him as he pulled away from the wall and looked darkly at her.

  She didn't dare say `yes'; his very look intimidated her. `Well,' she began, swallowing hard, 'I know my brother ...'

  `Not as well as you thought you knew him, obviously,' he rapped. `There is no doubt in my mind that Sophronia is telling the truth. She may be headstrong at times, even wilful when she cannot get her own way, but no Greek girl with her upbringing would invent such a story and so besmirch her honour.'

  `But ...' Clare knew she still had to try. She couldn't leave it like this, not after having had the courage to bring the subject up. But Lazar seemed to think she had said quite sufficient.

  'Enough! ' he stopped her, his hand going up imperiously. 'I have told you what you must do. We shall not discuss it again. You have until Saturday to either accept that or let your brother pay for irrevocably damaging the whole of my sister's future.'

  Her colour gone, she could only stare at this dominating man. And yet, as frightened as she was, something within her had to be heard.

  `Lazar, please,' she begged, only to retreat a step as he took a step towards her.

  But her panic for the immediate moment was not needed, for he came only as far as her bed where he placed the paper bag he was carrying.

  `Should you wish to go for a swim, I have bought you the necessary,' he told her, and she could see in his unbending attitude that as far as he was concerned the subject of what was to happen before Saturday drew to a close was finished, and that he was adamant she should never bring it up again—only acquiesce.

  She didn't thank him for the swimsuit. Knowing she would never wear it, she had no curiosity at all to want to peer inside the bag and enquire his choice.

  `You packed in such a hurry,' he went on, apparently not requiring her thanks, `that you forgot to pack your cosmetics.' He indicated the paper bag. 'I purchased a lipstick and cream that should tide you over. If the colour is all wrong, it will at least save the sun's rays from drying your mouth.'

  Unspeaking, Clare stayed where she was, and with one more stern look her way Lazar departed. She waited only for the door to close before she unceremoniously pushed the paper bag to the floor and sank down on the bed.

  Not for one moment did she think it thoughtful of him to get into his car and go to collect the items he thought she couldn't do without. All that penetrated her mind was that when she eventually went to him he didn't want to have to place his sensuous mouth over the dry, cracked lips of hers.

  Oh, what was she to do? she thought in vain. Even supposing she could bear to worry her parents, there was no way she could get in touch with them either by letter or phone so that they could come to her aid.

  She stayed in her room for the next hour, her thoughts going round and around in her head until she thought they would drive her crazy. She had to get out of this room or she would go mad, she thought, and got to her feet only to stand on the paper bag she had an hour earlier knocked from the bed. A spurt of anger moved her to kick it across the room, only to vanish as her natural instinct for tidiness had her going over to pick it up.

  Once she had the paper bag in her hands, she found she did have a curiosity after all, and she emptied the contents out on to the bed. Lazar had bought her two swimsuits, not one as she had supposed, she saw. Though the scrap of a thing that was a bikini could hardly be called decent, let alone a swimsuit. The other, though, was much more presentable, being a modest all-in-one affair in a deep shade of brown. It was a regulation swimsuit that had definitely been designed for the purpose of swimming in.

  She threw it down, knowing she wasn't going to put it on, and examined the lipstick, a pinky red colour that would go beautifully with her colouring, if she had any intention of wearing that either.

  Turning away from the bed, intending to make her exit by the sliding glass door, she caught sight of herself in the dressing table mirror. She looked tall and thin despite the voluminous folds of her dress, she thought, and discovered a curiosity about her own body she had never had before. Stepping away from the mirror she took another step towards going outside when that curiosity tugged at her; held her back. Her eyes went to the swimsuit on the bed. She shrugged, and would again have gone forward, but strangely, didn't move.

  Hesitating, she looked at the bed again. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to try it on? Snatching up the swimsuit, she went into the bathroom to poke her head back round the door a few minutes later as though expecting that during her absence an audience had assembled waiting for her to appear. She knew as she stepped from the bathroom that she was just going to have to satisfy the urge to see what she looked like, and hesitation behind her, she went swiftly to the wardrobe, opening the door to get the full length effect on the long mirror appended to the other side of the wardrobe door.

  A gasp of astonishment left her when she saw that she stripped off very well. Slightly embarrassed, she forced the feeling down, and stayed to see that, regulation swimsuit or not, it made the best of her firm high bust, even showed an inch or two of cleavage. Quickly she lowered her eyes, glad she had a flat stomach. She had never before realised that she had such long shapely legs either and was surprised to find she was glad she didn't have tree-trunk legs.

  Her inspection of her body over, she looked at her face, her silvery hair, darker brows and serious brown eyes, and the impulse was on her to experiment with the lipstick. Other girls began experimenting with make-up before they were fourteen, she knew that, but at fourteen her head had been crammed with so many other things, she recalled, and after fourteen She shut her mind off; she didn't want to think about that terrifying winter's night when she had been walking up that dark lane near her home with nothing more on her mind than how pleased her mother would be with the book she had managed to get her from the mobile library.

  She saw she had
applied too much lipstick and blotted the surplus off with a tissue, flushing the tissue down the lavatory when she went back into the bathroom to get changed into the clothes she was more accustomed to.

  Her dress was the first thing to hand, and it seemed to her then as she picked it up that another person had entered her being from the person she knew herself to be. It was that same person who had had her hesitating before trying on the swimsuit; that person who now had her dropping her dress over the head on top of the swimsuit. And then she was outside before the old Clare Harper could have her turning back to her room to change.

  She kept her eyes skinned to check that Lazar was not about. She had tried to get through to him and had failed miserably—she wanted no further conversation with him.

  It was hot on the beach, but so satisfying to have the whole of it to herself. Drawn to the water's edge, she walked a hundred yards or so along, some sense of calm coming to her as she drank in the beauty of her surroundings, then had to stop as her sandals kept gritting with sand. Her sandals off, she didn't bother to put them on again—pointless anyway; she could spend the whole of the morning extracting sand from them. The sun was hot overhead, the sand hot beneath her feet, making her instinctively head for the water.

  It was sheer delight to have the sea lapping her toes and before long she was paddling further in, picking up her dress to her knees to avoid wetting the hem. If only she could swim, she thought, never having been bothered by her lack of prowess in the water before.

  Wouldn't it be gorgeous to immerse oneself completely in the cooling waters?

  There was nothing to stop her going in chest high though, an inner voice tormented. And suddenly, the new Clare Harper had her going back to the water's edge, taking a very thorough look around to make sure she was still by herself, and then walking further to the beach where she hastily pulled her dress over her head before she could change her mind. From there she ran back to the sea, experiencing fresh delight at another first when with water up to her waist she splashed around and found out how enjoyable such freedom was.

  The sun hot on her shoulders, she held her hair on top of her head, wishing she had some pins with which to secure it, then dipped under the water up to her neck, wishing again that she could swim.

  Having in part lost herself in the new and enjoyable pastime, she had lost too for the moment the worries that threatened her sanity. And then, for all she knew there was no one about, her self consciousness returned, and she wanted only to be out of the water with her dress covering her.

  There was an urgency about her as she turned to head for the beach, and the sea was about waist-high when, searching for where she had left her dress, she felt a shaft of horror pierce through her. For there standing watching her was Lazar Vardakas!

  Her nerves bundled together in a knot of apprehension and she knew the greatest reluctance to leave the water. And yet she felt far more vulnerable where she was, for he seemed to have taken up a permanent stance and didn't look to be going anywhere. She just couldn't go back to splashing around with him watching.

  In a mind to get to the beach as quickly as possible, to get into her dress as rapidly as she could, she realised as she walked towards him that since her dress lay some yards behind him, she would have to go near him.

  She might have achieved her aim to get to her dress with some dignity had she not chanced to raise her eyes to his face when a few yards only separated them. But the look in his eyes as he admired her figure had a blush breaking over her which she thought must reach right down to her toes.

  Unashamedly his eyes roved from the top of her white cloud of hair, over her bare shoulders and slowly down over her body, her long shapely legs and down to her feet, to return as though attracted by her wet clinging swimsuit, to her breasts. Her eyes followed his, and looking down to her bust line she blushed afresh that the twin peaks of each swelling curve had hardened from the contact with the water and were now standing out for him to see she was very much a woman. 'Stop looking at me like that ! ' was wrenched from her, and, unable to bear his scrutiny, she made to dart past him. She found Lazar had moved too, and as she reached for her dress, her attempt was thwarted as he picked it up and withheld it from her.

  Her attempt at dignity a thing of the past, her dismay would have had her lunging for it, only his voice, speaking coolly, stopped her.

  `Why are you so ashamed of your body?' he asked, his eyes going over her again, though she doubted he had missed anything the first time.

  `I'm not,' she said tautly.

  `Yes, you are,' he dismissed her answer. 'I have seen you in nothing but dresses you could wrap around your

  slender shape three, maybe four times.'

  'I like loose-fitting clothes,' she defended. `Anyway, I can wear what I like—it's nothing to do with you.'

  'I knew you wouldn't wear the bikini when I bought it,' he ignored her defence, 'yet I was sure you had something underneath all that material you cover yourself up with that would be worth seeing.'

  Clare didn't want this personal conversation about her I body, wanted to get him off the subject. But apparently he was more interested in what went on inside her.

  'Your body is beautiful,' he went on, to her growing distress. 'You should be proud to possess so much loveliness. You ...'

  But Clare had heard enough. Anxious to get herself covered up, she made a grab for her dress, caught off balance when he moved out of the way, and her trepidation grew as she felt his arms come round her, his hands on her naked back as he saved her from falling.

  In that instant, the feel of his hands on her and what could happen if she didn't get away had terror taking over from trepidation, and wildly she pushed at him to be free. Whether or not he liked the feel of her back she didn't have time to decide, but his arms stayed firm around her, refusing to let her go.

  She began to shake with dread and managing to get her arms and hands free she hit out at anywhere she could get a blow to land. The sting of her hand across his face had Lazar holding on to her arms, a look of fury coming over his features.

  'You hellcat!' he snarled, and as her eyes went wide with fear, he began to haul her up against his hard body.

  'No! ' she screamed. But there was no one but him to hear her.

  Then she was no longer on an isolated beach many miles from her own country. It was not Lazar who held her. She was struggling, fighting to get away from the beast who was intent on violating her body. She was in a dark lane, was being suffocated with nightmare remembrances from the past. The sun had gone; the world was grey.

  'No!' she tried to scream, but no sound left her throat 'as her grey world changed to black, and she fainted.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  SLOWLY some light began to enter Clare's dark world. Her long lashes fluttered open and she found she was still on the beach, Lazar still with her. Only now where the sun had been hot upon her, she was lying in the shade. He must have carried her there, she thought, her mind clearing and everything that had happened coming back to her.

  Wanting to be on her feet and away from him as fast as she could, she struggled to sit up only to find those hands were assisting her.

  'Take your hands off me!' she muttered tightly, that familiar alarm starting off again.

  Lazar let her go, but she was still weak from her faint and didn't trust her legs to hold her, and the last thing she wanted was to collapse on top of him if her legs crumpled. She concentrated on trying to keep calm for the next few minutes while waiting for her strength to return. Lazar had released her when she had asked him to, so perhaps he wasn't the type to take advantage of her weakened state.

  Silently they sat there on the beach, Lazar not saying anything until he saw her faint colour had returned and that she had recovered. Then Clare, about to get to her feet, was stopped by the brusque, unsympathetic:

  `Would you mind telling me what the hell all that was about?'

  `I—er—fainted,' she replied, not looking at him, reso
lved to tell him nothing. Nothing would get her telling a soul of those remembrances that had triggered off her faint.

  'I know damn well you fainted,' he said shortly, reminding her, 'I was there.' Clare made to get to her feet, anxiously looking around for her dress, but without ceremony he pushed her down again. `You are going nowhere, Miss Clare Harper, until you tell me exactly what it is about being in my arms that made you pass out like that.'

  He was too shrewd by far, Clare thought, her mind searching feverishly for some excuse that would be believable. He had discerned that being in a man's arms frightened the wits out of her, and much though she would like to ask him to pass her dress over so she could cover herself up, there was a greater urgency in her that decreed he should not take that as another indication that she was afraid of men. For over the years a feeling of shame had grown up alongside the feeling of degradation at having been singled out for that vicious attack on her person that dreadful dark night.

  Lazar appeared to be in no hurry for her answer. He looked in fact to be ready to wait all day exactly where they were for her to string her words together. And as a cold sweat broke out on her body, Clare knew with a sort of hysterical conviction that if her answer didn't satisfy him, he might well embrace her again if that was the only way to get the answers he wanted.