Devil in Disguise

by Jessica Steele

  'It looks as though it may clear up,' she remarked, more because she was feeling the strain of the heavy silence getting through to her than anything else.

  Lazar didn't answer, and she was just thinking 'Oh, get on with it, then' when after negotiating a tight bend in the road, he replied:

  'I hoped it might. I'll take the top off later if the weather continues to improve.'

  Was that an indication that they would be out for longer than just a spin? Clare felt some of her tenseness leave her. He had bothered to answer her after all, so perhaps he wasn't being as moody as she had supposed.

  A half an hour later he steered the car into the fishing port of Moudania, driving through the town square with its huge plane tree and to the harbour, where he stopped the car.

  `Like to stretch your legs?' he suggested, turning to her with a pleasant look on his face, which made her wonder how she had ever thought him morose and moody.

  `Please.' Already her hand was going to the door catch her side.

  What time the fishing boats had gone out, or come in for that matter, she had no idea, but she was fascinated to stand and observe the fishing vessels, all of which seemed to be festooned with lights which they must switch on when they were out to sea.

  Standing there, she was aware of tourists going back and forth, her ears easily picking up English voices. And then she saw a boat that wasn't a fishing vessel but a small yacht with a Union Jack flying from its mast, and suddenly her heart lightened, her tensions disappeared completely, and she turned to Lazar who had been standing patiently by her side, and smiled.

  For a few seconds there was no reaction from him. Then as his eyes followed the direction hers had gone, observing as she had done her country's flag, he turned his attention back to her.

  `Does seeing that make you feel homesick?'

  Clare thought about it for a moment. No, it hadn't made her feel homesick. It had lifted her, made her feel less alien in a country that was not her own, had given her a feeling of happiness almost—yet strangely, not homesickness.

  `No,' she said honestly, and left it at that. Then she felt the most peculiar sensation in her heart region when Lazar looked pleased, and he too smiled.

  I must have eaten my breakfast too quickly, Clare thought, dismissing the peculiar feeling she had received when he had smiled. She had rather hurried with her toast, wanting to make sure he didn't leave without her.

  After that the day picked up in more ways than just the weather. It was as though her telling him she wasn't homesick had eased any constraint he was feeling. Almost at once the tension between them fell away and Lazar even teased her when she showed an interest in the local taverna, suggesting she wanted to be like the other tourists and sample one.

  `Will they be open?' she asked.

  For answer he took charge of her elbow and guided her across the street, where they sat outside a taverna and drank coffee before going back to the car where after one look at the cloudless blue sky, Lazar took the top off the Mercedes.

  Perhaps it was because she was among different scenery that she found the experience of sitting beside Lazar while they sped along so exhilarating. Not that he was going all that fast, for he seemed to think she should look her fill at the superb views about her. Yes, that was it. It was the scenery that made her feel so alive, she thought, for she had often been a passenger in Kit's open-topped car and had never felt like this.

  Any heat that would have scorched her was absorbed by the breeze the car created, lifting her hair and bring ing a glow to her cheeks as her eyes feasted on everything there was to see.

  Small shrines appeared at every road junction. She was fascinated to see white blobs of cotton growing in fields as they passed, some already having been harvested, and astonished when in the middle of nowhere, some enterprising watermelon grower had set up a stall clearly hoping to do business with anyone who would stop.

  A house or two appeared, and as she saw a stationary aircraft, she thought this must be where she and Lazar had landed. Her assumption proved correct when Lazar told her they were entering Thessaloniki, adding that they would lunch there. She told him, quite relaxed now and oddly feeling in no way threatened by him, that she preferred the Greek name for Greece's second city, rather than the plain-sounding translation, Salonika, and was rewarded by a little snippet when he told her:

  `Thessaloniki was the sister of Alexander the Great. It is said the city was named after her.'

  History had always been a favourite of Clare's, and it was without any thought of showing off her knowledge that she said, `Alexander, king of the Macedonians,' and received a grin from Lazar that made her glad she had decided to come with him.

  Once he had parked the car, Clare realised she couldn't lunch anywhere with her hair so blown about, and rooted about in her bag, only to find she had left her comb back on the dressing table.

  `I've forgotten my comb,' she mourned, her latent femininity stirring.

  Lazar looked at her, and she felt a flutter of panic when his head came nearer, only for that panic to die when he searched in a compartment on her side, ran a comb to earth and handed it to her with the comment, `Sophronia's.'

  Clare used Sophronia's comb, musing while she did so that that was the first time he had mentioned his sister's name in her hearing without that hard edge of anger to his voice.

  They lunched in the smartest hotel she had ever been in. That it wasn't Lazar's first visit and that his was a respected name was obvious not only by the first-class treatment they received, but by the way he was addressed. The waiter answering in English when because of her presence Lazar addressed him in her mother tongue.

  Since she had stated she would prefer to try a Greek meal and ignore the many steaks offered, Lazar guided her choice over taramosalata, a fish roe pâté, which was so delicious she could have made a meal of that on its own without the pastichio which followed and consisted of macaroni with minced meat in a sauce with parmesan cheese.

  Lazar conversed easily with her over lunch, and if occasionally he brought a shy smile to her lips that had him staring at her longer than usual, she was entirely unaware of the reason. All she was aware of was that somehow he had her talking in return, she who was always most reserved with strangers.

  At one stage he referred to her knowing Alexander the Great had been king of Macedonia, seeming surprised that she knew too Alexander had in his early _ teens been a pupil of the great philosopher Aristotle himself.

  `We are not far from Alexander's birthplace,' he informed her, adding to her enormous delight, `The archaeologists have been excavating the remains of his palace for some years now. Would you like to see it?'

  Her eyes were positively shining when she squeaked, `Could we?'

  He grinned at her obvious awe, and Clare felt that peculiar sensation in her heart region again, and realised she had made a pig of herself with the taramosalata.

  Lazar nodded. `But first I think perhaps we should walk off our lunch.'

  The heat when they went outside the air-conditioned hotel met them fiercely, and Clare had no idea what Lazar's intention was when he took hold of her arm and piloted her into one of the local shops.

  That was until he stopped with her at one counter and with a babble of every language under the sun going on around her, she was made sharply aware of him when he took from the assistant who had hurried to do his bidding a classy-looking stiff linen sun hat and promptly placed the tall crown with its snappy brim on her head.

  `Goetevtikos,' he said, standing back to admire the angle in which he had placed it on her head.

  Clare didn't know what the word meant, but the way he had said it sounded so much like a compliment that she blushed and was glad at that moment he turned away to pay the attending assistant, also affording her the chance to get a peep at herself in the mirror.

  With astonishment she observed how different she looked—from the neck up, anyway. Her style of dress she was used to, though she found she was
wishing with a longing foreign to her that she had something different to wear. She rejected such yearnings, knowing she was quite happy with her present wardrobe, and concentrated on her hat. It made her look—how? Not sophisticated, she doubted she would ever be that, but certainly as though there was more to her than the shy awkward female she had been to date.

  `Didn't you believe me when I said you looked charming?'

  Lazar's voice brought her eyes instantly away from the mirror. She refrained from telling him he had spoken in Greek before, as this time she couldn't hope to hide from him the fact that she had blushed again.

  Happily pacing along beside him, she had no idea where he was taking her once they had left the shop. She was getting more used to the heat now, but when he took her inside a beautiful Byzantine church and allowed her to satiate her eyes, she felt the air almost cold in contrast to the heat outside.

  The church had only recently been repaired, he told her, many of such buildings having suffered when Thessaloniki had experienced an earthquake some years before.

  Her excitement began to mount when they went back to the car. Soon they would be at Pella, Alexander's birthplace; she could hardly wait to see it. Before leaving Thessaloniki, as she preferred to call it, they passed an interesting-looking round tower, and wanting to cram in as much as she could, she asked what it was.

  'It is called The White Tower,' Lazar informed her, going on to tell her how it was illuminated at night, but adding, 'I am afraid we are not able to see round it. It is only open for ten days of the year and that is when the International Fair is held here, but that will not be until next month.'

  Why, when she was so anxious to get home, back to the safety her family provided, she should suddenly feel regretful that come September she would be far away from Greece, Clare could not understand. But it seemed to cast a blight on the day, a blight which was not relieved until Lazar had driven to a plain, in the middle of which Pella was situated.

  The archaeologists had done their work well in uncovering a palace that had been built more than two thousand years ago, Clare thought, as without haste she and Lazar walked round the site examining tall ridged pillars and floor mosaics. The mosaics were made from thousands of tiny evenly matched pebbles. It must have taken an army of artists a lifetime, she thought in wonder, thrilled into silence, grateful that Lazar was letting her take it all in without saying a word.

  At last she had to come away, but her mind was so full of what she had seen, when she stumbled into him not realising he had halted to let an elderly matron go in front of them, it was an instinctive gesture to hold on to his arm. And just as instinctive when she realised what she had done to try and pull her hand away. But she found Lazar must like the feel of her hand in the crook of his arm, for he instructed:

  `Leave it there.' And when her heart began to beat hurriedly, he added casually, `There is some uneven ground, you might fall.' Then just as casually he told her, 'There are a few more mosaics in a small museum across the road. Would you like to take a look?'

  Once inside the museum, he allowed her to let go his arm so that she could wander at will round the treasures it held, though he came and stood by her when she reached the most impressive in her view of all the mosaics. It depicted a man either side of a lion, done in the tiny pebbles she had seen a short while ago, and she listened with rapt attention as Lazar told her it was thought the man wearing the hat was Alexander himself, the bareheaded figure that of Krateros, who had saved Alexander's life in a lion hunt.

  When they left Pella she knew they would now be making for the villa. But the thought did not disturb her as much as it should have done, and she realised then, with utter amazement, that against all odds of it being so, she had just spent one of the happiest days of her life.

  They broke their journey back to call at one of the secluded holiday hotels en route where they had tea, a silence settling between them when they went back to the car. Clare felt tired, but that wasn't the reason for her being so quiet, she thought in confusion. How

  could she have been so happy when Kit ...

  `You are feeling well, Clare?' Lazar enquired, when it must have come to him that some time had gone by without her saying anything.

  `I'm fine,' she answered, and thought he must be tired too after his many hours of driving, for after that he had little to say either. And then he was turning the car down the drive to the villa.

  Clare quickly hopped out, feeling shy suddenly, for all she had conversed so freely with him for most of the day. `Thank you very much for today, Lazar.' She spoke politely, and as he looked back at her, his face once more severe now that they were at his home where the time he had allotted her to come to him was fast dwindling, her shyness overcame every other thought and she turned and bolted indoors.

  Closing the door of her room, she leaned hard against it for several seconds. Then taking off the hat Lazar had purchased for her, she stared at it, her mind going from him to all that was wonderful she had seen that day. And she knew then that northern Greece had stolen part of her heart.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  WHEN Clare awoke the next morning, she notched up another satisfactory night's sleep. She wondered how that was possible, because she had more than enough on her mind to keep her awake for hours, and yet no sooner had she closed her eyes than she had floated off into sleep.

  All that fresh air, I expect, she thought, as she got out of bed and without enthusiasm selected the dress she was going to wear.

  Lazar was nowhere to be seen when she went to the terrace for her breakfast, and as she felt relief wash over her that this was so, she realised she was shy of seeing him again after the magic of yesterday, in case he had changed back to the cold hard man he sometimes was.

  He hadn't put in an appearance at dinner last night either, she mused as she sipped her fruit juice. The thought that had slipped into her mind while eating her dinner alone the night before came again. Had he not enjoyed the day as much as he appeared to have done? Had he found her company so unstimulating he had had to go out last night and seek more sophisticated company?

  She couldn't blame him if he had. After all, he was a man of the world. The small insight he had given her into his life while lunching in Thessalonika had shown her he jetted everywhere, could be in London one day on business, New York the next. How could she hope to compete with the elegant women, well versed in the art of socialising, he must meet daily?

  Her thoughts stopped right there. Compete? Had she actually thought of the word `compete' in relation to herself, other women and Lazar Vardakas? Good heavens ! She wasn't interested in him on a woman-toman basis! Her only interest in him was that of trying to get Kit free without any dreadful harm befalling him.

  But having had the word `compete' popping into her head, however ridiculous, she was forced to try and discover what had led up to such a change in her thinking.

  She was draining the last of her coffee before it came to her that insidiously, without her ever being aware of it, Lazar had been working on her to break down the barrier of her reserve.

  Not that he had once stepped out of line. Oh, he had admired her shape when she had revealed herself in a swimsuit. Had made her aware she was a woman. They had wrestled on the beach, but, she realised now, it hadn't been Lazar's intention to kiss her that day she had fainted. It had been her own hysteria, the panic of her imagination; those terrifying remembrances that had done that. He was adamant that she should go to him before Saturday. And tomorrow was Saturday! Familiar panic tried to get started within her, but she battled to keep it down, needing to think her thoughts through with as little emotion getting in the way as could be achieved.

  Lazar Vardakas must have observed something in her that told him she would find it impossible to go to him cold. And though he hadn't once yesterday made any physical overture to her—she remembered that moment in the car when she had thought he had been going to kiss her, but that hadn't been his intention at all; he had merely
bent over to the compartment that held the comb she required. No, she thought, placing her coffee cup in her saucer, all yesterday had been about was building up a friendly atmosphere. To gain her trust. To get her to unwind—to feel at ease with him—so that tonight when she went to him ...

  At that point her mind shied from going any further. She wasn't up to coping with the rest of it, of wondering why Lazar should go to such lengths on her behalf.

  It was enough to know that for the sins laid at Kit's door, Lazar was demanding that by tomorrow a price should ld be paid. His family honour was at stake and he was determined on one thing, that Clare should be the one to pay that price—in full.