Seeds of April

by Celia Scott

  Hurt, she turned back to the ship's rail. 'I'll stay here, thank you.'

  'Well, don't wander about,' he said harshly. 'I've enough to see to without losing you in the crowd.'

  She stayed and watched them tie up, blinking tears away from her eyes. Damon always managed to spoil things. Just when a mood of intimacy was created, when they seemed to be in harmony, he would suddenly bark orders at her, brutally reminding her of her real status in his household.

  After a while she regained her composure and headed back to the stateroom to join Athena, and get ready to disembark.

  Later she and Athena stood together on the teeming jetty waiting for Damon. The crowd milled around them talking a different kind of Greek from the liquid sounds she was becoming accustomed to in Athens. Here the speech was rougher, more guttural. She noticed that the men were taller than the men on the mainland, and they all seemed handsome, young and old, in an aggressively masculine way. Most of them wore full moustaches, and some had eyes that were a curious shade of green… like the Cretan sea around them.

  Philippa was dazed by the noise and unfamiliar scents. There was something barbaric about the crowded harbour, lit by the white lights from the cafes.

  Damon materialised and took charge. 'I'm not coming to the villa yet, Philippa, I have to supervise the unloading of… supplies… from below decks.' He sounded furtive and Philippa knew he was being evasive with her. He bundled the two girls into a waiting Daimler driven by a uniformed chauffeur. 'Don't wait up for me,' he said, 'I shall be late,' then he returned to the ferry without giving them another glance.

  The drive from Soudan harbour to Damon's house on the outskirts of Chania was a hectic blur. They drove fast on the winding road. At each bend the car's headlights stabbed the steep hillside, and Philippa noticed great patches of bright purple geraniums which she later discovered grew wild all over the island.

  Damon's villa was built into the side of a cliff. You entered the spacious hall and went down stairs to the living area, then down again to the bedrooms which opened out on to the garden and the sea beyond.

  There were more servants here than in the Athens apartment. They greeted their new mistress warmly, and a young girl was presented to her as her personal maid. Blushing like a peony, the girl led Philippa down to an enormous bedroom suite. The roughcast walls were painted white, but woven hangings in subtle earth tones, warmly tinted watercolours, and alabaster vases filled with flowers softened any starkness. On the garden side of the room the entire wall was composed of sliding glass doors. Now locally hand-loomed curtains in a soft pattern of dusty pinks, browns, and white were drawn against the night. The enormous double bed with its headboard of carved olive wood was covered in the same soft woollen fabric.

  After Philippa had surveyed her domain she left the young maid unpacking and returned to the living room, where Athena, curled up like a kitten in one of the low modern easy chairs, was yawning her head off.

  'If you yawn any wider, Athena, you'll unhinge your jaw!' smiled Philippa.

  'I am so sleepy I cannot see,' the girl admitted.

  Philippa suggested bed. 'There's no point waiting up for Damon—he said he'd be late. And all that sea air's made me sleepy too.'

  On their way to their bedrooms Athena turned to her. 'You are not angry with Uncle Damon for leaving you alone your first night here, are you, Pippa?'

  'I'm not angry, darling. I'm sure he had a good reason to stay behind,' Philippa assured her.

  But when she was brushing her honey-beige hair she wondered what that reason could be. He had seemed so shifty when he had left them, she couldn't help thinking it more than likely he had a meeting with some woman. Whatever the reason she was too tired to fret about. Moreover, it was good discipline. It would serve to remind her that what Damon did with his private life had nothing to do with her.

  The routine at the villa was different from that in Athens, she discovered. Her maid brought her tea, put out the clothes she planned to wear, then breakfast was served on the patio. Philippa bathed hastily and stepped through the glass doors into a world of breathtaking beauty ablaze with sunshine. The garden was on three levels. The first level had an oval swimming pool surrounded by a wooden deck. Here tubs of brightly coloured flowers jostled against sun-loungers, striped beach umbrellas, and high-backed wicker armchairs. There was also a portable bar and a change-room for guests, and to the right of this was a paved patio. Here stood a glass-topped table under a pale blue awning. This was set for breakfast.

  Steps had been cut into the cliff face to lead down to the second level. Here was a partly cultivated garden, skilfully landscaped so that none of the wild charm of the place was sacrificed. Two dark spiky cypresses stood sentinel over the next set of steps, which led to a small grove of olive trees and a businesslike-looking vegetable garden. At the bottom of this garden, shimmering in the early morning sun like a newly cut turquoise, was the sea. A small sailing boat and a motor launch were moored at a sizeable concrete jetty, and a diving board was clamped to the rocks.

  Philippa stood in the lower garden, hypnotised by the sound of the sea slapping against the rocks, and the shrill call of gulls wheeling overhead. The sun caressed her bare arms and set shafts of silver dancing in her hair. She stood very still for a long time, then she heard Athena calling her, and she roused herself from her sundrenched dream.

  'Pippa, hurry!' the girl urged as Philippa climbed up to the top level. 'I am very hungry for breakfast, and there is a present for you.'

  'A present? Where?'

  'Look!' Athena pointed to a pot of flowering basil sitting on the table. There was a note propped against it in Damon's firm hand. Philippa broke the seal and read:

  'Pippa—In Greece a sprig of flowering basil is given as a token of friendship. Look in the pot and you will find the second token. The third token is on the driveway. It is a mortal insult to refuse a gift from a Greek!—Damon.'

  She looked in the pot as instructed and found a key stuck in the soil. It was a car key, with the name 'Ferrari' stamped on the scarlet leather. It dangled from her fingers, glinting in the light.

  'Do not just stand there, Pippa!' said Athena, smiling conspiratorially. 'Come!' Taking Philippa's hand, she led her to the front door, and opened it dramatically, 'Look!' she exclaimed.

  There, glittering on the white marble driveway, stood the scarlet sports car Philippa had watched being lowered into the hold of the ferry.

  'It is a present from Uncle Damon—a present for you,' Athena went on when Philippa remained speechless. 'Quickly, Pippa! Let us eat some breakfast, and then we shall go for a drive—yes?' she implored.

  Philippa nodded. Things were falling into place. Last night Damon must have stayed at the docks in order to drive the car home, not to keep a date as she had suspected. That also explained why he had brusquely refused her offer to help with the unloading of the luggage. It was an overwhelming gesture, and she was pleased, of course… and yet… she couldn't help feeling he had also pulled a fast one. She had made it clear she wouldn't accept his offer of a new car that morning at his lawyer's. Besides, she felt obligated to him now. She didn't like that. She wasn't sure she knew how she was going to deal with this.

  The two girls spent most of the morning driving around the coast road. The car handled well, and Philippa enjoyed the feel of its controlled power, like a barely tamed animal, under her hands. At noon they drove into the town of Chania, which was an ancient honey-coloured town of Venetian style. It boasted a cruciform market in its centre, and a small harbour ringed by the inevitable tavernas. The morning's catch of squid was strung out to dry in the sun. Athena pointed to the far end of the old harbour, where a spur of land jutted out into the sea.

  'Uncle Damon's hotel is just round that corner,' she said.

  'Let's pay him a visit, then,' Philippa suggested. Maybe inspiration would strike and she would think of a way to thank him, while letting him know that she hadn't been taken in.

  They pa
rked the vivid little car at the bottom of the hill and walked the rest of the way. To their left lay the sparkling expanse of blue water, and to their right, soaring above the town, were the snow-capped peaks of the mountains which run down the length of Crete like a rocky spine.

  Damon's hotel looked deceptively small, and blended in so well with the landscape that at first it was hardly noticeable. Like his villa it was built on various levels, and was constructed of granite. Workmen were busy putting last-minute touches to the place. Gardeners were planting tubs and window-boxes with flowers. Inside, painters were finishing the plaster-covered walls, which were being decorated with copies of frescos from early Minoan palaces.

  Athena spoke to one of the workmen, then guided Philippa towards the kitchens. Philippa, long-legged and golden in blue jeans and shirt, was aware of the approving stares of the local workmen as she picked her way through the paintpots and plaster.

  The kitchens were vast, and unlike the rest of the hotel looked very modern. They gleamed with stainless steel. Gigantic counters and working islands flanked stoves which looked like the instrument panels of a jet. Damon was standing in the centre of the room, a sheaf of blueprints in his hand. When he saw Philippa and his niece he smiled a welcome.

  'Why, Pippa, what a nice surprise!'

  'I didn't mean to interrupt your work, Damon,' Philippa apologised, 'but I couldn't wait till this evening to thank you for your present.'

  'Are you not going to kiss him?' Athena asked.

  'Of course I am,' Philippa replied, chastely planting a kiss on his lean brown cheek. Damon gave a chuckle and caught her to him in a hug that set her senses reeling. He released her and she surreptitiously held the counter for support. The feel of his powerful body against hers turned her knees to rubber.

  'You like your new toy, then?' he asked.

  'Of course I like it, but… but…'

  'But? But what…?' He turned to Athena, 'It's lunch time, Kookla,' he said, 'why don't you go down to our usual taverna and hold a table for us? I'll treat you both to lunch.'

  'Ooh, lovely!' Athena's eyes sparkled. 'Can I have moussaka?'

  'Certainly. But be sure to phone the villa and let the servants know you won't be lunching at home. Off you go!' Athena sped away, and Philippa was alone in the vast kitchen with her husband. 'Now, Pippa,' he said, 'why all the "buts"? Is the car the wrong colour?'

  'No, of course not. But I thought we decided in London that you wouldn't buy me a car?' This sounded so ungracious she tried to make it sound better, and only succeeded in making it worse. 'I mean, it's too… too expensive for… for a gift, and it's not… not in the contract…'

  His face looked suddenly drawn, as if a cloud had passed over the sun.

  'Always the business woman, eh, Pippa?' he sighed, 'but not always very bright. The car is for your use while you're in Crete, to enable you to amuse Athena. When you return to England you will leave it here.'

  Philippa turned fiery red—how could she have been so stupid? Of course, it was not really a gift at all.

  'Bu—but the way you gave it to me, with the pot of basil, and… I thought…' She wished she could crawl into a hole somewhere, away from the frosty gaze of his blue eyes.

  'Merely putting on an act for Athena's benefit,' he said harshly. 'We are supposed to be newlyweds.'

  'I… I've been very dense… I'm sorry, Damon, I…'

  He broke in roughly, 'Now forget it, Philippa. It's not important. I want you to take a quick tour of the kitchen, then you can give me your valuable opinion. I might as well cash in on the fact that your main interest seems to lie in being first and foremost a professional… cook!'

  She recoiled at the venom in his voice, then recovered her poise and started examining the kitchen in detail, opening oven doors, and inspecting refrigerators, conscious of him leaning against the doorway following her with angry eyes.

  She asked pertinent questions, surprised that her voice sounded controlled, and grateful that she was far enough away to hide her trembling hands. At last she finished her inspection and turned to him. He looked so haughty leaning against the door, unapproachable, a different being from the one who had joked with Athena a few minutes ago.

  'I think your kitchen's perfect, Damon,' she said.

  'Do you?' He managed to make it sound contemptuous.

  'Apart from one thing.'

  'Indeed?'

  She ignored the sneer in his tone. 'The working islands should be on casters,' he looked at her, 'so they can be moved easily from one area to another, or pushed aside when they're not needed. It would be much more efficient.' Sunlight bounced off the stainless steel fittings, and motes of dust spun, trapped in beams of light. Philippa could hear her own quiet breath in the still kitchen.

  Weariness replaced the anger in his face. 'That's not a bad suggestion,' he said, 'I might try it. Now we'd better join Athena before she gets worried.'

  Silently they walked down the hill to the harbour, Damon's long legs taking such strides Philippa was hard put to it to keep up with him. They passed the car where she had parked it, and she felt such a pang of regret for the clumsy way she had handled everything a lump came to her throat. When they neared the half-moon of cafes he took her arm. There was no intimacy in his grasp, and she realised miserably that this gesture was for appearances' sake only.

  Athena was sitting at one of the tavernas sipping cherry soda. She waved gaily when she saw them. 'Do hurry!' she cried, 'I am so hungry I could eat the chairs! I ordered taramasalata for us to start with,' she told Damon when they had sat down.

  'A good idea, Kookla, but I'm not very hungry,' he replied, 'that will be all I'll want.'

  'That's all I want too,' said Philippa, and Athena looked at her in surprise, 'I'm not hungry either,' she explained.

  'Oho! So it is true, then?' Athena attacked her bread with gusto.

  'What's true?' asked Damon.

  'That people in love lose their appetites.'

  'It's easy to see you're not in love,' Damon snapped. 'For goodness' sake don't gobble bread like that, Athena, you'll get indigestion!' Moodily he poured some mineral water into a glass.

  Conversation lagged, and when the fish pate arrived ceased altogether. Even Athena's ebullient mood took a nosedive in the black atmosphere. The two adults morosely watched her plough her way through a plate of creamy moussaka, then silently Damon paid the bill and the three of them walked back to the bright little car.

  'I love Pippa's new car, Uncle Damon. When did you get it?' asked Athena, attempting to break the oppressive mood.

  'I got it in Athens our last night there,' he told her. 'The dealer only returned from a trip then. I drove it down to Piraeus myself at three in the morning.'

  Climbing into the driver's seat of the sporty little car, Philippa felt worse than ever. Why had he gone to such immense trouble? If it was, technically, just an extra vehicle for a member of the staff, why not get any old car in Chania? He wanted to present a picture of a happy marriage to Athena, she supposed, but it seemed rather excessive behaviour. She would never understand him.

  'I won't be home for dinner tonight,' Damon said to Philippa in the cutting tone he might use to a dimwitted member of his staff.

  'Very well.' She started the engine and drove away fast, leaving him standing in a cloud of dust.

  'I'm afraid I've annoyed your uncle,' she said lightly to Athena.

  The girl pulled a comical little face.

  'He is in one of his moods. But it will not last, Pippa. He has a terrible temper,' she added with evident relish, 'and when he loses it he feels ashamed and becomes silent. He will be perfectly all right in an hour or so, you will see.' She turned her clear gaze on Philippa. It was plain she had no misgivings about her uncle.

  But Philippa didn't feel so sanguine. She knew she had wounded him, had hurt his pride, and she cursed herself for the rest of the long day that she could have been so thoughtless. For she was discovering that to hurt someone you love was w
orse than being hurt yourself. That the pain of being unable to reach out and comfort him tore her in two, and drew all pleasure from the luminous beauty that surrounded her.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The golden days fell into a routine. Philippa would swim each morning in the oval swimming pool, then eat breakfast with Athena. Sometimes Damon would join them, but usually he was gone by seven. After their meal of fruit, bread, and honey the two girls would lie in the sun for an hour while Athena gave Philippa a lesson in Greek. Philippa loved this part of the day. She was an apt pupil, and enjoyed mastering phrases and using them at every opportunity.

  After her lesson she showered and dressed, then visited the kitchen, accompanied by her phrase book, to discuss the day's menu with the chef. Then she and Athena would climb into the little red car and explore Crete.

  They rarely ate lunch at the villa, preferring to take a simple picnic with them, and sit under the shadow of a gnarled olive tree enjoying the heavenly scent of wild dittany, Crete's native herb, which mingled delightfully with the smell of honeysuckle, thyme and salt sea air. Replete after their picnic, Philippa would lie back-on the herb scented ground, listening to the bleating of goats on the hillside, drifting between dozing and waking, and falling deeper in love with Damon and his native land each day.

  May advanced; Damon's Chania project was nearly completed, and soon he would be spending all his time in Herakleion. At the end of the following week he planned the grand opening of the Chania hotel, and he asked Philippa to arrange a reception for seventy at the villa, prior to the formal party at the hotel. She set about this task with enthusiasm, grateful to have a chance to work. It helped to take her mind off her obsessive need for Damon, which was beginning to crowd out all other thoughts and pleasures.

  She discussed possible cocktail snacks with the chef, and after several interviews, aided by much gesticulating and hand language, they fixed on a menu. She noted with satisfaction the unmistakable look of respect in the chef's eyes, the respect of one professional for another. It was gratifying to know she hadn't lost her touch in the kitchen.