by Celia Scott
Startled, Philippa said, 'But she's the pretty one— everyone says so.'
'She is pretty. But she is not as… easy to like… as you are,' the girl said stubbornly.
It was clear that Martha and Athena had not hit it off too well, and Philippa diplomatically changed the subject.
Athena asked for details of the accident. She listened gravely to Philippa's lighthearted account, then she impulsively hugged her in her thin arms. When she broke away her eyes were wet with tears.
'Athena! Darling, what's wrong?' Philippa asked. 'Why are you crying?'
'I do not want to lose you, Pippa,' was the tearful reply, 'the way I lost my mother and my grandparents. Uncle Damon and I, we have been lonely for so long… I could not bear to lose you now.'
'Darling!' Philippa held her close again. 'It's only a little sprain.'
Athena smiled wanly. 'I know. But be more careful, Pippa.' She picked up the tray and prepared to leave. Then she turned and said, 'I love you very much, Pippa,' then bolted out of the room.
When Athena had left her Philippa lay back on the pillows. Unwittingly Athena had added to her distress. She had not realised how much Athena needed her, and the knowledge that the divorce would be yet another trauma for the child pained Philippa deeply.
Her ankle was not hurting now, but the pain in her heart didn't abate. What with Damon's coldness, and now the added guilt about Athena, she wasn't sure how well she was going to cope for the rest of her time in Crete.
Damon did not come near the villa until the day of the reception. By then Philippa's ankle was practically healed, and she was walking around again almost as good as new—physically, that was. Emotionally she was still bruised and desperately unhappy. But she disciplined herself to behave normally before others. In any case Martha was so self-absorbed, and Athena so taken up with her friends, that if Philippa seemed more subdued than usual they did not notice.
She dressed for the party with special care, choosing a gown of chalk white crepe that was cut on the bias. It was extremely simple, and only when she moved did one notice that the dress clung to every sensuous curve of her slender body. The bodice was knotted over her breast, leaving her tanned shoulders bare. She searched through the jewel box Damon had given her in Athens, and found a necklace of diamonds, single stones strung at regular intervals on a thin platinum chain. She piled her wealth of pale hair on top of her head and twisted the diamonds through it. Her only other jewellery was a pair of diamond ear-rings. She was so brown that apart from her eyes she no longer needed make-up. A touch of natural lip-gloss, and she was ready.
Steeling herself for her first meeting with Damon since their return from Roumeli, she went out on the terrace to check on the last-minute arrangements. He was already there with Martha and Athena. He looked drawn and tired, even the superbly tailored white dinner jacket he wore failed to give him his usual debonair appearance.
'Pippa, you look lovely!' Athena said involuntarily. 'Doesn't she, Uncle Damon?'
For the first time since their quarrel he looked at her directly. Her heart contracted with pity. She had never seen such sadness on his face before. But the sadness was momentary, and was quickly replaced with a bitter expression. His mouth grew hard.
'Very appropriate.' He sounded bitter.
Athena prattled on innocently, 'Appropriate? How do you mean?'
'In that dress, and with the diamonds, she looks like snow and ice,' he said, and then added in a low voice, 'the correct dress for an ice maiden.'
It was clear he had not forgiven her, and Philippa summoned up her courage for the night ahead.
'Damon, your house is absolutely gorgeous!' Martha gushed, 'I'm simply overwhelmed. Did you design it yourself?' She gazed up at him adoringly.
'My father drew up the original plans,' Damon replied. 'He built the villa as a wedding gift for my mother.'
'How romantic!' Martha cooed. She turned to her sister. 'You are a lucky girl, Tusker,' she said, 'to have married into such a dashing family,' she turned back to her brother-in-law, 'and such a handsome one.'
His brows rose ironically. 'I'm delighted you approve, Martha,' he said. He turned away from her, but she caught his sleeve with her little claw-like hand, so that he was forced to look down at her again.
'I'm so glad we're friends, Damon,' she whispered. She turned to Philippa. 'You treat him properly, you hear Tusker?' she said. 'He's a real catch!'
Athena stifled an exclamation of disgust and said. 'Please excuse me. I will join you presently.' She glared at Martha and hurried from the room, clearly not trusting herself to remain in the other girl's presence another minute. Detaching himself from Martha's grasp, Damon also left them. Philippa turned on her little sister.
'Martha, for heaven's sake stop paying Damon such extravagant compliments! You embarrass him.'
Martha opened her eyes wide, a look of innocence on her face. 'I'm just being nice to him, Tusker. That's what you want, isn't it?'
'You don't have to go to such extremes,' Philippa said. 'It's one thing to be polite, but you don't have to act like some sort of groupie.'
Martha looked wounded. 'Why, Phil, I do believe you're jealous!'
'I'm nothing of the kind. I just don't enjoy seeing you make a fool of yourself,' Philippa explained.
'You really mustn't be so possessive. Tusker,' Martha scolded sweetly, 'you'll never keep a man that way.' She smoothed the skirt of her electric blue dress. 'Even though you're older than me, Phil, you've not had much experience with men. Damon's such a man of the world. The last thing he wants is a clinging wife.'
Fortunately the first guests arrived at that moment, preventing Philippa from making a heated reply.
The party was a great success, but it was an ordeal for Philippa. Damon contrived to appear quite normal towards her in front of their guests, while subtly letting her know he was still furious. Martha was never far from his side, and Philippa found herself getting more and more irritated by her.
After the cocktail party they went to the hotel for the official reception and dance, where she and Damon had the honour of being the first couple on the new dance floor. In spite of the warmth of the evening Philippa felt a shiver run through her when he put his arm round her. He held her with great formality as if she were a stranger, his eyes focused somewhere above her head. As soon as other couples joined them he bowed to her with chilling politeness, and after escorting her back to their table excused himself and disappeared.
That was the only dance they had together the whole night. Philippa danced with other guests, and saw Damon on the floor many times, always with a different partner. Once Martha grabbed him and insisted he dance a samba with her. When it ended he gave her one of his brief bows and left her standing alone on the floor.
Philippa rose early the next morning to discover that Athena had already left to spend the next few days with her friends. She had a shrewd suspicion the girl wanted to get away from Martha for a while.
Damon was already at the dining patio. He was seated on the balustrade, swinging his long legs, his cup of coffee on the stone ledge beside him. He looked round briefly when Philippa joined him and nodded tersely. She was about to make an attempt to talk to him when Martha joined them, and all hope of intimate conversation was destroyed. Martha chattered on about the party, and the elegance of the hotel, and how clever Damon was to head such an operation. She seemed oblivious of the atmosphere of stony silence hanging over Damon like a cloud.
Suddenly Philippa felt that if she didn't get away from the villa, from Damon's black mood, and Martha's inane chatter, she'd go mad. She put aside her coffee cup and announced that she was leaving on a small excursion to visit the remains of the post-Minoan city of Phalasarna a few kilometres to the west. Courtesy made her invite Martha, but knowing her sister's lack of interest in history she was pretty sure she would get a refusal.
Martha gave Damon's back a speculative look. 'Are you going to visit these mouldy old ruins, Damon?' she a
sked.
'I have work to do here,' Damon replied, still looking out to sea.
'Then I'll stay here too, and keep you company,' Martha said.
Damon turned round then, and ignoring Martha said to Philippa, 'I'll be leaving for Herakleion tonight, Philippa. That will be my base for the remainder of the summer. You'll have the villa pretty much to yourself from now on.'
She understood him. He was making it quite plain that he no longer enjoyed her company. She nodded curtly, and after some desultory conversation with Martha made her escape.
She drove west along the coast road, but even the wild geraniums splashing their colour on the hillside failed to relieve her depression. She stopped at a beach she had often visited before, and after exchanging a few pleasantries with one of the fishermen who was mending his nets on the sands, she swam vigorously for about half an hour. Then she lay in the buoyant water and tried to feel relief that soon she would be on her own. She could stay in Chania with Athena, and hardly ever have to see Damon again. It would help explain their break-up to the girl, and lessen the shock when she found out that her new aunt had returned to England for good in the autumn. Damon's departure was really a very good thing, Philippa kept telling herself. But no matter how hard she tried to convince herself the sadder she became. ,
Irritated, she pulled on her shorts and decided on the spur of the moment to return to the villa instead of visiting Phalasarna. She was a great believer in action rather than brooding when in the depths of depression, and cooking was the best action she knew. She would go straight to the kitchen and cook something difficult. It would take her mind off her troubles for a time. The thought of doing something positive, no matter how mundane, gave her energy and she drove back at full speed.
When she drove into the front driveway it was siesta hour and the villa was silent. The kitchen was deserted. Philippa found an apron behind the pantry door and started assembling the necessary ingredients for filo dough. That should keep her occupied for an hour, she decided. She had just taken the crock of butter from the fridge when the door burst open and Martha, distraught and tearful, came running into the kitchen. Philippa put down the crock and stared at her wild-eyed sister.
'Tusker! Oh, thank goodness you've come home!' Martha sobbed, 'I've been so frightened!'
Philippa put her arm round the trembling girl. 'Martha, what is it? Calm down, darling… what's the matter? Are you ill?' She led Martha to one of the kitchen chairs and gently sat her down.
'Oh, Tusker, it was so awful… I didn't know what to do…' Martha wailed incoherently. She buried her face in her hands and started to cry again.
Philippa filled a glass with water and handed it to Martha. 'Drink this, Martha… now tell me what's happened, darling. I can't help you till I know what's wrong.'
'I don't know how to tell you,' Martha moaned, 'it's so awful…' and she cried with renewed force.
Philippa spoke firmly. 'Now, Martha, stop it! Try and control yourself. You must tell me what's wrong.'
'It's… it's Damon…' the girl faltered.
Philippa went chalk white. Dread clutched at her. 'What do you mean? What about Damon? Has he had an accident?'
'Not him. He's fine,' Martha said bitterly, 'but he… he tried…'
'He tried what? Martha, for heaven's sake…' Philippa was feeling desperate now.
'He tried to rape me, that's what!' Martha declared. Philippa stared at her in disbelief.
'He did what?'
'He attacked me,' Martha replied. 'Look, he tore my dress.' She indicated the torn strap of her yellow sundress.
Philippa stared at her. 'I don't believe it,' she said.
'It's true,' Martha said sullenly. 'He came into my room at siesta time and tried to make love to me. When I pushed him away he tried to force me. Look! he bruised my arm.' She held out her left arm which showed a red mark above the elbow. 'Then he tried to tear my dress off. God knows what would have happened if we hadn't heard your car at that moment. He's an animal, Tusker!'
Philippa sank slowly into one of the chairs. She couldn't believe such an accusation. But a nightmare of doubt was stirring at the corner of her mind. Could she have been taken in by Damon all along? Love was blind, people said. Had she been blind? Was he the type of man who, having been refused by one sister, would try to force himself on the other? She shook her head. That didn't make sense. He didn't even like Martha. Surely he wouldn't force himself on a girl he despised. He could do better than that.
'I can see you don't believe me,' Martha said, 'but I tell you it's the truth! Maybe it's the custom in Crete for a man to sleep with his sister-in-law.' She clutched Philippa's arm painfully. 'I hate it here, Tusker, it's such a primitive place. Let's go home… to England. Please, Phil, take me home right now,' she begged. 'I can't bear it here another moment!'
'I can't leave just like that, Martha.' Philippa forced herself to be patient. 'There's Athena to think of. Besides, I must have this out with Damon.'
Martha looked horrified. 'No!' she exclaimed. 'Please, Phil—he's violent! Please come with me to the airport now, and let's go home.' She raised her voice another decibel. 'You don't seem to understand,' she wailed, 'I'm afraid to stay here! I'm afraid of what Damon might do to me… to you. He's violent, I tell you!' her voice soared out of control. 'Don't you realise what he tried to do? Don't you care? Take me home… I want to go home!'
'Pull yourself together, Martha!' Philippa ordered sharply. 'No one's going to hurt you. I can't go until I've talked to Damon.'
'What do you want to talk to him for?'
Philippa raised her voice to top Martha's anguished wail. 'I have to get his side of the story, Martha, that's only fair…'
'Fair? He wasn't fair with me! Don't you care about me at all, Tusker?'
'Don't be silly, Martha. Of course I care about you. But I care about Damon too…' Her voice broke, then she recovered herself. 'This has been a shock for me. You're accusing… someone I love,' again the tears came into her voice, 'someone I love very much. I have to talk to him, get his version.'
'My version of what?'
Martha jumped up with a smothered scream. Damon was standing at the open kitchen door. He was pale beneath his tan, and his pallor was accentuated by the black, coarse-textured linen shirt he was wearing.
'My version of what, Pippa?' he repeated, coming into the room and closing the door behind him.
'Don't listen to him, Tusker!' Martha shrieked. 'He'll deny everything. Please don't listen to him!'
Philippa waited for silence, then she quietly told Damon about Martha's accusation.
'Do you believe her, Pippa?' he asked when she had finished. 'Do you think I tried to force myself on your sister?'
She looked into his dark blue eyes. His level gaze never faltered. 'No, I don't believe her.' She turned to the frantic girl who crouched whimpering in the corner. 'Please, Martha, stop crying—you're not making things any better by crying.'
'Do you want to hear what really happened?' Damon asked.
'Don't listen to him, Tusker,' Martha wept, 'he's a liar, I tell you!'
Philippa put her arms around her sister. 'Hush, Martha!' she said. 'We must have the truth. Don't cry.' She kept Martha in her arms and turned to Damon. 'Tell me, Damon.'
'After lunch I went to my study to continue working: Martha went for a siesta,' he said. 'About ten minutes later she knocked at my door to ask if I could open her window, because it was stuck. I thought it odd that she didn't ask one of the servants, but I went to her room as she asked.' He stopped and looked at the two women. 'There was nothing wrong with her window,' he said, searching for words. 'When I tried to leave she stopped me, and… and offered herself to me.' Martha gave an ugly sob and tore herself out of Philippa's arms. 'She became hysterical when I refused her,' he went on. 'Then we heard your car arrive. I left her… and the rest you know.'
'You tore my dress!' Martha hissed. 'And my arm's bruised!'
'You did that to yourself
, Martha,' Damon said coldly, 'to incriminate me. I didn't touch you.'
Totally bewildered, Philippa looked at her sister. 'Why, Martha?' she asked. 'Why did you do such a thing… tell such a wicked lie? I don't understand.'
Like a wild animal Martha bared her teeth in an ugly snarl and said savagely. 'I wanted to get back at you, Tusker, to make you pay for what you'd done!'
'What had I done?' Philippa quavered. 'How have I hurt you, Martha?'
'You had no right to get married before me… and to such a catch. I'm the pretty one, not you!' Her mouth turned down. 'It's not fair!' she seethed.
Philippa's lovely eyes filled with tears. 'Oh, Martha! I had no idea you hated me so much…' she said brokenly. She shook her head blindly.
'I planned it all in London,' Martha went on. Now she had started her confession she seemed unable to stop. 'I planned to come here and break up your marriage, take Damon away from you. If he'd wanted I would marry him. If not, I'd get you to leave him and come back with me. Either way, I would have won.'
'Marry Damon?' Philippa looked at her sister in astonishment. 'Do you love Damon, Martha?'
'Love him? I hate him! I always have. I'm not like you,' Martha sneered, 'taken in by the first man that makes a pass at you.'
'I think it's time you left us alone, Martha,' said Damon, his face sombre.
'Don't worry, I'm going!' Martha snapped. 'I won't stay in this house a minute more than I have to!' She turned at the door and looked at them both venomously. 'You've won this time. But I'll get even—just you wait and see!'
After Martha had left them Philippa let out a shuddering sigh. Martha's revelation had left her drained. She turned to Damon.
'I don't know what to say, Damon. I'm terribly sorry for… for everything. I had no idea she was so… full of hate. I… I…' She couldn't continue.
'She's not responsible, Pippa,' he said. 'Tell me, has Martha ever had any kind of… of emotional trouble?'
'She had a breakdown when our mother died,' Philippa admitted reluctantly.
'And now she thinks she's lost you too,' he said quietly. 'Poor Martha! I'm no psychiatrist, Pippa, but it seemed apparent from my first meeting with her that she was emotionally disturbed. Her extreme jealousy of you—it wasn't rational. She's always punished you for being all the things she's not.'
