by Celia Scott
A mixture of fear and… something else… an emotion she didn't recognise, flooded Lorna. She couldn't take her eyes off him. It was as if a Minoan prince had sprung to life from the ancient ruins on the hill below. A prince who danced before a shepherdess he intended to ravish.
The music grew wilder and he executed a complicated leap, his body leaned sideways in the air as he fetched his right hand down to slap both his flying heels. His head was thrown back so that the strong column of his throat showed clearly. He landed gracefully back on his feet, opened his eyes, and looked straight into Lorna's. His eyes were green as the mountain river, and were filled with provocation. His sensual lips curved slightly in a mocking smile. Without faltering in his dance he reached for a plate from one of the tables and dashed it to the floor.
Now the rhythmic thrusting of his hips was slow and sinuous. Lorna felt as if he was making love to her in full view of everyone in the cafe.
Until now she had succeeded in blending into the background unnoticed, but now she was the focus of attention. If he had trained a spotlight on her he couldn't have made her more visible. In the darkness she could feel the men grinning at her discomfiture.
Her cheeks burned with mortification, but she refused to lower her eyes. For she sensed that this was a contest. That if she looked away, in some obscure way she would have conceded defeat to this arrogant male animal. And she wasn't about to do that! She was filled with a slow burning hatred of this man, and she had no intention of letting him win whatever game it was they seemed to be playing.
It felt like hours to Lorna, but at last the music faded and her tormentor—for she had begun to think of him as that—stopped his sensual dance and dropped his arms to his sides. He remained staring at her.
Lorna lifted her hands and slowly and insultingly clapped them together three times. Then picking up her drink she turned away from him with a gesture of contempt. However, she didn't dare sip her lemonade for she knew that her rage would make her choke.
She was aware that he'd moved away, but she still kept herself turned from the bar, so that when a tray was placed on her table she looked round with surprise. On the tray were two glasses of ouzo, a glass of water, and a saucer of roasted chick peas. She looked up into the cynical face of the barman.
'What is this?' she said, pointing to the tray. 'I didn't order it.' She pulled her phrase book out of her shoulder bag and started to leaf through it.
'I have ordered it. To welcome you to our village.' It was the tall Cretan who had danced before her so insolently who spoke. He came and stood by her table. The barman moved away with a knowing smirk.
Standing before her he seemed taller than ever. And rugged, with a broad chest and strong arms. His hair was glossy black, and she noticed that his light green eyes had golden flecks in them, so that they seemed to glow, like a cat's. He was undeniably handsome, but this merely added to her dislike. She mistrusted handsome men in general, and the behaviour of this particular specimen hadn't done anything to change her opinion.
She looked into his strange green eyes with hostility. 'I don't drink with strangers,' she said coldly and looked away.
Far from discouraging him, this seemed to make the wretched man bolder. He turned one of the little chairs around and straddling it leaned his arms on the back, regarding her coolly. 'In Crete there are no strangers,' he informed her, 'and to refuse my offer of hospitality is an insult.'
'Good,' she said, turning to face him, 'that was the general idea.' She got up to leave, but her dignified exit was marred since she caught the side of her forehead a sharp crack on the hanging oil lamp. She yelped in spite of herself, and her blue eyes filled with tears of pain and anger.
He was at her side in an instant, and before she had time to protest had eased her back into her chair. 'You have hurt yourself,' he said, leaning over her on the pretext of examining her brow. He was so close she could smell the animal warmth of him, see the length of his thick dark lashes.
'It's nothing,' she protested, 'just a little bump.' But he ignored her.
'There is dirt on your forehead from the lamp,' he said, and taking a clean handkerchief from his pocket he dipped a corner of it into the glass of water and made to dab her face.
She flinched away as if he was attacking her with a hot poker. 'It's nothing I tell you!' she said sharply, startled that her reaction to his proximity should be so violent.
He shrugged and handed her the handkerchief before seating himself back on his chair. 'You should clean it,' he said, 'the skin is grazed a little.'
Wordlessly she pulled her pocket mirror from her purse and dabbed at the wound. It wasn't much, but she realised she would have a painful little lump on her forehead in the morning. Neatly she folded his handkerchief—which she noticed was made of the finest cotton—and handed it back to him.
He waved it away. 'If you will not drink ouzo with me, will you accept another glass of lemonade?' he asked. His mouth lifted in a mocking smile. 'To calm you after your accident.'
'I don't want anything, thank you,' she said primly, 'I just want to be left alone.'
'Mou Theos! And in search of solitude you come to this place.' He indicated the dingy room with a jerk of his dark head. 'I find that hard to believe.'
'I don't care whether you find it hard to believe or not,' Lorna replied testily, 'it's the truth. I just came in to look.'
His eyes narrowed. 'To observe the curious Cretan peasants at their local customs, ne?'
'Something like that.' She was beginning to comprehend that this man was unlike the other patrons. He gave off an air of undeniable authority. His command of English was impressive, and his clothes were undoubtedly expensive. His snow-white shirt was cambric, and his riding breeches were exquisitely tailored.
'I am surprised that such simple entertainment should interest a person from your world,' he continued loftily, 'but no doubt you are slumming merely.'
'I wasn't until you joined me,' Lorna shot back, her eyes emitting blue sparks. She stood up quickly, this time without bumping into the lamp, and made her way to the door.
The mountains had been turned to silver by the blazing moon, and the air felt cool after the stuffy little cafe. She had only taken two steps when he was beside her.
'Where are you going?' he asked peremptorily.
She started walking down the moon-dappled road. 'None of your business!' she snapped.
He suddenly gripped her arm, stopping her in her tracks, and loomed over her. Her mouth went dry with fear.
'Do not be more of a fool than you already are,' he hissed, 'this is not a good place for a woman alone. I have my car. I will drive you to where you wish to go.'
She noticed a cleared space beside the cafe where among some donkeys and mikanis—three-wheeled motor scooters which were very popular on the island— stood a gleaming white Mercedes, like an elegant ghost in the moonlight.
'I don't wish you to drive me anywhere.' She pulled her arm out of his grasp and made to pass him, but he blocked her way.
'Mou Theos! You spoilt women of America are all alike,' he said contemptuously, 'you wander at will, looking at the… the natives as if you were at a zoo. But when, in your ignorance you overstep the bounds of propriety, you are offended that you are treated with disrespect.'
'For your information I'm not an American, I'm a Canadian,' she said hotly, 'and furthermore I wasn't aware that I'd "overstepped the bounds of propriety", as you so quaintly put it.'
'Did it not occur to you that a cafe of that kind is not a suitable place for a single woman? Unless of course she visits it for the purpose of finding herself a companion,' he sneered.
Lorna's fine-skinned cheeks grew hot in the night air. 'Is… is that what you thought?' she choked. 'That I was looking for a… a pick-up?'
He shrugged his wide shoulders, 'It is not unknown for pretty tourists to add a Greek lover to their souvenirs,' he drawled.
'I can assure you,' she said, her voice quivering with indi
gnation, 'if that were the case you'd be the last man on earth I'd choose.'
'Endaxi,' he said grandly, 'it is of no importance. But I intend to drive you back to your lodgings before you lose your way in the mountains, so do not argue with me anymore, or I shall be forced to carry you bodily to the car.'
Before she could say a word he put his hand under her elbow and guided her firmly towards the little parking space. Since she had no doubt that he would indeed carry out his threat if she protested further she silently obeyed him.
Apart from asking her where she was staying, he didn't speak during the short drive. Lorna sat tense in her seat. The car was a new one. Its red-leather interior smelled pleasant, but the clock on the highly polished wooden dashboard showed past midnight, and she cursed herself for ever embarking on her moonlight stroll. Since she liked to be on the site soon after daybreak, she was going to be dead in the morning. Besides, she was feeling thoroughly put out by the high-and-mighty behaviour of this devilishly handsome man sitting at the wheel. She'd never met anyone like him before—and she hoped she never would again!
They slid to a halt at the front of the dark taverna. Before her companion had a chance to get out Lorna had opened her door and was standing on the narrow dirt sidewalk. She leaned briefly through the open window, her gilt-bright hair swinging forward in a heavy curtain.
'Kalinihta,' she said, omitting any 'thank yous'.
As she turned to go in a figure materialised out of the shadows and came unsteadily towards her.
'Lorna! Where have you been? I have been worried about you. You are a very… very… naughty girl,' said Nikos, stumbling heavily. He was quite drunk. 'Who is your friend?' He demanded loudly, peering owlishly at the car.
'For God's sake, Nikos, keep your voice down,' Lorna whispered, 'you'll wake up the whole taverna.'
'Why did you leave so… secret… er… secret… with not telling,' he said belligerently, 'you are not kind to your Nikos.'
Her unknown escort stepped out of the car and faced the weaving man. He spoke softly, but in a tone that brooked no disobedience. Befuddled, Nikos stared up at him, then his face twisted in bitterness and he turned to Lorna.
'Always he steals what I want,' he said, the whine in his voice rising, 'always he cheats me.'
The older man said something sharply in Greek, but Nikos was too far gone in drunken self-pity to heed him.
'You did not tell me you knew him, Lorna,' he went on plaintively, 'you did not tell me.'
'I don't know what you're talking about,' Lorna said, exasperated.
'My cousin. You did not tell me you knew him. And I wait all the night for you. But you drive in his car…' he whimpered.
'Your cousin!' Lorna said, her jaw dropping. She looked at the tall man standing aloof from them. He inclined his head derisively. 'Allow me to introduce myself,' he drawled. 'My name is Jason Peritakis.'
CHAPTER TWO
After Jason Peritakis's surprising introduction, Lorna spent another half hour persuading Nikos to let his cousin drive him home. So that by the time she'd crept upstairs to her room, washed her face in the dark, and undressed as silently as possible so as not to wake Susan, it was later than ever. By now she could cheerfully have seen the entire Peritakis family at the bottom of the Sea of Crete.
Usually Lorna was bright in the mornings, but the following day she woke reluctantly and dragged herself out of bed. Her eyes felt gritty with fatigue, and her temper was short. When she reached the site the brilliant morning sun, which usually gave her such a lift, was giving her a headache instead. Now she fully understood why their director, Professor Spanakis, disapproved of any member of his team indulging in late nights during the working week. She knew she was in for a tough day, and the fact that it was entirely her own fault didn't make it any better. At least she didn't have a hangover. Unlike Nikos, who she assumed must be feeling ghastly since he was nowhere to be seen. Behaviour that would not endear him to Professor Spanakis, who viewed absenteeism for any reason short of death as gross malingering.
She went into one of the huts that had been built as a storage room and put her spare cameras into plastic bags to protect them from the dust, making sure that the bags were not entirely sealed, then placed them with her extra film in an insulated picnic box. She jammed a disreputable linen hat, discarded by her brother years ago, on to her sleek head, tucked a T-shirt that bore the faded legend Star Wars into her frayed shorts, and went in search of Professor Spanakis.
She soon spied his pear-shaped figure overseeing a group who were carefully brushing dried earth away from a set of steps that had been uncovered the previous day. The director turned and greeted her.
'Kalimera, Lorna! The work goes well here. You should be able to take photographs by noon.' His dignified face beamed. It was plain he was in a good mood, and Lorna felt some misgivings about spoiling it with news of the loss of her dark-room.
When she had explained the problem he clicked his tongue against his false-teeth reflectively. 'Hmm. It is a difficulty,' he said. 'We can possibly rent a refrigerator for the film, but a cool dark-room… that is less easily resolved. However, I will make enquiries. Perhaps in Iraklion? Although it would be most inconvenient He patted her arm absent-mindedly. 'But I shall find a solution. Never fear,' he assured her, before leaving to chastise one of the fieldworkers who was not taking enough care with the stairs.
Lorna went off to help Susan wash pottery shards and sort them. A job that required painstaking attention. 'What time did you get in last night?' Susan asked, when they had settled to their task.
'Late,' Lorna answered laconically.
'Must have been,' Susan agreed. 'I waited up for you quite a long time… with Nikos.' She wiped the bend of a handle gently with a soft bristle brush. 'Do you like Nikos?' she asked casually.
'Not particularly,' Lorna said, picking up a fragment and blowing dust off it.
Susan's face cleared. 'I'm glad,' she said, 'I don't think he's a nice guy at all. And he drinks too much. He was polluted last night.'
'You're telling me! That was one of the reasons I was so late.'
'You saw him then?'
'Yes. He was waiting for me when we drove… er… when I got back.' Lorna was suddenly cautious. Not that she wanted to hide anything from her friend, but she felt too tired and confused about her brief meeting with Jason Peritakis to go into details.
However, Susan was no fool. 'Drove!' she said, her eyes turning to circles of surprise. 'Who were you driving with?'
'Nobody interesting,' Lorna said hurriedly, 'somebody just gave me a lift… that's all.'
'Somebody nice?'
'No, as a matter of fact.' She wiped a trickle of perspiration from her face, leaving a smudge of dirt on her pale cheek. 'Do you have an aspirin, Susan?' she asked, in an effort to both change the subject and to relieve her aching head. 'I've a rotten headache this morning.'
Susan fetched her a couple of aspirin and the subject was forgotten. Although the recollection of Jason Peritakis's erotic dance at the cafe still lingered in her mind. At noon the team stopped work and flaked out under a few olive trees to rest and eat their simple lunch, which usually consisted of bread and olives with some cheese. Lorna went to check the freshly cleaned stairs, and after consulting with Professor Spanakis she set about taking her photographs.
She took the detailed pictures first, lying down on the dirt floor to get angles of the steps, then went to take some shots from above. She decided that the upper level wasn't high enough for the effect she wanted. Nor was a tripod. So she poked around in the lean-to and found two straight ladders which she lashed together to make an extension. Carefully leaning the structure as upright as possible against the side of the excavated wall, she slung her camera round her neck and gingerly climbed to the top. It swayed rather alarmingly when she slid herself round so that her rear-end was against the top rung, enabling her to look directly down on to the stairs. Focusing her camera she proceeded to take several shots fr
om this precarious position. She had just decided that she had enough shots when there was an ominous creaking and the ladder tilted away from the safety of the wall and started falling, slowly at first then gaining momentum. Lorna gave a shriek, and professional photographer to the last, held her camera above her head in an attempt to protect it. She steeled herself for the crash she would make on the sun-baked earth, when a man leapt from one of the half-dug trenches and hurled himself forward to break her fall.
She landed on him with such impact that they rolled over and over in the dirt before coming to a standstill with the ladder on top of them. After the sound of a shower of pebbles there was a deafening silence. Lorna lay inert on top of this unknown man for a moment, then she tilted back her wide-brimmed hat and lifted her head in order to look at him.
A pair of surprised green eyes looked into hers. 'You!' exploded Jason Peritakis, 'it was you under that hat?'
Cautiously Lorna extricated herself from Jason and the ladder. 'What are you doing here?' she asked weakly.
'I own this land,' he said, 'naturally I am interested in the progress of this particular dig.' He pushed the ladder aside and climbed to his feet, making a futile effort to brush the dirt from his fawn-coloured riding-breeches. Then he put out his hand and helped her up. 'Are you hurt?' he asked.
'Never mind about me, it's my camera I'm worried about,' she replied. She checked it carefully before giving a sigh of relief. 'Thank God! It's all right.' She slid it back into its case, then glanced briefly at her dirty arms and legs. 'I'm all right too it seems, thanks to you,' she looked up at him, her eyes almost navy-blue under the shadow of her hat. 'You make a marvellous safety-net Mr Peritakis. Thanks.'
