Where the Gods Dwell

by Celia Scott

  'Not ordinary,' he whispered, 'and not a girl… A woman… a very desirable woman.' He leant across her and gently detached her hand from its frantic hold on the handle, sliding his other arm across her shoulders. Softly he brought his warm mouth down on hers in a long kiss, at the same time adroitly pushing a button somewhere on the side of her seat, so that she was tilted back until she was lying horizontally, with Jason almost on top of her.

  The spell was broken! She twisted away from him and found the button that operated the seat. In a second she was vertical again. But so rapidly that they bumped noses. Her lovely eyes filled with tears of pain.

  'Mou theos!' He cautiously felt his nose. 'You are a mad woman!'

  'You bet I'm mad!' She scrabbled around searching for her shoulder-bag. 'Mad at you.'

  'But why? Is it not the custom in Canada to kiss good night?'

  'Not lying flat on one's back!' She found her bag and started to open the door, but he stretched his arm across her and pulled it shut again.

  'I do not understand you.' His eyes glinted in the dim light. 'By your own admission you are a liberated, modern young woman…'

  'Just because I'm modern doesn't mean I make love in the back seat of a car.'

  'We are not in the back seat.'

  Exasperated she turned on him. 'Don't play the innocent with me, Jason. You know damn well what I mean. I'm not wild about smooth operators, and that seat-tilting trick of yours is one of the smoothest tricks I've come across.'

  To her surprise he chuckled with amusement. 'And for this you make my nose bleed?' He said.

  'Your nose isn't bleeding.' She pushed his hand away and climbed out of the car.

  'But surely, for a liberated young woman…'

  'Something you "macho" types should get straight is the fact that being liberated means the freedom to say "NO",' she said through gritted teeth. 'Good night, Jason Peritakis.' With her back as straight as a ruler she went into the taverna.

  Susan was sitting up in bed reading when Lorna came into their room. She put down her novel. 'What's up now?' she asked, as her room-mate started to tear off her clothes in preparation for bed.

  Lorna pulled her kimono over her slim body and picked up her sponge-bag. 'Romantic encounters with two Peritakis males in the same day is proving too much for my temper,' she said, suddenly weary. 'At this rate I'm going to be a wreck by the end of the summer.'

  Susan giggled and returned to her book while Lorna went off to brush her teeth. In the bathroom she rubbed cream on to her face, being very careful of her nose which was still a little tender. The ridiculous side of her latest clash with Jason struck her, and she grinned at her reflection in the fly-spotted mirror. She wiped the last trace of cream away, and traced the outline of her mouth with her finger, recalling the warm feel of his lips on hers. A faint echo of pleasure vibrated through her body.

  Briskly she squeezed toothpaste on to her toothbrush and started vigorously cleaning her teeth, as if with the taste of the pepperminty foam she could erase the memory of his kiss and her growing desire for his touch. It didn't work! She leaned in to the mirror.

  'Damn you, Jason Peritakis,' she muttered, 'don't you dare become a problem.'

  But in her heart she knew it was too late for such warnings. The spell had been cast.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The next evening Lorna moved into the villa. Ariadne met the chauffeur-driven stationwagon at the door. She held out her arms in a welcome. 'At last you come, Lorna! I am so happy.' She was wearing a suit of pearl-white raw silk, and her hair was pulled back in a shiny knot. She looked more mature than the first time Lorna had seen her, but the young girl still lurked behind her eyes in spite of her grown-up suit and hairstyle. Ushering Lorna inside she summoned a maid to help the chauffeur with the luggage.

  'We have only just arrived from Athens. And my fiancé has just telephoned,' she glowed. 'His yacht has just this moment docked at Iraklion.' Taking one of the handles of the holdall Lorna was carrying she dragged her up the wide staircase so fast that Lorna only had a minute to register the low-ceilinged entrance hall that contained several polished tables and chests of dark wood. There also seemed to be a lot of vases filled with bright flowers that flared against the white walls like clusters of jewels.

  Still chattering happily Ariadne opened a heavy door at the end of the corridor. 'Here is your room, Lorna,' she said, dropping the holdall and pulling her towards the tall windows that overlooked the garden and the orange groves.

  'It's… Oh! Ariadne… it's gorgeous!' Lorna stammered, turning slowly round in delight.

  It was a big room. Big enough to contain a double bed, a desk, a sofa, and an armchair, without any feeling of clutter. The walls had been painted the palest pink, and the lace-and-satin spread, gossamer-silk curtains, and thick rugs were all cream coloured. Near the windows a spray of leaves had been painted on the wall, so that it looked as if part of the garden had taken root in the cool room. The floor was ivory marble veined with pink. Standing on the dressing-table, which frothed with cream lace, was a large bottle of Christian Dior perfume and a silver bud-vase containing a single rose, whose petals were such a dark red they looked almost purple. A card with the word 'welcome' written on it was propped against the mirror.

  Leading off from the bedroom was a small bathroom. A far cry from the primitive arrangements at Vasily's, the shower stall here didn't have a watering-can type of fitting let into the ceiling. It glistened with bronze taps and nozzles, and was enclosed in frosted-glass etched with a pattern of leaves. The tub was pink marble carved to look like a shell, and the fittings were bronze. A satin robe, the colour of coconut-ice, was hanging on a bronze hook on the door.

  'For you, Lorna. So you will match your bathroom,' Ariadne giggled.

  Lorna fingered the rich material. 'I… I'm overwhelmed… I don't know how to thank you.' She gestured towards the other room. 'This… and the perfume… How on earth did you find the time? With all the preparations for your wedding…'

  Her young hostess gave a self-deprecating laugh. 'Oh! I would like to take the credit. But I cannot. Jason got them for you.'

  'Jason. Oh!' She dropped the folds of satin. 'How very kind. I must thank him.'

  'He enjoyed doing it. Now hurry, Lorna! You are to join us for dinner in one hour. It is very informal. Just the family. You do not have to dress up.'

  Before Lorna could protest that she didn't mean to impose on the Peritakis family, and had intended to return to the taverna to eat, Ariadne had heard the sound of a car arriving, and had danced out of the room.

  The maid was already unpacking in the bedroom. She smiled and nodded, then went on efficiently folding and hanging Lorna's clothes. Lorna decided to have a bath in her shell-shaped tub and leave her to it.

  There was a cut-glass bottle of bathsalts on the shelf, and talcum powder, and a marble dish of pink and white soap bars. She threw a generous handful of the bathsalts into the water, lay back in the rose-scented steam, and wallowed in the unaccustomed luxury.

  Finally she climbed out of the cooling water and dried herself on a thick white towel. She put on her new robe while she dealt with her hair. It fitted her perfectly, Jason was obviously very observant. She couldn't decide whether this made her happy or not. But it certainly kept him firmly in her mind. In fact, lately, she seemed unable to think of anyone else. She savagely tugged at her comb, but didn't succeed in banishing the thought of him. She only hurt her head.

  When she returned to the bedroom the maid had gone. Taking away an armload of clothes presumably to wash and iron. Lorna's discarded denim skirt and T-shirt had disappeared too. It looked as if she wasn't going to have to worry about laundry while she was staying here.

  Ariadne had said dinner was to be informal, but she still dressed with care. She chose a favourite dress. A simple emerald green silk, with a pattern of lily-of-the-valley embroidered around the hem and cuffs of the loose three-quarter sleeves. She put on high-heeled sandals for the first t
ime since coming to Crete, and wore large gilt hoop-earrings and a wide matching bracelet. She took trouble with her make-up too, shading her eyes with green shadow, and using a particularly luscious shade of coral lipstick. A generous splash of the Christian Dior perfume and she was ready.

  As she walked downstairs she was irritated to discover that she felt nervous, so in an effort to calm herself she paused in the hall to admire a small statuette. A copy of the Bull's Head Rhyton (a libation vessel in the shape of a bull's head), from the Little Palace at Knossos, the famous excavation near Iraklion.

  She traced the tight carved curls on the serpentine head with her finger. She had seen the original in the museum at Iraklion, and had marvelled then at the craftsmanship that made the eyes, inlaid with jasper, rock crystal, and white shell, gleam with life. She wouldn't have been surprised if this animal had snorted when she tickled his ears, he seemed so realistic.

  'He is a fine beast, is he not?'

  She nearly jumped out of her high-heeled shoes. Jason was standing silently behind her. 'Oh! You startled me!' She clasped her hands over her breast. 'I didn't hear you come in.'

  He put out a hand and brushed her arm where the full sleeve had fallen back and she had to school herself not to gasp with pleasure at his touch.

  'I am sorry, Lorna,' he said, 'I did not mean to frighten you.'

  She smoothed the silk sleeves down over her arms, as if to protect herself. 'That's all right. I was just admiring this lovely head. Who did it?'

  'A friend of mine in Athens. He specialises in copying treasures from the past. It is too bad he will be unable to copy the seal stones. Professor Spanakis tells me they are still missing.'

  'I know,' she said, 'I can't imagine anyone on the dig stealing.'

  He answered absently, 'No… no.' She wondered if it was a trick of light that made his handsome face look suddenly so strained and anxious. Then he made an effort and thrust away whatever thought was disturbing him. 'You look… and smell… delicious,' he said, smiling at her.

  'Entirely thanks to you. The perfume's lovely… and the robe. Ariadne tells me you're responsible. It's so nice of you, Jason. But you really didn't have to…'

  He interrupted her. 'Ah! But I did. It is to welcome you… and to hope that I am forgiven for my… clumsiness… last night.' His mouth tilted wryly. 'My second apology in twenty-four hours.'

  'You're forgiven,' she smiled.

  'Then let us join the others.' He took her arm, 'My mother is impatient to meet you.' Opening a door he led her into a brightly lit drawing room.

  The first person Lorna noticed when she went in was a dignified, middle-aged woman sitting in a brocaded armchair. She was dressed stylishly in black, a double rope of pearls gleaming round her neck. Her iron grey hair was piled high on her head, and her green eyes, so like Jason's and Ariadne's, studied Lorna intently.

  Jason introduced Lorna to his mother and Madam Peritakis held out a strong white hand which glittered with rings. 'Welcome to my house, Miss McCann,' she said in careful English. Her handshake was warm, but her eyes, while not unfriendly, were cool and appraising, and Lorna sensed that Katerina Peritakis did not intend to immediately accept this stranger in her midst.

  'Thank you very much for your hospitality, Madam Peritakis. I'm sure you realise that you're a lifesaver,' Lorna said.

  Jason's mother bowed her head in acknowledgement, 'It is nothing. It is our pleasure to have you here.'

  'Still… I'm aware how busy you are at this time. With the wedding arrangements…'

  'It is nothing,' Madam Peritakis repeated. She waved her hand towards a brown-haired young man who had been sitting beside Ariadne, but had risen when Lorna came in. 'I think that you have not met my future son-in-law, Kosti Theoari.'

  Kosti took Lorna's hand and shook it warmly. She judged him to be in his late twenties. Smaller than Jason—but then most men were. Nor did he share Jason's extraordinary good looks. But he had a nice face, thin and serious, with good brown eyes that looked out honestly at the world.

  When the introductions were over and Lorna had been seated in a chair opposite her hostess, an aperitif called propoma, a wine flavoured with herbs and spices, was served, along with a dish of small kebabs on silver skewers, and a bowl of almonds. Lorna was very hungry, but Madam Peritakis's steady scrutiny made her curb her appetite, so after a kebab, that sizzled deliciously on her tongue, she restrained herself and only nibbled on a couple of almonds, praying that her stomach wouldn't rumble.

  'Kosti and I are to have a party this Saturday, Lorna,' Ariadne told her. 'We would like it so much if you would come. It is to be on his yacht, and there will be many people there, and dancing…'

  'Perhaps Lorna does not care for parties,' Jason drawled, swirling the wine around in his glass, 'I suspect she is too dedicated to her work for such frivolity.'

  'Do you? Then you're dead wrong,' Lorna said. She turned to Ariadne. 'Thank you very much. I'd love to come.'

  Kosti leaned over to take a kebab. 'I think you will enjoy the party, Miss McCann,' he said. 'There will be a band for the disco dancing, and other music also.'

  'We are to call her "Lorna", Kosti,' Ariadne admonished him. She turned impetuously to the Canadian girl. 'You do not mind if Kosti calls you by your Christian name?'

  Lorna smiled and nodded her consent.

  Madam Peritakis said severely, 'It is true I believe that North Americans are more… more casual… than we Greeks. Given names are used easily. And I have heard that in business offices in America often the men will not wear a coat.' Lorna wondered what this stern Cretan matron would make of her working outfit of cut-off jeans and sweatshirt.

  'When the temperature becomes impossible I dispense with my jacket in the office, Mama,' Jason reminded her.

  She brushed this aside with a wave of her be-ringed hand. 'Tell me, Miss McCann,' she fixed Lorna with a green stare, 'tell me of yourself. That you are a career woman I know. But what of your family? Have you many brothers and sisters?'

  Lorna understood that this was to be an interrogation. There was no ducking it. Her hostess intended to discover all she could about her guest before she offered friendship.

  'I have a married sister, and a brother who works for an oil company in Singapore,' she told her.

  Madam Peritakis was not content with this. She wanted more details. 'And your parents?'

  'My parents were killed in a car accident when I was fourteen. My sister, who is seven years older than I, came back home to look after us until she married. By that time my brother was in university, and I was studying to become a photographer.'

  Jason's mother looked genuinely upset. 'My poor child!' she said. 'What a tragedy.'

  'It was… a difficult time.' Lorna's wide eyes grew sad. Then she roused herself and said. 'At least I had my sister and my brother. We've always been very close.'

  'And now your brother is away in Singapore?' The older woman persisted.

  'Poor Lorna! So you have no brother to protect you!' Ariadne's face was a mask of concern.

  Lorna grinned. 'That's right! I have to protect myself.'

  'And you do an excellent job,' said Jason. He gave her a faint smile and rubbed his nose reflectively. Lorna stifled a giggle.

  But Madam Peritakis had not finished her cross-examination even though her manner was warmer. 'Your sister?' she asked. 'You visit with her often?'

  'She and her husband live in British Columbia. That's over two thousand miles from Toronto,' Lorna pointed out. 'I did go to see them last Christmas… I wanted to see my new nephew… but it's rather expensive, and Rab… that's Ann's husband… Rab's a doctor in a small town. He doesn't make enough to send them east to me.'

  'You must miss them,' Kosti said, 'to be separated from those you love is hard.' He reached out and took Ariadne's hand when he said this, as if to reassure himself that such a fate wasn't about to happen to them.

  'I miss them very much,' she confessed, 'but one can't have everything. I'm lucky t
hat I have a job I enjoy. And can come to places like Crete. I love to travel, but I couldn't afford it if it wasn't part of my job.'

  'I did not work, yet I travelled extensively.' Madam Peritakis sounded censorious, and Lorna was provoked into saying sharply.

  'Did you travel alone, Madam?'

  'Mou theos! Of course I did not.' The older woman looked shocked. 'I was always accompanied by my husband.'

  'Well I have to settle for travelling with my work.'

  Jason broke in. 'You must remember, Mama,' he said, 'in these emancipated times young women travel alone all over the world. Lorna would no doubt consider it boring to travel with a husband. Is that not so, Lorna?'

  She looked at him coolly for a second before answering. 'You have the most peculiar views about emancipation, Jason,' she said finally. 'My sister, who is a nurse for her husband and runs his household, plus three small children, would laugh her head off if she heard you. I've always envied Ann,' she said to his mother, 'she and Rab don't have much money, but they have a terrific marriage. I don't think anything can beat that. Do you?'

  'Indeed I do not.' Madam Peritakis's stern expression vanished and she regarded her guest warmly. 'I too was happy in my marriage. When my husband died…' Her eyes grew misty and Jason put his hand over hers. 'No… no.' She smiled. 'I have many happy years to be grateful for. And now…' She indicated Kosti and Ariadne. 'Now these dear children… this is a time for joy, not sadness.'

  After a moment of quiet the conversation resumed and became more general. They discussed the island, and the differences of the towns of Iraklion and Chania. Kosti, the Athenian among them, praised his city to Lorna. Then dinner was announced and Jason led the way to the dining room.

  There was an immense table gleaming with white damask. Candles in silver candelabras flickered, making shadows dance on the terracotta walls. At one end of the room was a fireplace, filled now with a brass filigree fan, that gleamed in the lambent candle-light. Cut-glass wine goblets sparkled, and bowls of roses glowed against the sheen of the tablecloth.