by Celia Scott
In an attempt to deny this longing she laughed a lot, particularly when she noticed Jason watching her— which he seemed to do all the time—and she drank more champagne than she normally would have done.
She yearned to dance with him, and tried to will him into asking her. But he obviously didn't get the message, for even when she caught his eye, and smiled with brittle brilliance, his thoughtful expression didn't change, and he turned away and disappeared in the crowd.
The band took a break and she leant against the ship's rail, feeling the sea-breeze blow against her feverish skin. Her partner had gone to fetch her more champagne, and she was momentarily alone. Ariadne came up to her and asked:
'Do you have a good time Lorna?'
'Marvellous! I just hope my shoes stand up to all this dancing.' She poked her prettily shod foot out from the folds of her skirt.
'All Kosti's friends have fallen on you,' Ariadne said.
'I think you mean "fallen for",' Lorna giggled, 'and I think you exaggerate a bit.'
'Oh no!' She shook her head and the crystals in her hair glittered like ice. 'You will see. We shall find you a Greek husband in no time at all.'
'I doubt that Lorna wishes for anything as permanent as a husband.' Jason materialised out of the shadows. 'That would cramp your style, would it not?' he asked her.
'That would depend entirely on the husband,' Lorna said. 'If one was married to a monster I suppose it would.'
'Ah! But I am sure you are far too… too astute… to fall in love… much less marry such a man.' He bared his teeth in a smile totally lacking in warmth.
'I didn't know astu… er… astuteness… had anything to do with falling in love,' she replied with a faint hiccup.
'It does for some women,' he said bitterly.
Lorna's partner came back at that moment, and when he handed her her glass of champagne she made a point of fluttering her eyelashes at him, and took grim satisfaction from seeing Jason's face cloud. Defiantly she downed her wine and was led on to the dance floor again, for the band had started to play.
By the time supper was served she was feeling rather dizzy, and she refused the various wines that accompanied the meal. In spite of this precaution the stars swung crazily in the sky whenever she ventured to tilt her head and look at them.
When the plates had been cleared away and the tables moved back, the Cretan dances began. Soon a line of male dancers, led by Jason, was winding its way around the deck. This was a very different dance from the one he had performed for her at the cafe. This was a dance of pure pride. The dancers, hands joined, wove the complicated steps, handed down from generation to generation, and the rhythms of their flying feet beat out a tattoo of exultation at being Cretan.
Lorna's champagne-induced high spirits started to fade, for nothing could have underlined more clearly the gulf that separated her from Jason. Suddenly she felt foreign. Alien. And very lonely. Unobtrusively she moved her chair back into the shadows, as if to stress her sense of isolation.
The dancing came to an end and the disco band returned. Lorna's Athenian admirers flocked around her again and begged for dances. She drifted round the deck in the arms of one or the other, but all zest had gone from the evening. She drank another glass of champagne in an effort to recapture it but it merely made her feel muzzy, and when Ariadne came searching for her to say they must leave, she felt relief. This quickly vanished when she discovered that Jason was driving them home.
'Mama left with the limousine after supper,' Ariadne explained, 'she did not wish to spoil our pleasure by saying good night, and breaking up the party.'
Jason joined the two girls. 'Ela, Ariadne! It grows late,' he said. He ignored Lorna.
Lorna bade good night to her host and made her way—very carefully—down the gangplank, followed by Jason. His sister stayed on deck a moment longer to have a brief goodbye with her fiancé.
Jason looked very forbidding. 'Do you know why Nikos did not come to the party?' he asked her.
She was tempted to tell him the truth. That she had not even missed Nikos. Had not even noticed that he wasn't there, but she merely said, 'I've no idea what happened to him.'
'It was most discourteous. And insulting to Kosti and his guests. My cousin's manners leave much to be desired.' She had the feeling that he was reprimanding her, too. Identifying her with Nikos because he thought they were lovers.
Ariadne ran down the gangplank, her yellow skirt billowing, and the three of them piled into the white Mercedes. Ariadne in the front with her brother; Lorna at the back.
During the drive, while Ariadne prattled on about the party and Jason drove with tight-lipped efficiency, Lorna started to become angry. Angry with Jason and his impossible behaviour. Just who did he think he was? Punishing her like this with his icy silence. Why! he hadn't even asked her for one dance. He had no reason to sulk at all, she told herself. She should be the one to be offended—he'd ignored her all evening. And he had the gall to lecture her about discourtesy. He was a fine one to talk! She managed to work herself into a thorough temper and in order to let off steam started singing softly… 'I could have danced all night. I could have danced all night…' through clenched teeth.
Jason parked in front of the villa and opened the door for his sister. When he went round to help Lorna she ignored his hand and climbed out of the car unaided.
Ariadne kissed her brother good night. 'Kalinihta, Jason… It was a lovely party was it not?'
'Lovely, kookla mou.' He kissed her forehead tenderly. 'And you graced it well. Kosti is a very lucky man. Now go to bed. It is late.' When she had gone into the dark house he turned to Lorna and said formally, 'Kalinihta. I trust you will sleep well.'
'I'm not in the least sleepy,' her stubborn chin jutted. 'I could dance and dance for hours.'
'So I gathered from your serenade. Can I offer you anything? Some lemonade…?'
'Nothing thank you. I think I'll just take a turn around the garden… get some air… good night.'
'I will accompany you,' he said. 'Unless you wish to be alone for any reason.' He looked at her with mistrust, and Lorna knew very well he suspected she had arranged to meet Nikos. This added more fuel to her already smouldering temper.
'Please yourself!' She started humming defiantly again and went down towards the garden with Jason following.
The swimming pool was smooth as a saucer of milk in the moonlight. When she reached the flagstoned edge she lifted her arms and started to dance, spinning around in wider and wider circles.
Jason came up to her. 'You dance very well, Lorna, but I think...'
'How can you tell whether I dance well or not?' She Stopped for a moment to glare at him. 'You've never danced with me.'
'You seemed to be on the dance floor all evening,' he said, 'I could not get near you.'
'I had a very good time. I love to dance.' To illustrate this she started waltzing again, twirling around the edge of the pool.
'However, Lorna, I think…'
She interrupted him, holding her arms out at shoulder height. 'You're not the only one who can dance solo you know.' She was aware that she was being childish, but temper and champagne goaded her.
'I merely want to wa…'
'I'm going to dance till dawn!' She executed a whirling hop, stumbled over her feet, and fell headlong into the deep end of the pool.
She surfaced, spluttering and gasping. Jason knelt at the edge. He looked as if he was about to jump in and rescue her. 'Are you all right, Lorna?'
'Fine!' she giggled, 'A dip was just what I needed.' She turned on to her back and floated, her long chiffon skirt undulating round her like sea-weed. 'The water's lovely,' she informed him.
'I did try to warn you,' he said.
'Yes.' She paddled closer to the edge and confided, 'I think I may have had a little too much champagne.'
'Ah!' He suppressed a smile. 'Then a swim should be very beneficial.' He stood again and watched her as she swam slowly down the length of t
he pool to the shallow end. 'I notice your immersion has restored your temper,' he remarked as she started to climb out.
'I was silly,' she admitted, 'but you can be very irritating you know.' She kicked off her sodden sandals which squelched with every step and walked towards him. Her hair was a sleek .cap on her head, her gown streamed water. When she approached she heard his intake of breath, and noticed his hands clench. He was staring at her hungrily, and she thought she saw him tremble.
She faltered and looked down at her dress, then she gasped in dismay. She looked like a naked river-nymph clad only in turquoise moonbeams, for the water had made the filmy material almost transparent, so that it clung to her body revealingly. She held her hands across her breasts in an attempt to cover herself, but he reached out and pulled them away.
'Mou theos! Lorna.' His voice was husky. 'You drive me mad.' He pulled her roughly into his arms and brought his mouth down on hers. His lips felt warm. Demanding, passionate.
She sighed in surrender and clung to him, all caution forgotten. She burned with joy at the touch of his mouth and her lips parted under his willingly. His steel-strong arms held her tightly, and she could feel the hardness of his body against hers. She slid her hand under his jacket and started to unbutton his shirt, which was wet now from her dress. His breathing grew harsher as she stroked his chest, tangling her fingers in the dark hair.
With an inarticulate cry he passed his hands firmly down her body, moulding and cupping her breasts with skilful fingers. Her nipples grew hard under their flimsy covering of wet chiffon, and she arched against him in voluptuous delight. She was unaware of anything in the world now except her blinding need for him. He pulled away from her with a shuddering sigh, and gazed at her with flint-green eyes. She stood, unashamed, waiting for him to take her, here in the garden. Or to lead her to his room.
'Ochi,' he whispered softly, 'no.' He was very pale in the first flush of dawn, his hair tangled in a dark mass over his forehead, his shirt unbuttoned to his waist. He bent to retrieve his tie which had fallen at their feet. When he faced her again his expression was blank.
She stood mutely, a draped statue, while shame flowed over her in a burning tide. She did not move when he took off his white dinner jacket and put it over her shoulders.
'It would not be right, Lorna.' His voice sounded flat. 'In spite of your opinion of me I do not make love to another man's woman. Not even when she is as… as beautiful… as you.'
She had the sickening feeling he was going to say… 'as willing as you,' but had thought better of it. What little pride she had left stopped her from protesting that she belonged to no one. That she wanted only to belong to him.
'Come Lorna… ela … it is late.' He went to put his arm round her shoulders but she eluded him. If he touched her now she was afraid that she might weep, and picking up her ruined sandals she silently followed him into the sleeping villa.
CHAPTER SIX
The next day was horrible. Lorna woke at noon feeling depressed and with a bad headache. She lay in bed watching the bright pencils of sunlight poke through the slats of the blind and wondered how she would ever find the courage to get up and go downstairs, where she would inevitably meet Jason. Humiliation covered her like one of the bed-sheets, and nasty phrases like… 'pushover' and 'easy lay' kept clanging away in her aching head.
After about an hour of this futile wallowing she forced herself to shower and dress and then with a feeling of impending doom she crept out on to the upstairs landing.
The house was silent. It was the siesta hour. With luck she could probably slip away without meeting a soul. She tiptoed down the stairs to the front door. Outside the landscape quivered with heat. The sun hit her like a fist, and she blinked involuntarily in the merciless light.
'Ah! Lorna. There you are!' Blinded by the glare she had not seen Madam Peritakis, who was seated in a corner of the patio under a large striped sun-umbrella, a low table holding a tray with glasses and cups and saucers in front of her. 'Here is orange-juice and coffee,' she said, 'will you join me?'
Lorna couldn't think of anything she wanted more than a long cold glass of juice at that moment, so she thankfully seated herself in the blessed shade beside her hostess.
'Jason and Ariadne have deserted us,' Madam Peritakis said. 'They have gone to join Kosti for swimming.' She handed Lorna an ice-cold glass of juice. 'We decided not to wake you. We felt you needed sleep more than a swim. I hope we did right?'
A self-betraying flush swept Lorna's face. Oh God! did Madam Peritakis know about last night's escapade? She wasn't sure where Jason's mother slept. Maybe her bedroom was facing the pool and she had heard… and seen, all that had happened. Overcome with guilt Lorna mumbled something inaudible and sipped her juice.
'Was it not a most successful party?' Madam Peritakis asked. Without waiting for an answer she went on, 'I think a party on board ship is one of the nicest kind. Do you not agree?'
'I… I guess so. I mean… I've never been to a party on a yacht before.' She knew this sounded clumsy, but she wasn't up to being tactful. She was too tired and miserable. Besides the sooner the entire Peritakis family realised she came from a different kind of world from theirs the better it would be.
'I did not have a chance to thank you properly for your kindness to Ariadne last night,' her hostess now said. Lorna looked at her blankly. 'Helping her with her orchids. I know it was not the tragedy Ariadne felt it to be, but she is naturally very highly strung these days. She… how do you say it? She… emphasises things.'
'Exaggerates,' Lorna suggested, putting her empty glass back on the tray.
'Ah! My English! Exaggerates… of course.'
'It was nothing,' Lorna assured her. Madam Peritakis indicated the coffee-pot and she carefully nodded her head. 'Yes, please. It was just lucky I happened to remember that trick with the wire.'
'Nevertheless it was kind of you to take the time to assist a young girl. Not everyone would have bothered. Carol, for instance, would not.'
'Carol?' Lorna looked at Madam Peritakis vacantly, wondering if it was her headache that was making her particularly dull, for she hadn't the faintest idea who they were talking about.
'Ariadne has not told you of Carol?'
'No, she hasn't.'
'Carol was an American girl who visited our village four years ago.' She placed a cup of coffee before her guest. 'We got to know her and she spent much time with us. She was a beautiful girl… very sophisticated. She and Jason were attracted to each other and I… thought… they would get married.'
The scalding coffee did not hurt Lorna as much as the stab of jealousy that seared through her. 'What happened?' she asked when she'd recovered her breath.
'I am not sure. But I gather Carol felt she was too… too worldly… for a life in Crete.'
Lorna forced herself to speak in a neutral tone. 'In a way I can understand that,' she said, 'after all there are enormous cultural differences. She… Carol… must have felt awfully lonely sometimes.'
'Carol never felt lonely in her life.' The older woman bit her lip with vexation. 'I did not like her,' she said at last, 'she was cold.'
'But Jason liked her,' Lorna said, looking down into the dregs of her coffee to hide the pain in her wide eyes.
'Ah! Jason is a man!' His mother waved her hands expressively. 'She was beautiful and amusing… he was bored. And he knows it is time he was married. None of the Greek girls I have introduced him to have attracted him,' she added wistfully.
Since his mother was in this confiding mood Lorna figured she might as well find out all she could. It might help to cure her need for him. And if it was painful— well so was an operation. 'I suppose you'd prefer him to marry… one of his own kind?' she said.
Madam Peritakis looked surprised. 'Of course I would not! I want him to be happy. That was why I was prepared to accept Carol. And I know my children. Jason will never be happy with a compliant wife. He needs a woman who is not afraid to stand up to him. Then h
e will respect her.'
'Just the same,' Lorna persisted, 'with two such different backgrounds, I guess he and… and Carol… never had a chance.'
'Their backgrounds had nothing to do with it.' She sounded quite put out. 'Carol wanted to change my son. To make him into another person. That will never work. That she lost him was entirely her own fault. It had nothing to do with her background.'
But Lorna was stubborn. 'It puts a strain on a relationship though, doesn't it?' she said. 'When you're both used to such different ways of life.'
'Do you really believe that?' Madam Peritakis regarded her young companion thoughtfully before saying, 'I believe that when there is a deep and abiding love between two people these "differences" melt away like the snow on the mountains in spring.'
'I wonder.' Lorna looked out over the bleached valley that shimmered in the afternoon sun. 'I wonder if it's that simple.'
'I did not say it was simple,' Jason's mother replied firmly, 'oh no my dear! Quite the reverse. It takes patience and respect for each other. Is it not the same for you in your work?'
'That's true,' Lorna agreed. 'It's not quite as easy as it looks to the uninitiated.'
Madam Peritakis smiled kindly. 'You see, my dear. In your heart you agree with me after all.'
Lorna decided this conversation was becoming dangerous. 'While we're on the subject of photography, Madam Peritakis,' she said, in an effort to change the topic, 'I was wondering if I might be allowed to take some photographs of Ariadne's wedding? Informal ones of her going to the church, and afterwards at the reception. I promise to be unobtrusive.' She'd had this at the back of her mind for some time, and this seemed a good time to broach the subject. She planned to buy a handsome album, mount her pictures in it, and give it to the bride and groom for a surprise present. Madam Peritakis seemed pleased with the idea and permission was granted.
When the older woman had retired for a nap Lorna put on her sun-hat and slinging her camera round her neck went in search of interesting shots for her portfolio. Work seemed the only escape from the painful memory of Jason's rejection. Not that she could forget it completely, but at least when she forced herself to concentrate on light and composition, and the myriad pitfalls between the idea and the finished result the pain in her heart was dulled a little. Work did help, and she decided to bury herself in it. Like taking aspirin for her headache.
