Where the Gods Dwell

by Celia Scott

  'It has been a pleasure for me,' Jason replied, helping Susan, who was experiencing difficulty climbing into the passenger seat.

  'Whew! These things ought to come equipped with a lift,' she puffed when she was finally settled. ' 'Night Jason. Take care of that headache, Lorna!' She gave a final wave and the jeep roared away.

  When the tail-lights had disappeared Jason put his hands on Lorna's shoulders and stared intently into her face. In the dark his eyes seemed to glow like a mountain cat's. She had the distinct feeling that those clear eyes could see straight into her heart and not be taken in by any defences she might use to fool him.

  'How is your headache now?' he asked.

  'Okay… better.' She turned her head to avoid that penetrating gaze.

  'But you are still angry with me, ne?'

  'Not angry,' she protested. Meeting his relentless stare again she added more truthfully, 'Well… not any more. Just tired.'

  And worried about us and the yawning pit that stretches between us, she might have added, but didn't.

  He put his arms around her and drew her close. She didn't resist—how could she, when even his lightest touch made her blood stir with delight.

  'I must ask you to be understanding, kookla mou,' he murmured, 'I have worries that you cannot share…'

  'Why don't you try me,' she cut in.

  '… Worries that you cannot share at this moment,' he repeated.

  'I don't much enjoy being excluded like this,' she said. 'It doesn't make me feel particularly welcome in your life.'

  He tilted her face to look up at him but she turned her eyes away. 'That is nonsense, Lorna,' he said patiently. 'I love you with all my heart, believe me.'

  'But not enough to share your worries with me,' she insisted obstinately.

  'Hristo!' he exclaimed in a burst of irritation, 'you are as stubborn as one of the village mules.'

  'Thank you very much!' She tried to pull herself out of his arms but he still held her tightly.

  'I tell you it is not in my power to share this… anxiety… with you at this time.'

  'Why not? Because I'm a woman? Is that it?' She had no idea what had made her say that. But this latest slight—imagined or not—was the final straw. Her usual control had deserted her.

  'It has nothing to do with your sex. Do not be idiotic,' Jason snapped. His fingers dug into her upper arms. 'This is not a question of male chauvinism…'

  'Isn't it?' she cried wildly. 'I would have thought we'd had a pretty good display of chauvinism all day as a matter of fact.'

  'What do you mean by that?' he demanded.

  'Well… just generally shutting me out. Patting me on the head from time to time to keep me sweet. Seeing that I have chums to play with… That sort of thing. While you get on with the grown-up male world without me.'

  Stop it! Stop it! she silently commanded herself, but she was on a runaway emotional train, and could not apply the brakes.

  Slowly he let go of her arms and she made a great show of rubbing them, as if he had hurt her. 'If I did pat you to keep you sweet I failed dismally,' he said.

  His face suddenly looked so drawn that her heart twisted with pain. Her instinct was to throw herself back into his arms, and weep and tell him that she loved him so much that the mere thought that he couldn't share things with her drove her to behave like a spoilt brat. But as usual her pride prevented her, and she merely muttered, 'Even over coffee you talked exclusively to Harvey.'

  He gave an exasperated sigh. 'I would point out, Lorna, that you were unusually silent all evening. If you had wanted to join in the conversation you had only to open your mouth. I now realise that you were sulking.'

  'I don't like segregated conversations,' she repeated wilfully.

  'Neither do I. Nor do I like sulky women.' There was a silence with Lorna broke.

  'We seem to have reached an impasse,' she said tremulously. All her anger had evaporated and now she was filled with apprehension.

  When he spoke again his voice sounded strangely flat. 'Perhaps it would be best if we saw less of each other, Lorna… during the next few days,' he said.

  'That's going to be difficult, isn't it? I mean, we are living under the same roof.' Her own voice sounded steady, which she found remarkable, since her heart had dropped like a stone.

  'You managed it once before.' He gave her a wintry smile.

  'All that rushing about! I don't think I've the energy for it any more.' She tried to smile back, but her lips felt stiff.

  'I shall be away a great deal of the time,' he said, 'And when this… this worry is resolved…'

  'The one you refuse to share with me…'

  'The one I cannot share with you… we will have a talk.'

  'Why not have a talk now?' She laid her hand on his arm and he lifted it off. The rebuff was gentle, but if he'd struck her he couldn't have hurt her more.

  'Now is not the time.' His jaw was set like granite.

  'Well, in that case I'll get to bed.' She swallowed a lump in her throat the size of a cannon-ball. 'Good night, Jason.' Kiss me! Kiss me! she screamed silently at him, but it didn't work, and he merely muttered, 'Kalinihta, Lorna,' and went into the night.

  She managed to control her tears until she had reached the sanctuary of her bedroom. Then the storm broke! She flung herself down on the satin bedspread and cried as she had never cried before. When at last she stumbled into the bathroom to splash cold water on to her tear-blotched face she was exhausted. The alienation she felt before was nothing to the vast gulf that existed now. A gulf of her own making. How could she have behaved so stupidly? Again and again she berated herself as she lay tossing and turning on her bed through the long night.

  She was determined about one thing, however; this time she would not try to avoid Jason. Even though the very thought of facing him was like a knife in her side, the thought of not seeing him was worse. Like a death. Better the knife than that!

  But in the morning the breakfast table on the patio was deserted, and although she spent as long as she reasonably could over a cup of coffee (she couldn't eat a thing, it would have choked her), there was no sign of him.

  And her work was no help to her this time. She was constantly aware that she was on Jason's land. Every stone and dusty blade of grass reminded her of him, and she spent a good deal of the morning with one part of her listening for the sound of his horse's hooves… or the sound of his voice calling her name. But he never came.

  During the lunch break she walked back to the villa. She had decided to work for the rest of the day in her dark-room… maybe she would see Jason and talk to him. She would throw herself on his mercy, tell him how miserable she was, how idiotic she had been.

  The villa was silent when she got there. It was the siesta hour. But on her way up to her room to wash and change out of her shorts she met Madam Peritakis, wearing a large hat and carrying a handbag.

  'Lorna, what are you doing back here in the daytime?' she asked.

  Lorna explained that she intended to work in the dark-room, enlarging some prints. Madam Peritakis looked at her carefully and said, 'You look very tired, my dear. You would be better to have a siesta I think.'

  Lorna smiled wanly. 'I don't seem to have the knack for sleeping at the moment, so I might as well work.' She added with elaborate casualness, 'Is Jason anywhere around?'

  Madam Peritakis's expressive face grew cautious. 'Jason is out on… on business. He will not be home until evening.'

  'Oh!'

  The bleakness Lorna felt on receiving this information must have been apparent, for the older woman said kindly, 'I think you should take the afternoon off, my dear. If you will not take a siesta, perhaps you should go to the beach… make a break in your routine. I myself am going to Iraklion to a committee meeting. And while Iraklion is not the ideal place for a relaxing afternoon there are many attractive beaches close by. After he has taken me to my meeting, Manolis could drive you to one.'

  Lorna hesitated for a mo
ment, but the thought of lying on a silvery beach compared to an afternoon trying to work and not think of Jason was irresistible.

  'What a great idea!' she said. 'Give me a couple of minutes to change and I'll be with you.'

  She raced upstairs thinking that if Jason was out there was no sense moping around the house. She could easily catch up with her work later. Meantime she would have a swim and decide what she was going to say to him when she saw him. To mentally prepare herself, so there would be no more misunderstandings.

  They were driven to Iraklion in the black sedan, sitting together in the back seat like Royalty. Madam Peritakis always seemed to travel this way, and Lorna asked her if she knew how to drive.

  'Alas! No.' The older woman shook her head, which set the brim of her hat nodding. 'In my day it was not usual for a woman to drive. Now of course that has changed. Ariadne is a splendid driver, for instance. And you, Lorna? Do you drive also?'

  'I have since I was seventeen. I love it.'

  'Then you must use Ariadne's car while you are here. Kosti has bought her a new one for her life in Athens. You have the appropriate documents, I assume?'

  'Oh! Sure.' She thought for a moment. 'But if there's a car to spare… I mean maybe Nikos might like to use it.' She remembered his wistful remarks about cars.

  'It is not possible for Nikos to use Ariadne's car,' Madam Peritakis said firmly.

  'It's just that I know he misses not having a car… he's told me so… I mean… he is part of the family,' she explained, hoping Jason's mother wouldn't think she was being ungracious.

  Madam Peritakis stared straight ahead. 'Did Nikos tell you why he has no vehicle?' she asked.

  'Well… no. I just assumed he couldn't afford one.'

  'Nikos is not allowed to drive by law. His driver's licence has been… how do you call it? Taken from him.'

  'Revoked?'

  'Yes… that is the word. Because of the many accidents he had while under the influence of wine.'

  'Oh!… I'm sorry…' She wasn't quite sure what else to say.

  'I, too, am sorry, Lorna,' Madam Peritakis said softly. 'My heart is sad for my nephew, but we seem unable to help him. Do you know anything of his history?' When Lorna shook her head she continued, 'Nikos was most unfortunate in his parents. His father, my brother-in-law, was an unfeeling man. Not cruel you understand, but uninterested in his young son. He died when Nikos was quite small and his mother brought him up… disastrously.' She took a bottle of cologne from her handbag and lightly dabbed the insides of her wrists while she talked. 'Nikos's mother was one of the silliest women I have ever known,' she said reflectively, 'She adored her son and gave in to his every whim. He disliked school—so she removed him from it. She hired tutors, but if they exercised any discipline they were dismissed. She treated Nikos like an eighteenth-century prince. Anything he wanted she bought for him.

  'He was nineteen when she died, and by then it was too late. He was ruined, and through no fault of his own. My husband tried to help by seeing that his share of the Peritakis money was not left to him outright— since he would undoubtedly squander it—but put in trust and given to him in the form of an allowance. A safeguard Nikos bitterly resents.' She replaced the cap on the cologne bottle. 'Children should not be left to grow like weeds,' she said, 'they need guidance and discipline in order to become responsible adults. Poor Nikos never received an ounce of help from his parents. Is it any wonder that now he is a bitter, drunken man… a disgrace to the name of Peritakis.' Her eyes filled with sudden tears and then she said quietly, so that Lorna could scarcely hear her, 'And now? Mou Theos! Who knows where it will end?'

  'You mustn't blame yourself,' Lorna comforted, 'you and your husband… I'm sure you did all you could.'

  'But the shame… It is for all of us.' She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief, then seemed to remember her duties as a hostess and pulled herself together. 'Ah! I believe I am still overwrought from the wedding.' She smiled wryly. 'Please to forgive a foolish old woman.'

  'I don't think of you as a foolish old woman, believe me, Madam,' Lorna said, venturing to squeeze her beringed hand. 'There's nothing to forgive. I'm flattered that you confided in me.'

  They were now driving through the outskirts of Iraklion, and Madam Peritakis smoothed her silk dress and straightened her hat in order to be tidy for her meeting. When they reached her destination she kissed Lorna warmly on the cheek and said, 'Try and relax this afternoon my dear, and get rid of those shadows round your pretty eyes.'

  For a moment Lorna wanted to fling herself in the older woman's arms, and tell her of her quarrel with Jason, and how she longed to put it right, but she restrained herself. 'I'll have a good swim,' was all she said, 'that always helps me to relax.'

  'Why not let Manolis drive you to Rethimnon? There is time. And the beach there is most pleasant,' Madam Peritakis suggested when she had been helped by the chauffeur from the car. Lorna agreed to this, and her hostess gave Manolis his orders in rapid Greek, and with a wave to Lorna went to keep her appointment.

  They drove to the sleepy port town of Rethimnon on the new road, through the magnificent gaunt hills that line the coast. To their right lay the sea like a sheet of burning metal in the sun. Oleanders flowered profusely in the dry stream beds, and patches of vivid wild geraniums flared with colour in the ditches.

  When they reached Rethimnon Manolis stopped at the bus station and after Lorna had discovered that there were plenty of buses back to the village, she dismissed him, assuring him she would have no difficulty finding her own way home. Then she set out to explore the town.

  She found it a gentle, delicate place, dilapidated certainly, but full of charm. She explored the sleepy walls of the huge Venetian fortress that enclosed thistles and pines, and ruined official buildings. Memories of a citadel that was once alive and bustling. Then she made her way to the curved and sandy beach, protected east and west by harbour moles. It was not particularly crowded, and she had a long and delicious swim in the warm water without the feeling of being in a resort at all. She sunbathed for a while, then pulled on her cotton sundress and went in search of iced coffee and one of the town's renowned Levantine pastries.

  She discovered that some of the best patisseries were along the front, and seating herself at a table at one of the cafes she slowly and sensuously enjoyed a honey-dripping confection. Then she sat, looking at the waves frilling along the beach like an uneven hem of lace, and in her imagination she rehearsed what she would say to Jason.

  She would promise that never again would she let her pride come between them. She would explain that her fear of losing him drove her to act foolishly, and she would vow in future to tell him when she was racked with doubt, so that a small uncertainty would not have a chance to grow into a monster. And Jason would understand. He would take her in his arms and comfort her. He would forgive her, and love her, and all would be well.

  She was feeling almost happy when she left the front and made her way through the maze of little streets that led to the bus station. She noticed that many of the houses and shops had stone-built Venetian doorways, and peering inside she could sometimes see stone arches holding up the ceilings, and there were a great number of Turkish-style balconies here too, leaning out over the streets, their ancient woodwork pale and delicate.

  She came across a little square, the centre planted with eucalyptus and a bank of oleanders and shrubs. At one end stood a mosque with a prettily fluted minaret. At the other end was a little fountain. It was a cool place with columns and Corinthian capitals. She paused for a minute before deciding which alley she would take on the upward climb.

  She chose one that had some rather seedy shops in it, and within a few seconds she realised that the graceful character of the town had changed. Now she was in a distinctly disreputable district. Run down and sleazy, but with some fascinating, if shabby, architecture, nevertheless. She made a mental note to ask Jason to bring her here so she could take some pictures, the contrasts
were terrific. Then at that moment she saw a pair of familiar wide shoulders lurking in a doorway.

  She stopped dead in her tracks and called, 'Jason!' in a clear, high-pitched voice, and he started as if he had been jolted by an electric charge. 'Jason!' she cried again, and ran towards him, thinking what an extraordinary coincidence it was that he should happen to be in Rethimnon too, and appear like that, just when she was thinking of him. Now she wouldn't have to wait until evening for their reconciliation. They could probably travel back to the village together, too.

  When she got closer she noticed that his eyes were wide with disbelief. He looked furtively up and down the grubby alley and then said her name in a voice so hard and tense she scarcely recognised it.

  'What do you do here?' he said with such ferocity she flinched.

  'I… I'm on my way to the bus station,' she faltered, 'I've… I've been swimming.'

  He looked at her suspiciously. 'Do you plan to meet someone here?'

  'Of course not,' she protested. 'I told you… I went swimming… but I'm so happy to run into you like this… I wanted to…'

  His hand shot out and gripped her shoulder, and he pushed her, brutally it seemed to her, up the dirty narrow street. 'Get away, Lorna!' he hissed. 'Get away from here.'

  Out of the bright nightmare she heard herself say, 'Jason! Listen!'

  But he ignored her and gave her another push. 'Hristo! Will you get away from here!' He dropped his hand from her shoulder and stood over her, his face contorted with an emotion she was unable to recognise.

  With a pathetic attempt at dignity she deliberately re-fastened the strings of her beach-bag before putting it over her shoulder. Then she left him without another word. When she had walked a few steps she turned to look back, hoping dimly that it was all a hideous mistake, and that he would now come running after her. But he had returned to his post in the doorway and wasn't even looking in her direction.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Lorna did not remember the journey back to the village, for her pain was so intense it acted like a narcotic. She sat motionless in the bus, while all around her people jostled and shouted greetings to each other over the sound of the Greek dance music that blasted out of the driver's tape-deck. Dry-eyed she stared ahead, taking as little notice of the hubbub as a rock buffeted by a turbulent sea.