Wife for a Penny

by Anne Hampson

  WIFE FOR A PENNY

  Anne Hampson

  Liz had never particularly wanted to be married — she hadn't a high enough opinion of men! — and she certainly hadn't wanted to marry the half-Greek Nigel Shapani.

  Yet here she was, married to him indeed and firmly settled in his beautiful home in Delphi. How had it all happened? Unfortunately, under the terms of an eccentric will, if the two of them hadn't married two family fortunes would have been lost — not only to Liz and Nigel, but to Liz's elderly relatives who needed the money. But it was to be a business arrangement only. She would never let herself fall in love with him; to a Greek love meant subservience in a woman, and Liz would never stand for that.

  But Nigel was a very attractive man. Could she manage to be that strong-minded?

  CHAPTER ONE

  ‘Roll up, roll up! Don’t miss this opportunity of kissing the most beautiful girl in Cheshire! Get your tickets here - only a penny, gentlemen - one penny!’

  ‘I’m not,’ hissed Elizabeth Dawes through her teeth, ‘the most beautiful girl in Cheshire!’

  ‘Roll up, roll up,’ grinned the persistent Grace, ignoring Liz’s scowl. ‘You, sir, aren’t you going to speculate a penny?’

  He stood by the stall, one of the many stalls on the vast green, his dark eyes roving with lazy disinterest from Grace to the indescribably beautiful girl at her side.

  ‘Kisses in this part of the world appear to be cheap,’ he drawled, the hint of a foreign accent enriching the depth and tone of his voice.

  ‘Special offer - one day only,’ came the prompt and crisp retort from Grace. ‘Such an opportunity will never fall your way again.’ What a devastatingly handsome man, she thought - but frowned on making a closer examination. Mouth too thin, eyes hard as steel, jaw flexed. There was an indolent touch to his voice as he said,

  ‘Might I ask which one of you is offering this - er - bargain?’

  ‘How polite you are,’ commented Grace with sarcasm. ‘Polite, but not short-sighted.’ Her tone held no rancour; Grace’s popularity was proof enough that what had been denied her in looks was amply compensated for in personality. That personality was sunny and warm; her conversation could be light or deeply intelligent, depending on the requirements of the moment

  Those keen dark eyes glinted at her words, and the hard mouth became even more tightly compressed. What nationality was he? Grace wondered. From the East, certainly. Greek, perhaps.

  Liz was also debating on his nationality. Dark-skinned, with black hair and grey-green eyes; tall and sinewed and giving the impression of animal-like strength ... a face that could have been etched in stone - severe lines, clear- cut, prominent cheekbones and an aquiline nose. Merciless and formidable, was Liz’s ultimate conclusion.

  ‘I’ll take a couple,’ from a smiling young man who had just strolled up from the stall close by.

  A frown crossed Grace’s brow; she looked severely at him.

  ‘I’m not sure I want my fiancé kissing my best friend!’

  He laughed.

  ‘That’s what I like to hear. I like my women to be jealous.’ Ray produced his money and received his tickets, although with reluctance from Grace who was still feigning that severity which only served to bring another laugh from him as he moved away to a nearby stall.

  ‘Roll up!’ repeated Grace with an eye to business as she saw several young men approaching. ‘Don’t miss this unique opportunity of kissing the most beautiful girl in Cheshire!’

  And there was no doubt that Liz was very lovely. At sixteen she had ridden proudly through the streets of Knutsford, the town with the only ‘royal’ May Day in the country and, therefore, the town whose May Queen was the most photographed of them all. With her golden head held high and a look of haughty disdain for her wide-eyed ‘subjects’ lining the streets, Liz had indeed appeared most regal.

  ‘Beautiful, but heartless; you can see it in her face,’ was a comment often repeated as she went on her triumphant way to the green where she was to be crowned.

  ‘Too proud, too full of her own importance.’

  ‘Wouldn’t like a son of mine to marry her.’

  ‘Nor mine. She needs someone who’ll knock it out of her.’

  ‘I shouldn’t imagine that to be possible. She’ll grind her husband under her thumb right from the start.’

  ‘Just think, some poor boy is enjoying his life - all unsuspecting.’

  Six years later Liz was even more haughty and cold. Men had pursued her - rich business men as well as their sons; a film star, a racehorse owner - but they all in time became wary. Her strength of character was formidable and her suitors invariably took fright on learning more about her.

  Liz did not care one jot. Men were moody, even the best of them; they were selfish, conceited and invariably unfaithful. Besides, freedom was her very life blood and the restrictions imposed by marriage were regarded by Liz with something akin to horror. No, let the Graces of this world marry and keep the race in existence. They were endowed with the procreative instinct. Liz preferred to guard her looks, protect her figure and above all, to retain her freedom.

  ‘I’ll take five.’ A silver coin was tossed carelessly on to the bench serving as a counter. ‘It’s a raffle, I presume?’

  ‘Your presumption’s correct, sir.’ Grace gave him an arch look as she handed over the tickets. ‘Your chances are one in a hundred.’

  A flicker of his dark eyes and then, softly,

  ‘You’ll have to explain your mathematics.’

  ‘For every hundred tickets sold Liz here is willing to give one kiss. So if we sell five hundred tickets five only will be drawn out of the bag.’

  ‘I see.’ A small pause before he said with a hint of contempt in his deep rich voice, ‘I still affirm your kisses are cheap in this part of the world.’

  ‘It’s for a good cause.’ Liz spoke for the first time, her voice terse, her small pointed chin high in the air. ‘We’ve organized this Summer Fair in order to help one of the local farmers who had an accident with his tractor. He’ll never farm again.’

  ‘Accept my apologies,’ he said, but in a sardonic tone which seemed to detract from the sincerity of his words. And he strode away with the easy grace of a panther, making for the exit gate leading to the field where the cars were parked.

  ‘What an insufferable man!’ Grace held the coin as if it were hot before dropping it into the box. ‘I hope he isn’t one of the lucky ones.’

  ‘If his number’s drawn out you can put it back.’

  ‘As you like - wouldn’t be honest, though.’

  ‘I’m not kissing that!’

  ‘ “That” is supposed to kiss you,’ Grace laughingly reminded her. And then she added, ‘It was sporting of you to agree to this raffle, Liz. It’s not in your line at all, is it?’

  ‘Definitely not, but as Mr. Carter said, it made a change from the fruit stalls and guessing the weight of a piglet - and there was no outlay.’ Her expressive grey eyes followed the tall dark stranger until he disappeared from the field. She had the odd impression that he had come especially to meet her - which was ridiculous, of course. And yet she felt she had seen him before.

  The sitting-room of Carlington Hall was overhung with gloom. Aunt Rose sat huddled in a chair by the great Adam fireplace; Uncle Oliver, having in the last half-hour added at least a decade to his seventy years, kept his colourless gaze fixed on his younger niece, whose fair head was bent in an attitude of contrition and guilt. Great-Gran knitted on stolidly. At ninety-one years of age it didn’t really matter if the future did look black. There couldn’t be much of it to use up, anyway.

  Liz only was active, her hard eyes like flint and her whole manner one of aggressive domination.

 
‘Say something, Vivien! Don’t sit there with your stupid head drooping!’

  ‘I’ve s-said it all,’ wailed her sister, raising a blotched and tear-stained face. ‘I’m going to m-marry for love - and neither you nor anyone else is going to stop me.’

  ‘You’ve always done what Liz has told you,’ said Aunt Rose fretfully. ‘You’re fully aware that she knows what’s best for you.’

  ‘What’s best for her, you mean! - what’s best for all of you! I won’t be used—’ Vivien broke off, cowering under her sister’s dark and threatening gaze. ‘I’m marrying Philip,’ she managed to add at length, though weakly. ‘We’re in love, I keep telling you that—’

  ‘Love!’ scoffed Liz. ‘You’ve been going to the films, or watching these sloppy plays on television. Love! For heaven’s sake, who wants to marry for love!’

  ‘I do,’ wailed Vivien, bursting into renewed weeping.

  ‘I’ll shake you in a minute!’ Liz’s mouth tightened; she took a step forward as if intending to carry out her threat, and Vivien shrank back in her chair.

  ‘Don’t bully the child,’ rasped Great-Gran, squinting at her work in an endeavour to discover the reason for the hole which had suddenly appeared in her knitting. ‘It’s clear she intends embarking on this rash course, and after all she is old enough to please herself.’

  ‘Old enough, but not sensible enough!’ Liz did then move very close to her sister, and stood menacingly over her.

  ‘You’ll marry Arthur Robinson, understand?’ So low her voice, like the guttural whisper of a tiger ready to spring.

  Quiet sobs gave way to a wild shriek that rent the air.

  ‘I won’t - you can’t make me. I love Phil—’

  An exasperated sigh from Liz cut her short; Liz went over to the window and opened it, as if she required air ... or cooling off.

  Water-lilies floated on the lake, which was set in a wide area of lawn. There were Japanese gardens with pagodas and flower-strewn rustic bridges, banks and banks of dazzling azaleas, almost over now but still pretty, with their light green leaves fresh and shining. There were wild gardens and herbaceous borders and avenues of trees. Some of the grounds were overgrown owing to the lack of peasant labour which had been available at the time the great hall was built in the early part of the sixteenth century.

  ‘I’m not losing my home because of a damned silly whim of yours.’ Liz turned, but Vivien was still sobbing quietly, a dripping wisp of lace held pathetically to her eyes.

  ‘Someone should whip her,’ declared Aunt Rose. ‘That’s what would have happened in my day.’

  ‘Money’s not all that important,’ began Vivien, but was instantly silenced.

  ‘It’s the only important thing in life—’

  ‘According to you,’ Vivien wildly interrupted. ‘Because you’ve never been in love.’

  ‘And, thank God, I never shall be - not if this is what it does to you.’

  ‘It’s a b-beautiful feeling—’

  ‘Spare me the details; I’m not in the least interested.’

  ‘I don’t know how you can let all this go.’ Uncle Oliver spoke at last, turning a lined and hollow face in his niece’s direction. ‘And the money, too, just for love ...’ He shook his bald head. ‘Now if you’d had the experiences I’ve had-’

  ‘And you can also spare me the details,’ began Liz when she herself was interrupted.

  ‘Oliver was speaking to Vivien, not to you.’ From under tired heavy lids Great-Gran peered through the distance, and Liz waited with an air of boredom for the old woman to continue. ‘He likes to talk about his love affairs.’

  ‘Love didn’t do him a great deal of good,’ was the sarcastic retort from Liz. ‘Four wives!’

  ‘Ah, but each one was young and fresh ...’ Uncle Oliver trailed off, his eyes glistening reflectively. ‘Pity they were all after my money. I’d have been so rich today that this loss wouldn’t have affected me.’

  With a gesture of disgust Liz turned her back on him.

  ‘Have you spoken to Arthur about this change of heart you’re supposed to be having?’ she inquired of Vivien.

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Wise girl.’ Liz moved close again, to stand over the abject figure in the chair. ‘Because if you had I’d have shaken the daylights out of you!’

  ‘Someone,’ said a soft voice from the open doorway, ‘might at some time or other decide to shake the daylights out of you.’

  Every head turned. Framed in the massive carved oak doorway stood the man at the fair.

  That was how Liz described him to herself, and now a hint of colour fused her cheeks as she recalled that kiss. A crowd had been around when the tickets were drawn, so there was no opportunity of putting that particular one back, especially as the man himself was one of the onlookers at the draw. It should never have been put in, said Liz afterwards, but Grace asserted the unfairness of that as, previously, she had asserted the unfairness of returning the ticket to the bag.

  ‘Not in full view of the public,’ the man had declared after the two other lucky ones had given their particular brands of kisses. ‘That tent over there - is it occupied?’

  Her eyes had darkened.

  ‘You’ll kiss me here or not at all,’ she had informed him in low and icy tones, and an odd sort of laugh had fallen from his lips.

  ‘You’ll regret it if you insist,’ he warned softly, and a hush fell on the crowd standing about. What did he mean? Liz met his gaze squarely; his eyes warned even as his voice had done and for some reason Liz turned, directing her steps towards the tent which had just been vacated by the ‘gipsy’ fortune-teller, Mrs. Jones, who’d had to hurry back to the rectory to prepare her husband’s tea.

  Once inside the tent Liz faced him, her attitude one of resignation tinged with boredom. Had she voiced her thoughts the tall stranger would have heard,

  ‘Well, what are you waiting for? Get it over and done with, for heaven’s sake!’

  She did not voice her thoughts, and yet he might have read them, for he proceeded with maddening slowness to take her in his arms. And even then he held her for a while, looking searchingly into her eyes. Presently his lips were on her mouth, moderately gentle at first, but as she stiffened he seemed to become possessed of an ardour - or perhaps it was anger at being treated in this insolent way. Whatever the driving force his kiss became brutal and demanding and Liz began to struggle in his arms. They were hawsers of steel, and strong as she was she could not free herself. Fury raged within her; she would have struck him if she could, but her arms were locked to her sides, crushed against her slender body.

  ‘Hmm ...’ A half-sneer of amusement touched the outline of his mouth. ‘Not bad - for a penny. I shall remember your bargain offer, Miss - er—’

  It was only afterwards that Liz suddenly gained the impression that he did in fact know her name. For the present she lifted her head haughtily, and the arrogant sweep of her eyes should by rights have reduced him to a corpse. She then left the tent, her body aflame with the rage that seethed at his outrageous treatment of her.

  And now here he was - in the house.

  ‘What the devil are you doing here?’ she frowningly inquired on recovering from her astonishment.

  ‘The front door was open. I did think of ringing but felt the bell would not be heard above the noise going on in the house.’ He advanced further into the room, apparently oblivious of the stares of the people about him. His eyes wandered all around, taking in the furnishings, and the situation, in the one, all-embracing glance. Massive antique furniture and rare paintings on the wall; wainscoting and the impression of secret panels; silver and china and all else that spelled great wealth. Then the huddled girl, sobbing in the chair; the wizened hunchback grasping the knitting-needles in its claws; the disgruntled man and doleful woman ... and Liz.

  ‘The name’s Nigel Shapani—’

  ‘Nigel!’ gasped Vivien. ‘From Greece — Arthur’s brother?’

  ‘Half-brother
,’ he snapped, as if even that relationship were repugnant to him.

  Liz looked at him intently. So that was why she had thought she’d seen him before! There was a faint resemblance to his half-brother, although Arthur was all English whereas Nigel’s father was obviously Greek.

  ‘You never told us Arthur had a brother.’ Liz turned accusingly to her sister, who was drying her eyes and peeping up at Nigel now and then as if searching for some sign that she had an ally.

  ‘You were never interested—’

  ‘I was always interested in anything to do with Arthur, naturally, seeing that you were engaged to him. Why didn’t you mention this - this—?’ She broke off as Nigel’s dark brows shot up. ‘Why didn’t you say he had a brother?’ she asked, throwing Nigel a glance as arrogant as his own.

  ‘I didn’t know about him myself at first. Then by the time Arthur did mention him I knew I wanted to break the engagement, so there was no point in telling you of him.’ She stopped speaking rather abruptly because of the look Liz directed at her. However, she was left in peace for a while as Liz gave her attention to the man who had so unceremoniously entered the house.

  ‘Why are you here? Am I to understand you’ve flown over from Greece in order to sort this matter out?’

  ‘My brother informed me of a quarrel having taken place between him and Vivien here - and although she hadn’t said so outright, he gained the impression that she no longer wanted to marry him.’ Nigel’s glance strayed to Vivien. ‘I appear to have arrived at an inopportune moment. I desire to take this matter up with someone in private.’