by Anne Hampson
‘So you agree you need reforming? Well, that’s something; perhaps my task will not be so difficult after all. It’s half the battle that you’re aware of your shortcomings—’ His lips quivered at her explosive expression. He was so cool now, so maddeningly superior as he sat there, in that attitude of indolence, gazing at her through half-closed eyes.
Liz’s own eyes narrowed. Just what was his little game? Could it be that these attempts to master her were conducted merely for a diversion? From what Liz could deduce his life was sufficiently full; he had his business, being one of the largest tobacco growers in Greece, and he had Greta ... Why, then, waste time on his wife?
Suddenly Liz decided the most effective way to combat this man was to disregard his endeavours, to keep her temper in check and display a complete lack of interest in his threats. And yet, because she was Liz, and had never been mastered in her life nor even given an order, for that matter, she just had to make some sort of reply to his impudent words.
‘Undoubtedly you intend keeping me in ignorance as to the reason for this desire to change my character, but I do feel it’s only fair to warn you you’ve set yourself an impossible task.’
‘Think so?’ quizzically. ‘Time will tell, my dear, whether or not I’ve set myself an impossible task.’ Liz searched for something to say, but she was unsuccessful, and after a while Nigel changed the subject, telling her about the friends he had invited to dinner on the coming Saturday evening. ‘There are three couples, the men all being Greek, but two of the wives are English. The men are business associates of mine as well as friends, and I hope, Liz, that you’ll oblige me by being the perfect hostess. You must have had plenty of experience - in your stately home in England,’ he added. ‘And I hope I shall have no complaints to voice when the evening comes to an end.’
‘I might oblige,’ she returned tartly, with the deliberate intention of being awkward, and Nigel flicked her a warning glance.
‘You will oblige, Liz,’ he told her softly.
‘And if I don’t?’
‘Then you’ll wish with all your heart you had,’ Nigel calmly returned.
Liz leant back in her chair, herself calm now and greatly intrigued.
‘These subtle threats—’
‘There’s nothing subtle about them, I assure you. If you’re a sensible girl you’ll guard against their being carried into effect.’
‘Just what are you trying to do?’
Nigel threw her a faintly mocking glance.
‘At the moment, just extending a timely warning.’
She was still intrigued and, somewhat to her disgust, interested. Never before had she met a man as tough as he. The men she had known had fallen, initially, for her looks, but on learning more of her formidable character each had made a rather hurried retreat. The one who had declared her to be too tough to handle had merely voiced the opinions of her other, more polite suitors. Faint humour lit her beautiful eyes as she mused on these hopefuls and suddenly she was acutely aware of her husband’s gaze fixed intently upon her. She glanced across at him and for some indefinable reason a hint of colour rose to enhance the beauty of her face. She was in the shade of the vines sheltering the patio, but shafts of sunlight penetrated the foliage to embellish her hair with pure gold. The slow pulsating of a muscle in Nigel’s neck caught her eyes and she glanced down. His shirt was open, just sufficiently for her to see the mahogany of his skin become lost beneath the mass of black hair on which lay a plain gold crucifix hanging from a slender chain. The crucifix surprised her, for although Liz knew he went to church she would not have thought he would wear a crucifix. Her gaze moved to his hand, resting in a negligent sort of way on the arm of the chair. The back of his hand was also covered with hair, as was his wrist and forearm. She raised her head; Nigel was regarding her with interest. The green eyes also held an odd expression in their depths.
‘You puzzle me,’ admitted Liz, drawn to speech because the silence was hanging uncomfortably between them. ‘I must own I haven’t ever met anyone quite like you.’
Nigel inclined his head in a gesture of surprise; obviously he had not expected such candour as this.
‘Nor have I ever met anyone like you,’ he returned on a faintly sardonic note. You intrigued me right from the start.’
Liz flushed, in memory living again through those moments of rage when he had imprisoned her and forced his vile and prolonged kiss upon her.
‘I fail to see why I should have intrigued you,’ she murmured at last, and there was a flash of white teeth as Nigel smiled.
‘Don’t dissimulate, Liz. You’re fully aware that you’re vastly different from the ordinary run of females.’
Despite herself she had to laugh.
‘So we’re two odd ones out?’
‘Not necessarily.’ And then, with a strange inflection in his voice, ‘Like happens to have found like.’
Her eyes widened. That disturbing idea flashed through her mind again.
‘Why did you marry me?’ she demanded.
He merely shrugged and said,
‘Why ask when you know? The marriage was one of convenience.’
Liz threw him a warning glance.
‘Then see you keep it that way,’ she said.
‘Is it possible that I detect a shade of fear in your voice?’ he inquired gently.
‘Fear? Certainly not! What have I to fear?’
He looked at her, then spoke at length, his accents light and mocking.
‘You are afraid, Liz, despite this show, afraid I might just decide to seduce you—’ He broke off, laughing. ‘No, that’s not the right word, is it? After all, we are married.’ He laughed again and his green eyes mocked as they rested on her face. ‘How enchantingly you blush, my dear. You know, at times like this you are all woman - desirably feminine—’
‘Cut it out!’ she flashed, furious at her inability to control her fluctuating colour. ‘Try any tricks and you’ll receive a shock!’
‘A shock?’ Nigel raised his brows. ‘That savours of a challenge, Liz - and I’m just the man to accept it.’
‘You don’t know my strength!’
His brows rose even higher.
‘You haven’t given me much of a display up till now.’
She knew he was thinking of that shaking he had just given her, and he was probably also recalling the incident of that kiss, when she had put up her futile struggles. A swift intake of her breath gave evidence of her fury and frustration. She turned away, wondering why she allowed this man to incense her like this, setting her emotions on fire. It wasn’t as if he meant those subtle threats; they were voiced merely to infuriate her and, perhaps, to implant in her a feeling of apprehension. Aware of his steady gaze she was drawn irresistibly to meet it. But on noting the mocking amusement in his eyes she glanced swiftly away again, to where the cluster of hibiscus bushes marked the boundary of Nigel’s land, beyond which spread the timeless Greek landscape, a landscape of deep unity yet of ceaseless variety. The fearsome gorge of the Pleistos falling away to the vast sea of olives that was the Sacred Plain of Amphissa; the contorted overthrust massif that partly girded it, while across the glittering aquamarine waters of the Corinthian Gulf could be discerned the snow-capped mountains of the Peloponnese.
The silence became oppressive and Liz stirred, a strange restlessness having taken possession of her ... a restlessness and a desire as yet so intangible that it was no more disturbing than the faint elusive snatch of a dream in that fleeting moment of the awakening.
She rose from her chair.
‘I think I’ll go in.’ No edge of aggression in her voice now, nor arrogant defiance in her eyes. She felt strangely at peace; it was like the calm after great turbulence. Nigel’s eyes were lazy, yet perceptive. He said, an odd inflection in his voice,
‘I’m going for a stroll - I don’t suppose you’d care to come with me?’
She frowned then, because of the swift affirmative reaction to his words, for she had
nodded even as he spoke.
‘I–I...’
‘Yes, Liz?’ A sideways, upward glance, amused and faintly mocking. ‘You were about to say something?’
Did he sense her emotion? Liz swallowed, calling up her dislike of this man, her resistance, her immunity. They failed her and she found herself saying,
‘Yes, I’d like a walk.’
He looked down for a brief moment, as if unwilling to reveal his expression, but she sensed his triumph and, surprisingly, was not infuriated by it. He rose, and with graceful feline ease he straightened up. How tall he was! - head and shoulders above her. And how straight and slim, muscled and sinewed, and carrying not an ounce of surplus flesh.
They strolled through the courtyard and across the grounds. A giant green lizard darted across their path and disappeared beneath a rock. From the trees the whirring sound of the cicadas filled the air. The sun was still brilliant, yet traced on the clear blue sky was the sharp outline of a crescent moon.
‘Have you any preference?’ Nigel spoke quietly and accommodatingly, even slackening his pace on noticing Liz’s difficulty in keeping up with him. ‘The village or, if you like, the Sanctuary? Or perhaps you’d merely like to go to the hotel for a drink?’
‘The Sanctuary, I think.’
The Sacred Precincts in which the colossal Temple of Apollo stood were indeed the home of the gods. Through the wild primordial landscape flitted ghosts and echoes of a long-dead past, and Liz’s brain reeled with the intense awareness of these haunting spirits at whose pagan altars orgiastic rites had been reverently conducted.
This hallowed site was in those ancient times considered as the navel of the earth, this being decided when Zeus, king of all the heathen gods, released two eagles, one from where the sun rose and the other from where it set, and they met at Delphi. From highest heaven Zeus lowered the omphalos to mark the spot. Beneath this omphalos lay the sacred cave of Mother Earth, from whom all life originated - or so it was believed by the pagan Greeks. The cave was guarded by the monstrous Python whom Apollo, Zeus’s most loved and famous son, slew and left to rot on the side of the fearsome mountain. Above the cave was built the magnificent Temple of Apollo and for over a thousand years this sacred site, on a tiny plateau beneath the towering splendour of Parnassus, was the most hallowed place in all Greece, and the centre of culture for the whole of the known world, the cult of the Sun God Apollo being light and reason.
Nigel and Liz entered the site along the Sacred Way where once stood many small exquisitely-fashioned treasuries in which were housed the gifts offered by the numerous city states to Apollo. Magnificent statues had lined this avenue of treasuries, the most beautiful being a glittering bronze palm tree hung with golden dates and topped by a statue of Athena, also in gold.
Nigel talked of the site as they strolled along and Liz found herself enthralled as in his deep rich voice he told her of the ancient pagan rites conducted when the Pythia would inhale the vapours pouring from the chasm and which were believed to give her prophetic powers.
Of the great temple very little remained, but the ground plan was sufficient for Liz to form a picture of what it had once been like.
‘It’s sad that this is all that remains.’ They were standing in the temple; several parties of tourists were also standing about, avidly taking in all their guides were telling them. ‘Is this the original temple?’
‘Indeed no. The original was made of wood and destroyed by fire; the second was destroyed by an earthquake - there have been many earthquakes here, but you probably know that.’ He smiled quizzically down at her and added, ‘This is not a gentle site, Liz, just the contrary, in fact ... so it should be suited to your nature.’
She looked up, sending him a speaking glance from under her lashes. He laughed and Liz found it impossible not to respond.
‘I shall become immune to your barbs, Nigel. Anything in excess becomes ineffective.’
He laughed again, probably remembering that above Apollo’s Temple were written the words, ‘Nothing in excess’. But all he said was,
‘She has a sting too, has she? Ah, well, that can be extracted.’
‘You think so? What a pompous, self-opinionated man you are!’ Strange, she thought, but this banter contained no underlying animosity; on the contrary, it was surprisingly light-hearted and friendly.
‘You know, Liz,’ he returned, beginning to walk on again, through the temple towards the ramp at its entrance, ‘you won’t believe me, I know - but you’re the only person who has ever called me pompous.’
‘Perhaps no one else has ever had cause to do so.’ He said nothing and she hesitated before adding, with a temerity which was not really intended, but the words fell from her lips even as she would have checked them, ‘Some people lack the courage to say what they think.’ Strangely he took no offence, but merely flicked her a sideways glance of lazy indifference.
‘By “people” I presume you’re really referring to one particular person ... a woman?’
‘Greta, yes.’ Liz frowned. Somehow the very name was like sandpaper on a nerve.
‘You don’t like her, it would seem?’ Still no apparent interest, yet Liz, with her alert mind, sensed a certain degree of eagerness in his attitude of waiting.
‘I can feel nothing but contempt for a woman who gives herself to a man without marriage - or is even tempted to give herself for that matter.’ They had reached the ramp and with an unconscious gesture Nigel put his hand under Liz’s arm as they descended it.
‘Tell me,’ he said, withdrawing his hand as they reached the bottom, ‘have you ever been tempted?’
‘Certainly not!’
He smiled at her swift indignation and said,
‘I believe you misunderstood me. What I meant was, has any man tried to tempt you?’
‘The answer again is no.’
‘In that case you’ve no proof of your own invulnerability,’ he deliberated softly. ‘We can all remain white if temptation never comes our way.
Somehow his pronouncement carried an odd significance and Liz looked sharply at him. His lips were curved in a half-smile, a smile of hazy recollection as if he were re-living some momentous interlude in his life. ‘Even the strongest of us can succumb to temptation, Liz. Keep that in mind, always, and try to extend a little more understanding to your fellow men - and women,’ he added as an afterthought. They were wandering towards the vast amphitheatre, which in ancient times was used only for religious events. Liz and Nigel began to climb the steps, which were really the seats, and they had reached the top when it was suddenly borne in on Liz that in the silence following Nigel’s last words there had entered into Liz a sense of tranquillity which she had never before experienced. Here in this abode of long-departed gods was peace, and despite the groups of camera-snapping tourists cluttering up the temple and the Sacred Way Liz became imbued with an ‘aloneness’ which was so satisfying and pleasant that she felt a compulsion to repeat the performance and come to the site again and again with her husband.
The sun was sinking when they left the sanctuary, and the cliffs alternated between flame and shadow before the barren peaks melted finally into a sky of purple dusk.
‘Are you going out?’ asked Liz as they entered the garden and the intoxicating perfume of lemon blossom reached them from the perivoli which occupied a sizeable area in the grounds of Nigel’s house. In this orchard were also orange and mandarin trees, and walnuts and peaches.
‘This evening, you mean?’ Nigel glanced down at her from his great height. ‘No, I’m spending it at home.’
Why should she be glad? Liz wondered ... and would go no farther than that for, subconsciously, she shirked an answer to her question.
CHAPTER FIVE
Liz had just finished dressing when she heard the knock on her bedroom door. She frowned. Maria? But what could she want?
‘Come in.’ Liz was seated at her dressing-table, a perfume spray in her hand. Through the mirror she watched the door
swing inwards. Nigel stood there, immaculate in a lounge suit of dark grey linen, all his innate savoir-vivre displayed in his poise and bearing, in the severe fines of his face, and even in the air of languid boredom with which he regarded his wife. One tawny hand rested half in and half out of his jacket pocket, the other negligently touched the jamb of the door. ‘What do you want?’ she demanded, swivelling round on her stool. Nigel’s brows lifted slightly, but Liz received no reply as he studied her critically, absorbing every detail - from the shining glory of her hair to her daintily-clad feet. A tingle of wrath shot through her, but although she searched for some biting comment she found to her chagrin that words eluded her.
‘Fine,’ drawled Nigel at length.
‘What do you mean - fine?’
‘You’ll do very well,’ he responded mildly, oblivious of her swiftly-rising colour.
‘You’d better explain,’ she invited, endeavouring to keep her temper.
‘Knowing you, I thought you might just decide to let me down.’
Anger settled; its dregs had a stimulating effect and, her face clearing, Liz actually smiled at him.
‘Afraid I might appear before your guests looking something like Maria, for instance?’
‘Hardly like Maria.’ Nigel’s voice contained its customary languor, but there was an added edge of humour to it as he continued, ‘I sincerely hope that when the time comes you’ll take measures to prevent your figure attaining those gargantuan proportions.’
