by Anne Hampson
A quarter of an hour went by before another car drew into the side of the road and stopped, the driver offering his assistance.
Spiros had no idea what was wrong and neither had the other man.
‘Can I give you a tow?’ he offered at last, and thankfully Spiros accepted. The other driver was going to Arachova; here Spiros found a mechanic who, after several hours, managed to get the car moving. It limped into Delphi at five minutes to midnight. Much earlier Liz had rung to tell Nikos she would be home and there was one solitary light at the front of the house.
The Greek servant appeared immediately the car stopped; after handing out Liz’s luggage Spiros was off again, anxious to reach his own home without further mishap.
Nikos had switched on the outside lights. He looked at her rather woodenly, she thought, but she was too exhausted by the prolonged journey to take much notice.
On reaching the bedroom door Nikos made an almost imperceptible hesitation - as if to add just the right amount of drama to the situation before, with what could only be described as a flourish, he swung the door inwards. Liz stepped over the threshold, then stopped, to stare dis- believingly at the bed. Her eyes flickered towards Nikos; at the deepening of her colour his face became a sniggering mask. She had an almost irrepressible urge to slap him across his face.
‘You may go!’
‘Yes, Mrs. Nigel.’ He put her suitcases down; viciously she kicked the door even before Nikos was through it and he jumped as it hit his back.
Inflamed, Liz spoke aloud; what she said was unprintable. She stood quite still, in the silence following the slamming of the door, her face fused with crimson, the result, partly, of the humiliation she had just suffered. Her fury could have led to murder, had her husband been here. Where was he? Many questions flitted vaguely through a brain rendered almost useless by the blind fury in which it was enveloped. A double bed ... no need for questions there; its presence spoke for itself. Nigel ... Why had he cut short his visit to Athens? And how long had he been home? Greta ... Where did she fit into this new scheme of things? - or rather, the scheme of things Nigel was planning. Some hopes! So often Liz had searched for a reason for the marriage. He had her guessing; she might eventually hit upon the reason why he had married her. Well, it would appear to have been desire, after all, that had prompted him to marry her, and yet ... Something puzzling. Why should he have waited until now?
Suddenly Liz’s nerves tensed; she spun round as the door opened. Nigel entered, clad in a black and gold dressing-gown, his hair tousled. Obviously he had been to bed. The door closed with an ominous click and Liz’s heart jerked, then began to pound unevenly. Nevertheless, her anger bore her aloft over any intruding fear and her eyes were sparks ready to set off a conflagration as a burning vapour of fury suffused her whole quivering body.
‘What’s the idea! Is this some sort of a joke? Nikos - standing there sniggering at me! How dare you humiliate me before a servant!’ Nigel merely leant against the door, his face a study of indolent calm. ‘What is this all about?’ she spat out, maddened by his composure.
He remained by the door, regarding her lazily through half-closed eyes. He began to yawn and lifted a slender brown hand to his mouth, his glance moving to her fists, clenched tight with anger, and then to the bed, exchanged only that afternoon for the single one which was now in his own room. Watching him, Liz felt her fury must surely suffocate her. And to think that only a short while ago she had decided to be more amicable, so that she and Nigel would have a chance of becoming friends. She must have been out of her mind!
‘Don’t be naive,’ he drawled, totally unaffected by her furious outburst. ‘Once again my warnings have fallen on deaf ears, so now comes the reckoning.’
Her eyes kindled with perception.
‘You know I’ve been to Athens with Spiros?’ Defiant, her attitude as the question was phrased - but she swallowed convulsively for all that, because of the feeling of doom that was slowly creeping over her.
‘I know you’ve been to Athens with my cousin.’ Soft words, almost amicable in fact, but Liz was not lulled into a sense of security. The white drifts of rage at the sides of his mouth, the flexed jaw beneath which a nerve pulsated, out of control; these spelled danger and despite her own white-hot fury she practised caution, controlling her voice as she said,
‘You saw me?’
‘You were seen by Dendras.’
‘Dendras?’ Liz paled. Such a possibility as that of being seen by one of Nigel’s friends had never for one moment entered her head. ‘Where d-did he s-see us?’ Automatically she stepped back, aware that Nigel now experienced difficulty in curbing his temper.
‘Going up to your room in the hotel—’
‘Room? Rooms, if you please! And if your friend made the implication that Spiros and I - that we ...’ She stopped, then added, fire in her eyes, ‘I’ll deal with him! How dare he pry and carry tales!’ Caution was not long in being swamped as Liz became seized by a feeling of injustice. ‘Did he happen to know why you were in Athens? Did he know you had gone there to be with your pillow friend?’
‘My—?’ A small movement in Nigel’s throat, as if he were trying to rid himself of some blockage. ‘You’re expand on that accusation!’ At the guttural flick of his voice, ominous and vibrating, she lost a little more of her colour.
‘Greta.’ Liz glanced away from him, hoping she did not look as white as she felt. ‘You were with her.’
‘Was I? How did you reach that conclusion?’
Liz was at a loss. She had nothing at all on which to go - except her own swiftly-reached conclusion, which she now realized could be all wrong. It was owing to this conclusion that she had decided to defy her husband and go away with Spiros.
‘She was in Athens, so it’s logical that you were together. You made up your mind quite suddenly.’
‘Who told you Greta was in Athens?’
‘Spiros.’
‘I see. Well, for your information I was not with Greta. I went to Athens on business and returned only because of what I heard from Dendras. I phoned Nikos to find out when you’d be back.’ His eye flickered to the silver clock on her dressing-table. ‘I remained up until eleven.’ His tone decreased in volume until, on the last word, it was barely more than a whisper - or a snarl, she thought, a low animal sound portending danger. Liz moistened her lips.
‘I thought you would be with Greta,’ she said, fear rising, fear that only served to increase her anger. Why should she be afraid of this man?
‘So your defiance was an act of revenge?’ Soft tones still, but his expression was strange. He looked for something, searched her very soul, or so it seemed to Liz. She suddenly wished she had a better understanding of his character. What was he looking for? What were his thoughts?
‘Yes,’ she admitted in an unsteady voice, ‘it was an act of revenge.’
He took a step towards her and again she stepped back. The action seemed to release the coiled spring of his fury, for suddenly his eyes blazed. He moved again and Liz was trapped in a grip of iron. She tried to wrench her shoulders away, but those evil fingers savaged her soft white flesh and she caught her lower lip between her teeth to stifle her rising cry of pain.
‘Spiros - what do you mean by going away with him! And to be seen in the hotel - by my friend! My friend—!’ All control fled and Liz felt herself caught in a cyclone; her hair smothered her face as, Nigel’s temper climaxing to a crescendo of unbridled rage, she was shaken, for the second time, until the blood pounded in her head. ‘To subject me to such humiliation! By God, girl, you’re asking for something you’ll remember for the rest of your life! How did you persuade Spiros to disregard my orders—?’ He shook her again. ‘How? Answer me!’
Trembling from head to foot, Liz could only regard him in wordless silence for a long moment, managing to speak only when it seemed he would subject her to more of his violence.
‘I - I was bored, and - and asked Spiros to take me. I never expe
cted to be seen by anyone who knew you.’
‘I’ll bet you didn’t! And me - weren’t you afraid of running into me?’ Liz felt the pressure increase on her arms and winced, though inwardly. She was loath to let Nigel know just how much he was hurting her.
‘The possibility did occur to me, but as I thought you’d be with Greta ...’ She tailed off, further explanation being unnecessary.
‘So you believed that if you did see me I shouldn’t be able to complain?’ His voice had lost its burr of wrath, but his eyes still held their smouldering heat. ‘I’m not pretending that your attitude surprises me, but Spiros - I’m amazed that he wasn’t afraid of my seeing you together.’
Spiros had been afraid, but Liz could not see any gain in mentioning that just now, and although she knew Nigel was waiting she merely shook her head. In spite of her innate strength she was fully spent, both mentally and physically, and to her chagrin tears started to her eyes. Nigel was tired too and he lifted a hand to stifle a yawn; Liz believed he was going to strike her - although when she thought about it afterwards she could not understand why she should have done so - and with swiftly-renewed fury she fetched him a vicious slap across his wrist. The slap had no effect on Nigel other than to produce a look of surprise; its effect on Liz was a badly broken nail, which she had caught on the wide gold bracelet of Nigel’s wrist watch. She stared at it in dismay. It was broken down to the quick.
Knocking his other hand off her arm, she snatched up a pair of scissors from the dressing-table and began cutting away the broken nail.
‘What was that for?’ His temper had practically subsided, a hint of humour replacing the fury in his voice.
‘I thought you were going to strike me,’ she snapped, continuing to cut at the nail and realizing it would be months before it was perfect again.
‘You did? And that was your reaction?’
‘Hit me and you can be very sure I’ll hit you back!’
Heavy lids fell over the grey-green eyes. It was a half lazy, half bored mannerism and Liz could have struck out at him again.
‘Sounds like a thrown gauntlet,’ murmured Nigel, with a return of his indolent drawl.
Her teeth snapped, and in one impulsive moment she threw the scissors at him. They were small and blunt- ended, so could not have done any damage had they reached their mark. However, Nigel dodged out of the line of fire and they dropped on to the carpet. For a moment he stared at them, then his eyes moved upwards, to Liz.
‘Pick them up,’ he ordered softly.
Her brows lifted, and so did her chin.
‘Pick them up yourself!’ She turned away, but through the long wall mirror saw him move purposefully towards the dressing-table. He picked up a hairbrush and she shot round to face him, her face and neck flooding with colour.
‘You dare—’
‘Are you going to pick them up?’ An unmistakable threat in his voice and gaze. Liz’s lashes fluttered down. Fury and defiance fought with caution - and fear. ‘I once warned you I’d inflict a few bruises,’ he murmured, regarding her in some amusement. ‘I assure you, Liz, that unless you obey me you’re not going to enjoy the next few minutes - although I’m quite sure I shall,’ he added with a laugh. ‘Well ...?’ he challenged as the undecided moments passed.
Wordlessly Liz picked up the scissors and placed them on the dressing-table.
‘I detest you,’ she hissed, facing him. ‘I wish with all my heart I’d never married you.’ She was still hot, both from anger and from humiliation at having meekly to obey his order. ‘Don’t be too confident, Nigel,’ she advised as the humour lines at the corners of his eyes fanned out. ‘I promised I’d keep to my bargain and never leave you ... but I’m quite capable of changing my mind.’
Had he given a little start? she wondered. Could she hold the threat over his head and force him to drop the idea he undoubtedly had of staying here tonight?
After a searching scrutiny of her flushed features Nigel smilingly shook his head.
‘You’re a minx and a vixen, Liz, but you’re also trustworthy. I believe your word is your bond and it would surprise me - no, shock me - were I to discover I was wrong in my reading of your character.’
Against her will she was impressed by his trust in her integrity. But it gave her no satisfaction, simply because, by this implicit trust, any threat she had in mind was rendered worthless. She maintained a silence and with a gesture of sardonic amusement Nigel glanced at the bed.
‘Obviously you don’t approve of the switching round of the - er - furniture. I had it done immediately on my return - after having learned of your escapade. I had no intention of allowing you to go off to England unpunished.’ With a sort of amused deliberation he returned the hairbrush to the dressing-table. ‘Given time I might have lost the desire to punish you ...’ He tailed off, laughing at her as, influenced by some compulsion, she glanced at the bed. ‘You’ve asked for it, Liz, deliberately goading me even though my repeated warnings must surely have convinced you that my patience is far from inexhaustible.’ His voice was almost apologetic, like that of a reluctant but well-meaning parent about to chastise a child. ‘You have a lesson to learn,’ he went on evenly. ‘It’s taking you a long time, but you’ll learn it in the end, I assure you of that.’
Her eyes had begun to blaze as he spoke, but she turned away and stood by the open window, vaguely aware of the familiar background noises of cicadas trilling their nocturnal chant into the scented air, of sheep bells tinkling on the hillsides and the mournful hoot of an owl. From some lonely square of infecund earth drifted the protesting cry of a tethered donkey. How cruel the Greeks were to their animals; dogs, cats, goats, sheep ... none were considered to possess feelings.
She turned and examined her husband’s face. Not cruelty, exactly, but ruthlessness and arrogance. The inborn air of superiority characterizing the pagans from whom he sprang.
‘What does Dendras ... think?’ She spoke softly, a strange hurt in her voice.
‘What do you expect him to think?’
Even as indignation began to flash in her eyes she became aware of the relative indifference in his tone.
‘I don’t believe he thought that.’
Surprisingly Nigel smiled and his expression changed to one of amusement.
‘What does “that” mean?’
Her lashes dropped, sending adorable shadows on to her cheeks.
‘You know what I mean.’ And after a slight pause, ‘He didn’t, did he?’
A faint sigh of anger and she wished she had not broached the subject. For some unknown reason she recalled her earlier admission that she would have preferred Nigel’s company to that of Spiros.
‘‘He would have thought plenty had I not informed him that the visit had been made with my consent and approval.’
Her eyes opened.
‘You said that?’
‘Was there any other way I could avoid ridicule?’ Abrupt now, his tones, and censorious.
‘You ...What did - what do you think?’
He regarded her in silence for a space and then, curiously,
‘Is that important to you?’
She nodded without hesitation.
‘Yes - strangely, it is.’
A low incredulous laugh echoed through the room. ‘Then, my dear, there’s hope for - for you.’
She frowned, searching his face. Why the hesitation? What had he really been about to say?
‘You haven’t answered my question.’
‘I’ve already said I trust you.’
‘Thank you.’ The words came with difficulty, for it cost her a great deal to utter them. ‘And you weren’t with Greta? That’s the truth?’
Again he laughed.
‘You appear to be quite disproportionately troubled about my relationship with Greta.’
She wanted to deny this, but with honesty could not, so she evaded an answer by saying,
‘Are you quite serious about - about staying here tonight?’
‘It seems, then, that you are not to be trusted to keep your word.’
‘Is that a challenge?’
‘Certainly it’s a challenge. We both made promises. I’ve kept mine so I expect you to keep yours.’
‘Then you’re in for a disappointment. You shall pay for flaunting my wishes.’
Temper flared again; she turned her back on him.
‘I should have known that you weren’t to be trusted. Men are all the same; they’ve no regard for the feelings of others. That’s why I intended never to marry.’
No comment. A movement at her back; arms embracing - those bands of steel whose strength she had first known that day at the fair. There had been no escaping them then ... and there was no escaping them now. She had plenty of fight within her, that was true, and with any other man she would have stood a chance, but Nigel ... Pretence was not only useless but cowardly; she must face up to the inevitable, galling as was the acceptance of defeat. She was trembling and he discovered this, for he held her very close, his chin against her cheek. She heard his breathing; the passion of anger had given way to the even stronger passion of desire.
