by Anne Hampson
The silence between Liz and Nigel was intimate and profound, like the gentle hush of night, when all nature sleeps and the lull of conflict seems redolent of the peace of heaven itself. Liz glanced sideways and upwards, her eyes limpid and tender. Her heart jerked at the magnificence of her husband. Head and shoulders above her - and in fact above everyone else, it seemed - he moved with the easy grace of something aided by wings. So light, he appeared, and yet strength could be sensed even in his movements and the way he swung his arm. The other arm was still under her elbow, but as they turned to retrace their steps towards the courtyard where the chairs were arrayed in a semi-circle ready for the spectacle, he pulled her arm through his and held it close. She felt his warmth and swallowed saliva collecting in her mouth. Why should she hold out when she wanted him so much? It was ridiculous, and Liz was ready to admit it. If only she were ready to capitulate ... Or if Nigel would make the first move instead of remaining so inflexible and determined to play his waiting game.
They sat down, watching the lights, radiant and lustrous, playing at first on one part of the castle and then on another, their shades ranging from deep bronze through to pale gold and from deepest crimson through to soft and shell-like pink.
Then the voices came, loud and clear - voices from a distant glorious past. The knights in conference ... Here the lights moved to a room high in the castle and it was the easiest thing in the world actually to see that conference.
‘What a wonderful thing the imagination is,’ Liz breathed, her dreamy gaze high on the windows of that turreted room. Nigel nodded.
‘This sound and light is always most effective. I always thoroughly enjoy it. I went to the acropolis in Athens the other evening ...’ He tailed off. Not like him, she mused, smiling secretly. Yet she had to say, in a spirit of pure mischief,
‘With Greta?’
Silence. Had her tone given her away? she wondered. No, it hadn’t - and Liz could not have said whether she was glad or sorry.
‘Need we spoil this evening?’ he asked, crisp-voiced, and Liz swallowed hard.
‘I’m sorry.’ The apology was out, surprising them both, but a swift jerk of Nigel’s head was the only evidence he gave of this surprise and once again they lapsed into silence, listening to the voices reaching them from out of the long ago. The Great Magistrate, Villiers de l’lsle Adam, rallying his armies and bidding them hold out, for the siege of the Sultan could not endure. Then the voice of Suleiman, discouraged and ready to call off his armies. The lights moved to another room high on a tower. The two officers of the Knights and the Albanian traitor talking to Suleiman, telling him of the weakness of the defenders. The finale was wonderful but sad, for the gallant Knights, forced to surrender, raised a white flag at the gate of St. John, and as the final scene faded they were mournfully leaving the island to the victorious Turks, who were to occupy it for nearly four hundred years.
Liz sat there for a few moments after the spectacle was finished, even though others were moving.
‘It was marvellous, but sad,’ she said, and the small lines at the sides of Nigel’s face fanned out as he glanced at her in some amusement.
‘You knew it was going to be a sad ending.’ She merely nodded and Nigel went on, in a very quiet tone, ‘You don’t care for sad endings, apparently?’
‘One has to be realistic. Most endings are sad — if one carries a story on long enough.’
‘Not all, my dear.’ He did not go on to explain that, but standing up, he waited for her to do likewise and then, taking her arm, he walked with her towards the gate through which they had entered about an hour ago.
On returning to the yacht they found that only Dendras and his wife were on board, all the others having gone off either dancing or to hotels to drink and watch the cabaret.
‘This is a nice sort of party,’ Liz whispered to Nigel. ‘We can all do exactly what we want to do without worrying about offending our hosts.’
Nigel nodded, and for a while the four sat on deck talking and watching the lights in the harbour, lights from the boats as well as those along the waterfront.
It was almost midnight when the rest of the party returned, and as the night was still warm they all remained on deck for another hour or so before saying good night and going to their respective cabins.
Once inside theirs Liz smiled at her husband. She was exultant because of the situation in which they found themselves. Nigel would have to stay with her, because he had no alternative, and she had made up her mind to let him see that she loved him. He would then make the first move and she would be satisfied. It did strike her that she was being rather inconsistent in wanting Nigel to humble himself, as it were, for she had already decided she preferred him just as he was. However, she dismissed the matter of her inconsistency and gave him another swift smile. To her surprise Nigel seemed unaware of it, for he turned from her and stood by the porthole, looking out to the shapeless dark mass of the sea.
‘It’s a lovely night,’ he remarked at length, turning his head. ‘I think I’ll sleep on deck.’
On deck ... Liz swallowed something hard in her throat. She heard herself say,
‘You’ll not be very comfortable.’
‘Those deck-chairs are as good as beds.’ His voice was cool, expressionless, his gaze indifferent.
She looked down at her hands, conscious of the emptiness within her. Had she made a mistake? Could it be that Nigel did not want her - not now?
‘It’ll be cold - later, and - and damp.’
‘There are sleeping bags in a cupboard on deck. Dendras always keeps a good supply in case anyone wants to sleep outside.’
He had been gone twenty minutes or so and Liz was still sitting there, on a chair, her mind perceptive, yet wavering between resignation and obstinacy. Nigel loved her, she felt convinced of this, but love would never humble him. If she wanted him she must go to him.
Another ten minutes elapsed and to her astonishment she realized her eyes were filmed over, reflecting the hurt that dragged at her heart.
She began to undress, determined not to capitulate. And the next moment she was admitting that, whatever she did tonight, it would be only a temporary thing; tomorrow night this would happen again. And so it would continue until one of them gave way— No, until she gave way.
‘I won’t! He’ll get tired before I!’ And even though she was quite convinced that he never would get tired Liz finished undressing and got into bed.
An hour later, having tossed and turned incessantly as sleep eluded her, Liz rose from the bed and slipped into a warm housecoat. But it took a great deal of determination - and time - for her to make up her mind. Once she had made it up, though, she never wavered. Life could not go on like this.
He stood by the rail and, surprised, she glanced around, looking for the chair, and the sleeping bag he had mentioned. There was no sign of them and she moved closer, noticing his stillness and apparent concentration on the lights of the boats in the harbour and along the waterfront. Cafes and hotels were still brilliantly lighted and people strolled about, or occupied the little flower-shaded recesses that ran all along the front of the harbour.
Another step and she halted; he had sensed her presence and she saw his head come round, and then his whole body.
It was a profound moment, as they stood there, in that balmy Eastern atmosphere, staring at one another, a moment of rarity and indescribable sweetness.
And then Nigel suddenly shattered the spell by his prosaic question.
‘What is it, Liz?’
She took another step towards him.
‘I couldn’t sleep,’ she answered softly, keeping her head averted because should she encounter a gloating, triumphant expression on his face all her good resolutions might just be thrown to the winds.
‘That’s not like you, is it?’ Wordlessly she shook her head. ‘Can I get you a nightcap?’
She winced. What was he trying to do? Perhaps he did not love her after all ... She shook he
r head as an echo of memory brought back his advice to her, his advice to keep on guessing and she might eventually hit upon the truth. She ignored his question.
‘I’ve been thinking,’ she murmured in accents soft and persuasive, and Nigel moved so that he could reach out and tilt her chin.
‘What about?’ His eyes searched hers; she managed an indeterminate smile, and saw in the half-light that his expression had taken on a hint of censure. Her smile straightened then, yet still she hovered between complete acceptance of her fate and the last remaining spark of resistance.
‘About what you once said. You told me to keep on guessing.’
A small silence, broken by laughter from the shore.
‘I believe I did.’ He was chary, she noticed; not a trace of mockery or taunting amusement. ‘And have you been guessing, Liz?’
She nodded, automatically touching his hand which was still holding her chin. Nigel curled his fingers round it, and held it to his breast.
‘You said I might guess why you married me.’ And when he made no comment, ‘I think you married me because - because ...’ She tailed off, fear taking possession for a space. But as she looked into his features she saw in the glimmer of light that they had softened, and his gaze was infinitely tender. ‘Was it because you loved me?’ she continued, confident yet faintly pleading.
For answer he drew her to him, and held her so close that she actually felt the great trembling sigh that escaped from the very heart of him. Only then did she realize that he had almost given up hope.
‘Yes, Liz, I married you because I loved you.’ He paused a moment, listening to the sough of the breeze as it swept the rippling waves. ‘Do I take it that my love is returned?’ he whispered close to her cheek.
‘I love you,’ she responded simply, and with that admission the last of her adamance transmuted to a sweet and gentle surrender as she lifted her face, inviting his kiss.
For a long while there was silence between them and then, clearly all confidence again, Nigel asked her why it had taken her so long to come out to him.
‘You were expecting me?’ she asked, and when he nodded, and those little lines fanned out, a sparkle should by rights have entered Liz’s eyes, but they were dreamy and cloudy from his lovemaking, and in any case she did not mind at all that he had expected her to come to him. It all seemed as it should be, somehow.
‘But as the time passed,’ Nigel was saying, ‘I became half afraid you’d wrap that armoured cloak more tightly around you and, protected by it, fall into a contented sleep.’
She had to laugh.
‘And you’d have done it all for nothing.’
‘I’d have kept on trying.’ But he frowned and once again Liz felt he had just about come to the end of his tether and she drew close to him, just to demonstrate her love. He found her lips again, kissing her with tender yet ardent emotion.
‘Darling,’ he whispered close to her face, ‘I wasn’t with Greta last week.’
She hesitated, but the demands of honesty brought forth the words,
‘I knew you weren’t. She was in Delphi.’
He held her away, looking at her.
‘How did you discover that?’
‘It’s all right, she didn’t visit me again, if that’s what you’re thinking. Spiros told me.’
His mouth tightened slightly.
‘Spiros is altogether too darned interfering. And you,’ he added as the thought occurred to him, ‘you knew all the time, then?’
She nodded.
‘Yes, I knew.’
‘And yet you let me go on saying I’d enjoyed myself—’
‘And refreshed yourself,’ she just had to remind him, and received a little shake for her trouble.
‘Laughing at me, eh?’
‘Well, Nigel, if I was you did ask for it. And besides, you’ve been laughing at me from the very first.’
At the little plaintive note his spark of anger flickered out.
‘In future, my darling, we’ll laugh together, not at each other.’
She nodded dreamily and rested her head against him. But in a little while she murmured,
‘Up there in the khani - I think you nearly told me you loved me.’
‘I did,’ he admitted and, anticipating her question, ‘I had second thoughts because I somehow felt you weren’t quite ready to receive a declaration of love — not in the way I wanted you to receive it.’
‘I wasn’t humble enough?’ The inevitable sparkle in her voice, which melted the instant she saw his expression.
‘I never wanted you to be humble, Liz. Nor do I desire it now. But I did want a woman for a wife - a woman with all the endearing attributes that appeal to a man.’ He shook his head in a gesture of admonition. ‘You were an idiot, Liz!’
She nodded an agreement and as the thought came to her she asked Nigel what he had meant when he asserted that Spiros didn’t know what he was talking about.
‘He thought he knew what he was talking about,’ Nigel answered reflectively. ‘He told you of my intention of contesting the wills. But what knowledge he had was no longer relevant, because I fell in love with you the moment I kissed you in that tent.’
‘But Spiros didn’t know anything about my being connected with the will.’
‘That’s just it. He rambled on, and all he did was to upset you - unknowingly, it was true, but he did upset you nevertheless, and that was why I was so furious.’
‘I understand now.’ She was silent for a moment. ‘Nigel ...’
‘Sweetheart?’
‘You didn’t really want to have an affair with Greta, did you?’
Silence. Liz wondered if she had utterly ruined this lovely situation. But after a while Nigel said, though rather stiffly.
‘What makes you say a thing like that?’
‘It was because of what you said about the strongest of us succumbing to temptation. I took it that she - Greta - was so attractive that you just - well - fell for her, even though you didn’t really want to.’
He looked at Liz, shaking his head in a little gesture of exasperation.
‘If you had thought about that statement, my love, you would have made another correct guess. I referred to the temptation which you yourself put in my way. I saw you and was lost.’
She stared unbelievingly.
‘So it had nothing to do with Greta?’ Liz recalled her own sense of optimism, when she had thought that if Nigel had not really wanted to fall for Greta in the first place then there was hope for her, Liz. ‘Aren’t I silly?’ she murmured, speaking her thoughts aloud.
‘I’m afraid I must agree, heartily!’
She looked up and laughed and after an intimate moment or two Nigel held her away from him again and said, without much expression,
‘Greta and her parents are leaving Delphi. Her father’s bought a small fruit farm on the island of Samothrace — which is in the far north of Greece,’ he added, ‘a very long way from Delphi.’ Nigel looked down at his wife, who made no comment on what he had just said. ‘I love you, Liz,’ he told her tenderly. ‘I want you to know, my darling, that you’re the only woman I’ve ever loved ... or ever will love. Do you understand what I say?’
She smiled happily, and would have spoken, but Nigel’s kiss prevented speech, and so she gave herself up to the bliss of the moment before, pulling her arm through his, Nigel guided her to the steps which led down to their cabin.
