by Anne Hampson
‘I shall bear with you, darling,’ he smiled. ‘Yours is a most excellent idea, as we’re both agreed that once the children arrive their mother shouldn’t go out to work.’
The following morning Tara was handed a magnificent bouquet of roses by the porter, who said how lucky she was.
‘They’re not for me,’ she was saying even as he was handing them to her. ‘You’ve made a mistake. Aren’t they beautiful! Some lucky patient is well and truly held in affection. Let me have a look at the card.’ She was holding the bouquet, two dozen or more long-stemmed roses delightfully arranged in their cellophane wrapping, with a wide bow of silver ribbon to tie them together.
‘They are for you,’ the porter said, eyeing her with a new interest. ‘From an admirer by the name of Leonides.’
Leonides.... Tara felt herself go taut. It must be the Greek! How dare he! She glared angrily at the card, scarcely able to contain herself, and prevented from tearing it to shreds only by the awareness of the porter, standing there waiting for her reaction.
‘Thank you, Bill,’ she said, hoping she sounded as casual as she intended to. ‘A grateful patient. I do wish they wouldn’t waste their money in this way.’ She gave a shrug of her shoulders. ‘They mean well, of course.’
‘Of course,’ agreed Bill in an expressionless tone.
‘Nice flowers, though. Must have cost a small fortune!’
Tara; her temper boiling up inside her, could almost have thrown the flowers away. Almost, but of course she did no such thing. They were so beautiful that she could not resist taking some considerable time in arranging them in a large bowl, using, with them, some pretty green foliage which she brought in from the hospital garden. Everyone wanted to know who the roses were for, and who had sent them. Tara, hating to lie but unable to do anything else because she had no intention of saying they were hers, sent to her by the Greek whom all the staff had heard of since Sue had broadcast to all and sundry what he had been like, said she had received them from the porter and the card seemed to have got lost. It had in fact been put into one of the dustbins.
Later, Tara was called to the telephone, Leonides Petrides speaking, she heard. Did she like the roses? She replaced the receiver instantly but found herself trembling. What should she do? She did toy with the idea of confiding in David but, somehow, she was afraid to do so. She ought not to be afraid, since her fiancé was naturally the one to whom she should turn in any emergency or other occasion when she needed help or advice.
She decided to ignore the Greek’s conduct, assuming he would soon become tired of these absurdities. But that evening as she left her flat in the nurses’ new building she came face to face with him before she was half way to the nearby bus stop.
‘Go away!’ she cried before he could speak. ‘If you keep molesting me I shall ask for police protection!’
‘No such thing.’ He gestured towards a car standing by the kerb. ‘Get in and we’ll talk. I shall not take no for an answer, Tara,’ he added imperiously when she attempted to interrupt. ‘We have to talk, understand? Our paths have crossed; we cannot just fade out of each other’s lives. Please get into my car and—’
‘Do you suppose for one moment I’m that kind of a fool!’ She made to dodge past him, but he barred her way. She glanced around, troubled that she might be seen from one of the many windows of the nurses’ quarters. ‘Why you should think we have anything to talk about I can’t imagine. Kindly let me pass; I have a bus to catch!
‘Where are you going?’ His voice with its slight foreign accent was low, but the arrogance was clear. ‘I can give you a lift.’
‘I’m going to meet my fiancé!’ she flared. ‘So please get out of my way!’
‘Your—!’ He stared down into her lovely face, a face framed by a halo of golden hair, long and straight but flicked up at the ends in a sort of enchanting disarray. A half-fringe adorned her high, intelligent forehead, curling round towards her temple. ‘Your … fiancé?’ His voice sounded hollow, and Tara, perplexed by his changed manner, stared interrogatingly at him, her anger for the moment set aside. ‘You are engaged to be married?’
‘Yes, I am.’ Her answer was brief; she felt oddly disturbed, as when a pain is inadvertently inflicted on someone. ‘And now, Mr Petrides, will you please allow me to pass you? My bus will be here at any moment— It’s here now,’ she added urgently as out of the corner of her eye she saw it through the trees. ‘I must go—’
‘No!’ Imperious the voice, and the pagan face was taut—even cruel in its expression. ‘I’ll give you a lift.’
She tried to pass him but in the end gave up, furious with him and yet at the same time aware that the feeling of concern was still with her.
‘I’ve missed it!’ She felt like crying, and that was not surprising, she thought, considering the way this foreigner was persecuting her. ‘My—my fiancé’ll be worried about m-me. Oh, why are you pestering me like this!’
‘Haven’t you guessed?’ he enquired softly.
‘Guessed?’ She shook her head, scarcely able to concentrate as her thoughts were entirely with David, waiting there, with his car, for her to alight from the bus and get in beside him. He would have come for her each evening but they had more time together if she caught the bus and met him in town. ‘Guessed what?’
‘Never mind. Get into my car and I’ll take you to your fiancé.’ He sounded sincere and, strangely, Tara trusted him to keep his word.
‘Very well.’ She hated his touch as he put a hand beneath her elbow, helping her into his car. She sat there stiffly upright, wondering if she ought to have trusted him after the way he had first treated her.
‘I want to talk to you, Tara,’ he said after a while. ‘Is there any real hurry for you to meet this fiancé of yours?’
‘He’ll be waiting for me at the bus stop.’
‘Then we have a few minutes, as we can always overtake the bus.’ And without waiting for her response he swung off the main road and into a tree-lined country lane. Dusk was falling, as it was the beginning of April; Tara felt her heart give a great lurch, but knew that her protestations would fall on deaf ears. Leonides Petrides pulled up on a grass verge. ‘You can’t marry’ this fiancé you’re going to meet,’ he told her without preamble. ‘You and he are not meant for one another.’
‘What are you talking about?’ she demanded wrathfully. ‘You’ve never met my fiancé—’ She broke off, sighing helplessly. ‘You must be quite mad,’ she declared. ‘I ought to have asked for police protection in the first place!’
He looked at her in mild surprise.
‘What have I done?’ he wanted to know.
‘Kissed me, and sent me flowers, and telephoned me! And now you’ve forced me into your car....’ Her, voice trailed off to silence as she saw the expression of amusement that came into his eyes.
‘Do you suppose you’ll be given police protection for such things as those? I did not force you into the car, you know, Tara. You came’ willingly. I shall keep my promise and deliver you up to your fiancé, but not until you and I have talked. If you persist in voicing these angry allegations against me we shall get nowhere, so I advise you — if you really wish to meet your fiancé this evening—to adopt a more conciliatory manner and give us the opportunity of discussing my proposition.’
‘Your—proposition, Mr Petrides?’
‘Leonides is the name,’ he told her calmly. ‘You would have noticed it on the card I sent with the roses.’ He was sitting sideways in his seat, looking at her profile. ‘My friends call me Leon.’
‘Well, as I’m not your friend, or likely to be, I’ll call you Mr Petrides, and you will oblige me by calling me Miss Bennet. This proposition,’ she went on. ‘If you must put it to me, then please do so at once, and then take me to my fiancé.’ Although she spoke calmly her heart was beating’ far too quickly. She felt she was in some strange realm of the unknown, waiting, as if in limbo, for something dramatic to happen.
And somethi
ng dramatic did happen. The Greek calmly asked her to marry him.
Tara, recalling this moment afterwards, when her mind was cleared of the fog that enveloped it on the instant of his incredible offer of marriage, could never understand why she just sat there, staring at him, instead of opening the car door and making her escape. It was as if he were exerting his influence upon her, using his magnetism to keep her at his side until he had said everything he wanted to say. And this was that he could give her a good life, that she would live in a beautiful white and blue villa on the delightful island of Hydra in Greece, that she would have servants, and an allowance which would be more than adequate for her needs, even though they might with time become extravagant. She made no attempt to stop his flow of words but marvelled at the ease with which he spoke of things which to her seemed so unreal as to be meaningless. She must be in a trance, or dreaming. This fantastic situation could not happen in real life.
‘You are not saying anything, Tara,’ he said when, after pausing for a while, he had invited some sort of response from her. She looked at him in profile, noting the dark skin, clear and shining the aquiline nose, the jutting chin. A man who would have his own way, who could coerce most people into bending to his will. She spoke hurriedly, as if she just had to show him that he had no power over her at all.
‘I’m going to be married in eight days, Mr Petrides—’
‘Eight days!’ The black eyes glittered as he turned to face her and she put a hand instinctively to her throat, fear rising within her. This man desired her, no mistake about that. His desire carried him to the extent of offering her marriage, which, the felt sure, had never been offered to any other of the women he had admitted associating with. He looked ready to murder her fiancé, she thought, as he went onto say, ‘You will not marry anyone in eight days—unless it is me!
Sheer terror took possession of Tara, spurring her into action. She was out of the car before he could prevent her and she did not stop running until she had reached the main road. He took some time in turning the car round in the narrow lane, so that when he eventually emerged from it on to the wider road, Tara had disappeared into a wood, where she crouched down out of sight until she saw his cargo speeding past in the direction taken by the bus.
CHAPTER TWO
THE white bridal gown was a model of perfection. Sue, Tara’s chief bridesmaid, stood back after Tara was dressed and gave a gasp of appreciation.
‘You look beautiful! I’ve never seen you look so lovely!’
Tara, though blushing under this flattery, was happy that she was looking so perfect for the man she loved. He would be waiting to claim her as his own, his wife, for ever.
‘Oh, but I’ve never been so happy!’ She looked in the mirror and sighed. ‘In an hour—perhaps an hour and a quarter—I shall he Mrs David Rothwell.’ She cut the last word rather abruptly, tensed and frightened suddenly. For a very dark face appeared before her, and in her ears the name Leon Petrides seemed to be ringing. Mrs Leon Petrides.... This could have been her name had she chosen.
‘Tara, what’s wrong, for heaven’s sake?’ Sue’s voice, sharp-edged with concern, mercifully took the ringing from her ears. ‘You looked almost—desolate!’ Sue shook her head, as if trying to negate what she had just said. ‘I mean, you looked unhappy—somehow.’
‘What a thing to say!’ Tara’s voice sounded cracked even to her own ears. ‘I’m the happiest girl alive!’ But she was again thinking of the Greek, who had sought her out on the third evening after that escape she had made. She had been out with David; he had brought her home and dropped her at the entrance to the nurses’ block of flats. Tara had stood on the step to wave to him, and she made no move until the car had disappeared. And then, before she had even time to cry out, she was caught in the Greek’s arms and for the second time forced to endure his kisses.
Endure..,.. She blushed hotly even now as she recalled her confusion of mind, her failure to call for help even though, after the first spate of his passion had passed, Leonides Petrides had held her from him, scanning her face in the dim light from the electric bulb overhead. He had laughed softly, in triumph, and guided her unresistingly to the shadows of the hospital gardens. There he had pulled her again to his hard body, had pressed his demanding mouth to hers, conquering her sudden spurt of resistance by taking one firm breast in his hand and caressing it in a way that was both tender and yet possessive. She struggled mentally but surrendered physically, surrendered as she had never even thought of doing with David.
But then David had never tempted her in the way the experienced Greek had tempted her. A woman would have to be made of stone before she could resist him ... and Tara was by no means made of stone. She learned things about herself which she had never known existed; she experienced sensations of sheer ecstasy, allowing herself to be carried on the tide of his unbridled pagan ardour. His lovemaking was subtle, so characterised by finesse that every nerve in her body was affected, every desire awakened until she almost craved for the final act of fulfilment. Nothing mattered except that she was in his arms; David was a nebulous figure simply because she had no room in her mind or heart for anyone or anything in these moments of total bliss. Leon Petrides ordered her to say his name and she obeyed at once. He told her that fate had meant them for one another and she agreed. He commanded her to break off her engagement and she said she would do as he told her. She was as putty in his hands, a mortal in the power of a pagan Greek god. The moon had come from behind the clouds to highlight her face and she had again heard his low laugh of triumph.
‘I’m your master,’ he had whispered. ‘I own you, body and soul. You’ll come to me, be my wife, and we shall be happy for ever. You will be enchanted with my island, Tara; it has no roads so no traffic. Hills and valleys, the calm blue sea all around you when you stand on the patio and gaze one way and another. Flowers for your hair, jewels for your throat.’ His lips came down, gently taking hers. She gave her own lips freely, gladly; she embraced him as he embraced her. And when at last she begged him to let her go, she had made the solemn promise that she would be his wife.
But with the daylight, and the stark reality of a hospital ward, sanity had swiftly returned. A deluge of shame swept over her and she wanted to cry out for forgiveness. She had lost for ever the innocence that had always charmed her fiancé; she was no longer a shy
and inexperienced little girl whom David liked to call his ‘darling babe’.
She had drunk the heady wine of pagan love, but yet she knew a deep and bitter hatred for the Greek. Why had he come into her life at all? He had talked of fate, and Tara cursed fate for throwing him in her path. Her life had been smooth, her love affair gentle, perhaps a little unexciting, but it was satisfying in that comradeship went hand in hand with the physical pleasure they had derived from their tender lovemaking. With the Greek there was an inferno of passion, a storm of unrestraint that brought wild ecstatic pulsations to the heart, sweeping all before it, robbing the mind of all except the bliss of the moment.
Tara, had cut the Greek out of her mind, had made sure that he could never molest her again, by asking David to call for her each evening, and when later on he brought her home she immediately ran into the building and to her own little flat. Leon had made her arrange a meeting with him at an hotel in town; she did not of course keep the appointment. He had several times rung her up at the hospital, but she told the operator not to put the calls through to her.
‘Tell him I’m busy, or off work—anything! He’s making a nuisance of himself!’
And so her wedding day had been reached without any further meeting and at last Tara felt safe. As she had just remarked to Sue, in an hour and a quarter at the most she would be David’s wife.
‘The taxi’s here, Tara.’ Sue’s voice cut into her thoughts and she took the bouquet of pink and white carnations from the chair where Sue had placed it on its arrival. The brother of a friend was giving Tara away and he was smiling as she got into the taxi besid
e him.
‘Gosh, you look gorgeous!’ Jake exclaimed. ‘What a lucky man David is! Why didn’t I get in first?’ He was joking, of course, and Tara joined in his laughter. She was happy, having put Leon from her mind, disciplining it to thoughts of her lovely day and the honeymoon to follow after the reception at the Golden Lion where a buffet meal had been arranged. The taxi seemed to be travelling rather slowly, Tara noticed after a while, and she remarked on this to her companion.
‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘The driver did mention when he picked me up that there was something wrong with the works, as he put it. I think it’ll get us there on time, though,’ he added, glancing at his watch.
But just when the taxi was travelling along a lonely stretch of road it seemed to give several jerks and finally came to a stop. Jake was frowning, Tara looking troubled as the driver came to the door and opened it.
‘Sorry, but it’s just stopped on me. I’ll take a look under the bonnet.’
Tara looked intently at the man, puzzled by his accent. His English was excellent, but not quite perfect. His hair and eyes were dark, his skin bronzed. What nationality was he? So many foreigners worked in Britain these days that one could not always make a correct guess at the countries from which they originated.
‘Don’t be alarmed,’ said Jake soothingly as he noticed her expression. ‘If he can’t get it going in a moment or two he’ll have another taxi here in no time at all.’
And he did.
Tara, whose only concern was to get to the church in good time, needed no encouragement to hurry from one taxi to the other. The driver, obviously aware of the urgency, stayed in his seat, leaving it to the other driver to open the door for Tara. She got in, expecting to see Jake enter from the other side. But without warning she was given a little push that sent her sprawling on to the seat, the door was slammed and the car shot away, instantly gathering speed. Dazed for a moment, Tara could scarcely grasp what had happened, the only thought in her head being that there was another delay, as the man would have to stop and then go back for Jake.
