by Anne Hampson
‘I could enlist their help!’ She stared at him in surprise. ‘Are you willing to take the risk?’
‘My dear child, can you imagine my friends listening to your saying you were kidnapped and forced into marriage, and believing it? They’d think you were a little mad.’
Her teeth clenched together. He was right, of course, as he always was! How she hated him! He seemed so confident that she could not escape ... but one day she would show him!
Several days before the dinner party Leon bought a dress for Tara which he put on the bed. She asked where he had got it, suspecting for one revolted moment that it was one left behind by one of his women friends. Her face obviously revealed her suspicions, because Leon said laughingly,
‘I wouldn’t do a thing like that to my wife, Tara. To one of the others, yes, but never to you.’
‘You respect me?’ she challenged with a curious glance.
There was a pause, as if he were not sure about voicing the answer that was on his lips. However, he did voice it, but spoke quickly and offhandedly.
‘More than I’ve ever respected a woman before.’ He gestured to the dress and added before she had time to speak, ‘It’s the same size as the others. I bought it in the village here.’
‘The village?’ she echoed, puckering her forehead. ‘Is there a dress shop in the village?’
‘There’s a dressmaker—Margarita. She made it to my design.’ He looked at her, smiling at her expression of surprise. ‘I shall allow you to go down to the village when I have your promise that you won’t run away.’
‘I shall never make a promise like that—’ She stopped, and stared at him, wide-eyed. ‘You would trust me—if I did give you the promise?’ Her heart was pounding against her ribs. To make the promise would result in freedom ... and the chance of getting off this island.... Ferry boats were plying to and from Piraeus all the time; she could see them from the terrace.
The shrewd dark eyes narrowed as Leon read her mind.
‘If you, made me that promise, Tara, you would keep it
She frowned in puzzlement.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I trust you,’ he answered simply.
‘You trust me—to that extent?’ She shook her head disbelievingly. ‘You wouldn’t be such a fool.’
‘You would not let me down,’ he said confidently. ‘I’d be more than willing to give you your freedom if you made me the promise I’ve asked for.’
She said nothing, her mind in turmoil. He would trust her! It seemed impossible that he would do so. Surely he could see that there would be nothing dishonourable in her giving him the promise and then breaking it. She had every right to break it—and she would!
Or would she...?
‘Well?’ prompted her husband softly.
She looked at him and shook her head.
‘No,’ she decided reluctantly, ‘I can’t give you the promise.’
‘Later, perhaps,’ he said casually, and reverted to the subject of the dressmaker. ‘Margarita has a small establishment at the end of the harbour. She’s a wizard with the needle. I’m seriously considering bringing her into the firm.’ There was a strange pause then, before Leon added, ‘You will meet Elene at the dinner party; she’s the most beautiful and talented of all our models.’
‘Oh....’ For apparently no reason at all a sudden chill fluttered along Tara’s back. ‘She’s Greek?’
‘Her father’s Greek and her mother’s English.’ Leon idly picked up the dress, fingering the beautifully-embroidered material with the touch of the expert. Tara was fascinated, for this man was so very different from the arrogant, forbidding one she knew so well. He glanced from the dress to his wife’s slender figure, and then he was examining her face, and her hair.
‘I ought to have had your hair cut before now,’ he frowned. ‘Remind me to phone for the hairdresser to come up here tomorrow.’
Tara’s eyes blazed.
‘I shall do no such thing! I happen to like my hair as it is!’
He shook his head, her anger having made not the slightest impression on him as he said,
‘It doesn’t suit you—not for the way I intend to dress you. Certainly it won’t go with this particular evening gown.’
‘The way you intend to dress me!’ she gasped. ‘What do you think I am—a spineless slave whose function in life is to obey and please her master! You can think again,’ she added in a suffocated voice, ‘because I’ve no intention of being told what I shall wear.’
‘What a wildcat you are,’ he commented mildly. ‘You’ve worn what I’ve provided up till now.’
‘Only because I’ve had no choice.’
‘You’ll always wear what I choose,’ he told her inexorably. ‘However, when I have that promise I asked for you will be able to come to Athens with me and look around the shops.’
She would always wear what he chose! Fury scorched her cheeks, but by a tremendous effort she managed to curb her tongue.
But she resolved not to wear the dress he had provided.
The night of the dinner party arrived, and after showering and drying herself Tara slipped into a negligé and picked up the dress which she had earlier chosen from the wardrobe. But she went and looked at the other and had to admit that it was sheer perfection. Carnation pink in colour, it had an underslip of pampas green which showed through the open pattern of the embroidery. The neck was low, the bodice cut to accentuate her curves. The sleeves were long, cut from the waist in enormous folds. She had tried it on that morning, after her hair had been cut, and in spite of herself she had weakened, half deciding that she would wear it after all, for nothing could have made her look lovelier. Leon certainly had the kind of flair that brings success to any fashion house.
‘I shan’t wear it!’ she said determinedly, and went over to where the other one lay over the back of a chair. ‘He’s not going to dictate to me!’
She was standing before the dressing-table when Leon came from the other room, looking superb in a pale green linen suit and white frilled shirt. He took one step and then stopped, his eyes fixed disbelievingly on her figure.
‘What’s happened?’ he demanded. ‘Is something wrong with the dress—’
‘Nothing’s wrong with it,’ she broke in, infuriated at the knowledge that her heart was beating far too quickly. ‘I’m not wearing it, that’s all. I like this one better,’ she lied, touching the front with her finger.
‘You—!’ He strode across the room and stood over her, a tall menacing figure, his face black as thunder. ‘Get out of that at once! It’s not an evening gown—’
‘I know it isn’t! I do have some dress sense!’
‘Where’s the other?’ he wanted to know, his voice quieter now but vibrating with anger.
‘In the wardrobe.’ She swallowed convulsively, militant even while she trembled. ‘I’m not wearing it.’
‘By God you are!’ His black eyes smouldered he added, ‘Do you get this one off or do I?’
She backed away, her cheeks draining of colour.
‘Don’t you dare touch me,’ she faltered, terrified that he was going to hit her. ‘I—’ the rest was cut as, with a strong sweep of his hand, he ripped the dress from neck almost to hem. And before she could move he had stripped it from her, leaving her standing there in her undies and tights. ‘Go and get the other!’ He pointed imperiously to the wardrobe. ‘Get it, Tara, or else.’ Fury swept over her like a deluge, but she obeyed him for all that, aware as she was of her scanty attire—so little covering if he should be driven by his anger to beat her.
‘I don’t w-want to—to wear it,’ she quivered, holding it in her hand.
‘Put it on.’
Again she obeyed, tears of anger sparkling on her lashes.
‘That’s better. Our guests will be here in a few minutes, so don’t be long.’ And with that he strode towards the door again and disappeared through it.
‘I hate him—oh, I could kill him!’ She put her
face in her hands and wept bitterly into them. ‘How can I go on! How can I? David … if only I could send you a message....’ The tears came again, but fear of her husband brought control and she bathed her eyes. She looked awful! And the dress, lovely as it was, had been designed by Leon to bring out every curve of her body, for even the skirt accentuated her thighs as she walked. Fury rose again, affecting both her brain and her caution. She would not wear it! And this time he wou1d not be able to make her! With fumbling fingers she took it off and then, after attempting frenziedly to tear the seams apart, she went over to the dressing-table and, taking up the nail scissors, she began to cut and slash at the material.
She was in the negligé when Leon came into the room again.
‘Aren’t you ready yet—’ This time his face twisted almost with pain as, staring at the mutilated gown, he shook his head in disbelief. Tara, uncaring now what he did to her, snatched it up and flung it in his face.
‘I said I wasn’t wearing it and I meant it! I shall wear what I choose—get that!’
He was inflamed within seconds; the blood raced through his veins, creating drifts of dark crimson at the sides of his mouth. With the agility of a jungle cat he leapt the distance between them and the next moment the blood was pounding in Tara’s head as he shook her with prolonged and savage intensity, shook her until he himself was out of breath. The negligé had come open; it slipped from her shoulders and once more she was standing before him, half naked.
‘What the hell are you going to wear now? You’ve nothing suitable!’ She heard the gritting of his teeth, saw him glance at the watch on his wrist. And in spite of the fact that she was almost in a state of collapse, she knew the thrill of having won her first victory over him.
He was at the wardrobe, looking along the rail. Tara waited, conscious of the silence in the room, and of the only sound outside being that of the cicadas making their nocturnal chant in the olive trees. He turned at last, a turquoise blue evening gown in his hand. To Tara, it was charming, but to him it obviously was not up to the standard he had required for this particular evening when he was having guests.
‘This will have to do. Put it on.’
She obeyed, all the fight gone out of her. But she was still enjoying a certain amount of exultation at the idea of what she had done. It would perhaps convince her husband that she was not totally subservient to his will.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE front door was being opened as Tara came down from the bedroom. Leon had already welcomed a couple of guests, and he was now in the hall as Stamati, having stood aside to allow a young man and a girl to enter, dosed the door and took the mink wrap which the girl handed to him. Tara stared, gasping at the flawless beauty of the girl who, she knew instinctively, was the model of whom her husband had spoken. Tall and poised and charmingly attired in a gown of sheer perfection designed to show off to every advantage the lovely curves of her body, she was the epitome of feminine supremacy. Tara, glancing down at her own dress, would have liked to turn and run, so, inferior did she feel. The other dress had been beautiful, a model designed by her husband to enhance all the beauty of face and figure which he evidently saw in her. She could now understand his feelings; she could not understand her own in deliberately destroying what had been expertly designed and produced especially for her.
She noticed the glinting expression in Leon’s face as, fleetingly, his eyes swept from the delightful picture of his model to the figure of his wife.
‘Elene,’ he said coolly, ‘meet my wife, Tara.’
The girl extended a hand, her dark eyes flickering over Tara’s dress. Whatever her thoughts were it was impossible to say. She was a girl who gave nothing away—at least, not by her expression.
Tara took the hand, aware of an icy chill enveloping her whole frame, for there seemed to be hostility hidden in the girl’s manner, an underlying hatred, even.
‘How do you do?’ Elene turned immediately to Leon.
‘How charming! And what a surprise for us all! I could scarcely believe you when you phoned to tell me the news.’
The ghost of a smile was all the response Leon made to that. He introduced his wife to the young man, Nico Kallergis, Elene’s escort for the evening. Of medium height, with jet black hair and dark brown eyes, he was handsome in a thick-set kind of way. At twenty-eight he was the owner of two cruise ships and extensive olive groves on the mainland of Greece. He took Tara’s hand and held it rather longer than was necessary. She met his gaze and an unfathomable sensation filtered through her. There was friendliness in his stare, and in the smile that curved his full mouth.
‘Happy to meet you, Tara,’ he said sincerely, his eyes darting to Elene and then to Leon. ‘How did you manage to pierce the armour of our most confirmed bachelor?’
She coloured but offered no reply, profoundly conscious of Elene’s supercilious glance which seemed to say that Leon had not married her for her smartness and good taste.
Tara was in fact inwardly squirming, conscious of the fact that her husband was the head of one of the top fashion houses of the world. Elene must be very puzzled that Leon had not seen that his wife was better turned out than this.
Another couple arrived five minutes later and were shown into the sitting-room where Leon and his wife and guests were drinking aperitifs. This couple were married, and much older than Elene and Nico. Tara liked them well enough—as she liked the other couple, Julia and Cristakis Mitas—but she felt disinclined to chat and was content to sit and listen to the conversation going on around her. The latest couple to arrive were Agni and Loukis Amaxis, and Agni, about forty-five years of age, had obviously never been anything other than her husband’s equal. Tara wondered how she had managed to lift herself to that status in a country where, traditionally, women were regarded as inferior.
‘This is a sensation indeed,’ Loukis had declared when on being introduced to Tara he had smiled into her eyes. ‘Leon married—and never a word to any of his friends.’ His accent, like that of his wife, was most noticeable—very different from those of Elene and Leon, both of whom spoke immaculate English. Agni asked if Leon and Tara had known one another long, and Tara could not help but notice that as she spoke the woman’s eyes slid to the lovely girl who was sitting, a little apart from everyone else, on a chair by the window, with the deep gold curtains forming a suitable backcloth for her dark, exotic beauty.
‘Not very long at all,’ said Leon smoothly in reply to Agni’s question. ‘It was one of those instances of mutual attraction at the very first meeting.’ He paused a moment to look at his wife, whose blue eyes had narrowed as she listened to words that were not in any way true. He might have been attracted—he was attracted—but she had disliked him on sight. ‘And so,’ continued Leon suavely, ‘there was only one thing for us to do—get married.’
Elene’s mouth seemed to compress. She leant forward in her chair, flicked back the lid of a gold cigarette box with the familiar touch that told Tara she had done it many times before, and took out a cigarette. Leon rose at once to pick up the matching lighter, flick it and hold it to the tip of Elene’s cigarette, Tara saw their eyes meet and hold, but there was nothing to be read from the expression of either of them.
The dinner party had gone off very well, with Nico, sitting opposite to Tara, frequently monopolising her, oblivious of the dark glances cast at him by his host. Although Tara was well aware of them she remained indifferent, continuing to chat with Nico, whom she liked best of all the six guests. By the time the evening was over a bond had been cemented between them although, at this early stage in their relationship, it was merely a vague idea with them both. Yet Tara knew they would meet again ... and without others being present....
Just as she had anticipated, Leon’s temper was high and the moment they were alone he demanded to know why she had allowed herself to be monopolised by Nico. Tara’s thoughts went immediately to Elene, who had monopolised Leon on several occasions, flirting with him, showing off her b
eauty, and by other subtle tricks at which she seemed adept, she had made him conscious of the difference in her appearance from that of his wife. Tara’s blood had boiled even though she had no idea why. Certainly she as not jealous of the camaraderie existing between Leon and his lovely model.
‘I was sociable, as you expected me to be,’ answered Tara shortly.
‘I expected you to be sociable with the others as well!’ The black eyes smouldered as they looked into hers. ‘But you had no time for anyone but Nico!’
‘Can I ever do anything right for you?’ she demanded. ‘Let me know if I ever do! I’ll chalk it up—’
‘Careful,’ warned her husband softly. ‘I’m not in the best of moods as it is.’
‘Nico was pleasant to talk to,’ she said. ‘Certainly more pleasant than your friend Elene.’ She watched his face intently for any change of expression, but she saw only an unreadable mask which told her nothing.
‘You didn’t care for Elene?’ he queried with an odd expression in his voice. ‘No, I didn’t. She treated me as an inferior.’
‘Because of your dress——’
‘Which you bought for me!
‘Not for an occasion like tonight,’ he snapped. ‘A gown has to suit an occasion, and this you will have to learn.’
‘Rubbish! One should wear what appeals to one.’
‘You, as my wife, have to set an example. It will be expected that you will wear clothes which are correct—and that takes in style, colour and cut.’
‘The expert talking! I was just a working girl until you brought me to this environment—which I hate!’
‘Liar,’ was his smooth and brief rejoinder. How cool and collected he appeared now! Tara had to admire the way he could control his anger and wished she was equally adept.
‘I think I’ll go to bed,’ she decided, then flushed to the roots of her hair as Leon said,
‘That’s the kind of eagerness I like.’
Her teeth gritted audibly.
