by Anne Hampson
‘I’d rather he alone—for once!’
‘Liar,’ he murmured again, and before she could step back he had her in his arms, tilting her face, claiming her lips with his own. ‘Yes,’ he said after a long while, ‘it is time we went to bed.’
In the bedroom Tara stood by the window, staring broodingly out to the dark line of the horizon. Over there was her home—England and David.... Her thoughts wandered and she was recalling something Elene had said when, after dinner, the two girls found themselves together on the couch.
‘No one ever expected Leon to get married in a rush’ like he did. It’s to be hoped he won’t regret it.’
It was outspoken to say the least, but, strangely, it left Tara unaffected. Elene had obviously been far more than Leon’s top model; she had been his pillow- friend. She recalled the others at the dinner party, and the way they had treated her. They had been friendly enough, but seemed to wonder what Leon had seen in the English girl who had become his wife so unexpectedly.
Nico, on the other hand, had taken to Tara right from the start. And now, as her mind strayed to him, his name seemed inextricably to be linked with escape. He had a powerful motor launch, he had said, and it was at present moored in the harbour down there.
She looked at the conglomeration of boats, some with lights flickering in tile darkness, and wondered which one was his, and if it would one day carry her to freedom. There were several luxury craft down there, including her husband’s yacht. But most of the boats were the attractive little fishing caiques bobbing about on the dark mirror of the sea. The moon had been up but clouds had drifted over it, swirling drapery which allowed moonglow to escape now and then, to throw an enchanting and mysterious mosaic of light and shade over the waterfront and the steep and rocky hill rising from it. Paradise Isle, this piece of rock was called by the natives, and it was indeed a beautiful island. Tara opened the window, and into the room filtered exotic perfumes from the garden and the extensive grounds beyond it. The scent of pines on the hillside pervaded the air one moment, the delicious perfume of roses the next.
Suddenly Tara felt herself to be poised in the infinity of space where nothing was real or tangible. David did not exist; escape meant nothing and neither past nor future was any longer important. The feeling persisted, then she felt another presence and swung around to find her husband standing not three feet from her, his face dark and handsome, the front of his dressing-gown open to reveal the absence of a pyjama coat. She coloured when he said, breaking a silence that had been for her a sort of magic spell,
‘Not ready for me, wife?’
She sighed and shook her head, but when he drew her to him she responded immediately to his kisses.
‘Do you still maintain that you want to be alone tonight?’ he asked, regarding her dark and dreamy eyes with an air of mocking amusement. She hated his expression, hated her own weakness, born of the magnetic power which he so easily exerted over her. She was as putty in his hands and the galling thing was that he knew it. He could do what he liked with her, using a mastery against which she had no defence. ‘Answer me, Tara!’ he insisted, his hand straying with possessive arrogance to the soft curve of a breast.
A great shuddering sigh escaped her; she lifted her face to his and answered huskily,
‘No, Leon ... I d-don’t want to b-be alone....’
His laugh was triumphant, his manner that of the conqueror as, bringing her close, he unzipped the evening gown and let it fall to the floor. Her face flamed as he occupied himself with the scanty coverings that were left. He had done all this before, he reminded her, so what was she blushing for? He derived amusement from her embarrassment, and she knew that he was taking his time purely for the sake of prolonging that amusement. Naked, she was in his arms, her soft breasts crushed hurtfully against the iron-hardness of his chest. His hands strayed, and then she was swung right off her feet. He held her for a space without moving, his eyes dark with the smouldering passion within him, burning into hers with fierce intensity. Her body quivered in his arms; she attempted to wrench her eyes from that masterful, compelling gaze, but she failed. His arms became stronger around her soft and supple body, drawing her more closely to him, and she felt the hard muscles of his chest and shoulders against her.
‘I wonder if your struggles are now ended.’ Leon’s mouth was close to her temple, his fingers moving on her naked body. ‘I feel sure that you’ve come to the point where you know it’s useless to set your will against mine?’
She swallowed convulsively but made no answer. He laid her down on the bed, then stood over her, a towering figure whose primitive, pagan desires were written unmistakably on his arrogant face.
She turned away from those fierce dark eyes, but within seconds she felt his body beside her, was drawn into the inflexible steel hawser of his embrace. Every nerve, every fibre of her being was affected as his fiery kisses were rained on her lips, her throat, and lower to where a hand was laid upon her breast. She responded, straining her body to the virile mastery of his. She heard him laugh softly with triumph as all her control collapsed in the whirlpool of his ardour.
What was happening to her? she was asking herself several days later when, on being ordered by her husband to wear the new bikini he had bought, she meekly did as she was told. Was being a captive becoming a habit of mind? And was it a habit which would grow and strengthen to the point where it would be impossible to throw it off? Leon’s powerful attraction for her was freely admitted, not only to herself but to Leon too, when he forced from her lips words she would never have uttered in the cold light of day. But he knew when to coerce her, and how to bring her to the depth of being nothing more than his meek and willing slave. When in the throes of passion and desperate yearning she could be compelled without much trouble to obey every command she was given. She wondered if he knew that she was still afraid of him, of his strength and his imperious manner when he was issuing orders—as today when he had told her to wear the bikini—and of the threat in his eyes when they darkened. She thought of her struggles, which had merely given her bruises—before she suffered total defeat. Even from the first she had known that her puny strength would never be a match for his, but yet her instinct had made her fight him. Now, though, she was coming to the point where she was resigned to her situation. Yes, undoubtedly she was becoming resigned, and she asked herself again if being her husband’s captive was becoming a habit of mind.
He made her don the bikini in front of him; it was a domineering retaliation for the frowning way she had looked at it, as there was scarcely anything of it at all!
He had obviously liked it, she thought, and in fact he had nodded with satisfaction when she stood there before him.
‘Go into the garden,’ he said, but added that she must not get too much sun at one time.
‘Are you coming?’ She hoped he would say no, as she loved to be alone in the garden because there, in the warmth of the sun and the peace of her surroundings, she could relax both in mind and in body. The sensation of tranquillity and aloneness was balm to the ache of remembrance. She seemed able to forget David and the tragedy and horror of her wedding day, when she had been ruthlessly snatched by the pagan Greek who had forced her into marriage. Very early it had hit her that he had had no need to marry her, that he could have taken her as his mistress—in which case, he would have been free to cast her off just whenever he tired of her. Why, then, had he married her?
His alien voice broke into her reflections as he said he would not be keeping her company in the garden yet awhile as he had work to do in his study. She looked at him; profoundly conscious of those black eyes, roving, taking in for their owner’s erotic pleasure every curve of her near-naked body. He had told her several times that he owned her body and therefore he could do what he liked with it, and she wondered as she tried to read his expression if he were thinking that now, at this moment. She quivered, looking around for the beach wrap he had bought her. She was in no mood for making love at this time of d
ay!
‘What are you looking for?’ he wanted to know, reaching for her hand and pulling her gently towards him.
‘My wrap—please let me get it. I think it’s in the bathroom.’ She had no idea where it was; she wanted only to get away from him. But Leon had other ideas and it was not until he had satiated his desire that he allowed her to go and get the wrap, and had told her again to go into the garden.
She lay back on the lounger listening to the droning of insects in the flower borders and watching one of the gardeners as he kept an eye on her, glancing her way now and then, just to make sure she had not got up ad run off—clad in nothing more than the bikini and the very short wrap which Leon had bought along with it!
She had been lying there for about an hour when she was awakened from her soporific state by the voice of her husband.
‘You look good enough to eat,’ he commented with the kind of smile she had never seen on his face before. ‘Shall I join you?’
‘I can’t stop you,’ she replied, flicking a hand to the other lounger a couple of feet away.
‘Don’t be bitchy,’ he snapped, the smile fading, and replaced by a frown. ‘I’m obviously not wanted,’ he added as he sat down. He was dressed in shorts, and a T-shirt which accentuated the muscles of his arms and shoulders. Undoubtedly he had an air of distinction even in these clothes, Tara admitted grudgingly. Her eyes wandered to his face with its teak-bronzed skin, its arrogant features and strong, classical jawline. His mouth was not so thin as usual, and its sensuality was more apparent. She found herself comparing him with David—as she had one once or twice before—and decided that there really was no comparison: you didn’t compare a tiger with a lamb.
She said, asking the question which she knew she would ask at one time or another.
‘Why did you marry me, Leon?’ He merely looked at her sharply and gave her no answer. ‘You had no need,’ she went on, watching him intently. ‘You had me in your power. If you’d—er—amused yourself without marriage, then you could have got rid of me when you found someone else.’
‘That would have been impossible under the circumstances.’ He was watching the gardener, his face inscrutable.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I abducted you, remember. If I’d taken you and then cast you off you’d have been able to have me arrested. As it is, you haven’t any sort of a case against me. Marriage was my only safeguard against finding myself in trouble.’
‘What do you mean—I haven’t any sort of case against you?’
‘You married me willingly. You’re now my wife—’ He threw out his hands. ‘What could you do if, say, you did manage to escape?’
‘I’d still go to the police.’
He shook his head.
‘It would get you nowhere. You promised to marry me, remember? And you did marry me—without a word of protest, without making even the slightest accusation against me.’
‘You consider yourself so clever,’ she retorted, ‘but I shall have my revenge one day!’ His eyes hardened.
‘You are still dreaming of escape?’
‘Of course.’
‘Foolish girl. Hasn’t it dawned on you that you are pregnant?’
Her eyes flew to his, crimson colour staining her cheeks.
‘No!’ she cried. ‘No—how can you be sure ...?’ Her voice trailed to silence as his black brows lifted.
‘I wasn’t born yesterday,’ he said with a significant edge of satire to his voice. ‘You’re my prisoner now, Tara—inescapably.’
‘No—I won’t have your child! I don’t want it! I hate you too much!’ She was on the brink of tears, because his assertion had only served to strengthen the first dawning of doubt in her mind, a doubt she had cast away, desperately thrusting it from her consciousness. Fate would not do that to her! It wasn’t fair! She was not expecting a child! The tears flowed and she reached for the wrap, seeking in the pocket for a handkerchief. Her hand came away empty and Leon gave her his. ‘If you knew how much I hate you,’ she quivered after she had dried her eyes, you’d let me go at once!’
Her husband ignored that, accepting his handkerchief from her gingerly after having seen her blow her nose on it. She looked very young, like a child, her eyes still moist, and small sobs rising to her lips. His eyes flickered over her, and it did seem that they had softened slightly. And that nerve in his neck ... it was there again, pulsating, out of control. He said after a long silence,
‘If you give me that promise, Tara, then I shall allow you the freedom of this island. As it is, you’re not allowed outside the grounds of the house. Be sensible, child, and give me the promise.’
‘You’ve just said I’m your prisoner now—inescapably,’ she reminded him, ‘so why do you want the promise?’
‘Until the child is born I’m taking no chances. I know you well enough to be sure that you’d never desert our child. I also know you well enough to be sure that if you give me that promise you will keep it. I’ve said so before.’
She remained silent, musing on what he had said. If she could escape before the child was born—
‘I’m not having a child!’, she whispered to herself vehemently. ‘It would ruin my life—David would never want another man’s child, so he would no longer want to marry me!’
Leon was saying, changing the subject,
‘I must go to Athens within the next week. I’d take you with me if you’d give me that promise.’ His eyes had a questioning look as he waited—hopefully, it was plain—for her to give him the answer he required. She shook her head and said no, she would not make the promise. ‘You’re the most stubborn woman I have ever met!’ he exclaimed exasperatedly. ‘I want to take you with me!’
‘For one thing,’ she’ returned with scorn. ‘Can’t you look up one of your old flames and invite her to sleep with you?’
Leon’s eyes glimmered, like burning embers ready to ignite.
‘Get inside!’ he ordered harshly, rising, as he spoke and jerking her up with him. ‘I’ve had enough! You’ll feel my hand about your hide for what you’ve just said!’ He was dragging her, and because she was so conscious of the gardener’s eyes following them, Tara refrained from struggling. Her heart was pounding against her ribs, for despite the repeated threats he had made she had felt sure he would never use violence upon her. She thought of her scanty attire and every drop of blood drained from her face. He would hurt her—she had had plenty of proof of his savagery when his temper was roused, so she could expect no mercy now. Should she plead? Such cowardly conduct was abhorrent to her, but not more so than the instinctive shrinking from physical punishment, especially at the hands of this fiend.
Once in the bedroom he kicked the door closed, then stood with his broad back to it, his face twisted into evil lines, his eyes blazing with fury. She had run when he released her hand and she was standing with her back to the window, an animal at bay with her merciless predator ready to spring. She suddenly knew she must plead, for all courage had been drained from her.
‘Leon—please—don’t hurt me!’
‘Come here! he thundered, and her, heart began to beat with such violence that she felt it would collapse altogether. She put a hand to it, tears streaming down her face. He gritted his teeth and pointed to the floor in front of him. ‘Here, I said. My God, girl, if you don’t obey me you’ll be sorry!’
‘I c-can’t—oh, Leon, please....’ He said nothing, but continued to point to the spot in front of him. The silence was torture; her forehead was clammy and so were the palms of her hands. ‘I’ll do anything you say—’ She stopped, and although it was the most difficult thing she had ever done in the whole of her life, she humbly apologised for what she had said. The tears continued to flow, created by the terrible fear this man put into her as he stood there, his finger still pointing. Slowly she advanced, gripped in a vice of sheer terror, for he looked as if he were ready to give her more than a beating; he looked ready to murder her, And suddenly it struck her
that his fury was out of all proportion. He’d admitted to having pillow-friends, so why should he be like this simply because she had mentioned them? True, he would not like it, but this.... She stared into his face after coming to a halt before his towering figure. He had said he respected her more than he had respected any other woman—so could it be possible that he wanted to forget those others? Stunned by the idea, Tara continued to stare, forgetting that at any moment she might find herself grasped and beaten. If he wanted to forget the others then it meant that he— She cut her thoughts, admitting that it was not possible that he was beginning to like her ... in that way. Hadn’t he said several times that he did not believe in love?
‘So you decided, to apologise, eh?’ Although his voice rasped it seemed to have lost some of its vibrancy, and she sensed that his anger was abating. ‘You saved yourself,’ he said, and for a long moment she could only stare, her shredded nerves gradually settling, along with the painful, rabid throbbing of her heart. ‘Yes, you were wise—in fact, it is the wisest thing you have ever done.’ His black eyes roved over her body possessively; she was jerked to him and his mouth was brutal as it crushed hers. She fought for breath, twisting about instinctively, managing at last to draw her bruised and swollen lips from his. He gave a snarl and forced her head up with a merciless hand beneath her chin. ‘Did I say you’d escaped! The beating, yes—but not my kisses!’ His hand forced her head further back, until she felt a pain in her neck. The dark head was bent, the evil mouth caressed hers before, with the same savage intensity, he crushed hers beneath it.
She wept softly. Unable to fight him any more, she accepted defeat and went limp in his arms. He was the conqueror, her master, and in this moment of pain and despair she owned it to herself that she must never again fight against his strength. It exhausted her, it caused the blood to pound in her temples. Why did she do it? The instinct of self-preservation which right down through the ages had brought reprisals to those whose enemies were stronger than they, and it was bringing reprisals to her, as it always did. Pride had made her fight, but her husband had stripped her of all pride a moment ago when she had been forced to apologise to him. ‘I’ll tame you yet,’ he was saying, and now his voice was almost mild. ‘The Greeks don’t tolerate disobedience and ridicule, not even from men, much less from their women. You are “my woman” in this country and as such you will render me total obedience and respect.’ Her head was jerked up again and she was forced to meet his fierce, compelling gaze. ‘Do I make myself clear—wife!’
