by Lucy Gordon
‘But it is, it is-can’t you see-? Oh, darling, please try to understand-please try-’
He relented and touched her face. ‘Whatever you say.’
He wasn’t quite sure what he meant by that, but he knew they’d come to a place where she was at home, sure-footed, able to lead without faltering. A wise man would accept that and, since he prided himself on his wisdom, he did the sensible thing and let her lead him into the dance.
All about them the other couples swung around, while the band hollered. He knew nothing except that he was looking down at her face and she was laughing, not with amusement but with joy and triumph, inviting him to share. Once, long ago, she’d taken his hand and led him through the tunnel to success. Now she could do it again, except that this success would be different, not a matter of money and crushing foes, but a joyous richness and light, streaming ahead, leading to new life, and whatever that life might bring.
‘Let’s go,’ he cried.
‘Where?’ she called back in delight.
‘Anywhere-wherever you want to take me.’
‘Then come.’
She began to run, taking him with her, not knowing where she was heading or why; only knowing that she was with him and that was enough. Now the whole of Athens seemed to be flaming around them.
She stopped at last and they stood, gasping together, their chests heaving. From overhead came the sound of fireworks racing up into the black sky, exploding in an orgy of light, while down below the crowd cried out its pleasure.
‘Phew!’ she said.
He gave a sigh of agreement and she thumped him lightly.
‘You shouldn’t be out of breath. I thought you worked out every morning in the gym.’
He did exactly that, and was fully as fit as she expected, but in her company his breathlessness had another cause. He reached for her. Petra saw the firework colours flash across his face, and then his arms were tight about her and his mouth was on hers, teasing, provoking, demanding, imploring.
‘Who are you?’ he gasped. ‘What are you doing in my life? Why can’t I-?’
‘Hush, it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters but this. Kiss me-kiss me.’
She proceeded to show him what she meant, sensing the response go through him, delighting in her power over him and his over her. Soon they must reach the moment that had been inevitable since their meeting, and everything in her yearned towards it.
Lysandros felt as if he were awaking from a dream, or sinking into one. He wasn’t sure which. Her plea of ‘Kiss me’ was entrancing, yet something deep inside him was drawing away. He tried to fight it. He wanted her, but so much that it alarmed him.
Impulse had made him call her tonight. Impulse had made him drag her away from their unwanted companions. Impulse-the thing he’d battled for years-was beginning to rule him.
A puppet dancing on the end of her chain. And she knew it.
‘What is it?’ she asked, feeling him draw away.
‘This place is very public. We should get back to the table; I think I left something there.’
‘And then?’ she asked slowly, unwilling to believe the thought that was coming into her head.
‘Then I think we should both-go home.’
She stared at him, trying to believe what he was doing, feeling the anger rise within her. He hadn’t left anything behind and they both knew it. But he was telling her the magic was over. He’d banished it by an act of will, proving that his control was still strong, although he’d brought her to the edge of losing hers.
It was a demonstration of power, and she was going to make him regret it.
‘How dare you?’ she said in a soft, furious voice. ‘Who the hell do you think you are to despise me?’
‘I don’t-’
‘Shut up. I have something to say and you’re going to listen. I am not some desperate female who you can pick up and put down when it suits you. And don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean because you know exactly. They’re all standing in line for you, aren’t they? But not me.’
‘I don’t know who gave you such an idea,’ he grated.
‘Any woman you’ve ever known could have given it to me. Your reputation went before you.’
His own anger rose.
‘I’ll bet Nikator had something to say, but are you mad enough to listen to him? Don’t tell me he fools you with that “little brother” act!’
‘Why shouldn’t I believe he’s concerned about me?’ she demanded.
‘Oh, he’s concerned all right, but not as a brother. The rumours about him are very interesting at the moment. Why do you think Debra Farley left Athens so suddenly? Because he went too far, wouldn’t take no for an answer. Have a look at his face and see what she did to it when she was fighting him off. I gather it took a lot of money to get her to leave quietly.’
‘I don’t believe it,’ she said, ignoring the whispers within her brain.
‘I do not tell lies,’ Lysandros snapped.
‘No, but you can get things wrong. Even the great, infallible Lysandros Demetriou makes mistakes, and you’ve really made one about me. One minute you say you’ll follow “anywhere I want to take you”. The next moment it’s time to go home. Do you really think I’ll tamely accept that sort of behaviour?
‘What am I supposed to do now, Lysandros? Sit by the phone, hoping you’ll get in touch, like one of those Athens wives? When you called tonight I should have told you to go and jump in the lake-’
‘But you didn’t, so perhaps we-’
The words were like petrol on flames.
‘Well, I’m doing it now,’ she seethed. ‘You have your work to do, I have mine, and there’s no need for us to trouble each other further. Goodnight.’
Turning swiftly away before he could reach out, she hurried back through the streets to the little restaurant. George and Angela were still there, beaming at the sight of Petra.
‘We just knew you’d come back,’ Angela said. ‘You will come to the cave, won’t you?’
‘Thank you, I look forward to it,’ Petra said firmly. ‘Why don’t we discuss the details now?’ She smiled at Lysandros with deadly intent. ‘I’ll get a taxi home. Don’t let us keep you. I’m sure you’re busy.’
‘You’re right,’ he said in a forced voice. ‘Goodnight. It’s been a pleasure meeting you all.’
He inclined his head to them all and was gone. Nor did he look back, which Petra thought was just as well, or he would have seen a look of misery on her face that she wouldn’t have admitted for all the world.
Lysandros awoke in a black depression. Now the magical sunshine that had flooded the path ahead had died, replaced by the prosaic everyday light of the city. She wasn’t here, and it shamed him to remember how her presence had made him act.
‘Wherever you want to take me.’ Had he really said that?
He should be glad that she’d hurled the reminder at him, warning him of the danger into which he’d been sleepwalking, saving him in time.
In time?
He rose and went through the process of preparing for the day, moving like an automaton while his brain seethed.
She alarmed him. She mattered too much. Simply by being herself she could lure him out of the armoured cave where he lived, and where he had vowed to stay for the rest of his days.
For years women had come and gone in his life. He’d treated them well in a distant fashion, and seen them depart without regret. But this woman had broken the mould, and he knew that he must cut ties now or risk yielding to weakness, the thing he dreaded most in the world.
He went to his desk, meaning to write a polite letter, accepting her dismissal. That way he wouldn’t have to hear her voice with its soft resonance, its memory of pleasure half experienced, still anticipated. He drew paper towards him and prepared to write.
But the pen seemed to have developed a life of its own, and refused to do his bidding. His brain shut down, denying him the necessary words.
This was her doing. She was like one of
the sirens of legend, whose voices had lured sailors onto the rocks. How much had they known, those doomed men? Had they gone unknowingly to their death, or had they recognised the truth about the siren-song, yet still been drawn in, unable to help themselves? And when it had been too late, and they sank beneath the waves, had they cursed themselves for yielding, or had their suffering been worth it for the glimpse of heaven?
He would have given anything to know.
At last he gave up trying to write. It was she who had broken it off, and there was nothing more to be said. More business problems made another journey to the port essential, and for several days he had no time to think of anything else. On the journey back to Athens he was able to relax in the feeling of having regained command of his life.
Petra would have replaced him with another eager suitor, and that was best for both of them. He was even glad of it. So he told himself.
On the last mile home he switched on his car radio to hear the latest news. A commentator was describing a search taking place at sea, where a boat had been found overturned. Those aboard had been exploring a cave on an island in the gulf.
‘One of those missing is known to be Petra Radnor, daughter of film star Estelle Radnor, who recently married-’
He pulled over sharply to the side of the road and sat in frozen stillness, listening.
She’d said she’d go anywhere and do anything for a ‘find’, but had she really wanted to go? Hadn’t she tried to slide out of it, but then fallen back into the clutches of George and Angela only because of him?
If she hadn’t been angry with me she wouldn’t have gone on this trip. If she’s dead, it’s my doing-like last time-like last time-
At last life came back to his limbs. He swung the car round in the direction of the coast, driving as though all the devils in hell were after him.
Night was falling as he reached the sea and headed for the place where the boats were to be found. Outwardly he was calm but he couldn’t stop the words thrumming in his head.
She’s dead-she’s dead-you had your chance and it’s gone-again-
A crowd had gathered in the harbour, gazing out to the water and a boat that was heading towards them. Lysandros parked as close as he could and ran to where he could have a better view of the boat.
‘They’ve rescued most of them,’ said a man nearby. ‘But I heard there was still someone they couldn’t find.’
‘Does anyone know who?’ Lysandros asked sharply.
‘Only that it was a woman. I doubt if they’ll find her now.’
You killed her-you killed her!
He pressed against the rail, straining his eyes to see the boat coming through the darkness. In the bow stood a woman, huddled in a blanket, as though she’d been rescued from the water. Frantically he strained to see more, but her face was a blur. A passing light suggested that her hair might be light. It could be Petra-if only he could be sure.
His heart was thundering and he gripped the railing so hard that his hands hurt. It must be her. She couldn’t be dead, because if she were-
Shudders racked him.
Suddenly a shout went up, followed by a cheer. The boat was closer now and at last he could see the woman. It was Petra.
He stood there, holding the rail for support, taking deep breaths, trying to bring himself under control.
She would be here in a few moments. He must plan, be organised. A cellphone. That was it! She would have lost hers in the water, but she’d need one to call her mother. He could do that to please her.
Her eyes were searching the harbour until at last she began to wave. Full of joyful relief, Lysandros waved back, but then realised that she wasn’t looking at him but at someone closer. Then he saw Nikator dart forward, reaching up to her. She leaned down, smiling and calling to him.
Lysandros stayed deadly still as the boat docked and the passengers streamed off seeking safety. Petra went straight into Nikator’s arms and they hugged each other. Then Nikator took out his cellphone, handing it to her, saying things Lysandros couldn’t hear, but could guess. Petra dialled, put the phone to her ear and cried, ‘Estelle, darling, it’s me, I’m safe.’
He didn’t hear the rest. He backed hastily into the darkness before hurrying to find his car. Then he departed as quickly as he could.
She never saw him.
Aminta took charge of her as soon as she reached home, making her have a hot bath, eat well and go to bed.
‘It was all over the news,’ she told Petra. ‘We were so worried. Whatever happened?’
‘I don’t really know. At first it just seemed like an ordinary storm, but suddenly the waves got higher and higher and we overturned. Did you say it was on the news?’
‘Oh, yes, about how you were all drowning and they couldn’t rescue everyone.’
‘There’s one woman they’re still looking for,’ Petra sighed.
She slept badly and awoke in a dark mood. Somewhere in the house she heard the phone ring, and a moment later Aminta brought it in to her.
‘It’s for you,’ she said. ‘A man.’
Eagerly she waited to hear Lysandros’s voice, full of happiness that she was safe. But it was George, to tell her that the missing woman had been found safe and well. She talked politely for a while, but hung up with relief.
There was no call from Lysandros. The news programmes must have alerted him to her danger, yet the man who had kissed her with such fierce intensity had shown no interest in her fate.
She couldn’t blame him after the way she’d ordered him out of her life, yet the hope had persisted that he cared enough to check that she was safe. Apparently not.
She’d been fooling herself. Such interest as he’d ever had in her had been superficial and was now over. He couldn’t have said so more clearly.
Nikator was waiting for her when she went downstairs.
‘You shouldn’t have got up so soon,’ he said. ‘After what you’ve been through. Go back to bed and let me look after you.’
She smiled. It had been good to find him on the quay to take her home, and she was feeling friendly towards him. For the next few days he behaved perfectly, showing brotherly kindness without ever crossing the line. It was bliss to relax in his care. Now she was sure that the stories about him weren’t true.
If only Lysandros would call her.
After several days with no sign from Petra, Lysandros called her cellphone, without success. It was still functioning, but it had been switched off. It remained off all the rest of that day, through the night and into the morning.
It made no sense. She could have switched to the answer service; instead, she’d blocked calls completely.
He refused to admit to a twinge of alarm. But at last he yielded and called the Lukas house, getting himself put through to Homer’s secretary.
‘I need to speak to Miss Radnor,’ he said gruffly. ‘Be so kind as to ask her to call me.’
‘I’m sorry, sir, but Miss Radnor is no longer here. She and Mr Nikator left for England two days ago.’
Silence. When he could manage to speak normally, he said, ‘Did she leave any address or contact number?’
‘No, sir. She and Mr Nikator said that they didn’t want to be disturbed by anyone, for a long time.’
‘What happens in an emergency?’
‘Mr Nikator said no emergency could matter beside-’
‘I see. Thank you.’ He hung up abruptly.
At the Lukas mansion the secretary looked around to where Nikator stood in the doorway.
‘Did I do all right?’ she asked.
‘Perfect,’ he told her. ‘Just keep telling that story if there are any more calls.’
Lysandros sat motionless, his face hard and set.
She’s gone-she’s not coming back-
The words called to him out of the past, making him shudder.
She’s gone-
It meant nothing. She had every right to leave. It was different from the other time.
You’ll never see her again-never again-never again-His fist slammed into the wall with such force that a picture fell to the ground and smashed. A door opened behind him.
‘Get out,’ he said without looking around.
The door closed hastily. He continued to sit there, staring-staring into the darkness, into the past.
At last he rose like a man in a dream and went up to his room, where he threw a few clothes into a bag. To his secretary he said, ‘I’ll be away for a few days. Call me on the cellphone if it’s urgent. Otherwise, deal with it yourself.’
‘Can I tell anyone where you are?’
‘No.’
He headed for the airport and caught the next flight to the island of Corfu. To have used his private jet would have been to tell the world where he was going, and that was the last thing he wanted.
In Corfu he owned Priam House, a villa that had once belonged to his mother. It was his refuge, the place he came to be alone, even to the extent of having no servants. There he would find peace and isolation, the things he needed to save him from going mad.
The only disturbance might come from students and archaeologists, attracted by the villa’s history. It had been built on the ruins of an ancient temple, and rumours abounded of valuable relics that might still be found.
Light was fading as the villa came into sight, silent and shuttered. He left the taxi while there was still a hundred yards to go, so that he might approach unnoticed.
He opened the gate noiselessly and walked around the side of the villa. All seemed quiet and relief flooded him. At last he let himself in at the back and went through the hall to the stairs. But before he could climb he saw something that made him freeze.
The door to the cellar was standing open.
It was no accident. The cellar led directly to the foundations and that door was always kept locked for reasons of safety. Only he had the key.
Rage swept through him at having his solitude destroyed. At that moment he could have done violence. But his fury was cold, enabling him to go down the stairs and approach his quarry noiselessly.
Someone was in the far corner of the cellar with only one small light that they were using to examine the stones, so that the person couldn’t be seen.
