by Lucy Gordon
‘How did I save you?’
His only reply was a long silence, and she felt her heart sink. So often they’d come to the point where he might confide in her, but always his demons had driven him back. This time she’d hoped it might be different, that their loving had given him confidence in her. But it seemed not. Perhaps, after all, nothing had changed.
She’d almost given up hope when Lysandros said in a low voice, ‘I never told you why I was in Las Vegas. The fact is I’d quarrelled with my family. Suddenly it seemed hateful to me that we were always at war about so much. I wanted no more of it. I left home and went out to “live my own life”, as I put it. But I got into bad ways. The night we met I’d been like that for two years, and I was headed for disaster if something didn’t happen to save me. But something did. I met you.’
‘And quarrelled with me,’ she said with just a hint of teasing.
‘We didn’t quarrel,’ he said quickly. ‘Hell, yes, I suppose we came to the edge of it because I wasn’t used to being told a truth I didn’t want to hear-that dig about Achilles sulking in his tent.’
‘But it wasn’t a dig. I was just running over the legend in my usual thoughtless way.’
‘I know. You may even have done me a favour.’
Another silence while he fought his inner battle.
‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘Don’t tell me anything you don’t want to.’
‘But I do want to,’ he said slowly. ‘If you only knew how much.’
She touched his hand again, and felt him squeeze her fingers gratefully.
‘That remark got to me,’ he said at last. ‘I was twenty-three and…I guess, not very mature. I’d left my father to cope alone. You showed me the truth about myself. I did a lot of thinking, and next day I came home and told my father I was ready to take my place in the business. We became a partnership and when he died ten years ago I was able to take over. Thanks to you.’
‘Should I be proud of my creation?’
‘Do you think so?’
‘Not entirely. You’re not a happy man.’
He shrugged. ‘Happiness isn’t part of the bargain.’
‘I wonder who you struck that bargain with,’ she mused. ‘Perhaps it was the Furies.’
‘No, the Furies are my advance troops that I send into battle. This isn’t about my feelings. I do my job. I keep people in work.’
‘And so you benefit them. But what about you, yourself, the man?’
His eyes darkened and he seemed to stare into space. ‘Sometimes,’ he said at last, ‘I’ve felt he hardly exists.’
She nodded. ‘He’s an automaton that walks and talks and does what’s necessary,’ she said. ‘But what about you?’ She laid a soft hand over his heart. ‘Somewhere in there, you must exist.’
‘Perhaps it’s better if I don’t,’ he said heavily.
‘Better for whom? Not you. How can you live in the world and not be part of it?’
He grimaced. ‘That’s easier than you think. And safer.’
‘Safer? You? The man who’s supposed to be immortal?’
‘Supposed to be-’
‘Except for that one tiny place on the heel? Shame on you, Achilles. Do you want me to think you’re afraid to take the risks that we less glorious mortals take every day?’
He drew a sharp breath and grasped her. ‘Oh, you’re good,’ he said. ‘You’re clever, cunning, sharp; you know how to pierce a man’s heart-’
‘You have no heart,’ she challenged him. ‘At least, not one you care to listen to.’
‘And if I listened to it, what do you think it would say to me-about you?’
‘I can’t tell you that. Only you can know.’
‘It will speak in answer to your heart,’ he riposted cunningly. ‘If I knew what that was saying-’
‘Can’t you read it?’ she whispered.
‘Some of it. It laughs at me, almost like an enemy, and yet-’
‘Friends laugh too. My heart is your friend, but perhaps an annoying friend. You’ll have to be prepared for that.’
‘I am, I promise you. Petra-Petra-say you want me.’
‘If you haven’t worked that out for yourself by now-’
His hands seemed to touch her everywhere at once.
‘I hope that means what I think it means,’ he growled. ‘Because it’s too late now.’
She put her arms around his neck. ‘Whatever took you so long?’
When she awoke it was early morning and she was alone. Beside her the bed was empty, but the rumpled sheet and pillow showed where he had been. Touching the place, she found that it was still warm.
She sat up listening, but there was only silence. Slipping out of bed, she went to the door, but when she opened it she saw that there was no light on in the bathroom, and some instinct told her that he was in trouble.
She thought she could hear a faint sound from the far end of the corridor. Moving quietly, she followed it to the end, where it turned into another corridor. There she heard the sound again, and this time it sounded like soft footsteps, back and forth. She followed it to the end and waited a moment, her heart beating, before turning the corner.
A short flight of stairs rose before her. At the top stood Lysandros, by the window, looking out onto the world below. He turned, walked back and forth like a man seeing his way in unfamiliar territory, finally coming to a halt in front of a door.
She waited for him to enter the room. Perhaps she could follow him quietly, and so gain a clue to his trouble. But instead he remained motionless for what seemed like an age. Then he leaned against the door, his shoulders sagging in an attitude that suggested he was on the point of collapse. She was about to go to him, offering comfort, when he straightened up and turned around in her direction.
Hurriedly she retreated, and vanished before he could see her. She managed to reach the bedroom without being discovered and was huddled down with her back to him when he came in. She sensed him get in beside her and lean over her, apparently trying to check if she was asleep. She decided to chance it and opened her eyes.
‘Hello,’ she said, opening her arms to him.
Now, surely, he would come into them and tell her what had happened, because now they were close in hearts and minds and he didn’t need to hide things from her.
But, instead, he drew back.
‘I’m sorry if I disturbed you,’ he said. ‘I was just thinking of getting up.’
‘You’re going to get up now?’ she asked slowly.
‘Yes, I get stiff lying here all night, but you stay. I’ll bring you some coffee later.’
He left the room quickly, leaving her wanting to scream out a protest.
No matter what happiness they seemed to share, beneath it was a torment that hounded him, and which he could not bring himself to share with her. Everything she’d longed for was an illusion. She was still shut out from his deepest heart. She buried her face, and the pillow was wet with her tears.
CHAPTER EIGHT
PETRA wondered how Lysandros would be when they met again at breakfast, whether he would show any awareness of what had happened. But he greeted her cheerfully, with a kiss on the cheek. They might have been any couple enjoying a few days vacation without a care in the world.
‘Is there anything you’d like to do?’ he asked.
‘I’d love to go to Gastouri.’
She was referring to the tiny village where the Achilleion Palace had been built.
‘Have you never been before?’ he asked in surprise.
‘Yes, but it was a hurried visit to get material. Now I’ll have time to explore properly.’
And perhaps, she thought, it would help her cope with the sadness of being rejected again.
The village lay about seven miles to the south, built on a slope, with the Palace at the top, overlooking the sea. This was the place that the Empress Elizabeth had built to indulge her passion for the Greek hero, who seemed to have reached out to her over thousands of
years. His courage, his complex character, his terrible fate, all were remembered here.
As soon as they entered the gates Petra was aware of the atmosphere-powerful, vital, yet melancholy, much as Achilles himself must have been.
Just outside the house was the statue of the Empress herself, a tiny figure, looking down with a sad expression, as though all hope had left her.
‘She used to annoy my father,’ Lysandros said. ‘He said she was a silly woman who couldn’t pull herself together.’
‘Charming.’
‘When my mother brought me here he’d insist on coming too, and showing me the things he wanted me to remember, like this one.’
He led the way to a tall bronze statue showing Achilles as a magnificent young warrior, wearing a metal helmet mounted with a great feathered crest. On his lower legs was armour, embossed at the kneecaps with snarling lions.
From one arm hung a shield while the other hand held a spear. He stood on a sixteen-foot plinth, looming over all-comers, staring out into the distance.
‘Disdainful,’ Petra said thoughtfully. ‘Standing so far above, he’d never notice ordinary mortals like us, coming and going down here.’
‘Perhaps that’s how Sisi liked to picture him,’ Lysandros suggested with a touch of mischief.
‘Sisi knew nothing about it,’ Petra said at once. ‘After her death the Palace was sold to a man, and he put this statue here.’
He grinned. ‘I might have guessed you’d know that.’
‘So that’s who your father wanted you to be,’ she reflected, straining her head back to look up high to Achilles’ face.
‘Nothing less would do for him. There’s also the picture inside which he admired.’
The main hall was dominated by a great staircase, at the top of which was a gigantic painting depicting a man in a racing chariot, galloping at full speed, dragging the lifeless body of his enemy in the dirt behind.
‘Achilles in triumph,’ Petra said, ‘parading his defeated enemy around the walls of Troy.’
‘That was how a man ought to be,’ Lysandros mused. ‘Because if you didn’t do it to them, they would do it to you. So I was raised being taught how to do it to them.’
‘And do you?’
‘Yes,’ he replied simply. ‘If I have to, otherwise I wouldn’t survive, and nor would the people who work for me.’
‘Parading lifeless bodies?’ she queried.
‘Not literally. My enemies are still walking about on earth, trying to destroy me. But if you’ve won, people have to know you’ve won, and the lengths you were prepared to go to. That way they learn the lesson.’
For a moment his face frightened her, not because it displayed harshness or cruelty, but because it displayed nothing at all. He was simply stating a fact. Victory had to be flaunted or it was less effective, and she could see that he didn’t really understand why this troubled her.
They moved on through the building, looking at the friezes and murals, the paintings and statues all telling of another world, yet one that still reached out to touch this one. Lysandros might speak wryly of his mother’s fascination with the legendary Achilles, yet even he felt the story’s power over him.
Heroism was no longer simple as in those days, but he’d been born into a society that expected him to conquer his enemies and drag them behind his chariot wheels. The past laid its weight on him, almost expecting him to live two lives at once, and he knew it. Fight it as he might, there were times when the expectations almost crushed him.
If she’d doubted that, she had the proof when they moved back into the garden and went to stand before the great statue depicting Achilles’ last moments. He lay on the ground, trying to draw the arrow from his heel, although in his heart he knew it was hopeless. His head was raised to the heavens and on his face was a look of despair.
‘He’s resigned,’ Lysandros said. ‘He knows there’s no escaping his destiny.’
‘Then perhaps he shouldn’t be so resigned,’ Petra said at once. ‘You should never accept bad luck as inevitable. That’s just giving in.’
‘How could he help it? He knew his fate was written on the day he was born. It was always there on his mind, the hidden vulnerability. Except that in the end it wasn’t hidden, because someone had known all the time. None of us hide our weaknesses as well as we think we do.’
‘But perhaps,’ she began tentatively, ‘if the other person was someone we didn’t have to be afraid of, someone who wouldn’t use it against us-’
‘That would be paradise indeed,’ Lysandros agreed. ‘But how would you know, until it was too late?’
They strolled for a while in the grounds before he said, ‘Is there any more you need to see here, or shall we go?’
On the way home his mood seemed to lighten. They had a cheerful supper, enlivened by an argument about a trivial point that he seemed unable to let go of, until he covered his eyes with his hands, in despair at himself.
‘It doesn’t matter, does it?’ he groaned. ‘I know it doesn’t matter and yet-’
‘You’re a mess,’ she said tenderly. ‘You don’t know how to deal with people-unless they’re enemies. You deal with them well enough, but anyone else-you’re left floundering. You know what you need?’
‘What’s that?’
‘Me. To put you on a straight line and keep you there.’
‘Where does this line lead?’
‘Back to me, every time. So make up your mind to it; I’m taking charge.’
He regarded her for a moment, frowning, and she wondered if she’d pushed his dictatorial nature too far. But then the frown vanished, replaced by a tender smile.
‘That’s all right, then,’ he said.
She smiled in a way that she could see he found mystifying. Good. That suited her perfectly.
Quickly she reached into her pocket, drew out a small notebook and pencil that never left her, then began counting on her fingers and making notes.
‘What are you doing?’ he demanded.
‘Calculating. Do you know it’s exactly eighteen hours and twenty-three minutes since you made love to me?’ She sighed theatrically. ‘I don’t know. Some men are all talk.’
Before he could think of an answer, she rose and darted away.
‘Hey, where are you going?’
‘Where do you think?’ she called back over her shoulder from halfway up the stairs.
He managed to pass her on the stairs and reach the bedroom first.
‘Come here,’ he said, yanking her close and holding her tightly, without gentleness. ‘Come here.’
It was less a kiss than an act of desperation. She knew that as soon as his lips touched hers, not tenderly but with a ferocity that mirrored her own. They had shared kisses before, but this was a step further. In the past she’d been struggling with her own reaction, and doubtful of his. But the previous two times they’d made love had told each of them something about the other, and where they were going together.
Now there were no doubts on either side, no room for thoughts or even emotions. They wanted each other as a simple physical act, free of everything but the need for satisfaction.
His mouth seemed to burn hers while his tongue invaded her, demanding, asking no quarter and giving none. His urgency thrilled her for it matched her own, but she wouldn’t let him know that just yet. She had another plan in mind.
‘Mmm, just as I hoped,’ she murmured.
He ground his teeth. ‘You pulled my strings and I jumped, didn’t I?’
‘’Fraid so. And you have another problem now.’
‘Surprise me.’
‘I’m a horrible person. In fact I’m just horrible enough to get up and walk away right now.’
His hands tightened on her in a grip of steel. ‘Don’t even think about it.’
She began to laugh with delight, revelling in the ruthless determination with which he held her, threw her onto her back and invaded her like a conqueror. She was still laughing when her expl
osion of pleasure sent the world into a spin.
Afterwards he looked down at her, gasping and frenzied.
‘You little-it’s not funny!’
‘But it is funny. Oh, my darling, you’re so easily fooled.’
He began to move inside her again, slowly, making her wait but leaving her in no doubt that he had the strength and control to prolong the moment.
‘Were you expecting this too?’ he whispered.
‘Not exactly expecting, but I was hoping-oh, yes, I was hoping you’d do just what you’re doing now-and again-and again-oh, darling, don’t stop!’
She ceased to be aware of time, losing track of how often he brought her to climax. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that he’d transported her to another world, while giving her the vital feeling that she too had transported him. Whatever happened to them happened together, and she cared about nothing else.
When he finally managed to speak it was with ironic humour.
‘I did it again, didn’t I? Danced to your tune. Is there any way I can get one step ahead of you?’
She seemed to consider this. ‘Probably not. But I’d hate you to stop trying.’
Now it was his turn to laugh. She felt it against her before she heard it, and her soul rejoiced because it was through laughter that she could reach him.
The next few days were hazy. They spent much of the time out, wandering the island or lazing on the beach, their evenings indoors, talking with a freedom which once would have been impossible. They spent the nights in each other’s arms.
She knew it couldn’t last for ever. For now they were living in a world apart, where each of them could yield to the new personality the other could evoke. He could doff his harsh exterior, emerge from the prison cell where his heart normally lived, and let her see the side of him that was charming and outgoing.
But it was unreal. Such perfect happiness could never last unchallenged. Sooner or later she must face the part of him that remained hidden from her, or retire in defeat because he wouldn’t allow her in.
