by Lucy Gordon
As soon as she reached her bedroom there was a call from Estelle, full of excitement at the rumours.
‘You and Lysandros were seen together on Corfu, going out in a boat and driving through the streets. Come on, tell!’
‘There’s nothing to tell,’ Petra said primly.
‘Hmm! As good as that, eh? We’ll invite him to our party and take a good look at you two together.’
‘I shall warn him not to come.’
‘You won’t, you know.’ Chuckling, she hung up.
The next call was from Lysandros to say he had to return to Piraeus. ‘So it’ll be several days before we see each other,’ he said with a sigh.
‘Just be back for the big party next week. Then it’s all going to descend on us.’
He laughed. ‘I promise to be there. I don’t know how I’m going to manage being away from you.’
‘Just come back to me,’ she said tenderly.
When the call was over she sat smiling. Looking up, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and laughed.
‘I look like an idiot. I feel like an idiot. So I guess that makes me an idiot. I don’t care. I didn’t know there was this much happiness on earth.’
From the corridor outside came the sound of footsteps. Then the door was flung open and Nikator stood on the threshold. His eyes were bright, his face flushed, his chest heaving, and Petra knew there was going to be trouble.
‘Hello, brother, dear,’ she said brightly, slightly emphasising ‘brother’. But it was useless and she knew it.
‘Don’t say that,’ Nikator hurled at her. ‘Oh, Petra, don’t say that!’
He dropped to his knees beside her, reaching out to clasp her around the waist, and she had to fight not to recoil. Their last meeting had been two weeks ago, just before she’d gone to Corfu. Nikator had implored her to stay, upset when she refused, desperate when she wouldn’t tell him where she was going.
The same exaggerated look was on his face now, making her say soothingly, ‘You don’t want me to call you “dear”? All right, I won’t, especially as I’m angry with you. How dare you let Lysandros think we’d gone to England together?’
He reached up to seize her in a fumbling grip. She tried to free herself but found there was unexpected steel behind the childish movements.
‘I couldn’t help it. I love you so much I’m not responsible for my actions. I wanted to save you from Demetriou-’
‘But I didn’t want to be saved,’ she said, trying to introduce a note of common sense. ‘I love him. Try to understand that. I love him, not you.’
‘That’s because you don’t know what he’s like. You think you do. You believe what he told you about Brigitta, but there was no need for her to die. If he hadn’t bullied her mercilessly she wouldn’t have been alone when-’
He pulled himself up far enough to sit on the bed beside her, his hands gripping her shoulders.
‘He’s fooled you,’ he gasped. ‘He only wants you because you’re mine. He has to take everything that’s mine. It’s been that way all my life.’
‘Nikki-’
‘You don’t know what it’s been like, always being told that the Demetriou family were lucky because they had a worthy son to take over, but my father only had me. Everyone admires him because he brutalises people into submission. But not me. I can’t be brutal.’
‘But you can be sneaky, can’t you? Grow up, little boy!’
‘Don’t call me that,’ he screamed. ‘I’m not a child; I’ll show you.’
She tried to push him off but his grip tightened. He rose to his feet, thrusting her back against the bed and hurling himself on top of her. Next thing, his mouth was over hers and he was trying to thrust his tongue between her lips.
Frantically she twisted her head away, trying to put up a hand to protect her mouth and writhing this way and that to avoid him.
‘Get off me,’ she gasped. ‘Nikki, do you hear? Get off me!’
‘Don’t fight me. Let me love you-let me save you-’
With a last heave she managed to get out from under him, shoving him so hard that he fell to the floor. In a flash she was on her feet, dashing to the door, yanking it open.
‘Clear out and don’t come back!’ she snapped.
But he made another lunge, forcing her to take drastic action with her knee. A yowl broke from him and he clutched himself between the legs, stumbling out into the corridor under the interested eyes of several maids.
He got to his feet, his eyes burning.
‘You’ll regret that,’ he said softly.
‘Not half as much as you’ll regret it if you bother me again,’ she snapped.
He threw a look of pure hatred at the servants and hurried away.
‘Thanks, miss,’ one of the maids said.
From which Petra deduced that several of them had been longing to do the very same thing.
Returning to her room, she tried to calm down. She’d known Nikator could be unpleasant but he was worse than she’d imagined.
In her agitation she forgot to wonder how he knew that Lysandros had told her about Brigitta.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
TWO days later Homer and Estelle made a grand and glorious return, under the gaze of carefully arranged cameras. Plans for the party started at once, although first Aminta had a servant problem to deal with. Nikator had made certain accusations against the maids, who pleaded with Petra for help, which she gave.
‘I’m sorry, Homer, I don’t want to quarrel with you or your son,’ she said, ‘but Nikator was limping when he left and I’m afraid the maids saw. So now he has a grudge against them.’
Homer was a wise man and he knew his son’s bad side. He believed her, thanked her, told Nikator to stop talking nonsense and made him apologise to Petra. Instead of the explosion of temper she’d feared, Nikator seemed to be in a chastened mood.
‘Which means he’s more dangerous than ever,’ Lysandros said as they dined together. ‘The sooner you’re out of there the better. In the meantime I’ll have a quiet word with him.’
‘No, don’t,’ she begged. ‘I’m quite capable of having my own quiet word, as he’s already discovered. I’m only afraid he’ll spin you some silly story about him and me-’
‘Which you think I’ll be stupid enough to believe?’ Lysandros queried wryly. ‘Credit me with more intelligence than that.’
Nikator seemed to be making an effort. She went downstairs once to find him with a large painting that he’d bought as a gift for his father. It depicted the Furies, terrifying creatures with snakes for hair and blood dripping from their eyes. Petra studied the picture with interest. She’d been conscious of the Furies recently, but now she felt free from them.
‘The point was, they never let up,’ Nikator said. ‘Once they started on you, they’d hound you for ever.’
She wondered if he was sending a message that he would never forgive her for offending him. He would harm her or Lysandros if he could, she was sure of it. But they were both on the watch for him, and surely there was nothing in his power.
The party was going to be the society event of the season. Fellow film stars from Hollywood were flying in to dance, sing and raise their glasses in the fake Parthenon. Every businessman in Athens would be there, hoping to meet a film star, plus some film makers hoping to secure backing from rich men.
When the night came there was no sign of Nikator. Homer grumbled about the disrespect to his bride, but Petra also thought she detected a note of relief.
‘Maybe when you and Lysandros are formally engaged it might be easier,’ her mother said quietly. ‘He’ll have to accept it then. Just don’t take too long about it. It might be the best thing for everyone.’
‘But surely Lysandros is the foe?’
‘A rival, not a foe. If the two families could come together Homer thinks it might be wonderful.’
‘What about Nikator? Surely Homer wouldn’t cut his son out?’
‘Not out of his life or
his heart, but out of the shipping business, yes. He could buy him a gaming house, or something else that would give him a good life without threatening people’s jobs in the shipyard.’
It seemed the perfect solution, but Petra wondered if it would offend Nikator’s pride and increase his hatred of Lysandros. Mentally she put it aside to be worried about later. For now all she cared about was the coming evening, when she would see her lover again and dance in his arms.
She’d chosen a dress of blue satin, so dark that it was almost black. It was a tight fit, emphasising her perfect shape, but with a modest neckline, to please Lysandros.
How handsome he was, she thought, watching him approach. Homer greeted him enthusiastically; he replied with smiles and expressions of civility. Petra remembered how Lysandros had cleared Homer of any involvement in Brigitta’s tragedy, saying, ‘To do him justice, he’s a fairly decent man, a lot better than many in this business.’
So it was true what Estelle had suggested. Her marriage to Lysandros might signal a new dawn in the Greek shipping business, and everyone knew it. Including Nikator.
Lysandros did the usual networking with Petra on his arm, and everyone had the chance to study them as a couple.
‘Has anyone told you what they’re all thinking?’ he murmured as they danced.
‘They were lining up to tell me,’ she said with a laugh. ‘We were watched in Corfu. Estelle says we were seen together, driving through the streets and on the boat.’
He shrugged. ‘They’re public places. People were bound to see us. When we marry, I suppose that will be in public as well-’ He smiled and added softly, ‘At least, the first part of it will.’
‘Oh, really?’ she murmured. ‘I don’t remember getting a proposal.’
‘You’ve had a proposal every minute of the last few days and you know it,’ he said firmly. He rather spoilt the autocratic sound of this by murmuring, ‘Siren,’ so softly that his breath on her cheek was almost all she knew.
‘Don’t I get an answer?’ he asked.
‘You had your answer the first time we made love,’ she said. ‘And you hadn’t even asked me.’
‘But now I’ve asked and you’ve answered, we might tell them,’ he suggested.
‘Tell this crowd? I thought you’d hate to be stared at.’
‘As long as they see what I want them to see, that’s all right. If they watch me walking off with the most beautiful woman in the room, I can live with that.’
He tightened his arm around her waist, swirling her around and around while everyone laughed and applauded. Petra remembered that later because it was almost her last moment of unclouded joy.
As they came out of the swirl and her head began to clear she saw something that made her sigh. Even so, she didn’t realise that disaster had walked in. Disaster was called Nikator, and he had a smile on his face. It was a cold, tense smile, but even so it gave no sign of what was about to crash down on her.
‘What’s he up to?’ she asked as he embraced Homer and Estelle.
‘Trying to win forgiveness for turning up late,’ Lysandros remarked. ‘Pretend he doesn’t exist, as I’m doing.’
His words reminded her of how hard it must be for him to appear at ease in Nikator’s presence, and she smiled at him in reassurance.
‘Better still,’ Lysandros said, ‘let’s show him exactly where he stands.’
Before she knew what he meant to do, he’d pulled her closer and laid his mouth on hers in a long kiss, whose meaning left nothing to the imagination.
Now he’d made his declaration to the world. This man, who’d spent so long hiding his true self behind protective bolts and bars, had finally managed to throw them aside and break out to freedom because the one special woman had given him the key. He no longer cared who could look into his soul because her love had made him invincible.
As the kiss ended and he raised his head, his manner was that of a victor. A hero, driving his chariot across the battlefield where his enemies lay defeated, might have worn that air of triumph.
‘Let him do what he likes,’ he murmured to her. ‘Nothing can touch us now.’
She was to remember those words long after.
‘Ah!’ cried Nikator. ‘Isn’t love charming?’
His caustic voice shattered her dream and made her shudder. Nikator had marched across the floor and stood regarding them sardonically, while Homer hurried behind and laid an urgent hand on his son’s arm. Nikator threw it off.
‘Leave me, Father; there are things that have to be said and I’m going to enjoy saying them.’ He grinned straight at Lysandros. ‘I never thought the day would come when I’d have a good laugh at you. You, of all men, to be taken in by a designing woman!’
‘Give up,’ Lysandros advised him gently. ‘It’s no use, Nikator.’
‘But that’s what’s so funny,’ Nikator yelped. ‘How easily you were fooled when you fancied yourself so armoured. But the armour doesn’t cover the heel, does it?’
Even this jibe didn’t seem to affect Lysandros, who continued to regard Nikator with pity and contempt.
‘And your “heel” was that you believed in her,’ Nikator said, jabbing a finger at Petra. ‘You’re too stupid to realise that she’s been playing you for a sucker because there’s something she wanted.’
‘Hey, you!’ Estelle thumped him hard on the shoulder. ‘If you’re suggesting my daughter has to marry for money, let me tell you-’
‘Not money!’ Nikator spat. ‘Glory. Anything for a good story, eh?’
‘What the hell are you talking about?’ Lysandros demanded. ‘There’s no story.’
‘Of course there is. It’s what she lives by, her reputation, getting a new angle on things that nobody else can get. And, oh, boy, did she get it this time!’
Even then they didn’t see the danger. Lysandros sighed, shaking his head as if being patient with a tiresome infant.
‘You won’t laugh when you know what she’s been doing,’ Nikator jeered. ‘Getting onto the press, telling them your secrets, repeating what you said to her-’
‘That’s a lie!’ Petra cried.
‘Of course it’s a lie,’ Lysandros said.
The smiling confidence had vanished from his face and his voice had the deadly quiet of a man who was fighting shock, but he was still uttering the right words.
‘Be careful what you say,’ he told Nikator coldly. ‘I won’t have her slandered.’
‘Oh, you think it’s a slander, do you? Then how does the press know what you said to her at the Achilleion? How do they know you showed her Brigitta’s grave and told her how often you’d stood there and begged Brigitta’s forgiveness? Have you ever repeated that? No, I thought not. But someone has.’
‘Not me,’ Petra said, aghast. ‘I would never-you can’t believe that!’
She flung the last words at Lysandros, who turned and said quickly, ‘Of course not.’
But his manner was strained. Gone was the relaxed joy of only a few minutes ago. Only two of them knew what he had said to her at that grave.
‘It’s about time you saw this,’ Nikator said.
Nobody had noticed the bag he’d brought with him and dropped at his feet. Now he leaned down and began to pull out the contents, distributing them to the fascinated crowd.
They were newspapers, carrying the banner headline, The Truth About Achilles: How She Made Him Talk, and telling the story of the well-known historian Petra Radnor, who’d first come to prominence when, little more than a girl, she’d published Greek Heroes of the Past.
The book had been such a success that it had been revised for a school edition and was now being considered for a further revision. This time the angle would be more glamorous and romantic, as Ms Radnor considered Greek men today and whether they really lived up to their classical reputation. For the moment she was working on Achilles.
There followed a detailed description of the last few weeks-their first meeting at the wedding, at which Ms Radnor ex
erted all her charms to entice her prey, the evening they had spent together dancing in the streets, and finally their time on Corfu in the villa where ‘Achilles’ had once lived with his other lover, who was buried there.
Together they visited the Archilleion, where they stood before the great picture of the first Achilles dragging the lifeless body of his enemy behind his chariot, and the modern Achilles explained that he was raised to do it to them before they did it to him.
Which was exactly what he’d said, Petra thought in numb horror.
It went on and on. Somehow the people behind this had learned every private detail of their time together at the villa, and were parading it for amusement. ‘Achilles’ had been trapped, deluded, made a fool of by a woman who was always one step ahead of him. That was the message, and those who secretly feared and hated him would love every moment of it.
All around she could see people trying to smother their amusement. Homer was scowling and the older guests feared him too much to laugh aloud, but they were covering their mouths, turning their heads away. The younger ones were less cautious.
‘Even you,’ Nikator jeered at Lysandros. ‘Even you weren’t as clever as you reckoned. You thought you had it all sussed, didn’t you? But she saw through you, and oh, what a story she’s going to get out of it, Achilles!’
Lysandros didn’t move. He seemed to have been turned to stone.
Nikator swung his attention around to Petra.
‘Not that you’ve been so clever yourself, my dear deluded sister.’
Estelle gave a little shriek and Homer grabbed his son.
‘That’s enough,’ he snapped. ‘Leave here at once.’
But Nikator threw him off again. Possessed by bitter fury, he could defy even his father. He went closer to Petra, almost hissing in her face.
‘He’s a fool if he believed you, but you’re a fool if you believed him. There are a hundred women in this room right now who trusted him and discovered their mistake too late. You’re just another.’
