Scylla’s passion for Minos became so great that one night she crept into her father’s chamber and cut off the lock. Then she secretly left the city, made her way to Minos’s tent and offered him the strand of purple hair, with her undying love.
Minos, being a chivalrous King, refused to take it, gave King Nisus honourable terms and spurned Scylla, telling her that he would not demean himself by having anything to do with a woman capable of betraying her country.
For a moment, Robbie imagined himself in the place of Minos. He thought of the satisfaction he would derive from having Stephanie clinging to his knees and beseeching him to make love to her, then breaking her evil heart by haughtily thrusting her from him.
But the cases were not parallel. Stephanie did not love him. She had exerted all her charm and woman’s guile on him only to lead him to confide in her; so that she could pass on his intentions to unscrupulous men who, it seemed, were now prepared to go even to the length of killing him. Far, far from loving him, she probably despised him for not even having had the courage to make a pass at her, when for these past weeks she had been in such a situation that, if she were to keep her job with her employers, she would have been put in a spot had she shown her resentment at his attentions.
It then struck Robbie that Minos had behaved like a fool. It was said that Scylla had been a very beautiful girl. Why, before throwing her out, had he not had the sense to enjoy himself with her? The humiliation earned her by her treachery would afterwards have been all the greater.
Robbie took a swift, sideways glance at Stephanie. There she was, in height barely up to his shoulder. But a fine, strong, square-shouldered little figure with a beautiful bust and broad hips that curved gracefully away under the thin skirt she was was wearing to legs having perfect proportions.
‘Why not?’ he thought. ‘Why not? It would give her something to remember me by. It would teach her a lesson for life; that even poor simple devils like myself are not to be trifled with.’
By that time they had reached their pool. With a smile over her shoulder, Stephanie disappeared into the clump of bushes behind which she always changed into her bathing things. Robbie went behind another clump some ten yards distant. His mind in a ferment, he tore off his clothes, but did not put on his swimming trunks. For a few minutes he stood there with his heart throbbing wildly. He could feel it beating like a hammer under his ribs. From experience gained during their previous bathes he knew how long Stephanie took to get undressed. Imbued with inflexible purpose, he suddenly strode towards the other clump of bushes.
At a glance, he saw that he had timed things perfectly. Stephanie had fastened on her white satin top but was only in the act of stepping into her bathing skirt.
The sound of his approaching footsteps crunching twigs and dead leaves caused her to look up. As she saw him advancing on her, she uttered a low cry, tripped on the garment into which she had put one foot, and staggered sideways. Next moment he was upon her.
With one hand he ripped the bikini-top from her breasts; the other hand he flung round her waist. Her blue eyes, distended by shock and fright, stared into his. Jerking herself backward, she attempted to break away from him, but his grip on her waist was firm. With a sudden movement, he drew her to him, forcing her body against his. Then his head came downward and his mouth fastened greedily upon hers. She wrenched her face sideways, but his devouring lips fastened on her neck below the chin. Another moment, and one of his legs had curled round hers. Under the pressure, her knees gave and she fell backward. Robbie came down on top of her, temporarily driving the breath from her body.
‘No, Robbie, no!’ she managed to gasp. ‘Not like this!’ Then she suddenly relaxed, gave a little moan, and offered no further resistance.
In less than a minute it was all over. At one moment he had been smothering her face with kisses, the next he had thrust himself away from her and was up on his knees. Sobbing for breath, he lurched to his feet and staggered away towards the bushes where he had left his clothes.
As he collapsed beside them, he was conscious of bitter disappointment. Apart from the softness of her lips under that first, snatched kiss and the delicious feeling of her warm, satin-like skin against his, seizing her like that had given him no pleasure.
Then, within a few moments, a reaction set in to the urge he had felt. Because she had turned out to be a secret agent that was no justification for treating her as though she were a whore. She was unmarried and had never given him the least reason to suppose that she was unchaste. However much she had lied to him had still given him no right to punish her by abusing her physically. It had been a swinish thing to do, and the very antithesis of the conduct of the paladins of chivalry, whom he had for so long admired.
Yet what was done was done. There could be no going back and seeking explanations. That, at least, he knew would have been futile, for there was no possible explanation by which she could have put herself right with him. She had been proved up to the hilt to be a whited sepulchre; fair-seeming without, but rotten as carrion within. There had had to be an end between them, and that it should have been in this fierce, vengeful way was, perhaps, the will of the ancient gods.
Some minutes later he heard a rustling of the bushes and, opening his eyes, saw Stephanie looking down on him. She was again fully dressed. Her face looked drawn and almost ugly, as tears had caused the mascara to run down from her eyelashes on to her cheeks.
‘Why …?’ she asked in a hoarse whisper. ‘Why did you do that to me, Robbie?’
Rolling over, he got the letter from the pocket of his jacket and, without a word, threw it towards her.
Picking it up, she ran her eye swiftly over it, nodded slowly, gave a sudden sob and murmured: ‘I see. Yes: now I understand.’ Turning away she left him, and with stricken heart he listened until the sound of her footsteps had faded away in the distance.
He continued to lie there for what seemed an eternity, tortured by thoughts that went round and round: the humiliation of having been so completely fooled by her; remorse for having behaved so brutally to her; agony at the thought that those happy days he had spent with her were gone for ever; then again anger at the way she had led him to look on her as the most wonderful person in the world.
At last he dressed and, still in a daze, walked back to the hotel, to find that it was long past lunchtime. He assumed that Stephanie would be leaving as soon as she could make arrangements to do so: perhaps that afternoon, but possibly not till next morning. In the latter case she would still be there for dinner, and for them to sit down to another meal together was out of the question. He was most reluctant to see her again and he could have left a message for her, saying that he intended to dine out at one of the smaller hotels down in the village, but conscience urged him to face the unpleasant task of apologising for the way he had treated her; so he walked along the corridor to her room.
He found the door ajar. He knocked, but there was no reply; so he went in. It was empty and the only sign that Stephanie had ever been there was some soiled face tissues on the dressing-table. Obviously she had already packed and gone. Walking over to the dressing table, he gently fingered the face tissues. A suggestion of her scent still lingered in the air, but the empty room struck him with a terrible air of finality. Tears welled up into his eyes but, with a curse, he suddenly swung about, marched out of the room and slammed the door behind him.
Going into his own room next door, he had a wash to freshen himself up. As he came out of the bathroom, his glance fell on the bedside table. Something was missing from it. Next moment, he realised what it was. He always kept his manuscript there, and it was gone. Only Stephanie could have taken it. Digging his nails into the palms of his hands, he slumped down on the bed. If anything could have added to his misery it was the loss of that bundle of papers which represented so many weeks of arduous work. She would have known that, and could have thought of no better way of revenging herself.
Yet, greatly as its loss inf
uriated him, it had one salutary effect. It enabled him to adjust his feelings towards her. In a way, the theft of the manuscript had evened up the score between them. It made him feel less guilty towards her, and enabled him to see her in a better perspective. He felt that he could now divorce in his mind the Stephanie in whose company he had enoyed so much happiness from the real woman who had tricked and robbed him. Given a little time, he would be able to remember the one with pleasure; but he would not be tormented by hopeless longings for her, because she had revealed herself as the other.
Suddenly, it occurred to him that the manuscript might not be the only thing she had taken. She might have made off with his passport and money and perhaps the car. Pulling out from under the bed the suitcase in which he kept his papers, he was relieved to find it still locked. On unlocking it, he found that his papers were intact. Leaving the room, he hurried downstairs and round to the garage, to find his fears again groundless. The Ford was out on the wash and one of the garage hands was hosing it down. He gave Robbie a friendly grin and said:
‘When I got back from running your young lady into Pirgos I thought I’d better give the car a going-over.’
That solved for Robbie the question of how and where Stephanie had gone; but he thought it unlikely that Pirgos was her destination. From the little station at Olympia, the trains were slow and infrequent, and to get to Athens she would have had to change at both Tripolis and Argos. On the other hand, by going to Pirgos, she would be able to take a fast train up the coast and round the gulf of Corinth direct to the capital.
For a few moments he speculated grimly on whether, when she made her final report to Krajcir, the Czech would realise that it was his writing that had given her away. Anyhow the ‘N’ of the letter, who was most probably the First Secretary, Nejedly, was going to be far from pleased when he learned that she had been winkled out of her job.
As Robbie walked back into the hotel, he suddenly remembered that he had intended to go into Pirgos himself that afternoon to try and take another set of photographs. It was too late to do so now; so it would have to be the next day, unless he reverted to his original intention, put it off for two more days and lessened the risk by making his attempt on Sunday. But would that now lessen the risk? No; on the contrary, Stephanie still thought that he had meant to wait the week out, and she would certainly let them know what she believed to be his intentions. Possibly, realising that, they would think it unlikely that he would stick to his plan; but, just in case he did, they would certainly not leave the place unguarded on Sunday, so it looked as though his chances would now be better during the siesta hours on any other day.
There was also the fact that the dispute over the submarine might just possibly lead to war. As Stephanie had been congratulated, in Krajcir’s letter, on spoiling the photographs, that was a clear indication that the Czechs had something to hide. What could that something be if not a warlike preparation? Therefore, he felt more strongly than ever that his impulse first thing that morning, to get the photographs with a minimum of delay, had been a sound one.
Having decided that he would make the attempt next day, he went into the lounge and found a Greek newspaper. It was full of the Soviet-American crisis, but as yet the Russians had made no further move. Putting it down, he reverted to considering his own situation. He was in half a mind to dine down in the village, so as to escape having to give some explanation to the Jacksons of Stephanie’s abrupt departure. But if he was to get those photographs, it would mean his staying in the hotel for at least another twenty-four hours. During that time he was certain to run into them; so it seemed better to face up to that rather than put himself to considerable inconvenience by taking all his main meals out.
When he met them at dinner, he announced at once that an unexpected call from Athens had necessitated his sending Stephanie off there to deal with an urgent business matter. He added that, in any case, he did not expect her back until after the week-end and that, if she proved unable to handle the affair for him, he would himself have to leave either the next night or on Saturday.
The Jacksons then insisted that he join them at their table. Much as he would have preferred to remain at his own, it was not in his nature to hurt the feelings of people who made kindly gestures towards him, and afterwards he was glad that he had accepted their invitation. Frank Jackson was a loquacious man; soignée Ursula Jackson also liked to air her views and Robbie had long been accustomed to the role of patient listener. In order to be able to make an occasional suitable comment, he had to take in what they were saying, and that kept his mind from the gloomy thoughts which would otherwise have occupied it. After dinner they continued their conversation over coffee and liqueurs in the lounge; so he went to bed much less harassed by memories, regrets and frustration than he would otherwise have been.
On the Friday morning, the very thought of going to the pool sent a wave of sickness through him, but he had somehow to get through the hours until the afternoon; so he decided to take the Ford out for a run. He had at first intended to hire one of the garage hands to drive him into Pirgos and back, but on second thoughts he did not see why he should not drive himself. There were no high cliffs with dangerous bends on the way and, as the town was not a big one, he felt confident that he would be able to get through the traffic safely. The only snag was that he had no licence. As long as Stephanie had been with him while he was driving they could, he thought, have got away with it, had a policeman pulled them up, by saying that he had taken the wheel only for a short lesson. Should he be challenged while alone in charge of the car, he would find himself in trouble; but he decided to chance that.
His morning’s spin on his own considerably increased his confidence, and after an early lunch he set out for Pirgos. At that hour the traffic in the town was at its lowest ebb; so he got through it without any difficulty, and by ten past two he halted the car at the side of the road alongside the group of tamarisks where, on his previous visit, Stephanie had waited for him. He then followed the same procedure of going down to the beach and walking slowly along it, stopping now and then as though he were collecting shells.
When he reached the wall of the ruined factory, he stood for a couple of minutes listening intently. No sound came to him, other than the gentle breaking of the surf on the shore; so it seemed that no work was at present in progress and that, as he had hoped, the Czechs had adopted the Greek custom of knocking off during the hottest hours of the day.
With high hopes now of succeeding in his intent, he walked quietly but quickly to the nearest gap in the wall. From some yards away, he saw that the barbed wire had been removed and the opening was in the process of being bricked up. A low wall about three feet high already filled the lower portion of the gap, and an unfinished row of bricks with still-fresh mortar below them showed that somebody had been working on it that morning.
Partially concealed by standing close up to the jagged edge of the original wall at one side of the gap, he cautiously peered round it. As he had supposed, all the machinery was at a standstill and, to his delight, no one was about. By stepping over the new low piece of wall, he had only to turn from side to side, so that his camera covered different sections of the yard, to take pictures that would show the whole of it. Taking out his camera, he took care not to knock the freshly laid top course of bricks, and stepped over into the yard. His camera clicked twice, then a whistle blew.
Next moment, men came running at him from all directions: from the little house, from sheds and from behind the big machine that had been installed near the derrick in the middle of the yard. Swivelling round, he dived for the gap in the wall. In his stride he put his foot down on the side of a square board on which there was a small mound of hardening mortar. His camera flew from his hand, and he fell across the length of newly made wall, dislodging half a dozen of the last-laid bricks.
Desperately he heaved himself upright, but only to find that two men had either been lying hidden in the long grass outside the wa
ll, or had just dashed round there from some other opening. As he faced them, one of them sprang at him, aiming a blow at his head with a stout length of wood. He raised his arm to parry the blow, but the men in the yard had now come up behind him. They seized him by the shoulders and swung him round. He found himself face to face with Barak. The face of the tall, good-looking Czech still carried a symbol of the pasting Robbie had given it. The bruises had disappeared, but his nose had been broken and was now slightly crooked. While two other men hung on to Robbie’s arms, Barak hit him again and again under the jaw until he slumped down unconscious.
21
Twelve Hours to Live
Robbie came to with a shock. A bucket of cold water had been dashed into his face to bring him round. His first sensation was only of a terrible pain in his chin and neck, as though the one had been broken and the other dislocated. Then, as his eyes focused, he saw Barak’s face still in front of, but now above, his. He realised then that he was sitting on a stout wooden chair and that his arms and legs were bound to it. As he painfully turned his head from side to side, he became aware that he was being regarded with cold curiosity or casual amusement by a number of men on both sides of Barak. He saw, too, that he was in a shed, facing its half-open door, but there was plenty of light because the sun was streaming down on him through a great hole in the roof.
When his eyes had been open for a few moments, Barak grabbed a handful of his shirt and tie and shook him, so that excruciating pains ran through his neck and head. But he heard him snarl in Czech: ‘Wake up! Wake up! I am impatient to talk to you.’
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