by Anne Mather
Dallas felt her cheeks burning now. She wanted to turn and run but she was forced to remain.
‘Yes, Madame,’ she murmured, stiffening her shoulders. ‘Well, this being so, and knowing his innate generosity, I cannot help but fear that you might read more into his concern for yourself than is actually implied by his actions.’ She rushed on, as she saw Dallas’s expression, ‘My dear, it’s you I am thinking about, please believe me. Alexander once made the fatal mistake of marrying the wrong woman; I do not intend that he should be denied this second chance of happiness with the only woman he has ever loved. ’
‘Helen Neroulos,’ Dallas supplied automatically.
‘Of course, Helen.’ Madame Stavros smiled to herself. ‘She is perfect for him in every way; her family and ours have been friends and neighbours for generations. She has known Alexander since he was a child, they practically grew up together, and it was always taken for granted that they would eventually marry.’ Madame Stavros’s face darkened. ‘Then Anna Syros came along and ruined everything!’ Her voice was harsh. ‘I had no love for my son’s dead wife. I cannot pretend to have any. She was not the kind of woman to ever marry. Maybe if Alexander had loved her things would have been different, but as it was . . .’ Her voice trailed away, and as though remembering to whom she was speaking, she changed the subject. ‘So Alexander and Helen will be back here tomorrow, and I thought I should try and explain a little of what I hope to happen. ’
‘Oh, you’ve made everything perfectly clear,’ said Dallas stiffly, feeling slightly sick. How dared this woman sit here and calmly tell her, in so many words, that her son was not interested in her, Dallas? Even though Dallas knew it for the truth, it had not been necessary to underline it. Dallas wanted to cry very badly. Never in her life had she felt so small. How dared Madame Stavros summon her here and warn her off Alexander? As though it was necessary! What did she expect Dallas to do? Play the femme fatale and distract his attention from his oh-so-perfect fiancee, or almost-fiancee!
Madame Stavros rose to her feet, and Dallas got up too, even though her legs felt as weak as water. But she tightened the hold she was keeping on her emotions, and said: ‘Is that all, Madame?’
Madame Stavros looked at her intently. ‘You think all this was unnecessary, don’t you?’ she said surprisingly. Dallas twisted her hands together. ‘Frankly, yes! ’
‘Then ask yourself why you are feeling so upset now,’ said Madame Stavros coldly, turning away.
Dallas waited to hear no more. She turned and fled out of the villa, as though the devil himself was at her heels.
The tears were streaming down Dallas’s cheeks as she ran unheedingly through the trees towards the chalet. There had been so much pent-up emotion during the last few months, and suddenly it had all broken free of the control she had maintained so rigidly. She didn’t hear her name being called, or hear footsteps behind her, until strong hands halted that wild abandonment of feeling, and someone hauled her roughly round, and she felt the hard strength of a man’s body close against her own. She was sobbing uncontrollably, and for a moment she clung to her captor, not caring who he was, but experiencing an overwhelming sense of security in his arms. Then she pushed him away and looked up into the dark face of Alexander Stavros.
‘Alex,’ she whispered uncomprehendingly, ‘but you ... you’re in Athens!’
‘Was in Athens,’ he corrected her softly. ‘And it seems it is high time I came home. What in hell has been going on here?’
Dallas took a deep breath, as full realisation of what had just occurred came back to her. She noticed, inconsequently, that he had shaved off his beard, and then she shook her head wildly, and rubbed a childish hand across the tears on her cheeks.
‘Tell me,’ he insisted, still gripping her upper arms with hard fingers.
Dallas shook her head again. ‘I’m sorry. I was behaving quite ridiculously.’ She straightened. ‘Ha ... have you just arrived?’
‘Dallas! ’ he muttered savagely. ‘Forget about me. What has been going on? I mean to know, one way or another. ’
Dallas bent her head, suddenly remembering Helen Neroulos. ‘You—your mother says you’re bringing a visitor with you,’ she began shakily. ‘Wh ... where is she? I hope she doesn’t imagine this happens every day.’ She gave a short humourless laugh.
‘Dallas! Alexander’s eyes were dangerously intent upon her. ‘Please, Dallas, tell me what happened.’
‘Nothing happened, nothing at all,’ said Dallas quickly. ‘Let me go, please. I must go and wash my face before the others come back.’
Alexander released her reluctantly, his eyes dark and angry. And then they both became aware that they had a spectator. A woman had walked slowly through the trees towards them, and had halted several yards away, watching them with interested eyes.
Dallas rubbed her cheeks defiantly, and glanced across at the stranger. This must be Helen Neroulos, she thought, feeling a sharp pain in her stomach.
Helen Neroulos was tall, taller even than Dallas, with a slender willowy figure. Her black hair was short, and dung to her head like a cap of ebony, while her dark skin had been tanned deeply by the hot African sun. She was quite beautiful, in a purely classic way, high arched cheekbones moulding a face that would change little with age. She was dressed in slacks and a silk, sleeveless blouse, both in dark green, which suited her dark colouring. A vivid string of fuchsia beads contrasted with her otherwise sombre attire, giving her a startlingly oriental appearance. Dallas hunched her shoulders a little. She ought to have known that the girl Alexander Stavros was expected to marry could be nothing less than extraordinary.
Alexander studied her deliberately for a few moments longer, and then said: ‘Alright, Dallas, we’ll talk about this later. Right now I want you to meet a friend of mine, Helen Neroulos. Helen, this is Dallas Collins, Jane’s sister.’ Helen Neroulos did not shake hands. Instead, she nodded rather languidly, and said:
‘Darling, I think it would be more kind to introduce me to Miss Collins later. She seems a little ... how shall I put it ... disturbed. ’
Dallas felt she could not stand any more patronising. She was sick of it all; sick of the pretence, and the deliberate manoeuvring, and tired of feeling inferior.
Without a backward glance, she turned and walked quickly away and reaching the sanctuary of her chalet; she entered swiftly, closing the door and turning the key for the first time. Then she heaved a deep breath. This was terrible, and much worse than anything she had ever experienced before. She had made a complete fool of herself, and she felt furiously angry with Alexander Stavros for coming back like that, so unexpectedly, and finding her in such a state. She wanted to pack her cases and leave immediately, and never see any of them ever again, but of course that was impossible. Oh God, she thought wearily. Had she managed to convince Jane that things were not so black for her, only to find her own life impossible? She thought longingly of the steady, uncomplicated existence she had shared with Charles in London. He had never seemed so remote or so understanding. She forgot for a moment his attitude towards Jane, and remembered only the good things; the quiet evenings in the flat, Saturdays at Maidenhead; they all seemed like life on another planet from this distance.
Sighing, she walked through to the bathroom. Maybe a shower would help shed her depression. The lukewarm water cooled her hot skin, and she got Charles’s character slowly back into perspective. All her emotional upheaval could not alter the fact that Alexander Stavros was a man, in every sense of the word, and the attraction she felt for him was fast becoming more than a physical thing. Oh, yes, she had to admit it now that she had seen him again; she was attracted to him. What had begun as resentment of his arrogance had turned to a soul-destroying desire to make him wholly aware of her as a woman, as he had been that night at the Temple of Lexa.
She stepped out of the shower angrily. She was breathing quickly, as though she had been running, and there was a feeling of panic invading her being. This was terribl
e, she thought desperately. Surely the fact that he had kissed her that night before he left proved what kind of man he was! Could she still find herself attracted to him, knowing that that old-fashioned word ‘intentions’ only pointed to dangerous situations? She wrapped the towel round her, and went into her bedroom to find some clean clothes. She, who had found it so easy to criticise Jane, was acting quite ridiculously, even if only in her own thoughts. It just would not do. If he once discovered her weakness she would be lost completely.
Her thoughts turned to Helen Neroulos. She was certainly more the kind of woman he preferred—elegant, soignee, and intelligent, too. That was indeed a rare and stimulating combination. If they did marry and raise a family the children could not fail to inherit both good looks and brains. The wonder of it was that they had waited so long after Anna’s death.
Depression settled on Dallas like a cloud. By the time Jane returned, Paula, Andrea, and Georges having returned to the villa, she was seated outside on the patio, reading a magazine, but she felt utterly dejected.
Jane studied her thoughtfully. ‘You look glum! What’s up?’
Dallas shrugged her shoulders. ‘Nothing. Oh, by the way, Mr. Stavros has returned.’
‘Alexander?’
‘Yes, that’s right. I ... er ... I had tea with Madame Stavros this afternoon. She sent for me. She told me that he was returning tomorrow and that he was bringing Helen Neroulos with him. She was the woman to whom he was engaged before he married Anna Syros.’
‘Oh yes,’ said Jane airily. ‘I know all about her. Andrea has told me. She’s a doctor, isn’t she? Andrea said she was coming home from Africa, but he didn’t say when.’ She grimaced. ‘Is that all Madame said? I wonder why she considered it necessary to inform us? I mean, we don’t have much to do with them now, do we?’
Dallas avoided Jane’s eyes. ‘I expect she thought we ought to keep up to date with the visitors to the villa. After all, we do live in the grounds.’
‘Y ... e ... s,’ Jane shrugged. ‘Is that what’s depressing you?’
‘What?’
‘The fact that Stavros is coming back tomorrow?’
‘Oh no.’ Dallas spoke quickly. ‘Anyway, I told you, he’s back today, unexpectedly.’
‘You’ve seen him?’
‘Actually, yes.’
‘Ah!’ Jane sounded interested.
‘Don’t read anything into that,’ snapped Dallas, aware that she was behaving childishly. ‘In any case, you’re late. You ought to be more careful, really, Jane. You’ll be overdoing things again.’
‘Don’t go on,’ returned Jane irritatedly. ‘I’ve told you, I don’t particularly care what happens!’
‘You don’t mean that!’
‘Don’t I?’ Jane flounced into the chalet and Dallas sighed. Was life ever going to be normal for either of them again?
Dallas and Jane ate dinner as usual in the chalet. Their table was drop-leaf, and set beneath the wide windows, from where they could see the curve of the shoreline, and the surging waves on the beach. They had grown used to Greek food, which was superbly cooked in the villa kitchens and brought to them on grill-burners by Yanni. Only Jane had had a slight stomach upset, and this was due, Dallas thought, to her pregnancy. All in all, she had suffered little with the usual sickness associated with pregnancy in its early stages.
This evening, they were both silent as they ate the meal. Jane was annoyed with Dallas for taking too concerned an interest in her condition, and Dallas was furious with herself for becoming engrossed in emotional things.
They were drinking their second cup of coffee when Dallas saw a tall figure walking swiftly through the trees towards their chalet. Even in the gloom it was unmistakable for her; it was Alexander Stavros.
Immediately she became conscious that she had not pinned up her hair but that instead it was loose about her shoulders. After her shower she had combed it out and as she had expected to see no one except perhaps Andrea that evening she had not bothered to fasten it in its knot. Also the dress she was wearing, an old printed cotton of Jane’s, was much too short, and her legs were bare. Jane looked at her strangely. ‘It’s Stavros,’ she said clearly. ‘ I wonder what he wants. ’
Dallas shook her head. ‘I wonder.’
Jane rose to greet him as he reached the entrance to the chalet.
‘Come in,’ she said, smiling. ‘Did you have a good trip?’ He entered, and Dallas studied her coffee cup intently, refusing to look at him, knowing how he would look in a dark dinner jacket
and trousers cut narrowly to fit his legs. He smiled at Jane, his eyes flickering to Dallas compulsively. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I had a good trip, if a tiring one. And you? How are you?’
‘As well as can be expected,’ she answered tartly. “Isn’t that what I’m supposed to say?’
He shrugged his broad shoulders, his lean face mirroring his absorption with his thoughts. Then he turned to Dallas. ‘I want to talk to you,’ he said bleakly. ‘Alone.’
The record-player was going at the villa tonight, and the sounds of music came plainly over the space between the two dwellings. Dallas could hear the melancholy strains of one of those flowing Ionian cantades, a lover’s serenade that still had the power to disturb the senses to an awareness of the warmth of the night air, and the multitudinous scents of the flowers. She looked at Alexander without really wanting to, and found his eyes dark and inscrutable upon her.
‘I ... I don’t think we have anything to say to one another,’ she stammered awkwardly, while Jane stood by, amazed, and marvelling that her calm-and-collected sister should fall apart just because of one man’s eyes. This was a side of Dallas she had not known existed, and she felt an overwhelming sense of responsibility suddenly.
‘Dallas is tired, Mr. Stavros,’ she said, moving forward.
Stavros barely glanced at her. ‘So am I,’ he muttered coldly. ‘I have had exactly seven hours’ sleep in seventy-two hours.’
Dallas stood up hastily. ‘ Surely anything you have to say can be said in front of Jane.’
‘No. Come, the car is outside. I will take you driving.’
‘But I’m not ready,’ exclaimed Dallas. ‘My hair . . .’
‘You look perfectly all right to me,’ he replied, taking her arm with hard fingers. ‘Come, I am neglecting my guests.’
‘And that will never do,’ murmured Dallas softly, and knew that he had heard by the indrawn breath, and the cruel tightening of his hand on her arm. The suppressed violence about him tonight should have frightened her, but it didn’t, it excited her.
Dallas looked at Jane. ‘Will you be all right?’ she asked.
Jane shook her head. ‘I guess so. Will you?’
Dallas turned back to Alexander Stavros. ‘All right, I’ll come with you. So long as we don’t take too long.’
‘That is understood,’ he remarked coldly. ‘I also want to sleep tonight. ’
Tonight he was driving a dark limousine, a luxurious continental car, that was as soft and comfortable as an armchair to ride in. Dallas slid into her seat, glancing about her. The car was parked near the front entrance to the villa, but apart from the music there was no sign of activity there. Alexander got in beside her, glanced her way once, and then started the powerful engine.
He did not speak as he drove away from the villa, taking a road which Dallas had not been on before. It was little more than a track, and wound away up into the hills in the centre of the island. Here the pines grew thickly, and encroached on to the narrow road. It proved to Dallas that the island was much bigger than she had at first imagined, and this area was possibly used by shooting parties, requiring a day’s hunting. There were plenty of birds around, and she supposed they held seasons the same as everyone else.
Her supposition seemed to be proved correct when after a while Alexander brought the car through a gap in the trees, and she saw a pine-logged building, which seemed to be a shooting lodge. Her nerves, distraught as she was, were not hel
ped by this discovery, and she wondered why he had brought her here.
Alexander stopped the car, turned off the engine, and slid out, unbuttoning his collar, and taking off the dress tie he had been wearing.
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘We’ll have a drink.’
Dallas swallowed hard, hesitated a moment longer, and then climbed out. It was cool up here, and she wished she had brought a cardigan with her. Alexander Stavros was unlocking the door of the cabin, and he pushed it open and went inside. A few moments later a light appeared, and she saw through the window that he had lit two oil lamps. He had also put a match to some logs which had been laid ready in the enormous fireplace, and she could see flames leaping up the chimney. It was a warming and welcoming sight, and Dallas went timidly across the slatted verandah into the beamed-ceilinged room.
Stavros glanced round. ‘Shut the door,’ he said. ‘You’ll soon begin to feel warm again. ’
He seemed to be able to read her thoughts, she thought weakly, and closed the door carefully, without making a sound. Then she moved a little nearer the flames. Already she was beginning to feel warmer, and in consequence more relaxed.
He walked across to a cocktail cabinet, which stood in one corner. Made of small wooden barrels, it blended perfectly with its surroundings, despite the otherwise sporting aspects of the room. Several guns were mounted on the walls, while a selection of fishing rods stood in one corner. The furniture was all leather, and looked well-worn and comfortable. It was a man’s room, and she guessed that few women had ever been here.
He poured her a drink, a tall glass filled with a pale green liquid, and she looked distrustingly at it when he handed it to her. ‘Don’t be alarmed,’ he remarked dryly. ‘It’s mainly lime, but it’s combined with vodka. I think you’ll find it quite enjoyable.’ He poured himself a tall glass of lemon juice and Dallas stared at it in astonishment.
He half smiled, albeit a trifle sardonically. ‘If I drink anything alcoholic I should probably pass out,’ he remarked lazily. ‘Feeling as tired as I do I daren’t risk it.’
