Innocent Obsession

by Anne Mather

  Leon divulged this information over lunch, which they took on the terrace at the back of the house, overlooking the sunlit waters of the swimming pool. Nikos was with them, but otherwise they were alone, Leon’s father having departed for the office to join his eldest son, and his mother having a previous engagement. The two girls, Marina and Persephone, did not make an appearance, and Sylvie welcomed the opportunity to talk with Leon in private.

  Nikos, who was still inclined to treat the proposed trip to the islands with a certain lack of conviction, grew quite animated at the prospect of flying in a helicopter, and questioned his father extensively about the flight and how long it would take. Watching Leon explain the answers to his son, Sylvie felt more relaxed than she had done for several days, and she began to anticipate the coming weeks with something more than apprehension. Leon was such a nice man, and she enjoyed his company, and for someone who had just suffered a serious operation, he was amazingly unconcerned about his own health. It was strange, but only now had Leon taken on a personality of his own. Until the day before, he had been Margot’s husband, nothing more, but suddenly he was a person in his own right, and Sylvie found herself liking him more and more.

  The car was summoned to take her back to Andreas’s apartment after lunch. Nikos was taken away to have a nap, and Leon admitted that he, too, was obliged to rest during the long hot afternoons.

  ‘Please come again tomorrow,’ he urged her, as he bade her goodbye. ‘Unless you’d prefer to go sightseeing. The Acropolis should not be missed.’

  ‘I can see the Acropolis some other time,’ averred Sylvie firmly, and his tired yet grateful image remained with her all the way back to the apartment.

  Madame Kuriakis let her into the apartment, then disappeared about her own business. Sylvie, beginning to feel the effects of the heat, was glad to retire to her own room, and did not awaken until she heard someone knocking at her door.

  ‘Sylvie?’ called a youthful voice. ‘Sylvie! It’s Marina. Can I come in?’

  ‘Oh—of course.’

  Sylvie struggled up on her pillows, blinking in the shaft of sunlight that entered the room when the door was opened. She drew the silken coverlet up to her chin, having removed the cotton dress she had been wearing before she lay down, for although Marina was a young member of her own sex, she doubted she would feel comfortable seeing Sylvie half naked.

  ‘Kalispera, Sylvie,’ Marina greeted her smilingly, entering the room. ‘I thought you might be awake. Would you like some tea? Madame Kuriakis is just making some.’

  Sylvie smiled in return and nodded. ‘I’d love a cup, thanks,’ she accepted, running a rueful hand over the tangled length of her hair. ‘Have I slept long? My watch appears to have stopped.’

  ‘It is twenty-eight minutes after five o’clock,’ said Marina precisely, after checking her own wrist. ‘You must have been tired, Sylvie. Madame Kuriakis tells me you have been sleeping since three o’clock.’

  Sylvie grimaced. ‘Yes, I suppose I have.’ She shrugged ‘I got up quite early this morning. Perhaps it was too early.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’ Marina stood looking down at her, her hands linked demurely in front of her. ‘You made yourself some tea, did you not? Madame Kuriakis told me.’

  Sylvie chewed on her lower lip. ‘Was she very cross? Madame Kuriakis, I mean. I was so thirsty, you see.’

  ‘She was—surprised,’ replied Marina cautiously. ‘It is not usual for one of my brother’s guests to prepare her own breakfast.’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t do that,’ exclaimed Sylvie, shaking her head. ‘I—I had a roll and some coffee later—with—with Andreas.’ She paused, before adding: ‘I don’t think he was too pleased either.’

  Marina made a moue. ‘Andreas’s guests are not usually female,’ she remarked indifferently, and Sylvie knew an uneasy pang of excitement at the realisation that she would soon be seeing Andreas again. Perhaps he was already home, she thought, and her fingers tightened on the concealing coverlet. All day she had succeeded in keeping thoughts of him at bay, but Marina’s casual words had rekindled her awareness of the feelings he had aroused inside her, and she couldn’t wait to discover whether they had been the result of an overcharged imagination.

  ‘Is—is your brother home?’ she asked now, in what she hoped was a careless tone, then knew a momentary depression when Marina shook her head.

  ‘Andreas is dining with a business associate this evening,’ she told Sylvie smilingly. ‘But my brother Michael and his wife have invited us to dine with them, and afterwards they thought you might like to visit the Acropolis by moonlight.’

  Sylvie squashed the sense of disappointment she was feeling, and forced a smile. ‘That was very kind of them,’ she answered formally, and Marina looked pleased.

  ‘It is the least we can do, when you have been kind enough to come and look after Nikos,’ she said. ‘Now, put on your robe, and come and have some tea. Then we can discuss the arrangements for this evening.’

  Over tea, Marina was disposed to gossip, and Sylvie heard all about Persephone’s current boy-friend, whose family it appeared were not as well-to-do as the Petronides.

  ‘Papa is so afraid we girls are married because of the money we expect to inherit, and not for ourselves,’ she remarked, with wry candour. ‘Christina and Diana are both married to the sons of other shipping families, so they are safe, but Persephone and myself must be constantly on our guard, particularly after—well,’ she coloured slightly, ‘you can understand, I am sure.’

  ‘Leon,’ said Sylvie dryly, and Marina looked a little discomfited.

  ‘He has not had a happy marriage,’ she admitted with a sigh, and Sylvie nodded.

  Then, choosing her words carefully, she said: ‘Hasn’t Andreas ever wanted to get married? I mean—your other brothers are all married, aren’t they?’

  ‘Except Loukas,’ Marina agreed, frowning. ‘But Loukas is only nineteen. He is more interested in fast cars than fast women.’ She giggled.

  Sylvie put down her teacup, wondering how she could bring the conversation back to Andreas, but it was unnecessary. Marina did it for her, cradling her teacup between her hands, and gazing thoughtfully into space.

  ‘Andreas was going to marry Eleni,’ she said reflectively, and the muscles in Sylvie’s stomach tightened unpleasantly. ‘You know Eleni, do you not? You met her last evening.’ And after Sylvie had nodded, she went on: ‘But he waited too long, and she married someone else.’

  ‘Eleni is married!’ Sylvie couldn’t prevent the instinctive exclamation, but Marina was already shaking her head.

  ‘No longer,’ she said regretfully. ‘Her husband died last year. Eleni is a widow now, and since Giorgios’s death, Andreas has been most attentive.’

  Sylvie hesitated. ‘And—and do you think he intends to marry her?’ she ventured, with faint contempt at her own inquisitiveness, but Marina seemed not to notice.

  ‘Who knows?’ she said, with a shrug. ‘Perhaps.’ She turned teasing eyes in Sylvie’s direction. ‘Who knows what a man like Andreas will do? He is old enough to make his own decisions. Too old for you and me to understand his reasoning, I suspect.’

  Sylvie bent her head. ‘How—er—how old is he?’ she asked, casually, reaching for her cup again, and Marina smiled.

  ‘Thirty-four,’ she said. ‘He’ll be thirty-five at the end of September. Why?’ Her eyes danced. ‘Do you find him attractive, too?’

  Sylvie’s colour deepened, but she didn’t pretend to be indifferent. ‘He’s an attractive man,’ she replied, giving the Greek girl a steady look. ‘What girl wouldn’t be aware of it?’

  Marina grimaced. ‘Well, do not let him hurt you, Sylvie.’ She paused. ‘Not that I think he would. He must appreciate, as we do, that he is much too old for you. And besides,’ she moved her shoulders dismissingly, ‘you are unlikely to see him again, once you leave for Monastiros.’

  Sylvie slept less well that night, and it was the conversation she had had with Marina
that kept her in that shallow state between sleeping and waking. The evening they had spent with Michael and his wife, Luci, had been very pleasant. After dinner they had driven up to the Acropolis, and Sylvie knew she would never forget the thrill of walking through the columns of the Propylaea or standing before the crumbling ruins of the Parthenon. It didn’t matter that some of the buildings had had to be closed, owing to the effects of air pollution, or that the throng of tourists made a mockery of its sanctuary. It was still a magnificent example of architecture, over two thousand years old, and as awe-inspiring now as it had ever been.

  Once again, Andreas had not been home when they arrived back at the apartment, and after sharing a pot of coffee, Sylvie and Marina had gone to bed. But not to sleep, so far as Sylvie was concerned. She was still awake when the lift came whining up to the penthouse floor of the apartment building, and she heard Andreas’s key being inserted in the lock, and his eventual progress to his bedroom.

  No doubt because of her disturbed night, she overslept the next morning, and by the time she had dragged herself out of bed and put her clothes on it was after nine o’clock. Examining her reflection in the mirror of the dressing table, Sylvie had to admit she looked as if she had had a heavy night, and her lips twisted wryly at this erroneous connotation. Dining with Andreas’s brother and his wife had been enjoyable, but she couldn’t help wondering if Andreas would have dined with his business associate if he had thought they would be on their own. It was a hypothetical question, and one which hardly deserved an answer. After all, it was not Andreas’s task to entertain her, only to accommodate her, and he would probably rather not do that either, she reflected, with sudden perversity.

  She spent the morning with Leon and Nikos again, Marina phoning for a car to take them to the Petronides house after they had had breakfast. Sylvie, expecting her to call a taxi, was sorry when Spiro arrived to escort them. Somehow, living in such a cloistered atmosphere, kept one apart from any real experience of Athens, but when she voiced her objections to Leon later he was quick to point out the advantages.

  ‘Surely you would not dismiss the air-conditioned luxury of the Mercedes in favour of some ramshackle conveyance!’ he protested. ‘While it is my belief that Athens is one of the most beautiful cities in the world, I am not blind to its shortcomings, and I doubt you would really choose the garlic-scented breath of some old taxitzis to the comfort of a chauffeur-driven limousine.’

  ‘At home, I should probably travel on the bus,’ retorted Sylvie shortly, pushing her hands into the pockets of her jeans, which she had brought in spite of Margot’s warning. ‘Why couldn’t we use public transport? I mean, aside from its evident lack of convenience, it is the only way to see the city.’

  Leon smiled a little wryly. ‘It has been my experience that such ideas generally do not achieve their objective. Do you think a Greek would not know that you were a stranger in his country? The way you look—the way you dress—these things all proclaim that you are not Greek—–’

  ‘What’s wrong with the way I dress?’ Sylvie was instantly defensive, and Leon laughed.

  ‘Nothing, nothing,’ he assured her warmly. ‘Believe me, I like the way you look. I like your clothes, and I like the way your hair hangs, so smooth and straight. And I also like the way you are not afraid to speak up for yourself. This shows your independence.’ He paused. ‘But you must have noticed the differences between Marina and yourself. For instance, she would never dream of wearing trousers for an evening engagement, as you did two nights ago. I doubt if she possesses a pair of jeans, such as you are wearing now. Greek girls are more conservative in their dress—more—–’

  ‘—feminine?’ suggested Sylvie tautly, and Leon laid a gentle hand on her arm.

  ‘Of course not,’ he averred, his eyes tender. ‘You are a very feminine little lady, Sylvie, as I am sure you are aware. But it is this, as much as anything, which would set you apart.’

  Sylvie sighed. ‘You make me feel self-conscious.’

  ‘That was not my intention,’ Leon smiled. ‘But do not doubt that you would attract attention, wherever you went, and believe me, that can be a most unpleasant experience.’

  Sylvie nodded. ‘I suppose you’re right. I just wish—–’

  ‘What? That you could see more of my city?’ Leon sighed. ‘I wish I could show it to you.’ His face darkened. ‘Perhaps—one day.’

  Sylvie bit her lip, feeling suddenly contrite. Here she had been bemoaning the fact that she wasn’t being allowed the freedom to get about as she willed, while Leon had to listen to her, knowing the bitterness of his own limitations.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said impulsively. ‘I wish you could show it to me, too. Perhaps, after your recuperation—–’

  ‘Perhaps,’ agreed Leon, squeezing her arm before letting her go, and Sylvie determined not to be so selfish again.

  To everyone’s apparent astonishment, Andreas arrived at about one o’clock. Lunch was about to be served, on the terrace as before, but this time Madame Petronides and Persephone had joined them. The two Greek women gazed at the newcomer with some perplexity, and his mother’s brow furrowed as Andreas bent to kiss her cheek. Sylvie, watching him, thought what a marked contrast there was between him and Leon. Although Andreas was not heavily built, his lean body rippled with muscle, and as he bent over the table, the buttons of his shirt strained across his taut stomach. Leon, on the other hand, was all skin and bone, with the angularity that came from prolonged illness. If only she could help him to recover, Sylvie thought urgently, then what she was doing might be proved worthwhile.

  Andreas’s eyes flickered round the table, resting for a moment on her determined young face. His eyes, narrowed against the glare of the sun, seemed to linger longer than was necessary, Sylvie felt, still wrapped up in her thoughts of devoting herself to Leon’s recovery, and although it couldn’t possibly be so, he seemed to define her inner dedication. The fact that it seemed to find no approval in his estimation aroused Sylvie’s indignation, but before she could exhibit her resentment, Nikos had slid down from his seat and rushed round the table to his uncle’s side.

  ‘Thios Andreas, Thios Andreas!’ he exclaimed excitedly. ‘Do you know what Sylvie says we are going to do? We are going to make sand pies on the beach, and sand castles, and paddle in the water, and even look for shells, if there are rock pools!’

  ‘One moment, Nikos.’ Andreas stayed the boy’s eager chatter. ‘Who gave you permission to call Aunt Sylvana Sylvie?’

  ‘I did,’ said Sylvie immediately, her face a little pink even so. ‘Does it matter?’ She glanced at Nikos’s father. ‘Leon doesn’t mind.’

  Andreas took the chair a servant had placed for him beside his mother, and held the boy between his knees. ‘So—–’ he said, without answering her, ‘you are happy now to be going to Monastiros, Nikos?’

  ‘Oh, yes!’ The little boy was eager, and after a few moments Andreas smiled at him.

  ‘That is good. I am pleased. It will do you—good, I am sure.’

  ‘You will come and visit us there, will you not, thios?’ Nikos asked anxiously, and Sylvie waited with bated breath for Andreas’s reply.

  But it was Leon who answered his son, his tone faintly weary as the effort of maintaining a social attitude got the better of him. ‘Of course he will, Nikos,’ he retorted tiredly. ‘Why should he not? It is his home, after all.’

  Sylvie was still digesting this when the meal was over, and the various members of the family were dispersing about their own affairs. Leon’s nurse had arrived to wheel him away for his rest, but before he left, he had the man propel his chair to Sylvie’s side.

  ‘We leave for the airport at eleven o’clock tomorrow morning,’ he told her gently. ‘This time tomorrow we will be arriving at the island. Nikos, I know, cannot wait, and I find I, too, grow more impatient by the minute.’

  Sylvie smiled. ‘Until tomorrow, then.’

  ‘Tha idhothoume avrio!’ Leon answered warmly, and as
the male nurse wheeled him away, Andreas’s shadow fell across the chair on which she was sitting.

  ‘Come,’ he said, without preamble. ‘I will drive you back to the apartment.’

  Sylvie caught her lower lip between her teeth. ‘It’s not necessary,’ she said, even though her senses had automatically stirred at the sight of him. ‘I—I believe Spiro is going to take me.’

  ‘I will take you,’ returned Andreas, putting his hand beneath her elbow and levering her to her feet. ‘Say farewell to my mother. It may be some weeks before you see her again.’

  Sylvie’s jaw tightened, but she did as she was told, approaching the older woman tentatively and offering her goodbyes. ‘I’m sorry if my coming here has been a disappointment to you, madame,’ she said, by way of an apology. ‘I can only assure you I’ll do everything I can to keep Nikos happy.’

  Madame Petronides hesitated. ‘So long as you appreciate that as soon as more satisfactory arrangements can be made, your services will not be required, thespinis,’ she said succinctly, her dark eyes sharp with disapproval, and Sylvie caught her breath.

  ‘You don’t imagine I want to stay here indefinitely, do you, madame?’ she exclaimed indignantly. ‘I—I—am going to university in the autumn. Being Nikos’s nursemaid is not the height of my ambitions, I can assure you!’

  ‘I am pleased to hear it.’ Madame Petronides was infuriatingly tranquil. ‘However, I have to say that your sister seemed more than ready to give up her ambitions to marry Leon, and you might consider a wealthy husband sufficient compensation for an uncertain future.’

  Sylvie gasped. ‘If you think that I am interested in Andreas, madame—–’

  ‘Andreas! Andreas!’ Madame Petronides could not have looked more amused. ‘My dear child, I have no fears of Andreas getting involved with someone so—unsuitable. No. No, I meant Leon, of course. He has already proved himself vulnerable.’