Apollo's Daughter

by Rebecca Stratton

  He indicated her abandoned shoes with a tilt of his head, but there was nothing censorious in the brown eyes, rather they seemed faintly amused. *Have you got something against those shoes?' he asked, and Bethany glanced at him from the corner of her eye before she answered him.

  'They hurt,' she told him. 'And they're not really me, they're—town shoes.'

  'Expensive ones, I would say.'

  They looked rather pathetic lying down there in the rubble, Bethany realised, and remembered how pleased she had been with them when they were bought. The recollection made her uneasy, so she shrugged as if the expense did not matter, unwilling to even hint that a sudden unreasoning hatred of the man who had bought them for her was the restson she rejected them.

  Quite accidentally she caught his eye for a moment.

  and the look she saw there sent a curious little shiver of sensation slipping along her spine. 'I'll collect them before I go home,' she said, as if it was of little consequence.

  Although she had again shifted her gaze to the shoes lying down in the bottom of the hollow, she thought the man still watched her closely. He plucked a stem of the sparse, sun-scorched grass and pushed it into his mouth, gnawing at the hard stalk while he spoke. *I would guess that somebody's upset you, am I right?'

  Bethany coloured slightly, confirming what she was reluctant to admit verbally. *Oh, just a family misunderstanding,' she allowed, and wondered how she could sound so cool about it, when she had just fled the house in a blind fury at Nikolas's behaviour. Glancing again at his teasingly familiar face, she took the bull by the horns. 1 have a feeling I know you,' she said, and went on hastily, *I don't know your name, but I just have a feeling 1 should know you from somewhere.'

  1 noticed you in Rhodes,* he told her, unexpectedly frank. 'And you were at Kamiros with '

  *My cousin,' Bethany assured him hastily, in case he held some of the same views as Nikolas, although she doubted it somehow.

  *Your cousin?' Fine pale brows almost suggested he was in some doubt of it, and Bethany flusned. 'He's very good-looking.'

  *He is,' she connrmed, but sidestepped the subject of Theo to pursue one that interested her more at the moment. Are you from the commune? Are you an artist?'

  A smile dismissed any suggestion that her curiosity offended him, but he had pioDably spent enough time with Greeks to have become accustomed to the national trait of a people who take an interest in anyone and everyone's private lite. 'Yes to both questions I'

  It occurred to Bethany then that she had automatically assumed he was a foreign national living in Greece, like most of the members of the commune. But

  very few of them spoke Greek, and this man spoke it well and with only a very slight accent. *You speak very good Greek/ she ventured, and laughed a little awkwardly as she plunged on. *I know you aren't Greek because you have an accent of some kind, but it's hardly noticeable. And you said Rhodes, not Rodos as a Greek would.*

  He inclined his head in a mock half-bow, and his rather fine eyes seemed to be smiling at her again. *I'm flattered,' he told her, then one brow winged upward curiously. *But unless I'm very wrong, you have no accent at all and you're not Greek, are you?'

  It was instinctive to put a hand to her tawny hair, and she shook her head. ^Actually I'm part Welsh.'

  *Do you speak any English?'

  The sudden change of language put her at a disadvantage for a second, but she recovered quickly and answered in the tongue that Papa had made sure she never forgot. *Yes; Papa made sure I always practised when he was alive. My stepfather,' she hastened to explain in a voice suddenly grown slightly husky. *He died only a short time ago.'

  'And you loved him very much.'

  It was a statement of fact, not a question, and Bethany nodded unhesitatingly. 'He was a wonderful man, and I loved him dearly.' For a moment she wondered why the words sounded so much more trite spoken in English, and decided that she had become a stranger to her own tongue. 'I've lived in Greece for most of my life,' she went on, reverting again to Greek because she felt more at ease with it. I've lived here in Apolidus since I was six or seven. I love it, there's nowhere else like it.'

  The clear, straight profile was turned to her and short light lashes shadowed the man's eyes as he gazed downward into the hollow instead of looking directly at her as he had been. 'You don't remember your own father?' he asked, and Bethany shook her head firmly.

  She answered the question unwillingly as she always did, but somehow it did not occur to her not to answer

  it. 1 don't remember my father; I was five when I saw him last, and I doubt if he cares any more now if I'm alive or dead than he did then.'

  'Arghr

  It was a curious sound he made in his throat, but Bethany had never sought pity for the loss of her own father; only Papa had ever mattered to her. Hugging her knees close, she too gazed down into the hollow at her discarded shoes, making the rather fanciful comparison in her mind, that her father had thrown away his right to her love as carelessly as she had discarded her shoes.

  *I have sometimes wondered what he was like,' she confessed, and paused for a moment to consider why it was that she was discussing with this stranger, a subject that she normally avoided. Seeking a diversion, she turned and looked at him again, once more teased by the familiarity of his features, but no nearer to solving the puzzle. *How long have you been with the commune?' she.asked.

  'A little while.' He smiled, looking at her thoughtfully. *Just—checking up on old acquaintances, that's all. I'm moving on tonight; taking the evening ferry to Piraeus. It's a habit I have,' he explained, and laughed. *I move on whenever I feel I'm beginning to take root.'

  It was a feeling Bethany did not begin to understand. 'You don't want a home? A family?'

  *I never have,' he told her, and glanced at the watch that encircled his wrist. 'There's nothing I have that anyone would want, and I've never taken to the domestic scene. And I'd better be off if I'm to get the ferry.'

  Bethany checked the time on her own watch, realising how his presence had distracted her from her earlier unhappiness, and reluctant to lose his companionship. 'You've time yet,' she told him. 'It doesn't go for another two hours.'

  Quite clearly he was anxious to be away, and Bethany wondered if her questions about settling down

  with a family had embarrassed him after all. 'Things to do/ he said as he got up, but he stood for a moment looking down at her, and when she started to get up too, he took both her hands and helped her up. * You're a very pretty child,' he said. 'Are you called by a Greek name as pretty as you are?'

  It was a curious way to have worded it, Bethany thought, but he was perhaps less familiar with the language than he seemed. 'I'm Bethany,' she told him. 'Bethany Meandis. I kept my first name when Papa adopted me.'

  'Ah!' It was odd that he sounded so satisfied about it, but Bethany found him an intriguing man altogether, and she was sorry to see him go. 'I hope one of your family comes to find you soon, before it grows dark,' he said, 'you're much too lovely to be abandoned on a hillside.' He proffered a hand in parting. 'I'm very glad I saw you, Bethany Meandis.'

  She shook his hand and smiled, even though his mention of someone coming to find her reminded her of the reason she was there. 'I hope you have a good journey to—wherever you go.'

  He seemed to hesitate briefly, then turned and started down the hill towards the commune in long quick strides that suggested impatience. He was several metres below her when Bethany realised that she still did not know his name, and she called after him impulsively, still plagued by that haunting sense of familiarity.

  'You didn't tell me your name!'

  The man turned and looked up at her where she stood slim and golden against the evening sky, then he smiled, a slow, crooked and slightly bitter smile that troubled her without reason. 'Apollo,' he called back. 'I'm called Apollo! feoodbye, little one—be happy!'

  Be happy, the ancient Greek blessing. Strangely disturbed by him, Bethany watch
ed the man who so appropriately called himself Apollo go on down the hill, then she turned away when he disappeared into the commune, and sighed deeply. She was feeling sorry for

  herself, she realised, but no matter how she tried to think sensibly about Nikolas her emotions always got the better of her and she found herself angry with him all over again.

  The sun was going down when she decided to walk down the other side of the hill to the sea, the virtually uninhabited side of the island, where the swimming was safe, and it was quiet and peaceful, with only one small farmhouse perched up in the arable land above the sea. It was a favourite place of hers and Takis's, although Takis would probably scorn such simple delights now that he had had a taste of a more sophisticated way of life. And she blamed Nikolas for that too; Takis would have been content if he had not been shown the kind of life his newly found family enjoyed.

  The sea had always enchanted her and she stood at the water's edge, reminded briefly of her discarded shoes when she realised her stockinged feet were getting wet. To remove them and walk along the water's edge with her bare feet was an unconscious gesture of defiance, but the setting and the soft ripple of the tide around her ankles was soothing, and before she reached the cove that she and Takis had often swum from, she felt much more relaxed and easy.

  Bethany did not remember having been taught to swim, but she could remember teaching Takis when he was quite small, and they had always enjoyed it. She saw no reason why the lack of a swimming costume should inhibit her, since there was no one else about, nor was there likely to be. She knew the cove well, and no one ever came there but her and Takis.

  Stripping off her few clothes, she stretched luxuriously in the silky cool breeze that caressed her skin, then plunged into the sea at almost the exact same -moment as the sun descended into it. For a while the sky was a vast canvas of crimson and gold, changing rapidly to amethyst and purple and staining the rocks on land with the same rich gamut of colours, and Bethany felt a wonderful sense of oneness with the warm dark ocean. Sweeping one slim arm after the

  Other in lazy arcs, she swam further out to sea before turning to move easily along the shoreline.

  The moon followed closely on the heels of the dying sun, and its appearance, Bethany judged, made it-time to relinquish the quiet soothing peace of the sea for the harsher reality of Nikolas's anger. She had little doubt that by now he would be angry about her absence, but secretly she nurtured a hope that he would feel a little concerned too. It did not even occur to her that Aunt Alexia might be concerned, for Alexia was accustomed to such unconventional behaviour and accepted it. But to Nikolas such impulsive gestures would be as foreign as so many other aspects of their life-style were.

  She was already part way out of the water, and submerged only as far as her waist, when she realised that someone was standing on the white-sanded beach, and instinctively she crossed her arms over her breasts, clasping the tops of her arms and catching at her breath. A tall, dark and vaguely ominous figure stood between her and the spot where she had left her clothes, and she had no doubt at all that it was Nikolas.

  The moon was less than full, but even so she could swear that the dark gleam of his eyes was discernible, and she shivered. Not because it was chill, but because the moment seemed to be somehow suspended in time and pregnant with the violence of emotions she could not even begin to recognise. He could have moved away, she thought wildly, but instead he simply stood looking at her from the very edge of the tide, pale and slender as she stood with the sea lapping about her; tossing back thick strands of hair that clung wetly to the golden creaminess of her skin, and too stunned for the moment to seek the concealment of the water.

  'Nikolas.' She called to him softly, but her voice died on the light warm wind without reaching him. 'Please move away.' She called louder now because he made no move to show he understood. 'My clothes are just behind you I'

  no Apollo's daughter

  He half turned his head then, and she could imagine his expression, even though she couldn't actually see it. He would look as he so often did; dark and disturbingly fierce, his mouth set hard and straight and his eyes glittering between their thick lashes. Angry, as he so often was with her. Then he glanced in the other direction, to where a cluster of trees overhung some rocks, and he pointed a hand at them.

  'Go along there,' he directed; and when she hesitated. 'Do as I say, girl!'

  He actually waited until she turned and slid back into the water before he went to fetch her clothes, as if he did not trust her to obey. As if she had much option, she thought a little wildly, when she was as naked as a new-bom babe and had nowhere to go but back with him. He would find her clothes easily enough, she knew, but as she emerged once more from the water she wished her moment of freedom could have had a happier ending.

  His back was to her as she slipped across the warm white sand and into the concealment of the rocks, but she was shivering now and her heart beat so rapidly that her whole body seemed to quiver with its urgency as she listened for him coming. Her footprints showed as small darker hollows in the sand and her skin had a translucent paleness in the moonlight, so that she felt strangely exposed, despite the concealing rocks and once more placed her arms across her breast while she waited.

  She could see nothing over the top, and she caught her breath audibly when, after what seemed like an interminable time, a hand appeared holding not only the few brief garments she had been wearing, but her abandoned shoes as well. She stared at them for a second, until the hand shook impatiently, and Niko-las's voice dragged her out of her surprised silence.

  'Take them,' he ordered, 'and get dressed, quickly I'

  She did as he said automatically, murmuring her thanks. But she had nothing with which to dry herself, and dressing a wet body was horribly uncomfortable.

  nor did it help that she knew how impatiently he would be waiting for her. She drew the line at putting on the too-tight shoes, however, and stepped out from behind the rocks carrying one in each hand.

  Nikolas was standing with his arms folded and leaned against one of the rocks, much closer than she had realised, and she found it quite inexplicable when her first instinct was to reach out and touch him. For the moment Bethany stayed out of his line of vision, although it was unlikely that he could be unaware of her being there.

  *How did you find me?' she ventured when he made no move, and he turned his head so suddenly that she blinked, half expecting some physical reaction, although he had never struck her yet.

  *I sent Takis first.' His voice still had that grating harshness she had noted earlier. *He couldn't see anything of you, but some man told him that he'd seen you up on the hill.'

  Bethany was nodding, recalling the spoken hope of the man that someone would soon come and find her. 'Was he catching the ferry?' she asked, and Nikolas eyed her narrowly.

  *You know him?'

  She blinked rapidly at the sharpness of his tone, then shook her head slowly. *Not really. I've seen him a couple of times before, and when he found me up there by our dig, he—v/e talked for a while.'

  Dark eyes raked over her searingly, glinting like jet in the paleness of moonlight. *Who is he, Bethany?'

  The clinging dampness of her dress made her feel she was still naked under that harsh scrutiny, and she held tight to her seething emotions. 1 don't know.' She made the confession unwillingly. *He—^he calls himself Apollo.'

  'Holy Saint Peter!' His pious oath was blatantly at odds with the gleaming darkness of his eyes, and Bethany's heart began its urgent tattoo again; neither angry nor afraid, but some curious mingling of emotions bringing warm high colour to her cheeks. 'When Takis

  came back to say he couldn't see you at your dig, as the man had said, I didn't know what to expect! Have you no sense at all, girl, that you go wandering off alone without telling anyone where you're going? Meeting a strange man!'

  It was anger, Bethany felt sure, that made her turn on him as she did, but there was a curiously heady
feeling about it too. *We talked,' she insisted in a husky voice. 'That's all, we just talked for a few moments !' She met his eyes for a moment and challenged him to find cause for complaint in her few minutes' conversation with the man whose features still lingered tauntingly in her mind's eye. 'You don't have to look so disapproving, Nikolas! He wasn't like that.'

  *How do you know?' Nikolas countered harshly, and she recalled uneasily a certain look in the man's eyes that had given her a moment's misgiving.

  'Because—I know!' she insisted.

  Nikolas's eyes gleamed darkly at her, his features almost satanically strong and dark in the moonlight. 'Did you play your provoking little games with him?' he rasped. 'Is that how you're so sure?*

  'Nikolas!'

  She stared at him unbelievingly, but he seemed sunk in some deep uneasy reverie of his own. 'Holy Mother! When I saw your shoes lying down there, and the earth disturbed, I thought for a moment '

  'Oh, Nikolas, no!' Bethany spoke softly, understanding at last and chokingly close to tears when she realised what must have been going on in his mind when he came in search of her. 'I forgot about the shoes. I threw them down there because they hurt, and I was angry—oh, I don't know!' She moved round in front of him, trying to get a clearer look at the dark, fierce face. 'I'd no idea you'd think something had happened to me.'

  'Didn't it even occur to you?' She shook her head, avoiding his eyes because they were bound to condemn her. 'Then to see someone in the water—to find you swimming, naked as a harlot and without a care in the world!'

  'You've called me that before!' Her own anger rose, sparked by the injustice of it, but it was an exciting kind of anger that brought a rapid urgent beat to her heart and made the blood sing through her veins. 'I really think you'd like to believe it of me, wouldn't you, Nikolas?'

  Once more his eyes raked over her body in clinging damp cotton, and unconsciously she drew herself up, tossing back her hair that still clung in damp tendrils to her neck and shoulders. 1 won't believe it,' he said in a quiet, firm voice. 'But I'll make sure you realise what impression you give by behaving as you do!'