He paused. ‘Still cold?’
Their gazes locked and held. All at once the atmosphere seemed to have become highly charged with sexual tension. ‘No … Yes, umm … I’m fine,’ she mumbled, dropping her eyes to the wheel. ‘I’ll clear the breakfast away.’
‘You don’t need to do that.’
‘I know, but I’d like to make myself useful.’ Without waiting for a reply she piled up the tray that Damian had left on the side and hurried below deck.
When she came back up, Oriel found that he had taken off his T-shirt and had laid a chart on the table. As she was about to take her place opposite him he said, without lifting his head: ‘Why so far, Calypso?’ She recognized the teasing in his voice. ‘It’ll be much easier for me to explain things if you’re sitting here.’ He gestured to the empty space next to him.
Maybe it would be easier for Damian but it certainly wasn’t going to be easy for her to concentrate on his explanation, having him sitting there next to her, half naked. Oriel could imagine him taking her hands and drawing her against his bare chest. She would be lost, of course; she wouldn’t be able to hold out. But she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that, even if he already suspected it, and reluctantly she took her place beside him.
‘I’m looking at the best way of entering Delos,’ he told her, his eyes still fixed on the chart in front him. ‘Although it offers a fairly safe harbour once it’s reached, the fierce waves of the Aegean break on its northern shore. The island is like a ship in a rough sea.’ Damian smiled, as though to himself. ‘Perhaps that’s how the legend arose that Delos was an aimlessly floating rock in the Aegean.’
‘It was to do with one of those females fleeing the advances of Zeus, wasn’t it? What was her name, Asteria?’ asked Oriel.
Damian leaned back against the cushions with one arm stretched across the back of the seat. ‘Exactly. She leapt into the sea, where she became an invisible island. Her sister Leto wasn’t so lucky. She was impregnated by Zeus, which of course made his wife, Hera, jealous.’
‘Oh yes,’ recalled Oriel, her eyes sparkling. ‘Hera connived with other gods to prevent Leto from giving birth anywhere in the world, didn’t she? So Leto wandered from place to place, followed by the serpent, Python, that Hera had set on her.’
‘That’s right,’ said Damian approvingly. ‘Which brings us to Delos. Zeus appealed to his brother, Poseidon, to help Leto find some place where she could give birth to his child. Poseidon then took the floating rock that Asteria had been transformed into, now called Adelos the invisible, and made four granite columns rise out of the sea to anchor it in place. He renamed it Delos, the visible. Leto, in the form of a quail, a ruse by Zeus to put Hera off the scent, then came to Delos, where she resumed her original shape.’
‘I remember it, yes. It’s been so long since I read Ovid’s Metamorphoses. I really need to refresh my studies now I’m working here,’ said Oriel ruefully.
‘Ah, but there’s more to the legend. Nothing is ever simple in our stories. Adelos was afraid that Hera would take revenge and kick her back under the sea. So Leto swore an oath on the River Styx that her son, when he came into the world, would build a temple there. And from that time onwards Delos became a sacred place. I will tell you the last part when we get to the island.’
‘Your history is so rich in myths.’
‘Né, every part of our land has a myth attached to it. Sometimes I can’t help feeling that they repeat themselves in an uncanny way, even today. It makes you wonder if some of us aren’t marked by the gods to keep these legends alive.’
Damian sighed heavily and squinted at the horizon. She knew to what he was alluding and wished with all her heart that she could put her arms around him, cradle his dark head against her breast and take away the hurt.
‘It has always puzzled me that Delos, being just a rock and one of the smallest islands of the Cyclades, should have been chosen by the Greeks as Apollo’s sanctuary, rather than one of the other bigger and more fertile islands.’
He looked back at her with a half smile. ‘It cannot be explained in words. Once you get there, agápi mou, you will understand. Just bear in mind that in ancient Greece nothing occurred by chance.’
Damian took a cigarette out of the packet of Gitanes that lay next to him on the table, spun the wheel of his lighter and lit it. Leaning forward, he bent over the chart again, drawing deeply on his cigarette, then puffing the smoke away from the table so it eddied over the edge of the boat and out to sea.
Oriel watched him as he cast his eyes over the map and then, all of a sudden, she said: ‘How long have you been interested in archaeology?’ She was surprised she had never asked the question before. The two of them knew each other’s bodies so intimately, yet there was still so much about each other that they didn’t know.
‘Ever since I was a schoolboy. When I was fifteen, during the summer holidays, I was taken on a tour of the archaeological sites of the islands and I was immediately hooked. After that, I managed to get myself on various French excavation teams as a student and, as soon as I got my degree, set up my own archaeological company, with the purpose of helping our country’s museums.’
Oriel found herself smiling into his eyes and she couldn’t help but think of the eager young student he must have once been, a world away from the Drákon Damian she knew now – hurt by life, closed in on himself – who almost seemed as if he, like Atlas, were holding up the world.
For the rest of the morning she read Homer’s account of the fall of Troy, in which she knew Helice was mentioned at some point. She’d found the book in Damian’s study after he’d told her to help herself to his extensive library. She found herself enjoying the companionable silence between herself and Damian. During the moments when he wasn’t at the wheel he caught up on paperwork, and Oriel stole covert glances over the pages of her book at his expression of focused attention, his eyes burning with an intelligence she found deeply attractive.
They were lucky with the weather; it was perfect. The sun blazed down on them from a sky of cloudless blue and the sparkling sea couldn’t have been calmer, with a gentle zephyr favourable for sailing. Alcyone rode the swells with effortless grace, her taut white sails capturing the breeze. Gulls swirled in the sky and from time to time schools of tiny silver fish leapt out of the water in unison as they crossed the boat’s path.
It had just turned noon when land came into view in the distance and Damian called a halt. ‘The land you can see there is Antikythera,’ he called over to her, ‘one of the smallest and poorest islands in Greece, inhabited by only forty-five people. It’s protected, a nature reserve. We’re doing well on time. What do you say to a quick swim before lunch?’
Oriel gazed down at the unfathomable depths; the sea had a breathless beauty and seemed to invite her in. Her eyes lit up. ‘Why not?’
Damian released the brake on the windlass and the anchor rattled on its chain as it dropped into the clear blue water. ‘I’ve put your case in the bedroom. If you haven’t brought a swimsuit, I always keep a couple on the boat for emergencies.’
Oriel tilted her chin slightly. Emergencies indeed, she thought, and her green eyes glared at him. He was mad if he thought that she would wear one of his other women’s cast-offs.
A smile flickered across Damian’s lips and the icy fire of his eyes clashed with hers for a brief moment. ‘Don’t worry, they’ve never been worn. They still have their tags on. I like to envisage all conceivable requirements when I kit out a yacht.’
Oriel felt a burning flush sweep over her face. Was she so transparent? ‘Thank you for your offer but of course I have my own swimsuit. I’ll go down and change.’
As she undressed, it dawned on her that going swimming with Damian was not such a good idea after all. She hadn’t heard him come down after her to change. Was he clad in his trunks underneath his shorts or was he primitive enough to swim in the nude? Oh no, she couldn’t deal with that! Oriel’s knees went weak as
the thought of him naked crossed her mind and she sat down on the bed. Had his suggestion that they swim been aimed at getting them both into minimal clothing? This is turning into paranoia, she chided herself. She must stop looking for hidden meanings in perfectly innocent remarks and give him at least some benefit of the doubt.
Armed with this resolution, she put on her bright-green, onepiece swimsuit – cut high at the thighs and with a deep V at the front, which cupped her breasts snugly – and went up on deck, her heart pounding with a mixture of awareness and dread.
She almost collided with Damian on the steps and stifled a gasp. He was wearing red briefs, which did little to disguise his masculine shape, and had a white towel slung around his neck. Once again she was conscious of his sheer physical beauty: his wide and muscled shoulders which, despite the shark’s mutilation, were in good shape, and his strong chest with its smattering of curly black hair that narrowed to a V on the way to his trim waist.
He wore a boyish grin. ‘I was coming to look for you. Any problem?’
Oriel shook her head. ‘None at all,’ she whispered and Damian moved backwards up the stairs.
‘Éla, come on, Calypso. It’s such a lovely day and we mustn’t waste time. I need a swim and so do you,’ he said, glancing down at her with a look that sent her senses spinning into chaos. ‘I promise to be good and keep my hands off you,’ he added with mock solemnity, but she could see the desire lurking in his eyes, telling her that she only needed to murmur a suggestion and she could be in his arms again.
Oriel followed him on deck, a sensual haze holding her in its spell.
‘See you,’ Damian called out over his shoulder and, before she had time to answer, he dived powerfully into the shimmering sapphire water, his body slicing into it cleanly with almost no splash, before he struck out with a powerful, brisk crawl, quickly leaving the boat and Oriel behind.
Galvanized into action by Damian’s somewhat cavalier attitude, and with a little toss of her head, Oriel leapt without hesitating from the side of the boat after him and proceeded to swim quickly and gracefully, as if she had lived in the sea all her life. With firm strokes of her arms she cut through the blue water, which reflected the bright rays of the sun like the facets of some giant gemstone, swimming briskly away from the sail-furled Alcyone. The sea was fresh and she revelled in the cool, silky slide of the water as it lapped her skin. She turned over and began a gentle backstroke. Damian was out of sight, having clearly enjoyed racing off, and so she just kept on swimming towards the horizon, paying no real heed to where she was going, her mind empty, only concentrating on the steady rhythm of her strokes. It was bliss!
Suddenly, a pain like a million red-hot needles drove fiercely into her right foot. Oriel let out a strangled cry as a shaft of pure agony shot halfway up her leg.
I’ve been stung by something vicious, she thought in panic.
The pain seemed to paralyze her, and the numbness prevented her swimming any further. I need to get back to the boat! It was essential that she returned as quickly as possible – some of these fish and aquatic insects could be lethal. She could see Alcyone in the distance and was afraid that she wouldn’t make it. The next thing, a cramp contorted the muscle of her left calf. The pain was excruciating and she hugged her leg in agony. She gulped a mouthful of water helplessly and as she floundered she thought of Mattias, who wasn’t here this time to save her.
This time I’m going to drown! she told herself, before panic overtook her and she gasped and went under.
All of a sudden there was a dark shape beside her in the water; the sea churned and strong arms wrapped themselves around her waist, hauling her bodily to the surface again. Oriel heard Damian say something in furious Greek, then: ‘Just relax and breathe!’ as he held her against him. Now, with a powerful sidestroke, he was towing her backwards towards the boat as she clung to him, gulping in great lungfuls of air, her panic slowly melting away.
‘Can you climb the ladder?’ Damian asked gruffly when they had reached Alcyone.
‘Yes,’ she breathed.
‘I’ll help you.’ Placing one of Oriel’s hands, then the other, on the ladder, he heaved her on to the boat from behind. Clambering into the craft after her, Damian picked her up and carried her below. Oriel felt awkward and weak and hated being carried, helpless, in Damian’s arms. She was tired, wishing she could rest her head against his shoulder, but that would be too demeaning so she resisted the temptation, even though she was shivering, her teeth chattering, the pain in her muscles seeming to worsen by the minute.
Damian laid her on one of the built-in sofas. ‘Don’t move,’ he ordered. ‘I’ll get a blanket, you’re in a state of shock.’
‘I think I’ve been stung by something nasty.’ She leaned forward shakily to study her foot.
‘Here, let me see.’ He bent down and inspected the raised red welts of the sting. ‘Ah, you’ll be okay in no time. Just a moon jellyfish, it’s the time of year for them. I’ll get some vinegar from the galley. That’ll neutralize it and bring the pain down.’ He looked at her white face. ‘First, let me get you a blanket. You need to keep warm.’
Oriel watched him disappear into one of the cabins. He came back with a blanket and, just as he was about to wrap it around her, she took it from him. ‘Thanks, I can do that.’
He didn’t argue and instead went to fetch the vinegar. After dousing the painful foot liberally, he sat down on the edge of the sofa. ‘So, tell me what happened,’ he said.
‘First, I was stung and then I was hit with cramp in the other leg.’
‘Cramp, eh?’
‘Yes, I’m prone to it.’
‘Well then, you should know better than to swim out that far.’ He cast agitated fingers through his hair, a scowl settling on his face. ‘You might have drowned.’
Oriel knew she’d been foolish and had to admit to herself that it was only because she’d been annoyed that Damian had dived in and left her behind that she’d swum out so far. She hadn’t been thinking straight.
‘I know, I admit that was a little careless.’ She was aware of him: his vigour and his proximity; the sheen of his copper-tanned skin studded with shining drops of seawater; the damp tendrils of hair curling on his forehead and at the nape of his neck and, above all, the steel-grey eyes that were watching her with a steady, unreadable glint. In the dappled sunlight of the room, Damian was like a sculpture of tawny light and shade and, although he wasn’t touching her, her body was afire under his gaze. It was no use telling herself that he was dangerous, that his heart had frozen over or that he would never love her – what she felt for him was a purely instinctive reaction that conscious thought could not banish. It had become an obsession.
‘How’s the foot?’ Damian’s voice was softer now: his anger, born of concern, having fled almost as suddenly as it had arrived.
‘A lot better. It was just frightening when it happened,’ she said.
‘I’m sure it was. The good news is that it’s been at least twenty minutes and you haven’t developed any shortness of breath. The colour’s back in your cheeks, which is good. I hope I didn’t hurt your foot when I put vinegar on it.’
Oriel shook her head. He smiled down at her and, as their eyes met, she felt a warm flow of empathy between them. The trusting side of her nature wasn’t afraid to be vulnerable. Why wasn’t it always like this between them?
No longer shivering, she felt comfortable and cosy in the blanket. She watched Damian’s noble head and wide shoulders as he crouched beside her, giving her foot one final check. Oriel’s eyes were then riveted to his lean, tanned fingers as he lifted it to inspect her sole and heel.
‘I’ll apply a plaster to keep it clean. You might find walking a little painful for a while but as we’re sailing for most of the next day, you won’t need to move about much. By the time we arrive at Delos tomorrow evening you’ll be fine.’
‘Thank you, I feel much better already.’
Damian stood up. ‘Kal
ós, right then! You need to get out of your swimsuit. Would you like me to carry you to your cabin?’
‘I’m sure I can manage on my own, thanks.’
‘Very well then. I’ll weigh anchor now and we’ll set off before lunch. Give me a shout when you’re ready and I’ll help you upstairs to eat.’
Oriel hopped to her cabin. She was able to shower and dress without much difficulty and soon she felt the boat moving. She glanced out of the porthole. Yes, indeed, Alcyone had set sail and they were on their way again. It was too hot to get back into her shorts and shirt so she put on her spare clean one-piece bathing suit of the palest yellow. She had tanned nicely that morning and her cheeks had a sun-kissed apricot hue. As she stepped out of her room gingerly she found herself face-to-face with Damian again.
He smiled at her. ‘You know, you have to be the most self-possessed near-drowning victim I’ve ever laid eyes on. Is that what you English call a stiff upper lip?’
‘I suppose we don’t like to make a spectacle of ourselves. We find public displays of emotion rather embarrassing so I suppose we do tend to react with calm self-control when we can,’ she murmured.
He chuckled. ‘Depending on the circumstance, eh?’ He was hinting at the way she had fled from Heliades, Oriel knew that. But before she could answer, he said, ‘Come, let’s have lunch.’
He made a gesture to carry her but she evaded him with a swing of the hip.
‘You plan on hopping up the stairs?’
Oriel’s heart shuddered and she shook her head. ‘I’m fine now, really.’
‘It’s rather a long way to hop, eh? Maybe you’d prefer to eat down here,’ he suggested.
‘Please, no fuss. I can walk and I can’t think of anything better than to have lunch on deck, looking out to sea.’
Oriel carefully limped her way up the stairs. Damian had laid out a delicious lunch under the bimini, a white tablecloth covering the teak table. The china, silver and crystal glasses gave a touch of romance to the colourful spread. There was an appetizing-looking seafood salad – a succulent mix of prawns, lobster claws, mussels and scallops – laced with pink Thousand Island dressing; a platter of gemistá, small round zucchini, peppers and tomatoes; vine leaves stuffed with rice, herbs and tomatoes, served with tzatziki; and a bowl piled high with patatasalata, new potatoes in a green herb mayonnaise. A bottle of Greek rosé stood chilled in an ice bucket.
Aphrodite's Tears Page 50
