by Anne Weale
Earlier, while they were eating, Kate had been aware that apart from her greeting, her employer had scarcely spoken to her. All her attention was on Xan. Which was natural enough, Kate supposed. They had a great deal to catch up. But it was slightly hurtful to feel that, now he was back, her only importance was as what Americans called a ‘gofer’.
‘I’ve thought it all out and I’m definitely going to retire,’ Miss Walcott began. ‘You two can take over Palette. Kate to handle the day-to-day running and you, Xan, to be the figurehead and to give Kate advice when she needs it. I’ve had my name down for some time for a flat in a complex of sheltered housing for old ducks like myself. I shall live there on my pension and paint and perhaps give occasional classes. Kate can have the cottage and a salary and anything over will be yours, my dear boy.’
She looked at him for agreement, taking Kate’s consent for granted.
Xan said, ‘I have no objection to your scheme, but Robert may not be agreeable.’
‘Robert? What has it to do with him?’
‘He has an interest in Kate,’ Xan said drily. ‘He wants to marry her. He’s not taking no for an answer. He pursued her to Crete and in half an hour he’ll be here, still in pursuit.’
‘Oh, but that’s splendid,’ said Miss Walcott. ‘Why didn’t you tell me, Kate? You and Robert are ideally suited. I hoped this was in the offing and I know Beryl Murrett will be delighted. You’re just the type of daughter-in-law she wants.’
‘But I don’t want to marry Robert,’ Kate said quietly.
‘Of course you do. He’s a dear thing. You won’t find a better husband. He’ll be faithful and kind and devoted. You can run Palette with one hand and manage him with the other. It will be a piece of cake,’ she said, using the slang of her youth. ‘You are cut out to be a doctor’s wife, my dear. You have all the qualifications. I can’t think why you didn’t accept him the first time he asked you.’
‘I’m sure he’ll ask her again ... perhaps tonight,’ Xan said smoothly. ‘I’ve booked him in at the hotel. You can show him the way, Kate, and have a long tête-à-tête. He deserves it, poor guy. I expect he’s had a rotten day hanging about the airport at Iráklion, wondering what dastardly treatment I’ve been meteing out to you.’
‘Robert was always jealous of you,’ said his grandmother. ‘He was rather small as a boy. I think he envied your inches.’
At this point there was a knock at the door and Robert came in, visibly startled to see his patient sitting up and looking animated. As Xan had foreseen, he had had an extremely trying day, although that didn’t emerge until he had satisfied himself that Miss Walcott and Kate had come through their ordeals in good order.
‘I suggest you take Robert back to the hotel, see that he gets a good meal and lend a sympathetic ear to his difficulties in getting here,’ said Xan presently.
‘An excellent idea,’ his grandmother seconded. ‘Off you go, the pair of you.’
This time it was Robert who drooped over the dinner table at the hotel, until Kate packed him off to have a quick shower and fall into bed.
She sat in the lounge for a while, hoping Xan would come in. But he didn’t. Eventually she went bed, her thoughts going round in circles.
Next morning, while she was dressing, the bedside telephone rang. It was Kyria Drakakis. She was on the line for twenty minutes.
Xan was already at breakfast when Kate entered the dining-room. He rose to draw out a chair for her. They exchanged good mornings.
‘Where did you go last night?’ she asked. ‘Robert went to bed early and I’m sure you didn’t stay with your grandmother very late.’
‘No, I went for a drive. Did you tell Robert about Nerina’s plan? How did he react?’
‘He was worn out by all the hassle at the airport and then having to deal with an emergency on the flight. It was lucky for the man taken ill that he was on board. I’m sure the cabin staff are extremely competent but it’s not the same as having a doctor in attendance.’ After a pause, she added, ‘I’d be grateful if you wouldn’t refer to the future of Palette when he comes down. I don’t want to talk about it this morning.’
‘As you wish.’
‘Are we going back to see your grandmother before we leave for London?’
‘No, I think not. Visitors aren’t really welcome before eleven. They interfere with routine.’
‘I had a long call from Kyria Drakakis just now. I’ll tell you about it later. Here’s Robert. How did you sleep?’ she asked, as the other man joined them.
‘Like the dead,’ he replied. ‘What time did you turn in?’
‘Not very long after you. Xan stayed up late, he says.’ Robert gave him an offhand, ‘Good morning,’ which Xan returned equally coolly. He then asked if they would mind if he read the review of an important art show in the morning paper. Breakfast passed almost in silence until, swallowing the last of his toast, Robert asked Kate, ‘Will you be home tonight?’
‘I should think so, yes.’ She turned to Xan. ‘How long will the party go on?’
‘It should be over by five. Some of the group may leave earlier, if they’ve a long way to go.’
Robert said, ‘I suggest you spend the night with us, Kate, and re-open the cottage tomorrow. Or, if you give me your keys, I can do it for you. And have a hot supper waiting. Mother always has plenty in the freezer. I can heat something up in your oven.’
‘It’s very kind of you, Robert, but I may spend the night with Juliet, at her flat at Chiswick.’
‘Oh, I see ... well, I’ll see you tomorrow then.’
‘Probably, unless she asks me to stay for a second night. I’ll give you a ring.’
‘Did Juliet ask you to stay with her, or was that an invention?’ asked Xan, as they set out for London.
Ignoring the question, she said, ‘I was going to tell you what Kyria Drakakis told me... the reason she made up a white lie about there being no room for Robert on Phaedon’s plane.’
‘Another woman who’s adept at invention, it seems,’ he said drily.
Kate let that remark pass, saying, ‘Phaedon wasn’t always a millionaire. When he was young, and they were in love, his prospects seemed non-existent. Her parents disapproved of him and pressed her to marry Andreas Drakakis. Eventually she did and has always regretted it. It was obvious to her that Robert was keen on me, and she wanted to stop me making the same mistake—marrying for security rather than doing what she knows now what she should have done: trusted her heart.’ she turned to look at Xan’s forceful profile, waiting for his reaction.
CHAPTER TEN
AFTER a pause, Xan said dampeningly, ‘I think she did the best thing in marriying Drakakis. If she didn’t love Phaedon enough to trust her future to him, she wouldn’t have been the right wife for him. Luck plays a large part in the making of fortunes. If his luck had gone the other way, Kyria D. would now be wishing she’d followed her parents’ advice. Men who take chances, or choose chancy careers such as mine, need strong, self-reliant women as their partners.’
‘What makes you think Kyria Drakakis lacks those qualities? She runs the hotel on her own, now her husband is dead.’
‘He got it going. She admits she couldn’t have done it alone.’
‘I expect it was a joint effort and she underestimates her contribution. She didn’t strike me as a feeble personality. I wonder why she and Phaedon didn’t get married after Andreas died? Did you ask her that?’
‘Because he couldn’t have her, Phaedon didn’t stay single. He married and had a large family. His wife’s still alive. In Greece, the ties of marriage aren’t broken as lightly as elsewhere. Family life takes precedence over everything.’
‘Do you think she and Phaedon are lovers?’
‘In the physical sense?’ he said, glancing at her. ‘Possibly. For her age, she’s still attractive. She has the air of someone who enjoys all the sensual pleasures. But some women have that aura and when it comes to the point they have inhibitions and hang-ups wh
ich conflict with their appetites.’
Did he think she was such a woman? Kate wondered. She couldn’t bring herself to ask him. Instead, referring to his earlier remark, she said, ‘I wouldn’t have thought your career was particularly chancy. Like aspiring actors, the current crop of students at art schools may be chancing their luck in an overcrowded profession, but you’re established. What could go wrong with your career?’
‘Many things. An accident to my hands or my eyes. The kind of pictures I want to paint losing their appeal for the people with money to buy them. Paintings are luxuries: the demand for luxuries fluctuates. Creative people have a good life—if they’re lucky. But things can go badly wrong for them. They live on the edge, a precarious place to be. It’s a lot more secure being a lawyer or an accountant... or a doctor,’ he added drily.
At three o’clock that afternoon, he announced the final award resulting from the ballot in Chaniá two nights ago.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, there are two paintings in the exhibition which you considered outstanding.’
Xan looked down the double row of expectant faces. ‘I agreed with your verdict and found it impossible to place one above the other. They were Juliet’s atmospheric water-colour of the interior of the church at Thériso, and Oliver’s very powerful mixed media study of the Venetian arsenals on the waterfront.’
There was a burst of applause and murmurs of congratulation before he went on, ‘I foresaw that this problem might arise and therefore I have much pleasure in inviting the two joint winners to be my guests at a gala evening at the Royal Academy next month.’
After more applause, he held up his hand to make another announcement.
‘I expect it will come as a surprise to her, but we’ve all been very impressed with the way Kate has handled the tour. A good courier needs to combine the abilities of a sheepdog, a kindergarten teacher, an agony aunt and a translator. Kate has filled all those roles par excellence, in addition to coping with an inexperienced tutor.’
He paused to look down the length of the table to Kate’s seat at the far end.
‘We know it’s your job, Kate. Nevertheless we’re grateful for your tact and your patience: The group has clubbed together to show their appreciation.’ Picking up an envelope, he beckoned her to come and fetch it.
To another burst of clapping, Kate made her way to the top of the table to shake hands and receive the money collected for her. It was not the first time this had happened, but previously the presentation had been done less formally.
She was mentally preparing a few words of thanks, when Xan surprised her again by tightening his hold on her hand and stooping to kiss her, first on one cheek and then on the other.
Even in public, the brush of his lips was disturbing. She was vaguely aware of some mildly ribald remarks, laughter and more applause.
Disengaging her hand and turning to face the others, she said, ‘Thank you all very much. Actually, being a Palette courier is one of the best jobs anyone could wish for. People who paint tend to be exceptionally nice. I’ve enjoyed myself every bit as much as I hope you have. I look forward to seeing you all again on one of next year’s courses.’
‘You’re ever so poised, aren’t you, Kate?’ said Kelly, when she returned to her seat.
‘Poised? Me?’
‘I couldn’t make a speech like that. I wouldn’t have known what to say.’
‘Saying thank you is easy,’ said Kate. ‘It’s being witty, like Xan, which is hard.’
‘Oh, yeah, isn’t he gorgeous? I could fall for him in a big way, but it’d be a waste of time. He’s a bit too old for me, really, and I’m not his type anyway. If you ask me he fancies Juliet and that’s why he’s fixed up to take her and old Olly to this posh do in London. I wonder what she’ll wear? She’s got some smashing outfits.’
Wondering how Oliver would react to hearing himself called ‘old Olly’—probably with a good-humoured laugh—Kate listened to Kelly prattling on about clothes. There had been a time when Kelly’s theory about the gala would have troubled her. But even when Juliet had seemed a rival for his interest, Kate’s common sense would have recognised that it would have been easy for Xan to give his casting vote to Juliet and invite her to the gala by herself. Could he have guessed how Juliet felt about Oliver? Could he be trying to help her by setting up a romantic evening?
Kate dismissed the idea. Matchmaking was a female activity.
Presently, the main purpose of the party being over and while people who wanted to get home were starting to say their goodbyes, Juliet came to talk to Kate.
‘If I hadn’t arranged to spend tonight with my mother at Reigate, you could have stayed with me in Chiswick. Coming home from a trip is always an anticlimax, and particularly so in your circumstances. But I can’t disappoint my mother. She’s been very lonely since Pa died and my brothers are too far away to visit her regularly. But I’d love to have you to stay another time. I’ll call you next week to find out how things are going.’
Juliet, in spite of having plenty of money and an easy life, was almost as lonely as her widowed mother, Kate surmised.
‘Yes, do. I’d like to hear from you... and to see you again,’ she agreed.
But she knew, from what others had told her, that friendships made on these holidays, however enjoyable at the time, seldom lasted once people were back in their normal environment.
‘I was bracing myself to say a final farewell to you-know-who,’ Juliet said, in a confidential tone. ‘But, thanks to Xan, I’ve been reprieved. That’s if Oliver doesn’t find some excuse to get out of coming to the gala.’
‘I’m sure he won’t.’
‘He doesn’t like London ... detests it. He lives in the wilds of Wiltshire. It wouldn’t surprise me if he didn’t possess a dinner-jacket. When he was in the army he would have worn mess kit for anything formal.’
‘That’s no problem. He can hire a dinner-jacket.’
‘He may not think it worth the effort. Unlike us, men don’t like dressing up. Not men of his sort anyway. Here he comes now.’
‘I’m off, Kate,’ said Oliver, holding out his hand to her. ‘I’ll look forward to seeing you again at the gala... and you too, Juliet,’ he added, smiling at her in a way which should have boosted her morale, Kate thought, watching.
‘I don’t think I’ll be there,’ Kate said. ‘Xan hasn’t mentioned it to me.’
‘I expect he takes it for granted,’ was Oliver’s parting remark before he strode from the room.
‘Men!’ said Juliet, with feeling. ‘But no doubt he’s right—that Xan does intend you to be there. I’ll go and ask him, shall I?’
Without waiting for Kate’s affirmative, she drifted away, pausing to chat to other people on her way to speak to Xan.
She was one of the last to leave. As she bade Kate goodbye, she said, ‘The answer was yes. He’s expecting you to make up the foursome. See you on the night—dressed to kill. Bye for now, honey.’
For the night of the gala dinner at Burlington House in Piccadilly, home of the Royal Academy of Arts, Kate booked a room in an inexpensive hotel.
Talking to her on the telephone, the week before, Juliet had said, ‘I would ask you to stay with me, but it just might happen that you could be highly de trop. I don’t suppose things will work out that way, but I’m going to give what I want to happen every possible chance. And anyway Xan may have post-gala designs on you.’
‘I doubt that,’ Kate had answered despondently. Since the party, her only contact with him had been short talks on the telephone relating to Palette matters such as the design and printing of next year’s brochure, normally mailed in January. True, he had rung up most days, but always in a businesslike manner, never saying anything personal.
Nor had she seen much of Robert, whose visits she had discouraged, telling him firmly that it wasn’t fair to him to continue a friendship which, on her side, could never develop.
‘For better or worse, I’m in love with Xan,’ sh
e had admitted to him. ‘I hate hurting you, Robert, but that’s the way it is, I’m afraid.’
It was mid-afternoon when she arrived at the hotel and, after unpacking and hanging up her dress, went out to buy the sheerest tights she could find and contain her impatience by browsing in her favourite bookshop.
They were meeting at Xan’s flat for drinks at seven o’clock. By a quarter to seven she was ready. Her dress was a one-off extravagance from the days when she’d been earning good money: a long sheath of lustrous dévoré velvet, a luxurious fabric with a pattern formed by the velvet pile in places being eaten away by the application of acids, leaving only the thin silk ground to give a very subtle see-through effect.
The colour was one Xan used a lot in his paintings. It was called terre verte, a pigment made from green clay. During one of his talks in Crete, he had told the group it was found in several parts of the world, but the one he preferred came from a blueish-green clay from near Verona in Italy. Kate’s dress was also Italian, designed by Giorgio Armani. It had cost her almost a whole year’s clothes’ budget. But, as soon as she’d put it on, she had known that she had to have it. The middle-aged assistant had clinched the sale by saying, ‘It’s what I call a forever dress. You’ll be wearing it when you’re my age...and it’s wonderful with your eyes.’
Would Xan think so too? she wondered, surveying her reflection in the mirror on the door of the hotel wardrobe.
She arrived at his flat at a quarter past seven, hoping to be the last comer. This time, when she pressed the bell, there was no curt, ‘Who is it?’ The door was unlocked immediately, but it was Juliet, looking glamorous in carnation-red silk jersey with a sequined top, who was waiting for her at the head of the top flight of stairs.
Kate had already taken off her cashmere-lined midnight-blue velvet evening jacket, another expensive investment in her prosperous years. They appraised each other with mutual approval.
