Second-Best Bride

by Margaret Rome

  A young girl responded by stepping inside the room and half-bobbing a curtsey. 'Kalispera,' she greeted shyly. 'My name is Lira, and I've been sent to help you unpack.'

  'Thank you, Lira.' Angie managed to smile through her misery. 'But there's no need, my night­dress and toothbrush are all I require and they're in my small overnight case.'

  'Oh, but ...' Lira began a protest, then hesi­tated with a confused blush.

  'Yes, what is it?' Angie sensed exactly how the tongue-tied girl was feeling. 'Please don't be shy,' she smiled, 'tell me ...?'

  ‘It is just that the kirios is expecting you to join him for dinner,' she burst out, 'and when I saw him he was looking rather ... impatient,' she gasped, then clasped a hand over her mouth as if amazed by her own temerity.

  But she could not have felt half so amazed as Angie. "The kirios is waiting for me?' Aston­ishment propelled her to her feet. 'But I never dreamt...!' Her panic-stricken eyes swept the room searching for inspiration—how to react, what to say, what to wear. Then like a douche of icy water came the realisation that it did not matter, that if she were to go downstairs to dinner wearing no­thing at all he would have no way of knowing. The fact that he could bear to be in her com­pany at all was encouraging. More than anything she yearned for an opportunity to outline her own part in the drama, to explain that had she been in possession of the true facts she would not have broken the news of Cilla's defection in such a heartless manner.

  She ran into the bathroom to splash away all traces of tears, then, resigned to the fact that she had no time to change, hesitated just long enough to run a comb through her hair before rushing out of the room towards the stairs.

  Crisulla was making her way across the hall carrying a serving dish with a domed silver cover. She could not speak English, but managed to convey, by way of smiles and nods, that she was making her way to the dining-room. So Angie followed slowly in her wake, giving herself time to control the panting caused by her headlong rush downstairs.

  Terzan Helios was already seated at the table with Nikos in attendance, and her heart swelled almost to bursting point when she detected embar­rassment in his caustic observation.

  'Thank you for joining me, Miss Rose. As this will be the first time I have dined with a com­panion since losing my sight I must ask you to make allowances if my tie should happen to dangle in my soup.'

  Nikos cast a sympathetic glance over her flushed cheeks as he served her, before retracing his steps to stand hovering like a guardian angel behind his master's chair.

  Angie found it harder than anything she had ever done in her life before to force spoonsful of soup down a throat aching with unshed tears, trying hard not to look, but feeling her eyes drawn as if hypnotised towards the head of the table, willing the proud, dark Greek to avoid any mishap as slowly and carefully he progressed through the first course until his plate was almost empty.

  Her relief was so great when Nikos removed his plate that she felt like applauding, but then she was once more cast into the depth of pity when he moved his head directly, beneath the beam of an overhead lamp and she saw that his brow was beaded with the sweat of tense endeavour.

  'Your arrival is most opportune, Miss Rose.' The steadiness of his voice seemed to make non­sense of her judgment.

  ‘It is ...?' She managed to croak out the query.

  'Yes, indeed,' he nodded. 'As I have no wish to spend the rest of my life as a hermit, I must re­train before resuming my place in society. An es­sential part of that retraining is to achieve suffici­ent confidence to eat in the presence of others, and as I have no wish to inflict my failings upon friends I need a guinea-pig on whom to practise— someone whose opinion is of no consequence.'

  Angie weathered the insult with a calm he seemed to find infuriating, thereby strengthening her suspicion that his choice of words had been deliberate—symptomatic of the hurt inflicted by her sister. Understanding the motivation behind his hurtful remarks made them so much easier to bear that she found herself able to enjoy the re­mainder of the meal—simple dishes of grilled fish and meat roasted on the spit, cooked by Crisulla in a characteristically Greek fashion.

  Feeling the meal should not pass without com­ment, she shyly addressed Nikos. 'Your wife is a superb cook, Nikos, please tell her that I'm most impressed by my first encounter with Greek cuis­ine.'

  A beam of appreciation spread across Nikos's face, but it was his master who replied with sour lack of grace.

  'Greeks are noted for their simplicity of living, nevertheless, they consider cooking an art and a superlative cook such as Crisulla a genius. The English, however, place a higher importance upon their surroundings than upon the food that is served to them, they will go hungry in order to preserve gentility, consequently most other nation­alities view their opinion on higher matters with great suspicion.'

  When the meal was finished they retired to a small sitting-room where, once Nikos had served her with coffee and then ensured that a tray containing a decanter of brandy, a silver box filled with cheroots, and a table lighter were in easy reach of his master's chair, he withdrew, leaving them alone together.

  Angie sipped her coffee, unaware that her knuckles were whitening under the pressure of her grip upon the tiny cup, as she followed each one of Terzan's careful, deliberate movements. She ached to offer assistance, yet some instinct warned her not to interfere when his lean brown fingers groped for the lid of the box, then fumbled inside in search of a cheroot. But when he clenched one be­tween his teeth and then began guiding the lighter towards its tip she jumped to her feet, afraid for his safety.

  'Let me light it for you!' ]

  'No, thank you,' he refused tersely, 'I can manage.'

  'Oh, but...'

  The lighter flared, searing the objection on her lips.

  ‘I am almost a professional blind man now, Miss Rose.' He leant back and took an exagger­ated puff at his cheroot, I learnt this trick many weeks ago when I was lying in hospital with my eyes bandaged. At first, I scorched my fingers, once I even burnt the bedcovers—to the fury of the nurse in charge—but now I'm perfectly com­petent.'

  Realising that he needed to assert his independ­ence in every way possible, Angie swallowed hard and dropped back into her chair. 'You are very brave,' she faltered, her heart so full she found it difficult to speak.

  His dark head swivelled in the direction of her voice, his glowering look, the bitter twist of his lips, indicating that for some reason her words had angered him.

  'If you must feel pity, Miss Rose, then for God's sake keep it to yourself! And please, never make the mistake of thinking me calm simply because I insist upon doing small, insignificant tasks for myself, of thinking me resigned to living the rest of my life without being able to see! I will never come to terms with the humiliation of having my meat cut into manageable pieces; of having to identify each item on my plate in relation to the hands on a clock—potatoes at three o'clock, vegetables at six—a device dreamt up by Nikos to save me the indignity of having to be spoon-fed. Bravery im­plies a nobility of character that I do not possess. I've discovered an inner strength, that's true, but it is a strength drawn from vices rather than from virtues, from obstinacy, aggressiveness, and from having too large a share of the Greek's insatiable thirst for independence.'

  He flicked his cheroot with a force that scattered ash all over a beautiful, pastel-coloured rug, but Angie dared not protest, hardly dared even to breath as he continued to blister:

  'Some day I mean to resume my place in society, but before I do so I must accept the fact that until I become accustomed to being blind I must rely upon the help of others. In other words, I must learn to be patient, and believe me, Miss Rose, until you arrived I had no idea how very difficult that might turn out to be!'

  He must have heard her stifled gasp, must have known how hurtful his cruel words would sound, yet his expression did not soften, not even when she trembled a dignified apology.

  ‘I'm sorry. If
my presence upsets you so much I'd better leave.'

  'No!' When the rustle of her skirt betrayed her intention to flee he clamped out the command. 'Sit down—I'll let you know when I'm ready to be left alone!'

  Not doubting his promise for one moment, she almost fell into her chair and clasped her hands around trembling knees. Only the faintest of sounds had betrayed her movement, yet he relaxed, satisfied that she had obeyed, then surprised her by offering:

  'Would you like a drink?'

  'No ... no, thank you,' she quivered, agitated as a sparrow at the mercy of a hawk.

  When his hooded eyes swung in her direction she saw him smile; the sight struck her as far from pleasant.

  'Nonsense,' he contradicted, his voice smooth as silk. 'Though you sound too young to be able to appreciate fine old brandy, it might help to pre­vent you from crying.'

  Startled by his keen perception, Angie fought hard for control while she watched him pouring a drink, holding the glass with one finger crooked just over the edge, using the tip to warn him not to over-pour. She sensed his satisfaction when he set that glass aside for himself, then picked up another one which he filled to the same level, but this time without the aid of a finger gauge.

  'Have I managed to pour the same quantity in each?' he asked, holding up both glasses for her inspection.

  She nodded, bemused, then reminded that he could not see, stammered, 'Yes ...'

  'Good!' Her heart almost stopped beating when he grinned. 'It is becoming easier to judge by the sound, whether I have poured enough, and by the relative weight of decanter and glass.'

  Though it was becoming easier by the minute to understand Cilla's fear of the dominating Greek, as she took the proffered glass Angie could not help but admire the tenacity of the man who was determined to stride without fear through his world of darkness.

  'Tell me about Priscilla's new fiancé,' he drawled.

  The request was so startling she jerked, spilling brandy into her lap.

  'No doubt,' his voice developed a sneer, 'as well as being rich—and sighted—he is also very well connected?'

  She drew in a deep breath. 'Well, yes, as a matter of fact he is, but I'm certain that David Montgomery's circumstances played no part in influencing my sister's choice.'

  'And I am equally certain that they did.' He leant forward so that she could see a muscle twit­ching in his cheek.

  'Cilla's not like that,' she began, 'she—'

  'All women are like that’ he jeered hatefully; 'Wealth is to woman what pearls are to oysters— greatly coveted, painfully nurtured, and once pos­sessed so tightly secreted that only death can prise them apart.'

  'You seem to have developed a very low opinion of the girl you once claimed to love,' she husked, shaken by his depth of cynicism.

  'And who claimed to love me,' he reminded her harshly, 'haven't I the right to feel disillusioned; when the woman who professed herself eager to love, honour and obey could not wait even until I had been discharged from hospital before writing to inform me that so far as she was concerned the fact that I had lost my sight relieved her of all obligations? I had to comfort the nurse who read out that letter,' he told her simply. 'She was so upset that I was accused by her superior of making her cry.'

  'Oh, no!' Angie's shame was agonising, ‘I didn't know—believe me, I'm terribly sorry!'

  'Pity again, Miss Rose?' Once again he reverted to mockery. 'Are you as emotionally unstable as your sister whose love proved to be light as a butterfly who spreads her wings and flies at the sight of human ties?'

  'No, I'm not!' she refuted fiercely, rubbing tears of shame from her eyes.

  'Then prove it!' he challenged softly. 'The great­est drawback of blindness is boredom. I cannot watch the scenery, lose myself in a book, nor even write a letter. I'm not lonely here, just very much alone. Every letter I receive is meaningless to me as mostly they are written in English and although Nikos speaks the language well he cannot decipher the written word. If you really are different in nature from your sister, if you genuinely wish to make amends for her duplicity, then stay here on Kariös and be the eyes with which I see, the hands with which I write.'

  When he rose to his feet and pressed a bell to summon Nikos, Angie felt herself dismissed. She stumbled towards the door, too overwhelmed to speak, and halted on the threshold just long enough to heed his last command.

  'Think about it, Miss Rose, and give me your decision tomorrow. If the situation I've outlined is too unconventional to appeal to the daughter of a vicar,' he drawled with incredible negligence, 'I'd even be prepared to marry you.'

  CHAPTER FOUR

  'Step one pace to your right, otherwise you may collide with the door Lira has unfortunately om­itted to close.' The calmness of Angie's voice was contradicted by the anxiety in her eyes as she wat­ched Terzan Helios prowl around his study with steps that were growing more confident with each passing day. But though he had familiarised him­self with the position of each piece of furniture, had paced out the exact number of steps needed to reach the door, the window, or his desk, it was the small, unexpected things that jarred upon his nerves, his joints, and his temper—a misplaced ornament, the curled-up edge of a rug, or, as in this instance, a door left thoughtlessly ajar.

  'Damn the girl!' Predictably, he expressed no words of thanks but vented his aggravation upon the absent maid. 'As she cannot be trusted to follow instructions, kindly inform Nikos that so far as she is concerned this room is to be con­sidered, out of bounds.'

  'Very well,' Angie replied steadily, having already discovered that to argue was to present him with a heaven-sent excuse to vent his frustra­tion upon her vulnerable head. Thankful for the fact that he had no way of knowing how sen­sitively she reacted to his savage outbursts, she smudged a tear from the writing pad on her knee and tightened trembling fingers around her pencil. 'I'll tell him after you've finished dictating this letter.'

  'Leave it!' Irritably he strode across to the window. 'I'm not in the mood for work today. Tell me,' his casual tone rang false, 'is my imagination playing tricks, or has the storm really lessened?'

  Her heart responded with a leap of hope, but her voice betrayed no clue to her feelings when she joined him at the window to study the leaden clouds, lashing rain, and frenzied, storm-tossed sea which for the past week had kept her a prisoner on his island.

  'The sky does seem lighter on the far horizon,' she agreed. 'Shall I turn on the radio to find out if the weather forecast is good?'

  'Good for you, or for me?' he questioned, his jawline tight. 'Don't imagine, Angelina, that I am unaware that you are trembling next to me like a caged sparrow sensing an opportunity to escape its trap. I sympathise with your eagerness to fly away, for though the bars of my prison may be invisible their hold is more effective than steel.'

  She had to fight against the strong current of compassion that threatened to sweep her into his clutches, had to harden her heart by clinging to the suspicion that the devious Greek was deliberately playing upon her feelings, determined to keep her on Karios in order to retain the services which during the past week he had found so useful.

  Once he had discovered her skills in the twin arts of shorthand and typing he had exploited them to the uttermost, ploughing through the piles of business correspondence left unopened since his accident, working her steadily for eight, sometimes ten hours a day, so that each night she had crept into bed feeling physically and mentally exhausted.

  'My father needs me,' she told him simply, making no pretence of misunderstanding his motive, 'my first responsibility lies with him.'

  'Does it indeed?' He swung round to tower grimly above her head. 'Your father is a man of the cloth, I believe—in which case one would imagine him to be all in favour of a sinner making reparation.'

  ‘I'm not Cilla's keeper,' she gasped, 'you can't hold me responsible for her misdeeds!'

  'A convenient excuse,' his lip curled upwards into a sneer. 'We Greeks look upon the family as a
complete unit, if one of its members is kicked all will limp, and conversely, if one should offend against society the rest feel compelled to share his burden of guilt. Your sister was honest enough to recognise her own inadequacies. Knowing herself to be incapable of sharing her life with a blind man she sent you in her place—a substitute fiancée who seems determined to ensure that I am jilted twice!'

  'That's most unfair!' The protest was snatched from her lips. 'I've already explained that when I agreed to act as Cilla's messenger I had no idea of the true circumstances. I'm sorry, terribly sorry about your .... accident,' she choked, 'and I desperately want to help, but I can't stay here indefin­itely, my father depends upon my help.'

  'I need you more than he does!' The admission was startling, jerked as it was from lips set hard with pride, in just one week I have come to depend upon your sight, upon your ability to sense my needs—sometimes before I am aware of them myself. But perhaps I have not offered sufficient inducement,' he almost snarled, if it is money you want then name your price, whatever sum you mention will be met.'

  Angie winced as if from a blow. 'No amount of money could compensate for having to live with your insults,' she whispered. 'Money breeds posi­tion; money breeds success, but in your case at least, money has not bred breeding!'

  As punishment for her temerity, Terzan resumed work, dictating letters with a speed and ferocity that left her gasping. During the week she had acted as his secretary, she had gained surprising insight into the life of the man whose business en­compassed a bewildering range of interests, the man who, Nikos had proudly informed her, had been born and raised on this small island, who had left its shores as a penniless orphan and returned years later as its sole owner.

  'He has the touch of Midas,' Nikos had boasted, 'he shares the gift of the legendary king who re­quested of the gods that everything he touched might be turned to gold!'

  That this was no idle boast was confirmed by letters stamped with headings so imposing they spoke for themselves: the Helios Shipping Company; Helios Agricultural Chemicals; Helios Textile Industry; Helios Petroleum Products and the slightly frivolous Helios Discotheque, Ltd.—each company carrying as its trademark the figure of Helios, the Greek sun god from whom he took his name.