From accounts and various official letters Angie gleaned that he held a private pilot's licence for both plane and helicopter and had been used to flying himself from country to country in his own jet plane; that his enthusiasm for fast cars had involved him in races on most of the world's big tracks; that he was the owner of a chateau in France, an apartment in Athens, a chalet in Klosters which he occupied only during the skiing season; that he had recently disposed of his yacht for a mind-boggling sum and had purchased in its place a powerful motorboat. It also became obvious, as she sifted through accounts dispatched from famous jewellers, that in the past he had devoted much time and effort to the art of pleasing beautiful women, distributing gifts ranging from costly objets d'art to small diamond pins with an extravagance she found shocking.
An unconscious gasp must have betrayed her sentiments. His lips twitched slightly, then he drawled, showing acute perception:
‘I like women. I enjoy seeing their eyes light up when I give them expensive presents—or rather I did,' he clamped, remembrance erasing all trace of amusement from his expression.
It was almost midday by the time Angie opened the last of his correspondence. She read the last letter aloud, then waited, her fingers cramped around a pencil, for him to dictate a reply. When he had finished she rose to her feet with a sigh of relief, just as Nikos appeared to tell them that lunch was ready.
'Not now!' his master snapped. 'We are far too busy. I'll let you know when I wish to eat.'
Nikos hesitated, his eyes upon Angie's waxen face. It was not often he dared to contradict his master, who had grown more and more irascible since his accident, but Angie's evident exhaustion moved him to protest.
'But what of the little Anghlika who droops like a slender flower beneath a weight of weariness?'
Laughter grated from an aggravated throat. Despite your poetic protest, susceptible old Greek, I have become well enough acquainted with the little Anghlika, as you call her, to know that she is as tough as the proverbial old boot. Now leave us, if you please,' his voice sharpened, 'and see to it that there are no further interruptions.'
Casting Angie a look that communicated both despair and sorrow, Nikos withdrew and closed the door gently behind him.
'Has he gone?' he snapped.
'Yes,' she gulped. Then, made brave by gnawing hunger, she reminded him, 'The backlog of letters has been cleared, so couldn't we—'
'No, we could not,' he anticipated, determined to exploit to the limit her willingness to treat his work as a penance. 'Now that all pressing business correspondence has been dealt with, I wish to concentrate my attention upon personal letters.'
To her dismay he took from a drawer a bundle; of pastel-coloured envelopes, each addressed in an; unmistakably feminine hand.
'But I can't read your personal mail!' she stammered. I would feel I was intruding into your private affairs. You must ask someone else, some intimate friend!'
‘If my fiancée were available I could ask her,' he sneered, 'but as she is not I must prevail upon her stand-in. Begin reading, if you please ...!'
She shivered from the menace she felt certain was penetrating through dark, soulless lenses and accepted without further protest the letter he had withdrawn from an impatiently-ripped envelope.
'My poor darling Terzan,' she faltered, cringing with embarrassment, ‘I was horrified to learn of your accident ... let me come to Karios ... I am prepared to devote the rest of my life to making you happy ... life for us could be one long idyll ... the depths of intimacy,' she stumbled, her cheeks fiery ... 'we once shared must mean that I am best qualified to act as your loving nurse, to guide you around obstacles, to choose your clothes and help you to dress.'
Angie choked to a halt, then, after a quick glance at features frozen with distaste, she concentrated upon relaying the puerile sentiments repeated in each consecutive letter, not one of which contained an iota of constructive advice, not one glimpse of insight into the true nature of the ferociously independent Greek. They each have their own interests at heart, she told herself, bogged down with pity for the man encumbered with a host of superficial friends. He must have been blind even before his accident if he couldn't recognise these self-seeking, avaricious women for what they are!
Doggedly she waded through the pile, her numbed state of mind betrayed by a voice that gradually developed into a monotonous chant. She had progressed almost halfway through the final letter before its vitriolic content became impressed upon her mind.
'Congratulations upon the break-up of your engagement ... you have had a lucky escape. Though it would not have been politic to mention it earlier, your ex-fiancée is a notorious social climber who in the past has made no secret of her determination to marry the richest man available, and preferably one with a title ...'
Uttering a cry of disgust, Angie dropped the letter from fingers that felt scorched. 'That's the finish!' she gasped, I refuse to read further lies about my sister ...'
She waited with fists clenched tightly in her lap, expecting a hail of condemnation to fall upon her head, but instead was shocked at the sight of features darkened by a cloud of depression, and by the lack of fire in his voice when grimly he admitted:
'At first I was very angry with Priscilla, but can now remember with gratitude, for it appears she is the only honest woman I have ever known.'
Understanding his depth of disillusionment, she tried to console, 'Cilla can be infuriating, but no one ever stays angry with her for long because basically she's very lovable.'
His sightless stare swivelled in her direction. 'Then your father is fortunate in being twice blessed—having one daughter who is lovable, and another who is intensely loyal to those she loves.'
She left him to partake of a solitary lunch, dismissed from his presence with a brusqueness that seemed to betray annoyance at his own momentary weakness. But as she nibbled at the light delicious meal of sweet, orange-coloured roe of the sea urchins Nikos had gathered from the rocks that morning, garnished with a slice of lemon and accompanied by slices of Crisulla's freshly-baked brown bread, she debated in her mind the anathema of a man rich in worldly possessions but made poverty-stricken by a lack of true friends.
‘I am not lonely here, just very much alone,' he had claimed. Angie now realised, even if he did not, that his words had been thrown up like a fence to hide a core of solitude. Was his pride a mask behind which lurked a fear not only of physical blindness but of having to grope a solitary path through a world of stark loneliness?
'Do you drive, Miss Rose?'
The question shocked her erect. No man of his physique had the right to such a noiseless approach, she decided, irritated by the pulsating shock his voice had inflicted upon her nerves.
'Yes ... at least, I did at home.' She swallowed hard to disperse a last morsel of bread that had lodged in her throat.
'Good. Nikos tells me that the storm has all but passed, so, reluctant though I am to be driven by a woman, I feel in need of a change of environment. Come, I will allow you to drive me around the island.'
'Oh, but—' she began a breathless protest, ‘I'm used to driving on the left.'
'Left, right or centre, it makes no matter,' his teeth snapped, 'mine is the only car on the island, the only other traffic consists merely of donkey carts and the odd bicycle.'
Her relief was indescribable when, instead of the limousine she had been dreading, her eyes fell upon a Mini as the grinning Nikos threw open a garage door—sparkling coachwork, pristine interior, yet in every other respect as dearly familiar äs the battered old vehicle in which she had driven around her father's parish.
When pure nervousness caused her to crash the gears she glanced sideways at her passenger and saw his lips tighten, the knuckles whitening on hands resting against a lean thigh. This faint insight into the mind of the man steeling himself to being driven into the unknown, to sit impassive when once he had driven at demoniacal speed, throwing chunks of power-driven
metal around curves and bends with the cool-headed precision of one whose batteries could only be recharged with the spark of danger, impressed upon her the need to relax, to communicate her mastery over the controls.
'Proceed to the end of the drive, then turn left,' he directed. 'Continue along the coast road until you reach the village.'
As soon as she set off along the drive her confidence flooded back, so that her actions became mechanical and she was able to take in some of the beauty of fields clothed in springtime green and a sea shading from aquamarine to brilliant blue beneath a rapidly-warming sun.
She was surprised by the miles they had to cover before leaving the estate behind, and when she remarked upon the groves of orange, lemon and fig, the gnarled trunks and thrusting green of newly-awakening vines, the innumerable olive trees, he replied laconically:
'Years ago, when I worked here as a child harvesting the olives, I was convinced that the groves stretched far into infinity.'
'You used to work on the land you now own?* she enquired, wide-eyed.
Terzan nodded. 'From dawn until dusk, as long as there was an olive left to gather my mother and father, Aunt Maria and myself toiled beneath the heat of the sun with only bread and cheese as sustenance and water or, if we were fortunate, a carafe of rough wine to quench our thirst.'
'Were they happy days?' She waited intently, hoping to receive some clue to his complex nature in his reply.
'In retrospect, I suppose they were,' he told her cautiously, 'but that could be because those days are always associated in my mind with my parents.'
'Where are your parents now?'
'Both dead.' He shrugged, yet instinctively she sensed a wound still raw. 'They passed away within six months of each other, when I was ten years old. I then moved in with my widowed aunt and remained with her until I left the island in my early teens to seek fun and fortune in the outside world.'
As if guessing her intention to point out how fortunate he was to have achieved everything he had set out to do, he switched abruptly to a different subject.
'Greek ancients regarded the olive as sacred, a symbol of peace and an emblem of fertility. Even today, the islanders of Karios, who cling to their superstitions as tenaciously as they cling to a way of life that has changed little during the past century, insist that a bride must wear an olive garland or else run the risk of discovering that she is barren. "My wife shall be as a fruitful vine,"' he quoted softly, ' "my children like olive plants round about my table."
'Not one particle of the olive is wasted,' he continued in a less brooding vein. 'Once the oil has been extracted the residue is boiled down for soap and the remainder is used as fertiliser. Prunings from the trees are utilised as fodder and bedding for sheep and goats; the hard timber is used for f making furniture and at times even forms the structures of houses. Even withered branches are burned to provide warmth and to fuel the cooking1 stoves.'
Angie had the feeling when he lapsed into silence that the taciturn Greek had come as near as his frustrated nature would allow towards offering an olive branch, and as she guided the car along deserted roads she told herself that the sudden lightening of her spirits was due to the beauty all around her, to profuse orchards, the waving fields, to hills topped with windmills, to blue sea lapping tiny sandy coves tucked into the craggy coastline, and had no connection whatsoever with the tall Greek sitting loose-limbed by her side, looking at ease for the first time since her arrival, his brow unfurrowed, his mouth curved upwards as if almost tempted to smile.
'Stop when we reach the village,' he instructed, as if aware that a tumble of white cubed houses had appeared on the horizon. 'My aunt lives in the house with the dark blue shutters, I'd like you to meet her.'
The house, when she drew up outside it, was a disappointment. The outside walls were covered with flaking whitewash, and paint was peeling from the window frames and door. A wooden table reeled drunkenly against one wall and though a vine-covered pergola shaded the forecourt, the base of the vine was littered with piles of debris, the most incongruous item being an empty, bright blue plastic detergent bottle.
It did not seem possible that a cosmopolitan, highly intelligent business man could have originated from such deprived surroundings.
They had no time to knock before the door was flung open revealing on the threshold a wrinkled-faced crone, her cheeks pitted with grime, dressed head to toe in ancient, unsavoury black. Angie stared appalled when, after addressing swift, unintelligible words to her nephew, the old woman extended a hand, palm uppermost.
Grim-faced, Terzan delved into his pocket and dropped a handful of silver coins in the direction of her grasping claw. Her cackle of delight sickened Angie to the very soul, nevertheless she was not prepared for the shock of seeing a door slammed in her companion‘s face, nor for the pity that speared her so sharply she had to bite her lip to force back a cry of pain at the sight of his expression of patently forced indifference.
They had progressed halfway back to the villa before he spoke.
'Somewhere along this road you will see a layby that overlooks my favourite view of the island. I've gone there often in the past whenever I've felt ... troubled. Pull in there, will you, please, I'd like a few minutes' silence to sort out my thoughts.'
Seconds later Angie drew to a halt where the road reached the summit of golden cliffs that plunged spectacularly down, then outwards to form a circle, perfect as a wedding ring, floating on a sea of dark blue satin. When he leant back his head she guessed that behind the dark glasses his eyes were closed. Loath to intrude upon his thoughts, she stared silently at the scene below, identifying with his hurt, sharing the shame of his aunt's rejection and puzzled by it. Finally, when she could stand the silence no longer, she whispered softly:
'Why did you go? You must have learnt from past experience that your aunt is an unfeeling woman who loves only money.'
‘I hardly know myself,' he replied sombrely, I suppose, basically, it is because however far a man might travel he always gravitates towards the place where his roots lie deepest. I cannot expect you to understand, Miss Rose, for you are part of a loving, caring family. However far you may travel, however long you may be away, you have the assurance of knowing that you will be welcomed home. Aunt Maria is my only living relative,' he told her simply. 'I cling to her because, in spite of her drawbacks, she is all the family I possess.'
Feeling her heart was ready to burst, Angie sat silently digesting his words, knowing that to sympathise would be fatal, to betray pity would be to invite anger sudden and explosive as an Aegean storm. For a long time she wrestled with a conscience insisting that the step she was contemplating was wrong, but the events of the day had laid bare Terzan Helios's lonely soul and eventually prudence was swamped by compassion.
‘If... if you still want me to, I'll remain here on Karios,' she told him. I
'As my wife ...?'
A quiver ran through her frame, but she managed to keep her voice steady when she answered huskily, ‘If necessary, yes ...' At that moment a vagrant cloud drifted across the face of the sun, which was why Angie was later able to convince herself that the sight that had frightened her was a trick of the light—that for one infinitesimal second Terzan Helios's expression had not been transformed by a thin satisfied smile!
CHAPTER FIVE
There were lots of churches on Karios, tiny white-washed buildings each with the inevitable bell tower, standing square as sugar cubes around every bend; beside each group of houses, perched high on solitary hills with only sheep, goats and the occasional shepherd to make up a congregation.
But the marriage ceremony was to take place in the church overlooking the harbour, because it was the main one, the only one large enough to accommodate every one of the islanders, who had made plain their delight at the kirios's choice of bride.
Since the day their betrothal had been announced the sun had shone on Karios, soaking up moisture from sodden fields,
reducing streams to trickles, stirring luxuriant growth into orchards, meadows and hedgerows so that the whole island seemed overnight to have burst into flower.
For the past ten days Angie had been left very much to her own devices. Once the storm had sub sided and the stretch of sea between Karios and Rhodes, its large, bustling neighbour, had become navigable, further sacks of mail had been delivered to the villa, yet much to her surprise Terzan had made no call upon her services, had seemed content to allow her plenty of free time to roam the island, to accept the islanders' mimed invitations to step inside their houses where invariably she had been offered a liqueur or a small glass plate filled with sweet preserve made of orange peel, tiny unripe bitter oranges, quince or grapes, or perhaps delicious clear honey poured over shelled walnuts or almonds, which was the Greek way of instilling sweetness into friendship.
By dallying in the middle of the main street next to a stone water trough fed by a spring, she had managed to make friends with the women and girls who gathered with pitchers and pails to collect the family's water supply, to wash the family's clothes, to chatter and exchange the latest items of gossip. Even though their conversation had, of necessity, been conducted entirely in smiles, giggles and mime, she had learnt to know and admire the hardworking islanders for their personal qualities, their warm hospitality; the pride of their men, the shy modesty of their women.
'Parakalo, may I help you to dress?'
When Angie turned away from the bedroom window through which, for the past hour, she had stared, quite motionless, Lira was shocked by the incomprehension reflected in dazed grey eyes—the young Anghlika did not look at all as a bride should look on her wedding day, there was an absence of sparkle, an almost hunted look about the pale face that could have been mistaken for a mask were it not for a pink bottom lip that had a tendency to quiver.
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