Second-Best Bride

by Margaret Rome

  As she sat hugged in misery even the child she was carrying, the tiny spark of life whose existence only Christos had been wise enough to suspect, was forgotten as she dredged her mind for the reason behind Terzan's latest act of treachery.

  With a moan of shame she recalled how only the night before he had come to her bedroom—as he had every night of their marriage—attracted like a flame to a moth that put up a fluttering fight, knowing she was destined to succumb to searing passion, to lovemaking that deprived her of every vestige of will, to eyes gleaming bright as a nighttime prowler that devoured her timidity in a blaze of amber.

  'Terzan,' she had murmured, overcome by tender possessiveness, 'your lashes are so thick they could be used for dusters!' He had responded by growling a laugh against the hollow of her throat, stirring into eruption a sensuous quake that had shaken the very depths of her hungry body.

  The intimacy they had shared, the moments of joy, the pleasure she felt certain had not been hers alone, rendered Cilla's hints unbelievable. That he was ready to leave the island, taking Cilla with him, was no longer in doubt, but there had to be a feasible explanation, she argued desperately, he at least should be given the chance to state in his own words the reason for his departure, instead of being judged on the evidence of a notoriously biased witness!

  They had fallen into a routine of working in Terzan's study for a few hours each day, im­mediately after the mail was delivered to the island, so when she glanced out of the window and saw Nikos trudging up to the house from the direction of the jetty with a mailbag slung across his shoul­der she sat for a few minutes, concentrating upon calming quivering nerves, then forced herself to walk calmly down to his study.

  As quietly as possible she opened the door and sidled inside, having learnt from experience that sudden noises were apt to fray his nerves and con­sequently his temper. In spite of the physical inti­macy that had drawn them as close as two people can be, in other respects Terzan remained reticent, fighting a lone battle with the perils that invaded his darkness, wary in case any appeal for help should lessen his chances of being accepted as normal. But his reaction to an incident that had occurred some weeks ago had helped her to ap­preciate the strain imposed upon him by his lack of visual warning of imminent sound.

  They had been strolling together along the beach when suddenly the calm of the day had been shattered by the high-pitched whine of a jet plane that had descended faster than sound from the heavens and then levelled out over the island with a demoniacal, ear-splitting scream as it passed directly overhead. Terzan had reacted as other people might to the crack of an explosion on a dark, soundless night, jerking rigid, snowing white around the mouth, his brow damp with beads of shock ...

  He was seated at his desk, obviously anticipating her arrival. At the sound of her soft footfall his drumming fingers relaxed and when his head lifted she read upon his face an expression of relief.

  'Thank you for coming so promptly.' He sounded sombre and very much on edge. 'There is a great deal of correspondence to be dealt with today, but once it is finished you will be allowed a long rest, I promise you.'

  Because you won't be here, she thought dully, sinking down into a chair with a pad and pencil at the ready. Realising that he was in no mood to discuss anything other than the business in hand, she concentrated upon transcribing his rapid dicta­tion, pushing all thoughts of desertion and divorce to the back of her mind. But when she had read out the last of the letters and he had finished dic­tating a reply she glanced up, then went cold all over, sensing from his sudden stillness, his dark frown, that she was about to receive her painful and final dismissal. There was little consolation to be gained from the knowledge that the words he sought did not come easily.

  'Before you go, Angelina, there is something I want to tell you.'

  When she did not speak, did not so much as stir, he continued quietly, ‘I have decided that the time has come when I must relinquish the crutch of familiar routine and recognisable voices and take up the threads of normal life again. Naturally, I feel reluctant to desert the protection of the shell I have built here on Karios, but personal wellbeing has ceased to be my main consideration, for the first time ever I find myself putting the happiness of another person before my own, and since the solution to my problem cannot be found here, I must search elsewhere for an answer, therefore I shall be leaving the island tomorrow ...'

  ‘I know . . .' Now that the blow had actually fallen it was easier than she had thought to hide her heartbreak behind a barrier of indifference. 'Cilla has already told me.'

  'She has?' His voice sharpened. 'But I specifically asked her not to—' He broke off, then had sufficient gall to sound concerned when he con­tinued, ’I had hoped to spare you as much anxiety as possible, but now that you have been made aware of all the facts, tell me, what is your opinion of my decision? Am I right in assuming that the step I am contemplating is essential if we are not both to be condemned to a lifetime of unhappiness?'

  Angie struggled to reach a fair conclusion, to set her own unhappiness and the welfare of their unborn child against his right to marry the only girl he had ever loved. From the very beginning he had been honest about the fact that he regarded a her as a poor substitute for Cilla, a second-best bride whose skills had helped to fill the gap left by a proficient secretary; who was useful as a guide; whose naive gullibility had allowed him to exploit her very obliging body. If she were to rant and rave and scream betrayal he could quite justifiably point out that as a lover he had been dominant but never violent, that one word of rejection, one hint of distress would have been sufficient to remove him permanently from her bedroom. Tears of despair could not blind her to the fact that the scales of justice were leaning heavily in his favour. As he and Cilla had so rightly concluded, divorce was the only sane and reasonable answer.

  She drew in a long silent breath and with her hands clenched tightly in her lap replied as coolly as she was able.

  'As usual, Terzan, you seem to have reached the right decision.' She rose to her feet, urging her trembling limbs not to give way beneath her, and managed to gasp a plea, 'All I ask is that the formalities are concluded with the least possible delay—that you employ a surgeon with a swift, clean scalpel.'

  He winced as if struck, whitening before her eyes until the pallor of shock showed pale beneath his tan. Then as she watched, bewildered, his jaw-line tightened, making his words sound run through with steel.

  'I thought I knew you well, Angelina, well enough to understand why you feigned illness in order to avoid my company, well enough to understand your reluctance to give yourself to me completely, your insistence upon keeping one tiny part of yourself a secret to everyone but yourself. It was because of this understanding I thought I had that I did not complain about the absence of one involuntary caress, one loving endearment that was not forced from you. Not until this moment had I even begun to suspect that you were capable of being insensitive—even downright callous!’

  The accusation was so unjust it left her bereft of words. That his conscience should be uneasy was understandable, no man in the throes of divorcing his wife to replace her with another could expect to be totally devoid of guilt, but his attempt to lay all the blame on her already overburdened shoul­ders struck her as unforgivable.

  ‘I’m sorry if your conscience is condemning you for a villain, Terzan,' she told him quietly, retreat­ing towards the door. ‘I’ve co-operated as far as I'm able, but if it's absolution you want then you must seek it elsewhere.‘

  She stopped on her way back to her room to retrieve the bottle of perfume she had left in the drawing room. The box was lying on the table where she had left it, but when she lifted the lid she cried out with distress at the sight of a damp patch spreading darkly over the nest of pale green satin. She lifted the bottle from its resting place and felt moisture beneath her fingers, then when she unscrewed the stopper she discovered that the tiny plug she could have sworn she had replaced in the neck
of the bottle was missing and perfume was seeping out of the small hole which the plug should have rendered airtight. Annoyed by her own uncharacteristic carelessness, she wiped the bottle dry and caught her breath when a whiff of fragrance teased her nostrils, reminding her of the happy hours she and Terzan had spent in the Old Town, of the tolerant amusement he had shown while she had searched the bazaar for inexpensive presents, of the way his laughter had rung out when, after her first attempt at bargaining, she had carried off a sponge in triumph only to be dismayed by the discovery that identical sponges were selling for half the price on a stall mere steps away.

  Had he known even then, she wondered, allowing a sad tear to trickle down her cheek, that their Greek tragedy of a marriage was almost at an end? The marriage that had begun with good luck rain falling on the chapel during their wedding day and had continued stormy, except for intermittent showers of almost unbearable happiness. And if he had, did that explain the aptness of his choice of perfume—the fragrance that drifted from a crushed, mangled rose?

  After an abortive search for the missing stopper she carried the bottle up to her room intending to find out whether the plug of the now empty bottle of perfume that Cilla had given her could be used as a stopgap, but as she was searching through a drawer her fingers came into contact with a swathe of tissue paper wrapped around a present she had bought for Terzan and had completely forgotten to give him. Carefully, she unwound the paper and stared down at the gift cupped in the palm of her hand, a butterfly shaped out of onyx, a pale green, delicately veined mineral common to the islands. She traced a finger along the curve of an outspread wing, wondering if it would remind him of the flight of the butterflies he had once loved to watch, deciding to give it to him as a keepsake because she already had a reminder, a part of him from which she could never be divorced, the infinitely precious child she was now carrying. Just the thought of giving birth to Terzan's daughter or son brought a smile of happiness to her lips, a smile that turned to frozen pain when she saun­tered across to the window overlooking the garden where Terzan was stretched out on a lounger, seemingly dozing beneath the shade of a tree. As if the tableau had been staged specifically to kill every last vestige of hope in her heart, Cilla ap­peared, tiptoeing across the grass towards the un­suspecting Terzan. With a confidence born of assurance, she bent down to kiss his cheek, then with a cry of pain Angie turned away, appalled by the eager spring of Terzan's body when he grabbed her close and captured her mouth with a long, hungry kiss.

  For the rest of the day Angie nursed her agony during solitary walks along the beach, taking care to rest at intervals in a hidden part of the garden, skipping lunch altogether because she knew she would not be able to eat, then finally deciding, as she dragged her weary body upstairs, that she would ask for a tray to be sent to her room rather than submit to the torture of joining Cilla and Terzan for dinner, forcing them to endure for her benefit one last evening of polite friendship when all the time their thoughts would be dwelling on the happiness tomorrow would bring.

  But when, in response to her request, Lira ap­peared carrying a tray holding a dish of boiled octopus she knew that even at the risk of depriving her baby of nourishment she could not eat it.

  'Take it away, Lira!' she begged, repelled by the reminder of a brown, savage octopus being hauled from the sea, flung sharply to the ground, then rubbed in a circular movement against the rough surface of ä rock until it exuded a frothy lather and changed to the pearly grey colour that told experienced fishermen that it was ready for the pot. 'I'll have some bread and cheese instead—also a glass of fresh milk would be nice.'

  Lira's knowing smile caused Angie to panic. Earthy Greek peasants were hard to deceive and far from reticent, and already she had sensed Crisulla's speculative eyes upon her rounded breasts and faintly curving tummy. It would be disastrous if, at this late stage, one chance remark to Terzan should alert him to the fact that the wife he could barely tolerate was carrying his unwanted child.

  ‘I . . . I've been putting on too much weight lately,' she stated firmly, looking Lira straight in the eye. ’I've decided that from today I shall diet until I am rid of these unwanted pounds.' Much to her relief, Lira's smile faded to a droop of disap­pointment before she hurried back to the kitchen to tell Crisulla that she had drawn a wrong conclusion.

  Consoled by the knowledge that no further threat to Terzan's happiness loomed upon the horizon, Angie prepared for bed, then sat in a chair by a window overlooking the garden until long after midnight, refusing to allow her mind to dwell upon a future devoid of Terzan, contenting herself with making plans for the baby which she had already decided would be brought up in the vicarage to which she intended to return immediately after the divorce had been made absolute.

  When a slight sound disturbed the silence of the darkened room she did not even bother to turn her head, writing it off as imagination, or perhaps the effect of a cat on a nocturnal prowl of the garden. Shock froze her to immobility when a low voice reached across her shoulder.

  'Crisulla tells me that you did not feel well enough to eat downstairs this evening, elika, so as I shall probably have left the island before you awaken in the morning I felt I had to find out whether this time your illness is real or purely imaginary.'

  Feeling boneless with shock, she rose to her feet and turned round to study a mocking mouth; eyes flickering an amber query from behind a screen of half-closed lashes; a ripple of muscle beneath silk that told her that beneath the dark dressing gown he was naked, the bare column of throat encircled by a fine gold chain, and a glimpse of brown chest matted with fine black hairs that supplied proof of the notion, a lounging yet alert stance that recalled to mind a sleek well-fed tomcat whose appetite was satiated yet who was nevertheless unable to discard habits formed during a less sybaritic existence when one meal might have had to last a lifetime. ‘I’m not ill, just rather tired,' she whispered, backing away from his intimidating presence.

  'Too tired even to spend with your husband the last evening before what might be a prolonged separation?' The lightness of his tone was contradicted by bunching fists thrust deep into the pockets of his dressing-gown.

  'You had Cilla to keep you company, so I thought I wouldn't be missed,' she stumbled, then countered the menace of a hissed-in breath by continuing hastily, 'But I did get you a present, something to remind you of Karios.'

  The confession took him so much by surprise that when she pressed the small butterfly into his palm he seemed at a loss for words, reminding her of a small, boy receiving his very first present, wary of showing too much gratitude in case the gift should suddenly be spirited away.

  'You bought this for me?' he repeated roughly, running questing fingers along the rim of an out­stretched wing.

  'Why sound so surprised?' She forced a quiver­ing laugh, it's merely a worthless trinket that I bought in the bazaar, a replica of the creatures you seem to find appealing—fluttering beauties that supply momentary pleasure, that can be easily squashed when they become bothersome, and are plentiful enough to be brushed aside when a more colourful member of the species hovers into view.

  'In spite of her resolve to remain calm bitterness had crept into her last words, adding a ring of accusation she regretted.

  'Angelina . ..!' When he stepped towards her she dodged aside, leaving him stranded, then averted her eyes, unable to bear the proud Greek's look of humiliation.'

  You have never done that before,' he accused bleakly, 'at least I don't think you have—but then it is difficult for a blind man to know when he is being bluffed. Tell me, elika’ he was perfectly still except for a muscle jerking violently in his cheek, 'what will happen to us if my mission should fail? What if the surgeon's knife should fumble ...?'

  As it seemed highly unlikely that any solicitor he employed would find it difficult to settle a simple divorce action, she replied with puzzlement;

  'As you have so much to lose, I'm certain you will engage the best man possible.'
>
  The rustle of her dressing-gown when she moved, the drift of her perfume, was sufficient to indicate her whereabouts. With a speed that was shocking he swooped, pinning her shoulders in a rock-hard clutch.

  'My blindness does repel you, doesn't it, An­gelina? I've suspected all along that you were just pretending that it did not, but now I want the truth. Admit it,' he shook her unmercifully, 'let me hear you put your disgust into words!

  'His cruelty broke down the barrier of calm that had helped to preserve her sanity, the pressure of his body aroused a clamouring deep inside that threatened to force her to her knees, begging to be loved. Only the reminder of the kiss he had ex­changed with Cilla, the physical hurt that had throbbed within her body since the moment she had learned that they were leaving the island to­gether, helped her to fight a treacherous yearning to collapse into his arms and sob out her heart­break.

  Desperately clutching the lifeline he had thrown her, she sobbed fierce agreement. 'Yes, your blindness does repel me!' Hysterically she pum­melled his chest with her clenched fists and almost screamed out the lie. I hate your groping—detest being mauled!'

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Though it was high summer the gardens sur­rounding the villa were an orgy of green. Still, humid air hung above green hollows, not a leaf stirred, not a ripple disturbed the water of the pool in which, when she glanced sideways, Angie could see her face reflected.

  She allowed the shawl she was crocheting to slip down into her lap and leant back in her chair, fingers idle, to continue the daydreams that had helped fill many lonely hours while Terzan was away. It seemed incredible that almost three months should have passed without a letter nor even a hastily scribbled postcard. In an effort not to brood, to strive for a contented state of mind for the sake of their baby, she had kept herself busy crocheting tiny garments, running up simple, loose sundresses on an ancient sewing machine a delighted Crisulla had unearthed once nature had begun supplying proof that her instinct had not been wrong when it had told her that the young Anghlika was an expectant mother.