It drew closer, closer all the time, silent and swift, and just as it prepared to spring upon her — she screamed.
"Domini, child, whatever is the matter?" The voice woke her, the nightmare fled away, and she found that the bedside lamp was on and Paul was bending over her, holding her shoulders with warm, steadying hands, “My good girl," with irony and anxiety, "do you make habit of screaming in your sleep?”
“D-did I scream?" She blinked at him in the lilac glow of the lamp, vaguely noticing that there were sleep-ruffled scrolls of black hair on his forehead, and that the dark silk coat of his pyjamas had come open, revealing a triangle of dark hair on his broad chest. “What's the time?" she asked. "Is it nearly morning?"
"It is just past midnight," his white teeth showed as gave a droll smile, "and I only hope that Yannis and wife did not hear that scream of yours." His words vaguely jolted her heart, and yet she found herself smiling back at him. "I think I was having a nightmare," she murmured. "How strange. I haven't had one of those since I was a child."
Paul stared down at her for a moment, then he seated himself on the side of her bed and in a voice like rough velvet he said to her: "Was it a nightmare about me? But, Domini, I would never hurt you, don't you know that? Can't you feel it?" He took her hand and brought it near his heart and pressed it there. The lamp played its muted lilac light over the strong bonestructure of his face, and there in his face Domini saw again the loneliness she had glimpsed earlier that evening.
She lay passive, looking at him with her great blue eyes, seeing a stranger who was also her husband. On the hand that he held to his strange, foreign, complex heart, there was the gold band that proclaimed his rights to her person and her life, yet it was not entirely in surrender to his lawful claims that she let herself be taken into his arms.
CHAPTER THREE
WHEN Domini awoke, bright morning light was spilling through the long lace curtains of her bedroom, but for several moments she was unable to make out where she was.
Her bemused eyes stole round the lovely lilac room and settled on the tea-service on the table beside her red. She stared at the indentation which a head had left in the pillow beside her, and in a flash everything came back to her. She was married to Paul Stephanos, the handsome, enigmatic Greek shipping-line owner from whom her cousin Douglas had stolen a frightening sum of money. Her hands could still feel the smooth, steely hardness of Paul's broad shoulders, her mind still held the strange little Greek words he had whispered against her throat in passion last night. She remembered that she had fallen asleep in his arms.
She sat up and poured herself a cup of tea. She sipped at it with a smile on her lips, relaxed, curled slim and warm against her pillows, the ring on her left hand glinting with promise she hardly dared to think about.
After finishing her tea, she got up and bathed, and then dressed herself in a white silk blouse with magyar sleeves, and a pair of slim-legged slacks.
After combing her hair she clipped it back in blue slides, and noticed in the mirror the new look in her eyes—the deep, secret look of knowledge. A smile tilted the corners of her mouth, she put back her head and saw the creamy length of the throat Paul had kissed. Each vein, each curve, each pool had known his lips, and though she might yet fear him in the deeper recesses of her heart, his possession last night had not frightened her. She saw a flush steal into her cheeks, and turned quickly away from her own eyes.
When she entered the dining-room, Paul was at the table immersed in the morning paper and a chunky sweater. He put his head round the paper and smiled at her "Good morning, Madame Stephanos," he said.
"Good morning, Paul." She stood rather shyly at the side-table, trying to make up her mind whether to have fried eggs and bacon, or scrambled eggs and kidneys. She decided on the latter and after filling her plate, she brought it to the table. Sunshine winked on the coffee pot and found raven lights in Paul's hair, and the weather being an eternally down-to-earth topic, Domini remarked that the storm had cleared the air and it looked like being a nice day.
"Shall we drive into Looe—there is a small jalopy of sorts in the garage we can use, or shall we walk along the headland?" Paul asked, little smile lines creasing the skin at the sides of his tawny eyes as they dwelt on her.
"Let's walk," she said at once.
"Good, I feel like a walk myself." He poured her coffee for her, and as he handed her the cup and saucer their fingers brushed, their eyes met, and Domini caught her breath; "The shadows have gone from your eyes this morning, Domini," he said, and for a moment it seemed to her that she saw them reflected in his eyes. But it could only have been her imagination, for the next moment he was smiling boyishly.
"I am glad to see you are none the worse for your ducking in the sea," he half laughed.
"No—I'm fine." She didn't look at him as she broke a roll and buttered it. She could feel the sudden heat in her cheeks. "Are you all right, Paul?" she asked.
"I am fine, my little wife." He threw out his arms and stretched like a powerful, graceful cat. Domini recognised the diamonds and anchors on his sweater as a Whinnyficld pattern and she asked him if he had ever been to Scotland.
“I have been to many places," he replied, and he leant his elbows on the table and watched her as she tucked into her breakfast. "But I am always glad to get home to Andelos. The sun is really hot there, Domini, and you will have to take care that you don't burn that English skin of yours." Her pulse gave a nervous little leap at his mention of the island, where her future awaited her. "I shall lie about on the beach as much as possible and try to get as tawny as you," she said.
“You dare to spoil that lovely skin!" He rested his chin on his interlaced hands and his quirk of a smile made her notice how really well shaped his mouth was. “You belong to me now, Madame Stephanos, white skin and all."
“Of course," she mocked,' "you snatched me like a Sabine, didn't you?"
Domini," all at once an almost diffident note crept into his deep voice, "you don't regret last night, do you? You looked so lovely and beguiling—I could not leave you.” He shrugged his wide shoulders. "I know I am not the easiest man in the world to know and to get along with, but I think I can make you reasonably happy—if you will let me."
She met his eyes and remembering again the shared and unexpected happiness of the wedding night that had evolved so strangely out of a tormented day, she let him find her hand with his. Let him touch his gold marriage ring and the frozen-blue sapphire below it. "Tell me some more about the island," she coaxed.
Never before had she asked him about his home and his people with such eagerness, and now she learned he had had a younger brother who had died eighteen months ago; and a young stepsister, who lived with his Aunt Sophula and her son Nikos in a house above the harbour of Andelos. His aunt had been married to a sea-captain. Ships and the sea were in the blood of all the Stephanos's, and Nikos would be made a partner in Paul's shipping line when he reached the age of twenty-one.
"What is your sister's name, Paul?" Domini hadn't known he had a sister, and now as she studied him over the rim of her coffee cup she realised how little she knew about him, this complex being who could be so ruthless, yet whose kisses last night had made her forget everything but the moment. "How old is Kara?"
"Kara is sixteen," he smiled. "She is a young devil at times, but as lovely and loveable as a wild fawn."
"I know so little about you and yours, Paul," Domini said, and her eyes dwelt on the scar that marred his right temple. "How did you get scarred, for instance?"
"Ah, that is a long story," he shrugged. "I will tell you one day, perhaps, but not this morning."
His mouth smiled, but his eyes remained serious, and obeying a sudden compulsion Domini rose and went round the table to him. He reached for her in silence and pulled her down into his arms and searched her face with his eyes before turning the search to a kissing one. Domini had not known how sensitive her skin was, and somewhat in the manner of a chil
d enjoying the novelty of discovery she presented each part of her face for the touch of her husband's warm mouth.
This is Paul, she thought wonderingly, then his name broke from her as his mouth came down hard on hers. She dropped through layers of time with this stranger to the days when the Grecian gods took what they wanted and were fearfully punished for it. Did she, in the midst of his kisses, hear the Fates laughing? Perhaps, for suddenly her arms were locked tightly, almost protectively about him, as though she felt instinctively that he was going to be punished in some awful way.
There was a tap at the door, a discreet moment's wait, then Yannis came into the room. Domini blushed and attempted to pull out of her husband's arms, but he held her on his lap without embarrassment as Yannis asked if they intended to use the car that was available in the garage. It was dusty and needed a hose down, he added, but the task would not take him long.
Paul said they would not be needing the car; they were going for a walk as far as Looe, and they would have lunch there.
Yannis nodded, and couldn't quite keep his usual gravity of expression as his eyes dwelt on Domini in his master's arms, her cheeks like wild roses. "Another matter is the couch, sir. I have not been able to remove the stains. The sea water, and the fabric so delicate—like a woman's skin."
'Not to worry, Yannis." Paul smiled briefly, and rose to his feet still holding Domini. "Perhaps Lita could find a cover to throw over the couch for the time being. I shall recompense the people from whom I rented the villa, and as it happens we will not be here a week after all. I have telephoned to change our plane reservations, and we will be flying on to Athens tomorrow morning."
Yannis' look of surprise was echoed in Domini's eyes the glanced up into Paul's suddenly impassive face. “Why the change of plans?" she asked breathlessly.
"Let us say that I am homesick for my house on the eagle’s crag." He touched the delicate indentation at the base of her firm, shapely chin. "I cannot wait, little wife, to show you the island of Andelos."
He could have been speaking the truth, of course, But Domini was beginning to know that when Paul had so impassive an expression he was either annoyed about something, or worried. She felt disturbingly certain that he was worried about something right now—and that it was connected with her.
They set out for Looe half an hour later. It was a sparkling spring day, with an exhilarating breeze blowing along the headland above the grey Cornish sea. Always an outdoor person, Domini couldn't help but respond to the weather, the countryside, and the man who walked at her side.
She felt like a bride today, and she and her tall, bold husband were treated to quite a few admiring glances as they entered the small town of Looe and made their way towards the bank.
They were about to collect those cheques which her cousin had forged, and Domini thought with wonder of that terrified creature — herself — who had rummaged through Paul's belongings last night, feverishly telling herself that if she found and destroyed them, she would be free to run away from Paul. She glanced sideways at him. The sun was glistening on his hair, and he wore sunglasses. He had told her that his eyes were only really at rest in a muted light and that he suffered from rather bad headaches if he didn't keep his eyes covered while he was out in the sunshine. With his eyes shielded he seemed again the enigmatic stranger who had invaded her life and forced her into the bonds of matrimony with him. Mysterious bonds which there was no severing— until death should claim one of them!
While he went into the bank, Domini passed the time looking at a quaint collection of knick-knacks jumbled together in the small-paned window of a nearby antique shop. On impulse she went into the shop and asked the price of a small brass paperweight in the shape of a unicorn. She wanted to give it to Paul—for some odd, feminine reason. Paul was coming across the road from the bank as she came out of the shop, and she ran to meet him, her wild-boney hair blowing back from her eager face and the sleeves of her blouse fluttering below her cardigan, which she wore cape-like. "Look," she held out the unicorn, "do you like him?"
He smiled down at her. "Have you been treating yourself to a toy?" His deep, foreign voice was filled with laughing indulgence. "How much was it? I will pay for it."
"You won't, you know." She looked indignant. "He's for you. When I've cleaned him up, he'll look as smart as a new penny."
Paul took the unicorn and turned it about in his long fingers. "You really want me to have him, Domini?"
She nodded. "Call him a—wedding present. I-I couldn't afford anything dearer."
"He's dear enough," Paul murmured. He had replaced his sunglasses upon leaving the bank so she couldn't read his eyes, but she knew from the rough, hurried deepening of his voice that he liked her quaint little present.
"Here are the cheques, Domini." He showed her a long buff envelope, and a smile twisted his lips. "But I fear I cannot burn them in the middle of Looe High Street."
"We'll wait until we get back to the villa." Her heart suddenly felt as though it were beating in her throat. She wanted the cheques destroyed, out of her life forever, but she felt she had to show Paul that she trusted him—at last.
"No, it must be finished!" There was a sudden steely note in his voice, and when he glanced round and noticed a nearby litter-bin, he strode to it and there he ripped the cheques into dozens of tiny pieces and scattered them like so much confetti over the orange peel, soggy ice-cream wrappers and apple covers.
One piece fluttered out of the bin and came to rest near Domini's left foot. When she glanced down at it, she saw clearly the deep slanting writing which Douglas had copied. She saw Paul's surname and her heart jolted as she realised that Stephanos was now her name as well.
They lunched at a quaint old eating-house in Looe, and afterwards they found a deserted cove below the headland and lazed on the sand. Domini lay curled in the hard crook of Paul's arm, listening to the sea and the deep, mysterious beat of her husband's heart against her cheek. The thought drifted across her mind that she might yet come to conflict with this man for snatching her away from Fairdane with all the presumption of a soldier of fortune, but right now she felt sun-warmed and relaxed in his company.
In a while he said to her, his fingers meshed in her soft hair: "Domini, I am going to ask you to make me a promise, and when you have made it, I shall expect you to abide by it."
She gazed up at his face. It had grown stern, and she was suddenly aware that he was still very much a stranger to her; that the breadth of his shoulders and the bold strength of his face still held the power to unnerve her. "What sort of a promise must I make, Paul?" she asked, drowsy in the sun, pliant.
"To stay with me, no matter what happens between now and tomorrow when we leave England for Greece," he replied.
She sat up and pushed her honey hair back from her eyes. Out at sea a black cormorant dived upon its prey and flew to a rock with the struggling fish in its powerful beak. There on the rock it fed brazenly in the sun.
Domini drew her gaze back to Paul's dark face. "What could happen, Paul?" she asked, and the sun seemed to grow cooler and she drew her cardigan around her shoulders.
"You could grow to hate me again." He watched her bite her lip and a cynical smile touched his arrogant mouth. "I see you think so as well?"
"Paul," she reached for his arm and gripped it, “you're frightening me. We've been happy today — it could go on."
"Who can tell about the future?" He shrugged and shadows seemed to touch the corners of his mouth as he picked up the brass unicorn and dusted sand from it with his fingers. "Do you know what the unicorn symbolises, Domini?"
She shook her head, and felt cold fingers of apprehension clench round her heart at his sudden change of mood. Not ten minutes ago he had been holding her in the sand and kissing the breath out of her, now he looked strangely melancholy. The look was intensified because he had replaced his dark glasses.
"A unicorn," he said, "symbolises the most elusive thing in the world — t
rue happiness. He is a creature fashioned from the fabric of dreams, and happiness, too, is fashioned from the same fabric. For some it can be rent by pain and disaster, but never really destroyed. For others, if there is a flaw in the fabric from the very beginning, it can fall into irreparable fragments at the first touch of disaster. The fabric of our happiness has a flaw in it, and we both know it, Domini."
She shivered at his words, and saw the sun flickering like a flame in a draught.
"Ί must have your promise that you will stay with me, come what may." He placed his hand over her left one.
His words held underchords. Peine forte et dure, she thought. The weight of guilt was making him speak like this, and her heart melted as her eyes took in his black, close-curled hair, the scar about which he wouldn't talk, and the mouth that felt so warm though it could look so hard.
"For better or worse you're my husband," she said to him. "We can't break the marriage bond whatever else we destroy."
"Then I have your promise," he insisted.
"You have my promise, Paul."
He gave a little sigh, then slipped a cheroot between his lips and fired the tip. But still his thoughts were abstracted, for the flame of the match had burned down to his fingertips before he shook it out.
Domini watched him, glad when after a few minutes he began to look more relaxed. "You aren't entirely Greek, are you, Paul?" she said suddenly.
The Honey Is Bitter Page 3
