Beware the Beast

by Anne Mather

  "Your trousers !" she protested, desperately trying to hold on to sanity. "They'll be ruined-"

  "To hell with them!" he muttered against her neck, and grasping her face brought her mouth to his again.

  Whatever kind of life Alex had been living, he was no novice when it came to making love. Charlotte acknowledged this with one small corner of her mind even while the devast­ating hunger of his kisses drained away the will to resist him. His lips plundered hers passionately, bringing her to an aware­ness that he was lying beside her on the bed, his body hard and heavy as it moved over hers.

  With a groan of impatience, he kicked the covers aside and it was then she realised he had shed the offending trousers and only her nightgown provided a frail barrier between them.

  That was when Charlotte began to panic. It started deep inside her, a vague fluttering in her stomach which gradually spread until it engulfed her in a shuddering sense of fear. She moved desperately under him then, dragging her mouth away from his and twisting her face from side to side, gasping: "Nol Nol You can't - you can't!"

  He grasped a handful of her hair, holding her head still, and his features were strained in the pale light. "I don't want to hurt you, Charlotte, but I don't think I can help it! Oh God, I want you."

  Charlotte's struggles were to no avail. She had driven him beyond the point of no return, and she sobbed against his chest when he tore the nightgown from her. It was an agonising experience, and only his mouth silenced the scream that rose in her throat as he took her. Then it was all over and he got up from the bed while she buried her face in the pillows.

  She heard him moving about, dressing probably, but refused to look at him. She felt degraded and humiliated, and she couldn't bear to see the satisfaction in his face. How could anyone suffer such indignities for pleasure? she asked herself bitterly. Dear God, what had she let herself in for?

  "I've got to go, Charlotte." Alex's voice was harsh in the stillness, but she didn't look round. "Charlotte, for God's sake, what do you want me to say?"

  "Nothing t" she mumbled into the pillow, and gasped when he caught her arms and flung her on to her back.

  He was dressed now, his shirt buttoned almost to the top, dark and disturbingly attractive, and she hated him for it. With trembling fingers, she dragged the covers over her limbs, while he looked down at her coldly.

  "Can't you at least say goodbye to your husband?" he demanded.

  Charlotte gulped. "Yes, yes. Goodbye. Just go I"

  "Is that all?"

  "I should ask you thatl" she retorted bitterly.

  "Charlotte, you were a virgin ! There was no way to make it easy for you."

  "I don't want to talk about it. If that's all there is to it, then I don't even want to think about it." She shuddered.

  Alex sighed frustrated, "Charlotte, if I had the time I would show you how much better it can be - "

  "No, you wouldn't !" she replied stormily. "Don't you dare touch me again I"

  "Oh, God!" Alex raked a hand through his hair, staring at her with angry eyes. "This is some way to send me on my trip, isn't it?"

  "You can't blame me for that." Charlotte sniffed. "Why don't you go? Go! George will be getting impatient. Go and tell him what you've donel"

  "Charlotte, I warn you - " He broke off, his expression violent. "All right. All right, I'm going. I'll let you know when I'll be back."

  "Don't bother !" Charlotte retorted coldly, and buried her face in the pillow again.

  She didn't see him go. She heard the helicopter rise over the villa and presently fade into the distance, and only then did the hot tears flood down over her pale cheeks.

  CHAPTER SIX

  IN spite of her distress, Charlotte must have fallen asleep because she awakened to the sound of Tina saying her over and over. She opened her eyes reluctantly, aware if a. curious aching sensation in her lower limbs which at 3nee resolved itself into a bitter remembrance of what had :-:curred. She was also made aware of her nakedness beneath the thin satin sheet, and a wave of embarrassment swept over her. The Greek girl was standing beside the bed, and although it was a futile exercise at this late stage, Charlotte rolled over on to her stomach, turning her head sideways on the pillow and saying rather resentfully: "What do you want?"

  Tina's sharp eyes had missed nothing of the tumbled state of the bedcovers and Charlotte's discomfort, but her voice was gentle as she replied: "Maria was worried, kyria. Is eleven o'clock!"

  "Eleven o'clock!" Charlotte echoed her words disbelievingly, but she propped herself up on her elbows and reaching for her watch from the bedside table saw in dismay that it iras indeed ten minutes past eleven.

  "Kyrios Alexandros left very early this morning, didn't he, kyria?" Tina went on conversationally, in a sympathetic tone. "What a pity, ohi?"

  Charlotte hunched her slim shoulders, feeling the sheet slipping away but hardly caring. Her throat was tightening, and tears were not far away. "It doesn't matter," she managed in a cold little voice. Then: "Tell Maria I'm sorry she was worried. I'll get up right away."

  "No hurry, kyria," exclaimed Tina at once. "So long as you are not ill ..."

  "I'm not ill," retorted Charlotte crossly. "You can go now. Tell Maria I don't want any breakfast."

  "Oh, but kyria-"

  "Nothing," Charlotte insisted, meeting the other girl's eyes squarely, and muttering resignedly to herself, Tina went away.

  After she had gone, Charlotte got out of bed. Her reflection in the long mirrors of the wardrobe caught her attention, and momentarily she halted, staring at her naked body without pleasure. There ought to be some sign, she thought, some evidence of what had occurred, but there was none. The slim lines of her body looked exactly as usual, the flesh turning honey gold in places, contrasting with the paler skin hidden from the sun by her pants or bikini. Discolorations of her flesh in places revealed themselves as "bruising, and her lips trembled. Clenching her fists, she turned away and walked into the bathroom. She took a bath as hot as she could stand it, a ridiculous affectation in this heat, and scrubbed violently at her skin as if she could erase the touch of Alex's hard, demanding hands.

  She emerged from her room in time for lunch, and although she had no appetite, she made an effort to eat the food which Cristof had so delicately prepared. Stuffed eggs and savoury sausages, a light cheese pie served with salad, a caramel custard that melted in the mouth, Charlotte had a little of each, and realized with increasing bitterness that her lack of appetite would probably be attributed to Alex's abrupt departure. Tina was bound to have gossiped about what she had seen in the bedroom, and Charlotte's vain attempt at concealment had seemed stupid when she found her torn nightgown lying on the floor in a place where Tina could not have failed to see it.

  Sighing heavily, Charlotte left the table and walked down the shallow steps to the hall. Pausing by the open doors, she stared out broodingly towards the curving headland. She was virtually a prisoner here, she thought, emotion arousing a kind of panic inside her. If only they had been near a town, civilization of any sort, she could have left the villa, escaped the inevitable feeling of speculation, sought someone to talk ! As it was, she was confined to Maria and the other servants, and they would never understand the way she was feeling right now.

  In truth, she didn't altogether understand how she felt herself. She felt shocked and bitter, unwilling even to con­template that ghastly thing that had happened to her, her legs weakening every time she allowed its implications to creep into her mind. There were even times when she wished that Alex was here so that she might expunge some of her anger and resentment on him, vent her frustration and contempt that he should have violated her in such a way. But mostly, she dreaded the very idea of seeing him again, of living in fear that he might touch her as he had touched her in the early hours of this morning.

  For the rest of that strangely unreal day, she paced the rooms and corridors of the villa, unable to settle to anything, even reading, walking and thinking and com
ing up with nothing except her own utter desolation. How could she have allowed herself to like him, to actually admit to caring about what happened to him? As all the details of what had happened came to light, she had to admit that in some small way she had invited what had happened. And that was the bitterest thing of all to bear.

  The following afternoon, a note arrived at the villa. It was delivered by hand and addressed to Charlotte, and she was not altogether surprised to discover it was from Alex's grand­mother. The note was brief and to the point. She was invited to lunch the next day. Yanni, the elderly man who had brought the note, would come for her at noon, in the donkey cart.

  It was more than an invitation. It was a summons. And Charlotte could think of no reasonable excuse she could give for refusing. Nevertheless, she accepted the invitation with some misgivings, remembering the old woman's penetrating stare and dominating manner. Somehow, between now and then, she would have to marshall some sense of composure so that Eleni Faulkner should not guess at the events which had occurred since their last meeting.

  But before her visit to Alex's grandmother's house, there was another message for her. It came via the helicopter, and when Charlotte heard the machine's powerful engines low. over the villa, all tenuous calmness left her. This morning she had risen early, and had asked that her breakfast be served in the dining area, but now, hearing those engines, convinced that Alex had returned unexpectedly, she wished she had remained in the comparative safety of her room.

  She heard the excited chatter of the women's voices as the helicopter landed. No doubt they were surprised that she did not rise and go to meet her husband, but her legs felt like jellies, and she remained frozen in her chair.

  Presently, a man's voice could be heard, interjected amongst the higher tones of the women, speaking in fluent Greek. It was a voice Charlotte had heard before, but it was not Alex's, and her hands relaxed their grip on the edge of the table. Maria appeared in the hall below, and behind her came George Constandis. He appeared to be alone, as Maria gestured upward, and that brought Charlotte out of her seat to stand nervously waiting while he mounted the steps to her level.

  "Kalimera, kyria" he spoke politely, with a half bow. "You are well?"

  "Kalimera." Charlotte used the Greek word of greeting automatically. Then, jerkily: "Where - where is he?"

  "He? You mean Alex?" George halted at the other side of the table. "He is not here. He is in New York - as you know."

  Charlotte's brow furrowed. "But you - aren't you supposed to be in New York, too? You were going with him."

  "Our plans were changed when we reached Athens. It was arranged that Alex should fly on to New York - "

  "Alone?" Charlotte's interruption was almost an accusation, and George smiled.

  "There is no need for alarm, kyria. Alex is never alone. Dimitrios is with him, naturally."

  Charlotte despised herself for the way she had reacted, but, she told herself impatiently, she would feel the same about anyone taking unnecessary risks.

  "All I meant was - I'm surprised he can manage without you," she retorted hastily, frustrated by the knowing look in his eyes.

  "Well, as I was saying," he went on, "our plans were chang­ed. It was agreed that I should remain in Athens until Alex telephoned me his intentions."

  Charlotte sat down again, crumbling the roll on her plate. "And now he has?" she prompted coldly.

  "Yes." George nodded. "I am to tell you that something most unfortunate has happened." Charlotte's head jerked up, and he continued: "The man, Steiner, who was handling the merger we have been negotiating, has been rushed to hospital with a suspected rupture of the spleen. This is a most unhappy state of affairs, kyria. The point being that apart from Steiner, only Alex himself can interpret all the details of the merger. Consequently ..." he shrugged, "Alex must stay on in New York until the deal is settled."

  Charlotte sagged against the table. She did not know exactly what she had been expecting, but not this. Her brain could not handle the confusion of emotions George Constan-dis's news had aroused within her, and she found herself staring at him without actually seeing him.

  Pulling herself together, she made an effort to behave normally. "I... I see." She licked her dry lips. "Er ... won't you sit down, Mr. Constandis?" She picked up the bell and rang it. "Tina will bring us some fresh coffee."

  "Thank you." George seated himself in the chair Alex usually occupied, "I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news.

  Charlotte made a gesture of indifference as the Greek girl appeared from the kitchen. She ordered coffee for her guest, and then applied herself to finishing her own breakfast. But it was impossible to feel any enthusiasm for eating when her brain and stomach churned unmercifully.

  Tina brought fresh rolls with the coffee, smiling confidently at George Canstandis. He teased her, asking her about her boy-friends, and sending her away giggling. It was obvious he was quite at home here, and although Charlotte had no reason to resent it, she found herself doing so. It was ridiculous, but she resented his coming here, she resented his easy sympathy, his camaraderie with the servants, and most of all his assumption that she was missing her husband. She was tempted to tell him that so far as she was concerned, if Alex chose to spend the next six months in New York, she wouldn't care. But that would have been childish, and not completely true. She wanted this charade over and done with, and how could it be so if he was thousands of miles away? So she bit her tongue, and answered him in monosyllables when he asked what she thought of the island.

  At last the meal was over and he rose to his feet. "Thank you, that was delightful," he told her, which Charlotte thought could not be completely true either in the circumstances. "And now, I must leave you."

  With reluctance, she found herself unable to deny the obvious question: "I - will you - are you going to New York, too?"

  George regarded her steadily. "I am. Why? Do you have a message for your husband? A letter, perhaps?"

  "No." Charlotte took a deep breath. "No message."

  George hesitated. "You are sure?"

  "Quite sure." Charlotte rose too.

  He inclined his head. "Very well, kyria ." He moved towards the steps. "No doubt your husband will keep you informed of further developments as they occur."

  Charlotte's fingers curled round the edge of the table again.

  "How long - that is — does Alex expect to be away - very

  long?" '

  George shrugged, and spread his hands in continental fashion. "In this case - three, maybe four weeks. Who can say? It depends how far Steiner has reached in his negotia­ tions."

  "And this merger is important?"

  "Oh, yes, kyria ."

  "But why? What is it for?" Charlotte couldn't prevent the sudden outburst. "Doesn't he have enough money?"

  "Mergers do not always make money," George corrected her. "At least, not in the way you mean. This particular negotiation will make something far more important. It will make work for a greater number of people."

  "Work?"

  "Yes, work - jobs. This firm in New York - it is - how do you say it- floundering, ne?"

  "Why would Alex want to merge with a firm that is floundering?" Charlotte was confused.

  George was patient. "With a difficult economic situation, many companies are floundering. But in this instance, there are valuable importing and exporting sanctions which we can use."

  "So the people who work for this company won't lose their

  jobs."

  "That is correct."

  Charlotte sighed. "I wouldn't have thought Alex would care, one way or the other," she murmured bitterly.

  George caught his breath. "Your husband does care. He cares deeply for anyone in difficult circumstances. Why do you think he has so many enemies? Because he inspires a degree of loyalty in his employees which many men could wish to emulate!"

  Charlotte flushed at this impassioned outburst, feeling obliged to defend herself. "I know very little about my - my
husband's business aflairs, or the strength of devotion of his employees. I only know that so far as I am concerned - " She broke off abruptly. Not even to this man could she con­fide her own miserable circumstances.

  "Kyria." George was speaking again, leaning towards her, his hands resting on the table. "When your husband's father was killed, the shares in the Faulkner corporation fell dram­atically. It was understandable. Steven Faulkner was a brilliant man, a man at the height of his power, Alex was what? Twenty-three, twenty-four? Hardly more than a boy. A trained economist, but that was all. Yet in fifteen years, Alex has not only equalled his father's record, he has overtaken it, and in doing so has won the respect of every professional in the business! We used to be a shipping company- now we have interests in hotels and airlines, travel agencies, oil wells, newspapers.... Do you have any idea how many people we keep in employment?"

  "Oh, no - no!" Charlotte wrapped her arms about herself tightly. "I've told you, I know next to nothing about Alex's affairs. They're nothing to do with me."

  "Then perhaps you should make them so," snapped George coldly, and Charlotte's eyes widened in indignation. "I'm sorry," he added, less aggressively, shaking his head. "But I used to work for Steven Faulkner. I was with him the day he died. I followed him out of the hotel in Paris on the day he was shot. I've never forgiven myself for not being first out of that hotel, and consequently my feelings for Alex are as close as any father for his son."