Beware the Beast

by Anne Mather

  "Er - where is Mr. Constandis ?" Charlotte asked, unable to sustain his stare for long.

  "George, believe it or not, is indisposed," replied Alex dryly.

  "Indisposed?"

  "Unwell - sick - ill; to put it in plain language, incapable of flying the helicopter."

  "Oh!" Charlotte was not as disappointed as she might have been. "I - I'm sorry. Is it anything serious?"

  "You want my opinion? I don't think there's anything wrong with him."

  "Nothing wrong with him ..." Charlotte halted. "I don't understand."

  "Oh, I should have thought it was pretty obvious. Obviously, George thinks that if he is indisposed, I'll have to take you to the mainland myself."

  Charlotte pushed back her chair. "Well, you can disabuse him of that idea right away, can't you," she retorted tautly, turning to leave him. But Alex got up also, and his fingers curved round her upper arm as she would have passed him.

  He looked down at his brown fingers against her creamy flesh, moving his thumb in a caressing exploratory motion. "Don't walk out on me, Charlotte," he advised her quietly. "You're looking* very beautiful this morning, and right now I can think of things I'd rather do for you than flying the helicopter, do you understand me?"

  Charlotte's breathing quickened. "Let me go," she said, and heard the annoying tremor in her voice.

  "Providing you'll sit down again and eat your breakfast," he agreed, his eyes frankly sensual as they rested on her mouth. "And I shall be taking you to Athens, whether you like it or not."

  Charlotte looked helplessly up at him. "I wanted you to take me," she protested. "But you refused !"

  "Yes. Well, now I've changed my mind. Right?"

  She nodded mutely, and to her relief he let her go. He held her chair while she reseated herself, and then when Tina arrived with her tea and rolls he excused himself.

  Charlotte's appetite had not been stimulated by the know­ledge that he had only to touch her to reduce her to a tremb­ling mass of nerves and sensations. Nevertheless, she knew it would be foolish to get on board the helicopter with an empty stomach, so she put all disruptive thoughts aside and silently thanked that small being inside her which demanded sus­tenance whatever her mental condition.

  Alex came back as she was finishing, and slid his arms into the sleeves of the denim jacket. "It's raining," he said, regarding her critically. "Still want to go?"

  Charlotte nodded. "Can we?"

  "Of course. If you're ready. Bring a mackintosh."

  "I - I have to pay a call first," she told him in some em­barrassment, but Alex was not perturbed.

  "I'll see you here in five minutes," he said easily, and she nodded with relief.

  Charlotte had expected Vittorio or Dimitrios to accompany them, but when she joined Alex by the helicopter, he was alone. He was wearing a black leather jacket over his denim suit, and drops of water glinted on his thick straight hair. He helped Charlotte inside without a word, and then walked round the machine to join her.

  Charlotte looked at him doubtfully as he fastened her safety straps and showed her how to use the headset. "Isn't Dimitrios joining us?" she asked.

  Ales straightened to adjust his own gear. "No. Did you expect him to?"

  Charlotte sighed. "Alex, you know what I mean. Shouldn't there be someone - that is - " She broke off. "Don't take risks because of me."

  Alex put on his headphones and smiled mockingly at her. "And don't you pretend a wifely concern at this late stage," he returned wryly. "Comfortable? Fine. Here we go!"

  The journey was not half so comfortable as the journey to the island. The rain was relentless, and the wind buffeted the helicopter continually. The islands below were shrouded in a mist of vapour, and few ships had ventured out on an un­usually choppy sea.

  Alex was unperturbed, and spoke to her often through the microphones, pointing out the larger islands and telling her a little of their history. They almost achieved the closeness and companionship they had known in that week before Alex left for New York, that week before their relationship was irrevocably changed. But while they could never again share that almost platonic friendship, in some ways their association was deeper now and more intimate than before. Charlotte was aware of this even though she endeavoured to reject it.

  They landed at a private flying club some distance from the city, and had a drink in the clubhouse while Alex phoned for a car. The chauffeur who had met them the day they landed--in Athens from London arrived soon afterwards in the sleek black limousine Charlotte remembered, and he drove them into the city.

  Even through the rain, Charlotte could admire the classic beauty of the Parthenon towering on the hills above the city and Alex promised that the next time he brought her to Athens he would take her up to the Acropolis. The next time — Charlotte found she liked those words, even if she had to acknowledge that if it was another three months before she visited the city she would be in no condition to trail around the tourist attractions.

  Shopping was tiring, even using the car. Charlotte was not used to the crowds of people tlironging the streets, the honk of horns and the scream of brakes, and she found it all a little overpowering. Alex was the only friendly face she saw, and after becoming separated from him once, she took his arm and held on to it.

  But it was pleasant to see the gaily decorated shops, the coloured lights and painted icons. The trappings of Christmas had a similarity the world over, and Charlotte couldn't help the wave of homesickness which suddenly filled her. Last Christmas she had spent with her father, at a ski resort in Austria. It was only now she remembered he had spent a lot of evenings at the casino.

  They had lunch at a large restaurant overlooking Constitu­tion Square. Syntagma Square, Alex told her, was the Greek name, and Charlotte thought she liked the sound of that better. They ate grilled prawns and moussaka, the latter a little rich for Charlotte's taste, and finished with cheese and figs. The cheese, too, was stronger than she cared for, but Alex appeared to have no such reservations. Sitting across the table from her, attractively relaxed, he obviously enjoyed the food, and the casual conversation he conducted put her completely at her ease. Some Greek musicians played throughout the meal, and the whole atmosphere was exciting.

  During the afternoon, Charlotte bought some cards, and a few small presents for Cristof, Maria and the girls. Alex left her at one point to make a phone call, and while he was away she purchased a hand-woven shawl for Eleni, and a long-play­ing record by one of his favourite recording artists for Alex himself. She had not a lot of money to spend, and although Alex had told her he had accounts at most of the larger department stores, she could not bring herself to use his name. So far it had been an anonymous day, the two of them mingling with the crowds like any other shoppers. She did not want to draw attention to his identity, anyone might hear, and even if it was ridiculous, she genuinely cared what happened to him. Besides, she did not want to buy his present with his money.

  A plastic carrier advertising a favourite brand of vermouth successfully concealed her purchases from Alex's discerning eyes, and when he suggested they ought to be leaving, she was only too willing to agree. It had been a long tiring day, and she looked forward to getting home again. Home? What an impressionable idiot she must be, she thought angrily. Already she was thinking of Lydros as home, when in a few months her presence there would no longer be required.

  She was quiet on the journey back to the island,-answering Alex in monosyllables when he spoke to her. Truthfully, the painful thoughts she had had earlier were not wholly respons­ible. The taste of aubergines was strong in her throat, and she wished she had not eaten the cheese. She tormented herself with the question of what she would do if she actually needed to be sick, and in the confined space of the cabin it was a terrifying possibility.

  Alex became aware of her discomfort towards the end of the journey. To begin with all his energies had been taken up with controlling the helicopter, and he had had no time to query her apparen
t hostility. But when he took a proper look at her pale face, he shook his head impatiently.

  "Why didn't you tell me?" he demanded. "You feel sick, : 3n't you? God, what am I? An unfeeling monster, that you wouldn't dare to tell me?"

  Charlotte sighed. "What could you have done?"

  "I could have put the helicopter down on one of the other islands. It has been known in an emergency, you know."

  Charlotte looked apologetic. "Actually, I feel a bit better now. It - it was the moussaka, I think. And perhaps the cheese."

  "You're sure you're all right now?" he insisted.

  Charlotte nodded. "We'll be landing soon, won't we?"

  "Yes. Yes, we will." Alex turned his attention back to the controls. "But in future, remember that I have a vested interest in your wellbeing."

  Charlotte thought she hated him at that moment. She didn't care that he might have been hurt at her determination sot to share her anxieties with him, or that he might genuinely worry about her. To her, that cold statement summed up Ms reasons for anything he ever did for her.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Eleni's brother arrived two days before Christmas, but he was not alone. He had brought his granddaughter with him.

  Irena Kalamos was a beautiful Greek girl, perhaps a year or two older than Charlotte, with lustrous dark hair and eyes edged with sooty black lashes. like many Greek women, she did not favour the fashionable slenderness so popular in the west, and her curves were roundly voluptuous. Her clothes fitted closely, emphasising the fullness of her breasts, the provocative swing of her hips, and her eyes rested on Alex with evident approval.

  Charlotte met the visitors on the day of their arrival. Dimitrios had flown to the mainland to bring Franco Kalamos to Eleni's cottage, and it had been arranged that the two older people should join Charlotte, Alex and George for dinner that evening.

  However, when Alex was told that as well as his great-uncle, a distant cousin had also arrived, he decided that Eleni could not possibly accommodate them both at her small cot­tage. In consequence, Franco and Irena arrived at the villa late in the afternoon, full of gratitude for Alex's thoughtful-ness.

  Meeting Irena for the first time, Charlotte wished Alex had consulted her before offering them their hospitality. Although she knew she had no reason to feel that way, she disliked the other girls's immediately monopoly of her husband's con­versation, and an emotion she refused to identify curled her hands into fists every time she heard Irena's provoking laugh.

  She was dressing for dinner that evening when Alex came into her bedroom. He was already changed, his dark attraction accentuated by the maroon silk shirt he was wearing together with black suede pants that clung to the powerful muscles of his legs. Charlotte, wearing only a thin slip, was supremely conscious of her own vulnerability, and she felt his eyes rest­ing on the slight swell of her abdomen. Then his gaze shifted to her face, his lips twisting at her startled expression.

  "Please," he said, "don't be alarmed. I have not come here to seduce you. But ..." he glanced round, "I have given Franco my room and I wondered if you have any particular objections if I slept in the dressing room adjoining this."

  Charlotte expelled her breath on a gasp. For a minute she had thought he was about to suggest sharing her room, and the mixed emotions this had aroused frightened her. Far from objecting, she might well have welcomed his suggestion, but it was fortunate she had not had to make that choice.

  "I - well, no," she managed jerkily. "Providing - "

  "I shan't intrude on you more than I have to," he retorted sharply. "I may need to use the bathroom, of course, but that's all."

  Charlotte shrugged awkwardly. "It's your house."

  Alex regarded her coldly. "Yes, it is. Thank you for your indulgence." And he left her.

  Charlotte wore a long yellow caftan that evening, its plainness relieved by dark brown frogging all the way down the front and wide sleeves decorated with the same brown braid, its fullness only hinted at the slender curves beneath, but the low neckline in front drew attention to the tantalising hollow between her breasts.

  Irena, in rich red satin, could not have provided more of a contrast, her skirt moulding her body like a second skin. Scarlet fingernails lingered against Alex's sleeve as she drew his attention to what she was saying, and Charlotte resigned herself to remaining in the background.

  Eleni had joined them for dinner, and Charlotte was not surprised to hear Alex suggesting that she should come and stay at the villa, too, while her brother was here. Eleni said she would think about it, but obviously she found the idea appealing. She and Franco saw one another so rarely, and would naturally have plenty to talk about.

  Charlotte found herself with George Constandis when they went to have dinner, and was pleasurably surprised when Alex insisted that she took the seat beside his. Of course, Irena occupied the seat at his other hand, and during the course of the meal Charlotte found herself turning more and more to Alex's assistant for conversation; Irena did her best to monop­olize Alex's attention, and Charlotte could feel a burning resentment smouldering inside her. She refused to identify it as jealousy, but that was what it was, and she felt she would like to scratch Irena's eyes out.

  When the meal was over, coffee was served in the lounge, and Charlotte was ensconced on the couch beside Franco Kalamos. He was an elderly man, tall like his sister, but with­out her stature. He stooped a little, and his hair was very thin, but he had a charming smile which he used to good effect, Tina brought in the tray of coffee and set it beside Charlotte, and when she said she did not take any herself, he said:

  "Do you not like our strong beverage, pethi mou?"

  Charlotte managed to control her colour. "I used to like it," she murmured unobtrusively.

  "I see." The old man's eyes grew thoughtful. "And do you not find life on Lydros rather isolated after London?" he added. "London was where you had your home, was it not?"

  "That's right. I suppose Lydros is isolated, as you say. But I like it."

  "Eleni has been telling me that Alexandro has been away a lot since your marriage. That is most unfortunate."

  Charlotte forced a smile, conscious of Irena laughing at something Alex had said as they stood together by the record­ing deck. "I - we manage," she replied politely, and Franco nodded.

  "Alex works very hard. We had all given up hope of his ever getting married. So many of our young women have tried to trap him, but to no avail." His eyes twinkled. You sethe effect he has upon poor Irena. She is quite enchanted by him, do you not think?"

  Charlotte glanced their way, her eyes unknowingly hostile. At no time could she imagine herself feeling sorry for Irena. She was far too confident and sure of herself.

  Franco seemed concerned that what he had said might have been taken the wrong way, and went on: "I am sure you had no difficulty in that line, pethi. It is obvious from the way Alex looks at you that you have a very special place in his thoughts."

  Charlotte felt a tight constriction in her throat. It was kind of the old man to try and reassure her, but she knew very well that Alex had no such gentle feelings towards her.

  George came walking across to join them. "It was a delicious dinner, Charlotte. Did you choose the menu?"

  Charlotte coloured then. "No. That is - Maria deals with that. I'm afraid I know very little about Greek cookery."

  "But you should learn," exclaimed Eleni, overhearing their conversation. "It was different in the beginning. Nobody expected you to come and take over. But Maria must be made to understand that you are now mistress here."

  "Give her time," remarked a familiar voice from just behind the couch where Charlotte was sitting, and she glanced round indignantly to find Alex standing looking down at her. "You have to remember, Charlotte is still very young. And our way of life takes some getting used to."

  "Yes, she is. Very young, isn't she?" Irena appeared behind Alex, and the tone of her voice implied that Charlotte was scarcely out of the cradle. "It is as well yo
u have hidden her away, Alex. You might well be accused of raiding the school­room, oil?"

  Charlotte turned round again, controlling the retort which sprang, to her lips. She had taken an instinctive dislike to Irena and had chided herself for it. But now she knew her instincts had not been mistaken. Irena would cause trouble, if she could.

  The Greek girl's remark had aroused some good natured rising and Alex took it all in good part. It was easy for him, Charlotte thought angrily. They were his relatives, he could afford to be generous. But did he realize he was making her feel ornamental and childish, someone who contributed little to their marriage? She suspected he did, and hated him for k.

  Latex, Alex put on some records, and Irena suggested dancing. It was a way for her to get into Alex's arms, and as she watched them together Charlotte's flesh tingled with indignation. Irena had no qualms about pressing herself close against her partner, and Alex seemed to have no objections. He danced, as he did everything else, with a lithe, easy grace that communicated the power of latent energy, and while she abhorred presence, Charlotte found herself watching her husband almost hypnotically. Once he intercepted her gaze over Irena’ss shoulder, and his lids narrowed to shadow his eyes. But then the Greek girl said something and his expression dissolved into amusement. He did not ask Charlotte to dance, and nobody seemed to expect it. She was left to talk to George and Franco, with Eleni inserting a comment here and there.

  Around eleven, Charlotte decided to go to bed. Eleni had been persuaded to stay the night, and although the party looked like going on for some time yet, Charlotte had had enough. She excused herself politely, pleading a headache, and ignoring Alex's suddenly hostile expression left the room.

  ln the bedroom, she took off her caftan and walked wearily into the bathroom. She was tired, and she did have the be­ginnings of a headache, but they were mental conditions as much as physical ones.