by Anne Mather
Alex regarded the picture they made with a rather grim intentness. Then he shook his head. "Don't say anything. By the way, she's had the usual injections, and I understand she's partially house-trained, although I wouldn't bank on it."
Charlotte looked from the dog to his face and then back to the dog again. "Is - is she mine?" she ventured unevenly, and heard his harshly drawn breath.
"Yes, she's yours," he told her bleakly. "A memento, if you like, of your stay in Lydros!" He walked out the door without a backward glance.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Both January and February were wet months, and the winds which swept the island from the north-west kept the temperature well below normal for the time of year. The rain did not fall as it did in England, for days on end, but came in torrential downpours which could soak one in seconds. Roofs streamed, waterbutts overflowed, and paths were turned to muddy quagmires. The island looked different beneath its pall of water, but Charlotte had come to like it in all its guises.
She walked every day, exercising the spaniel bitch which she had named Suki. Suki demanded a lot of attention in those early weeks, and Charlotte was glad of her company. She had never trained a dog before, but it was a challenge, and in no time Suki was properly house-trained, and less likely to tug on the lead when she went walking. Her undemanding affection was a salve to Charlotte's bruised emotions, her antics a constant source of amusement. Even Maria was not immune to the appeal of those wide brown eyes, and the animal became a favourite with all the servants.
Charlotte spent most of her time in or around the villa. Since Alex's departure, she had seen little of Eleni, and she knew the old woman blamed her for what she saw as the breakdown of their marriage. On the rare occasions Charlotte had made the trek across the island, she had been made aware of Eleni's disapproval, and in consequence their relationship lapsed. Charlotte was sorry about this. She genuinely cared for the old woman. But perhaps she was right. There was no point in getting involved when in six months or so she would be leaving the island for good.
To help pass the time, Charlotte began spending part of each day in the kitchen, encouraging Cristof to teach her the preparation and cooking of Greek dishes. At first, he was not
enthusiastic, but gradually, as he became interested in his subject, the lessons became a regular thing. Charlotte learned how to prepare an egg and chicken soup, which Cristof told her was a national dish, she made moussaka, and her own favourites, loukmades, which were little balls of dough, fried, and served with cinnamon and castor sugar, and melted in the mouth. She also learned a little more of the language, and presiding Cristof spoke slowly enough, she could almost understand what he was saying.
The worst times came at night, when she wandered restlessly about the corridors of the villa, dreading the moment when she would have to go to bed. Doctor Leonides, the Faulkner family physician, now made regular visits to the island to check on her health, and he had given her some tablets to help her sleep. But something inside her rejected that artificial sedition. Instead she read, often until the early hours, and finally fell asleep from exhaustion, her book sometimes stillll in her hands. Maria disapproved of this practice, but there was nothing she could do about it.
Even so, generally, Charlotte's health was good. She ate, because she had to, she got plenty of exercise, and although she was putting on weight, it was all in the right places. Charlotte thought it was a curiously unreal time, her stomach swelling out of all proportion, and an innate disbelief inside her that she could actually be having a baby. Then the baby moved and after that Charlotte didn't question any more.
There were times when she felt an intolerable longing to see Alex. No matter how she tried to erase it, his image was constantly in her thoughts. It was not unnatural in the circumstances. Living here in his house, on his island. How could she be expected to forget? she asked herself bitterly. Sleeping in the bed where he had taught her the secrets of her own deep emotional nature. But, she suspected, no matter where she went she would feel the same. Particularly after the baby began to stretch and awaken to an awareness of its own strength.
Towards the end of March, when the winds were subsiding and the island was beginning to blossom with all the flowers of spring, she had a visitor. From time to time, Vittorio or Dimitrios had visited the villa bringing news of Alex's whereabouts and checking that all was well, but when the helicopter appeared on the horizon, Charlotte could feel her nerves stretching to screaming pitch.
But she was sitting on the patio, apparently quite calm, when it landed, and she hid her shattering disappointment when George Constandis climbed out of the cabin.
She was unaware of the change in her until George commented upon it. Three months had put a bloom on her skin, a shine on her hair, and a generous coating of flesh over her bones. The finely stitched smock she was wearing over a pair of old denim jeans barely concealed the swelling roundness of her stomach, but George thought she had never looked lovelier.
When Tina had served them with chocolate, and she had assured him that she was well, she said urgently: "Why have you come, George? Is - is anything wrong?"
George's expression twisted wryly. "I could take that the wrong way, you know. Am I not welcome here?"
"Charlotte sighed "You know you are. It - it's marvellous to see another face after all these weeks. But..."
"I know. You're worried in case I'm here for some other reason."
Charlotte nodded. "Yes."
George looked down into his cup. "You want to know how Alex is?”
"Of course." Her response was revealingly eager.
George hesitated. "Alex - well, he is in London."
"London?"
"Yes."
"He's well?"
"He's not ill, if that's what you mean."
Charlotte frowned. "What does that mean?"
George drank some of his chocolate, aware of her impatience as she waited for him to answer her question. "It means," he said at last, "that I am not happy about him."
Charlotte moved restlessly. "Go on."
“Well, I think he's driving himself too hard. And there's no need. He employs men to do the worrying for him, and then takes ever their decisions himself. He's not eating property, I don't know when he takes his rest. And he looks - well, tired."
Charlotte got up from her chair and paced across the patio, turning back to stare at him. "Why are you telling me this?" shee exclaimed frustratedly. "Why don't you tell Alex?"
“Do you think I haven't?"
"Does he know you’re here?"
“Yes. He wants first-hand news of you."
"But - he didn’t ask you to tell me this, did he?"
""What do you think?"
Charlotte shook her head. "He wouldn't."
"I won’t argue with that."
She sighed, walking back to her chair. "So why have you told me?"
"You could ask him to come back," replied George
quietly.
Charlotte flushed. "Here?"
"Where else? It's the only place where he relaxes. No phones — no communications of any sort. He needs it, Charlotte. Something's bugging him, and I guess it's you."
Charlotte twisted her hands together. Then she took a deep breath. "George, Alex doesn't care about me. I don't know what he's told you about why we got married, but - well, it wasn't for love."
"I know exactly why you got married," answered George steadily. "I also knew your father."
Charlotte quivered. "You'll understand then how I feel."
"In a way. But you don't know the whole truth, do you? Or you might understand Alex better."
Charlotte frowned. "What do you mean? The whole truth? Of course I know the whole truth. Or I wouldn't be here."
George raised his grey eyebrows. "I doubt it somehow. You knowing the whole truth, I mean. Alex isn't that kind of man. He wouldn't tell you. He's too - proud."
"What are you talking about?" Charlotte was getting
quite agitated now. "What don't I know?" "How well did you know your father?" "How well did I know my father?" Charlotte frowned more deeply. "How well does any daughter know her father?"
"No, seriously. You were away at school a lot, weren't you? You couldn't possibly have known about his gambling, could you?"
Charlotte stiffened. "I don't believe my father was a - a gambler. He played cards, yes. He was unlucky. But so are lots of people. And they don't all pay with their lives !"
George shrugged. "Oh, well, if that's the way you feel."
She stared at him helplessly. "George ! George, you can't introduce something like this and then just drop it. If you know something about my father that I don't know, you should tell me."
"Would you believe me?" George tilted his head to one side. "You didn't believe Alex, did you?"
Charlotte looked down at her hands. "Alex wanted someone to give him a child with the least possible effort !"
"If you believe that - if you really believe that..." George shook his head. "Well, I'm sorry for you, Charlotte, I really am. I'm sorry for Alex too. I should have thought you'd have learned by now what manner of man your husband is."
Charlotte blinked. "Then tell mel"
"No. It's not up to me to explain Alex's actions. He wouldn't thank me for it. But some time, I think you should contact those solicitors of yours in London, and ask them if they know what happened eight years ago."
The weeks immediately following on George's visit were he longest Charlotte had spent. In spite of what George had said, she could not believe that Alex's state of health was in any way connected with her. If he was driving himself, it was because he chose to do so, and if he thought of her at all it was with a sense of impatience that she should have denied him the use of the island.
All the same, she did worry about him, waitng restlessly for Vittorio's next visit so that she might ask him about his employer.
With regard to George's suggestion about writing to Mr. Falstaff, her solicitor, she was less decided. How could she write and demand an explanation for such a strange statement ? The only prominent event she could recall from eight years ago was her mother's death, and surely her father had had nothing to do with that. Unless.... Unless it was her mother's death which had driven him to the compulsion which had ultimately caused his death.
Certainly she would speak to Mr. Falstaff when she got back to London, but she did not feel it was something she could write about in a letter.
The weather was getting warmer, and now she could spend hours lying in the-sun. Her skin was warmly tanned and it no longer resented the sun's rays with such sensitivity. She even wore a bathing suit on occasion when she hoped no one else would see her, although her reflection in the wardrobe mirror gave her little pleasure. The baby was increasingly active now, keeping her awake some nights with its kicking and pummelling. But it was increasingly real, too, and she no longer felt entirely alone.
One afternoon at the beginning of May, she decided she would have to make the effort and go and see Eleni. She had heard nothing from Alex's grandmother since George's visit when he had paid a call on the old woman. She had not heard from Vittorio either, and she wondered, with a sense of desperation, whether Eleni was in contact with her grandson.
It was several weeks since she had walked so far, but thankfully a cool breeze fanned her cheeks and prevented her
from feeling too hot. Eleni was in her garden, gathering some
herbs, but she looked taken aback when she saw her grand
son's wife.
"Charlotte!" she exclaimed. "You shouldn't be walking here in your condition I"
Charlotte sighed, calling Suki and attaching the spaniel to its lead to leave outside the cottage. "I'm perfectly fit, yaya," she answered, following Eleni into the parlour. "Besides, the exercise does me good."
Eleni made no reply, indicating that Charlotte should sit down and ordering Bettina to bring iced fruit juice. Then, when she was seated, too, she said, "I have been meaning to come and see you myself. In three weeks the doctor and nurse arrive, do they not?"
Charlotte nodded. "I suppose so." She shivered, in spite of the heat of the day. The actual birth was looming closer now, and she had no one to turn to, no one to assuage her natural fears and anxieties.
Eleni folded her hands in her lap. "Will Alex be here when
his child is born?" she asked.
Charlotte moved her shoulders in a dismissing gesture. "I don't know. Will he?"
Eleni clicked her tongue against her teeth. "Surely you will want him here thenl" she exclaimed. "I can appreciate -or at least, I am trying to appreciate your dismay at finding yourself soon to become a mother. Alex told us how you felt - that you were too young, that he had been careless. But I am afraid I cannot condone your behaviour these past months."
Charlotte digested this in silence. So that was what Alex had told his relatives - that she objected to being pregnant! Well, it was as good a reason as any, she supposed.
"Have - have you heard from Alex, then?" she ventured, and Eleni regarded her without favour.
"No, I have not. There has been no word since George's departure. I gather you have not heard anything either."
Charlotte shook her head. "I - George said Alex was working too hard. I wondered if he had said anything to you."
"I know my grandson, Charlotte. He is driving himself because he is unhappy. And you are the cause of that unhappiness! No - " This as Charlotte would have protested. "Let me finish! When he told me he was getting married at last, I was delighted. Since his parents' death, he has been alone too much. I was doubtful when I learned how young you were, but it was obvious that Alex was in love with you, otherwise why would he have waited so long?"
“Waited - so - long?" Charlotte made a confused gesture. "What do you mean?"
"Oh, I don't want to talk about it any more. It makes me too angry,” muttered Eleni sharply. "Here is Bettina with our orange juice. Let us talk of less provocative matters."
Charlotte refused Eleni's offer of Yanni to take her home. The idea, of jotting along in the cart did not appeal to her, and the cooler air of late afternoon was very invigorating.
As she -walked, watching Suki scampering ahead of her, she thought about what Eleni had said. What had Alex's grandmother meant about him waiting so long? Unless it was that she meant before taking himself a wife. What else could she mean, after all? She had not even heard of Alex Faulkner unti eight months ago.
Charlotte was exhausted when she reached the villa, and refusing Maria's offer of tea, she went straight to her bedroom. It was marvellous to kick off her sandals and lie back against the soft pillows, feeling the aching muscles of her back beginning to relax. The shadows lengthened in the room, and she dosed hex eyes, falling into a deep exhausted slumber.
She awakened to a darkened room, and a distinctly uncomfortable sensation in the small of her back. Reaching across the bed, she turned on the lamp, and saw it was after ten o'clock. Maria must have decided not to wake her for dinner, but the old servant would not yet be in bed, and Charlotte longed for a cup of tea. Swinging her legs to the floor, she stood up, slipping her feet into her sandals. Her back still ached from the afternoon's exertions, but apart from that she felt very well.
When she opened the bedroom door, she saw a light was still burning in the hall, and as she walked along the corridor and down the steps, she saw the lounge lights were still burning, too. Frowning, she approached the doorway. It was not like Maria to leave lights wasting. Then she caught her breath.
Alex was sitting in the middle of one of the skin-covered couches, his elbows resting on his knees, his head buried in his hands. He was still wearing the clothes he must have arrived in, dark suit, white shirt, his tie hanging loosely.
Charlotte hovered at the doorway, undecided what to do. And then he looked up and saw her, and a strange expression crossed his dark face. The intentness of his gaze, the way his eyes appraised her, made h
er glad she was wearing the honey-coloured shift which Sophia had cleverly adapted for her from one of her ordinary dresses. Sophia was clever with her fingers, and since she had had to accept Charlotte's presence at the villa now that she was pregnant, she had become very useful in that way. Eleni had been right about her at least.
"Charlotte!" Alex rose abruptly to his feet, his hands falling to his sides. "You were sleeping when I arrived. I asked Maria not to wake you."
The ache in Charlotte's back seemed to be getting worse, but she managed to ignore it. "I - I didn't hear you." She shrugged. "Did you come in the helicopter?"
"No, I came with Vittorio in the launch." Alex shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and she saw that George had not been exaggerating when he said that Alex looked weary. "I'm sorry if my visit causes you any annoyance, but I felt I should come and see my grandmother. I believe she worries about me."
“She does. Charlotte glanced behind her. "Actually, I saw her this afternoon. I went over there."
Alex frowned. “On foot?”
"As a matter of fact yes.” Charlotte sighed, unable to prevent from seeking the small of her back and massaging it vigorously. “Have you had anything to eat? Does Maria know you’re here?"
“Naturally she knows I’m here. And I had a sandwich. But you must be, Maria tells me you haven't had a thing since lunchtime.”
“I could use a cup of tea,”" Charlotte admitted, feeling a little impatient with her own weakness. "But I'll see to it"
Alex had been watching her actions closely, and now he he came over to her, moving her fingers out of the small of her back and putting his own there instead. "What is it?" he asked, his breath mingling with hers. “Are you in pain?"
Charlotte shook her head. The feel of those hard fingers over the thin material of her dress aroused tantalizing memories, and her breathing quickened of its own volition. “It aches, that’s all,” she admitted jerkily. "I've probably walked too far today.”
