by Anne Mather
Until the evening he arrived to find Sarah was out, at a committee meeting. She had been quite an enthusiastic member of the local historical society in those days, she and Roger had always had that in common, and besides, she had told Martha that Dion had had to fly back to Athens that afternoon, and had promised to ring on his return.
When Martha opened the door to him that evening they had both known why he was there. There was no possibility that she was mistaken. It was there in his face, in his expression, in the smouldering passion in his eyes, and before the door had closed behind him she was in his arms.
Such memories were painful, she discovered, as her teeth dug deeply into her lower lip. They had been so eager, so hungry for one another, so completely absorbed with the physical expression of their love. And Dion was so expert when it came to seducement, so adroit at the art of intimacy. With his mouth plundering the sweetness of hers, teaching her the meaning of possession, she had been helpless in his hands, fervent and willing to give whatever he wanted of her.
The fact that he had not taken her on that occasion had been his choice, not hers. Even though he had parted her shirt and exposed the throbbing peaks of her breasts to his caress, he had not made love to her, and she had felt the first aching in her thighs that only his penetration could assuage. She had touched his body, of course, ardently delighting in the unaccustomed freedom, and reluctantly he had removed her probing fingers, assuring her wryly that only by this abstinence could he be expected to keep his head.
Telling Sarah had not been easy. Her reaction had ranged from an immediate one of tight-smiling indifference, to complete and outright disapproval. She had never taken Dion seriously, she denied, when Martha tried to defend herself later. He had no intention of marrying an English giri, she insisted, he was only playing with her, and Martha ought to know that Greek millionaires did not seriously get involved with doctors’ receptionists.
Of course, time proved her wrong, but Martha wondered now at the risks she had taken. Dion’s self-restraint had not lasted long in the face of their urgent need for one another, and within a week she was going to bed with him, unable to resist his disturbing attraction. They had been unable to leave one another alone, and he had taken her to meet his family, with his own plans for their wedding already clear in his mind.
Naturally, she supposed, the Myconos’s had been appalled. She was so different from the wife they must have wanted for their eldest son. She was subjected to the most stringent interrogation whenever Dion was out of the room, but in spite of everything they had been undeterred.
In fact, their marriage had eventually been sponsored by his family, and not hers. There were so many people the Myconos’s wanted to invite, and although Martha had been terrified at the thought of such an occasion, with Dion beside her, it had not seemed so frightening. It had been a wonderful day, a glorious wedding, the guests thronging the marquee which had been set up in the grounds of Aristotle’s villa in Athens; and afterwards, an equally splendid honeymoon, spent in the tropical seclusion of Bali.
Sighing now, she surveyed her reflection in the leaved mirrors of the dressing table. Would she have stayed away from Dion if it had not been for Sarah? she wondered unhappily. Would she have maintained her independence without her sister’s support? Whatever, nothing could alter the fact that Dion had stayed away from her, that he had accepted her departure as final, and had only taken her back now to gain control of Josy and to satisfy some streak of cruelty that dominated him.
The door opened again, but this time her wide-eyed look of apprehension was for nothing. It was her daughter who came into the room, tousle-haired and adorable in candy-striped pyjamas.
‘I slept in,’ she announced, knuckling her eyes as she looked around the room. Then she frowned as she added: ‘And Sophia says I must get dressed because there’s a lady coming today, to look after me and Auntie Sarah while you go away with Uncle Dion. You’re not going away, are you, Mummy? You won’t go away again without taking me?’
Martha’s spirits sank. She had hoped to break that particular piece of news to Josy in her own way, but she should have anticipated the garrulity of the servants. Gossip was a way of life, and Sophia, one of the young maids from the village, would not consider her words in any way controversial.
‘As a matter of fact, I might be going away—just for a day or two,’ Martha finished hastily, as Josy’s eyes filled with concern. ‘With—with Uncle Dion, as Sophia says. But I shan’t be away for long, and Auntie Sarah is staying here, of course.’
Josy’s lips assumed a downward slant. ‘Then there is a lady coming to look after us. Who is she? Will she be like Mrs Bennett?’
Martha wished now she had questioned Alex about the nursemaid, but she hadn’t, and taking a chance, she said: ‘Someone like that, I suppose, darling. I’m sure she’ll be very nice. Uncle—Uncle Dion chose her, and you know he wouldn’t choose someone you wouldn’t like.’
Josy sniffed. ‘What’s her name?’
‘That I don’t know.’ Martha put her hands on the little girl’s slim shoulders in a gesture of reassurance. ‘But we’ll find out very soon, I promise.’
Josy still looked upset, and Martha cupped her pale cheeks, a hangover from the previous evening’s sickness, with gentle hands. ‘Honey, don’t worry. I—I may not go away, after all. It’s all—in the balance. Now, hurry along and wash your face and clean your teeth, and we’ll have breakfast together.’
As at dinner, the members of the household usually gathered for breakfast round the glass-topped table on the patio. At this hour of the morning the air was warm and redolent with the perfume of the flowers that grew on the terraces below. The moistness of the early hours was giving way to the heat of the morning, and the faint haze on the horizon heralded another glorious day. The view from the patio was quite magnificent, and in spite of everything, Martha always found pleasure in sitting there, drinking her orange juice and allowing the humming of the cicadas to wash over her.
Andros had placed a centrepiece of long-stemmed red roses in the middle of the table, and when Martha came out of the villa Alex rose from the seat and offered her one with a lazy smile.
‘For Aphrodite,’ he teased, touching her chin with his tender petals, and Martha wondered whether he was deliberately trying to annoy his brother. Dion had risen at her appearance, too, but after a moment he resumed his seat, studying the financial pages of a newspaper as he bit into a crisply baked croissant.
Martha accepted Alex’s gallantry with a certain amount of impatience, and then, as she seated herself, said: ‘Sophia’s told Josy that this—this nursemaid is coming. She’s quite upset about it.’
Dion looked up at this, but his eyes were cool and guarded. ‘Then pirazi. Min anissihite. She had to know sooner or later.’
Martha’s lips tightened. ‘I would prefer to have told her myself.’
‘Why?’ He shrugged. ‘I will explain the situation to her.’
‘Not as you explained it to me, I hope,’ Martha retorted, unable to hide the emotion in her voice, and Alex pulled a wry face as he resumed his seat.
Fortunately, perhaps, Roger appeared at that moment, long and gangly in his khaki shirt and shorts. His skin was already weathered by hours spent in the open air, but he looked well and energetic, and Martha told herself she was glad for him. Even so, she could not forget that it was he who had encouraged her to write to Aristotle, and precipitated this bewildering state of affairs.
‘Alex tells me you have not yet been successful in discovering any connection between Mycos and Thera,’ Dion remarked, folding his newspaper, unperturbed by Martha’s previous outburst. ‘Is it a disappointment?’
‘Hell, no,’ Roger grinned, helping himself to coffee. ‘You don’t know what it means to me, having the place to myself. It’s fascinating. The rock formations alone provide an intriguing study, and with Alex’s directions I found a cove yesterday and did some underwater exploration. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind if
I sent for my scuba-diving gear. I’d like to go a little deeper than the scope of my lungs allows.’ Dion was sympathetic. ‘There is no need for you to send to England for that kind of equipment,’ he remarked. ‘We have tanks and suits here, on the island. Alex and I, and my brother Nikos, have all enjoyed the sport at one time or another. I will get Niarchos to give you what you need.’
‘I say!’ Roger was overwhelmed. ‘I don’t know how to thank you.’
Dion’s smile was friendly. ‘Enjoy,’ he advised, getting to his feet. ‘And now, if you will all excuse me…’
After he had left them, Roger continued to marvel at his good fortune. ‘That’s some bloke!’ he averred, spreading apricot conserve on his toast. ‘I’ll never be able to thank him.’
His eyes sought Martha’s, seeking confirmation, but she concentrated on her own meal with rather less enthusiasm. It was typical of Dion to be so generous, but she refused to admit it. He had always been willing to share his possessions—except when she was concerned.
CHAPTER EIGHT
MARTHA heard the helicopter fly over the villa at about eleven-thirty, and her nerves tightened. So the English nanny was arriving ahead of schedule, and she supposed Dion would expect her to be around to welcome her. Even Josy’s curiosity had been aroused during the course of the morning, taking the place of her previous apprehension, and Martha realised if she was completely honest with herself she would admit that her own antipathy towards the newcomer had hardened as her daughter’s enthusiasm increased. For so long she had been the centre of the little girl’s world, the focus for her affections, and if Dion succeeded in destroying these things, what would she have left?
In consequence, she had spent the morning in Sarah’s company, preferring her unconcealed antagonism to everyone else’s interest. Of course, her sister had her own reasons for condemning the nursemaid’s arrival. Josy had artlessly explained what Sophia had told her, and Sarah had immediately withdrawn behind a barrier of cold disapproval. She didn’t have to tell Martha what she thought of the situation. It was evident in every movement, every gesture, every contemptuous sigh she uttered.
However, the lowering helicopter drove her to make some comment, and catching Martha’s eye, she said: ‘Aren’t you going down to meet her? I heard the car leave a few minutes ago. I’d have thought you’d be curious to see the woman who’s apparently going to take your place.’
Martha shifted uncomfortably on the lounger. ‘You’re exaggerating, Sarah,’ she said. ‘This is Dion’s idea of making life easier for me. He doesn’t understand that I prefer to take care of Josy myself.’
‘Huh!’ Sarah sounded incredulous. ‘If you believe that, you’ll believe anything. You know perfectly well what Dion’s game is. He’s trying to come between you two. He knows that so long as Josy relies on you, he’ll never stand a chance of taking her from you. But if he can get her used—’
‘Oh, stop it, Sarah!’ With a helpless gesture, Martha got to her feet, fists clenching and unclenching as she tried not to believe what her sister was saying. ‘It’s not like that. I—Dion wants me to accompany him to Athens. He wanted to be sure Josy would be well looked after while I was away, that’s all.’
Sarah’s lips curled. ‘Really? You mean to tell me she couldn’t have stayed with Roger and me for a few days?’ She shook her head. ‘This is no temporary measure, Martha. This is for keeps. You don’t employ an English nursemaid for a week’s engagement.’
Martha expelled her breath uneasily. Sarah was only voicing what she herself suspected, and that was why she found it so hard to take. She didn’t want to hear her anxieties put into words, to face the unpalatable facts that had to be considered. What was Dion’s game? And how long could she take it?
‘I’m going for a walk,’ she said at last, brushing down the skirt of her cotton sundress. She had worn the dress deliberately, unwilling to appear before Dion in the scanty shorts she had been wearing on his arrival, though its full skirts hid much of her slender limbs from the warmth of the sun. It was at least two years old, and its colour had faded, but it gave her a measure of protection from his mocking eyes.
Sarah looked surprised now. ‘Where are you walking to?’ she exclaimed. ‘It’s almost lunchtime.’
Martha shrugged, avoiding her eyes. ‘Just for a walk,’ she replied, already crossing the patio. ‘See you later.’
Beyond the cultivated grounds of the villa, the hillside was covered with stretches of gorse, starred here and there with clumps of wild flowers. The perfumes of jasmine and hibiscus mingled with the sharper scents of lime and lemon groves, and the pervading tang of pine drifted down from the wooded slopes. Martha, bending to pick a tiny crimson-petalled blossom, thought how beautiful it all was, and how poignant it might well seem in retrospect.
The walls of the monastery loomed above her, and ignoring the impulse to turn back and face whatever was to come, she stepped up to the crumbling walls, noticing with pleasure that the vines still grew wild along the cloisters. Bunches of grapes hung lusciously above her, the purple and white garland of bougainvillaea disguising much of the decaying stonework. Grass grew between the flags that had once pointed the way to the chapel of St Demetrius, and the well was moss-covered, the water no longer drinkable.
Yet despite its air of desolation and neglect, it was a peaceful place, a sanctuary, and Martha spent some time exploring its quiet walks and sheltered terraces, where once the monks had striven to make a living from the soil. Martha wished her life was as uncomplicated as theirs, automatically bending her head as the noisy whir of the helicopter’s propellers swept almost aggressively over the monastery.
It was almost one o’clock as she made the descent to the villa again, but she refused to feel deterred. She had every right to go for a walk if she wished, and nothing Dion could say would stop her. If he had expected her to be there to greet his latest acquisition, it was just too bad, and this woman, whoever she was, need not imagine she was going to have it all her own way.
She heard voices on the patio as she circled the gardens, but they were too distant for her to distinguish any particular tone. Avoiding them she let herself in through the french doors of one of the reception rooms, and made her way to her bedroom without encountering anyone other than a housemaid.
She halted in the doorway, however, aghast at the sight that greeted her eyes. The room seemed full of people, although in effect there were only two servant girls there, but the floor of the room, and every available chest and chair was overflowing with cartons and boxes, spilling dresses and skirts, pants and blouses, shoes and lingerie, in every imaginable style and shade.
‘What is going on?’ she gasped, gazing about her in bewilderment, and then realising the girls did not understand her, added: ‘Ti ine afto?’
‘Your new wardrobe, kiria,’ one of the girls replied in her own language. ‘Kirios Dionysus asked us to unpack for you.’
‘Did he?’ Martha stared helplessly at the magenta swathe of a heavy silk evening gown.
‘Ne, kiria,’ the other girl nodded, smiling slyly. ‘So many beautiful things. Kirios Dionysus must love you very much, ohi?’
Martha bit hard on her lower lip. She doubted very much whether love had anything to do with it. Dion did not wish to feel ashamed of her, that was all, and obviously he had noticed the deficiencies of her present wardrobe.
But so many things, as the girl had said! When had they been purchased? How had he known what she needed? What size to buy?
The answer was simple. Dion knew women. And he had obviously guessed she was one size smaller now than she had been when she was his wife. And as far as deciding what she wanted was concerned, he had apparently bought everything—from stockings through to the fur cape one of the girls was presently holding against her cheek.
Martha felt stunned. It was like being deprived of her breath. She didn’t know what to say, what to do—and in addition to this, she had still to meet Josy’s nursemaid.
She s
ensed rather than heard the footsteps coming along the corridor, and she knew who it was even before he came up behind her, and slipped a proprietorial hand around her waist. His fingers pressed possessively on her stomach, and before she could offer any possible opposition, he dismissed the two housemaids with a peremptory word of command. They slipped past, smiling knowingly, but after they had gone chattering down the passage, Martha turned on Dion with an angry protest.
‘What is all this?’ she demanded, walking into the middle of the floor, spreading her hands in expressive distaste. ‘Are my clothes not good enough for you? Are you ashamed of me, is that it? Have I to be hung like a Christmas tree with the fruits of your exploitation?’ She forgot completely her own anxieties about going to Athens, her earlier doubts about what she might wear. All she could see now was another demonstration of his control over her, another string for her to dance to his tune.
Dion did not immediately say anything. He closed the door and leaned back against it, allowing her to spend herself in useless fury, and then he said quietly: ‘Where have you been?’
‘Where have I been?’ Martha moved her shoulders in careless indifference. ‘Does it matter? Or do I have to account to you for every minute of my time as well? Would you like to know when I eat, when I change, when I go to the bathroom—’
‘Be silent!’ For once, she realised she had caught him on the raw, and she refused to let that small victory go unsupported.
‘Why should I?’ she challenged. ‘You treat me like a child, and then don’t like it when I retaliate—’
‘—like a child,’ he put in harshly. ‘Where have you been, Martha? I want to know. I want to know where you were when Miss Powell arrived.’
Martha pursed her lips. ‘I went for a walk. I’m sure you must have got that information from Sarah.’
