by Craven, Sara
Her fork clattered noisily to the floor and she bent to retrieve it before one of the maids could move to her side, glad that the action gave her an excuse for the sudden flame of colour in her face. What use was it, trying to deny her feelings for Troy any longer? If she was really content merely to be bound to him legally, then she would not care how many mistresses he had. She would be content to be the figurehead in his home, the hostess when he required one, the companion for his sister, glad to be cut off from any real intimacy in his life. But now she knew the truth, knew that she craved to be first with him in every way, not just in his bed, but in his mind and heart too. She bit on her lip until she could taste blood.
Her fingers shook uncontrollably as she forced herself to pick up her glass and sip some of the wine it contained. She was still stunned at the implications of the discoveries she was making about her own feelings, but she was rational enough to concede that nothing had really changed. Michelle was still Troy's mistress, and he had lingered on in England to be with her. She recalled how he had spoken of Michelle, of her beauty and 'utter willingness'—a woman's weapons to win the man of her choice. Was that what she herself should have done? Would it have been wiser to have pretended ignorance of the affair and set out to win him
for herself? Whatever other relationships he might enjoy, he had come to Theros wanting her. If her anger and bitterness had not got the better of her, they could have been together now in the peace and intimacy of the big room upstairs.
But that would be little comfort, she told herself miserably, if at the end of the honeymoon he simply resumed his old life. No matter how much she might want him, she knew she could never be content to be second best in his life, the docile wife waiting patiently in the wings for the few cherished moments he could spare her.
At least if they went on in the way they were, she would still have her pride, but that seemed a poor substitute for all the other emotions that she would be denied. For the first time, she found herself wishing that she was going to have a child. She had no doubt that the mother of his baby would arouse all Troy's latent tenderness and protectiveness. But afterwards? She leaned forward to replace her wineglass and as she did so the room seemed to sway crazily in front of her eyes as if the world was out of focus. She gripped the arms of her chair, afraid she was going to faint, when a scream from Aunt Sofia and the crash of breaking crockery as Ariadne who was clearing the main course dropped some plates made her realise that the phenomenon had not been the result of her own overcharged emotions but a rather more potent physical force.
She was terrifyingly aware that the whole house was shaking slightly, causing light fitments to sway backwards and forwards and setting the pieces of statuary and rare china with which the dining room was decorated sliding and dancing. -
The tremor could only have lasted a few seconds and as it died away, it was succeeded by an almost uncanny stillness as if the earth was holding its breath.
`Gee!' Helen's attempt at a light laugh held a distinct quaver. 'I think it was safer in San Francisco.' There was a pause, then Troy gave her a reluctant grin and Stephanos laughed out loud before they turned their attention to calming Aunt Sofia, who seemed almost on the verge of hysteria and who was having a bad effect on the equally frightened
Ariadne. Troy went to the saloni to fetch a glass of brandy for his aunt, and on the way back he halted briefly by Lacey's chair, his dark eyes searching her face.
`Are you all right?' he asked crisply, and she nodded, unable to trust herself to speak.
By a kind of mutual consent the rest of dinner was abandoned and they all went into the saloni. Aunt Sofia, weeping a little, and apparently prophesying doom, was led off to her room by Ione, another of the maids, and Lacey began almost imperceptibly to relax.
Stephanos came across to her carrying a cognac. 'You must drink this, Mrs Andreakis. Even those of us who are used to these tremors do not find them a pleasant experience. We must hope there will be no more.'
'Do they happen often?' Lacey accepted the glass from him.
`There has always been a certain amount of activity in this region, but it is rarely felt on land. The last real trouble was over twenty years ago.'
'Yes, Helen told me about it.' Lacey sipped at the cognac, feeling its reassuring warmth stealing through her veins.
Stephanos laughed. 'She has a vivid imagination, that little one. All this was before she was born, you understand, so do not let her frighten you with any horror stories. Theros did not suffer as badly as Levkas or Ithaca.'
Out of the corner of her eye, Lacey saw that Troy was moving across to join them and a sudden tension invaded her limbs.
He looked at her unsmilingly before transferring his attention to Stephanos.
'I have telephoned Father Alexis, but he says there has been little damage in the town, and certainly no panic. We must hope this was just an isolated incident.'
Stephanos nodded and said something to him in Greek, which brought a noncommittal shrug in response from Troy. Lacey was sure that some reference to herself had been made, but she did not wish to appear foolish or inquisitive by asking, so she remained silent, staring down at the remainder of the brandy in her goblet.
The men continued to converse in low voices and eventually Lacey put down her brandy and, getting up, wandered
over to where the piano was standing. She sank down on to the wide seat and lifted the lid. She had no clear idea of what she was going to play, but she felt she needed the soothing quality that her music invariably provided. For a while she let her fingers stray idly over the keys, recalling odd chords and phrases, but none of them seemed to hold any great appeal. One fragment of melody teased at her memory and she began to pick the notes out as they came back to her, humming the tune under her breath as she did so. It was totally familiar yet oddly elusive, and as she hesitated, puzzled, the opening phrase suddenly took shape in her mind. Of course she knew what it was. It was the quartet from The Yeomen of the Guard, and she added the words softly to the melody as she played it through again. `Strange adventure, Maiden wedded to a groom she's never seen ...' Her fingers stumbled into discord as she realised the significance of what she was playing, that almost forgotten conversation with Vanessa before her wedding stinging back into her mind. What had Vanessa said? 'Rather a fairy tale.'
Lacey bit her lip as she bent over the keys. Well, all the elements were there, she thought with a bitter little sigh welling up inside her, even the beautiful stepmother, but there was no sign of any happy ending.
She came out of her reverie with a start to find Troy standing, looking down at her. The lines on his dark face seemed more deeply accentuated, but that might be just a trick of the lamplight, otherwise he was the enigma he had always been. It seemed impossible that this cool, impassive stranger had been the man with whom she had quarrelled so violently only a few hours before and whose totally devastating lovemaking had carried her beyond decency, beyond reason almost to the edge of rapture.
`Won't you play something for us?' It was the courteous query that any host might make of a guest with a talent for music.
She shook her head quietly, closing the piano lid over the keys. `Not tonight. I'm—I'm not really in the mood.'
`I see.' He paused for a moment. 'But the piano is—satisfactory, is it?'
She looked up at him, stricken. She had completely over-
looked the fact that this was his gift to her, the thing he had known she would prize above the jewellery, the cars, the yachts that rich men often bestowed on their wives. and she had not even thanked him.
`It's beautiful,' she assured him rather huskily. 'I—I don't know what to say ...'
He lifted his hand, silencing her. 'There is no need to say anything. If you are content, then I must be so too.'
`Troy.' Impulsively she put out her hand and touched his as he made to turn away. For a moment he stood rigid, then he slipped his hands into the pockets of his dinner jacket, deliberately avoidi
ng the contact with her. His mouth twisted slightly as he looked at her.
It's all right, Lacey mou. You have convinced me of your gratitude. There is no need to outrage your feelings any further. Besides, it is not in my nature to be satisfied with—crumbs, from anyone's table.'
He turned and walked away, rejoining Stephanos who was with Helen at the opposite end of the room going through the well-stocked cabinet of long-playing records that stood beside the hi-fi system. Lacey sat staring down at her hands, her cheeks burning. She might have known her gesture would have been misunderstood, she thought bitterly, but that sudden craving to touch him, to feel her skin against his however fleetingly had overwhelmed her, blinding her to all other considerations.
She got up and walked over to the long windows that led on to the terrace, pulling aside the heavy curtains and staring out into the darkness. Almost immediately the glass was bombarded by moths and other insects, flinging themselves against it in a vain attempt to reach the light. Lacey stood for a moment watching their useless struggle with brooding eyes, then with a sigh, she let the curtain fall back into place. The barrier between Troy and herself was an intangible one, but it would prove no less difficult to cross.
After a while, she excused herself and went to her room. She had wanted to have another talk with Helen, to find out where she had really disappeared to before dinner, but her sister-in-law seemed determined to keep out of her way, insisting with almost hysterical gaiety on demonstrating all
the latest dance movements that she had learned at beach parties in California and trying to persuade a reluctant Stephanos to attempt them as well.
Alone in the big bedroom, Lacey felt restless. She bathed' and put on her white chiffon nightdress, but in spite of these preparations, she did not get into bed. She wandered round the room, bare-footed, rearranging the bottles and containers on her dressing table, adjusting the placing of the roses that stood in a silver bowl on a table beside the bed. After a while she made herself sit down on the softly upholstered couch that stood near the window and pick up a book she had been reading, but the words whirled round in her brain making little sense and after a few minutes she threw it aside.
The sound of a door closing nearby brought her to her feet, and she saw that a thread of light was showing under the communicating door that led from the bedroom into Troy's dressing room. Moving silently, she slipped round the room, turning off the lights, then climbed into the wide bed and lay there motionless, her breathing oddly constricted. Her eyes strained towards the door in the darkness, waiting for it to open. She was so sure that he would come to her, in spite of everything that had happened, that she could hardly believe it when the thread of light disappeared and the door between them remained inimically closed.
She sat up, sudden determination banishing the turmoil that had raged inside her all evening. Michelle might still win in the end, but she did not have to make it easy for her by not even putting up a token resistance on her own behalf. She too would fight for what she wanted.
She slipped noiselessly out of bed and walked softly across the room to the door. The handle twisted easily under her fingers as she turned it, but the door did not move. Surprised, she turned the handle again, this time applying the pressure of her weight against it, but it still did not budge, and it was then that the humiliating truth burst on Lacey. His door was locked. Her fight was over, before it had even begun.
CHAPTER NINE
LACEY slept late the following morning and woke feeling unrefreshed and on edge. Not even the earth tremor and its aftermath had had the shattering effect of the discovery that Troy was apparently quite prepared to accept the terms she had flung at him and shut her out of his life. She could only hope he was not aware of her abortive attempt to get into his room. That would be the final humiliation.
The villa seemed deserted when she eventually arrived downstairs, and Ione, who insisted on bringing her fresh rolls and coffee in spite of assurances that she wanted no breakfast, told her that Kyrios Troy and Kyria Eleni had gone down to the boathouse to make sure there was no damage from the previous night.
`I see.' Lacey sipped at her coffee. 'Was there—did much get broken in the house? Upstairs seemed totally untouched, as if nothing had happened.'
Tone's broad shrug indicated that in her opinion, very little had occurred. 'Ligho, Kyria Lacey. A few dishes in the kitchen and the plates which Ariadne dropped, as you know. She is not of Theros, that one,' she added pityingly.
Lacey grimaced. 'Neither am I, Ione, and I'm afraid Ariadne has my sympathy.'
Ione looked shocked. To, po, po. Such a little shake, Kyria Lacey. No one could really be frightened.' Her eyes brightened. 'Now, twenty years ago ...'
`Yes, I know,' Lacey interrupted hastily. 'And if you're going to tell me I should have been here then—please don't.'
Ione tutted. 'That would be foolishness, Kyria Lacey. I was not even here myself.'
Her breakfast over, Lacey walked out on to the terrace, and strolled through the gardens towards the path leading to the beach. As she came out on to the road above the bay, she hesitated. The path to the beach where she and Helen
had bathed the day before lay straight ahead; the fork leading down to the adjoining cove where the boathouse was situated went off to the left. She knew she would have to face Troy sooner or later, but just at the moment solitude seemed preferable and she took the path down to the beach. But as she scrambled down the last sharp incline, she realised she was not alone as her eye caught a swift flash of colour among the rocks over to her right. She stood up and shaded her eyes, but she could see no one. She discarded the light sandals she was wearing and began to climb over the rocks towards where the patch of colour still showed. She recognised it as soon as she got close. It was one of the cotton scarves that Helen often wore round her neck, caught on a projecting piece of rock. Lacey detached it without tearing it any further and stood looking around, convinced that she was being watched.
`Helen!' she called in some exasperation. 'Helen, where are you?'
But there was no reply, but somewhere not too far away there was a subdued rattle and a chink as if a pebble had been dislodged by a careless foot.
`Helen!' she tried again. 'Please don't play silly games. I'm not in the mood. I've got your scarf. Don't you want it?'
Silence.
`Oh, be like that, then!' Lacey laid the scarf across the top of a flat rock, and put a stone on top of it to keep it from blowing away in the slight breeze. As she gave one last glance round, she noticed that at the foot of the cliff, overshadowed and partly protected by a massive overhang, there was a dark slit, suggesting a cave of some kind. It seemed more than probable that Helen had gone to ground there, and there she could stay, Lacey decided with a fair amount of rancour. She could not help feeling a little hurt as she turned away. After all, Helen had no reason to shun her company.
She walked down the beach to the water's edge and stood, letting the creaming shallows curl slowly round her bare feet, then she turned and began to make her way slowly over the rocks guarding the promontory that led to
the boathouse. Here, the natural curve of the cliff had provided a deep rocky basin and as well as the large wooden boathouse, a small jetty had also been constructed. A dinghy was tied up to the jetty and Stephanos was seated in it, tinkering with its outboard motor. He caught sight of Lacey perched precariously on her rock and gave her an encouraging wave, pointing to where she could scramble across to the side of the boathouse.
`Kalimera, he called. 'You are looking for Troy, ne? You are just too late.'
He gestured towards a superbly built white racing dinghy with scarlet sails tacking out of the cove towards the open sea.
Lacey shaded her eyes to watch its progress. 'Does—does he sail alone?' she asked, coming to sit on the edge of the jetty and declining the cigarette Stephanos offered her with a shake of her head.
`Not usually.' Stephanos wiped his fingers on an oily rag. `But toda
y he did not seem to wish for company,' he added, sending her a sideways look.
`I just wondered if it was safe,' she said lamely.
He smiled at her. 'Troy has sailed these waters since he was a small child, Kyria Lacey. You need not concern yourself.'
`Oh no, I'm sure I needn't.' To her own annoyance Lacey heard a quiver in her voice. 'I'm sure he is—quite capable of looking after himself.'
She was aware that Stephanos was looking curiously at her and made an attempt to regain her self-control.
`I'm sorry.' She tried to smile. 'I think living on the edge of an earthquake must be making me nervous.'
`My dear Mrs Andreakis, please believe me, if there was real danger Troy would not permit you to stay here.' He gave her an anxious look. `Do you wish me to speak to him for you? Perhaps the trip to Nassau can be brought forward ...'
`Oh, no ! ' Lacey was appalled at the thought. Things were bad enough at the villa, she thought. What they might be like in the more cramped conditions of the Artemis, she did not dare think. I'm—I'm just being silly. It was just so un-
expected. Besides, I'm not at all sure we shall be going to Nassau now.'
`Oh?' Stephanos studied her for a moment. 'That is not the impression I had. Have you spoken to Troy about this?'
`No.' Lacey paused. 'There hasn't really been a great deal of opportunity,' she added, choosing her words with care.
'He has been preoccupied,' Stephanos admitted. 'The last months have not been easy for either of you, I think, and for Troy there has been the added problem of his sister.'
Lacey sighed. 'Now I thought I was really making progress there,' she said ruefully. 'Yet I'm sure she was deliberately avoiding me in the next cove just now. I feel as if I'm back to square one again.'
