She could have explained—that she'd been at the airport, seeing Flo and Mia off to Switzerland—that she had come back to Town, done a bit of shopping, lunched in the cafeteria of a department store and then gone on to Poplar where she had called at the housing offices, paid Flo's rent for three months ahead and then spent the rest of the day cleaning and polishing the flat. That her only company had been a garrulous neighbour from across the hall who had come offering to do the small amount of washing and water the pot plants.
As for Crispin, she knew very well where he would have been—knee-deep in decorators and suppliers of salon fitments, going from one wholesaler to another until he found just what he wanted at the price he was willing to pay. He'd have spared no effort and time would have meant nothing to him. But Hester wasn't going to give her new husband this information.
'As of eleven o'clock this morning,' she said icily, 'you have the right to know where I am, what I'm doing and how many times I blow my nose. But yesterday, that doesn't come within your orbit. Yesterday, I was free and over twenty-one and what I did was my own affair. It had nothing to do with you!' And without waiting for a reply, she stalked in the direction of the door to his suite, where she paused with her hand on the doorknob. Now she knew what Demetrios had meant when he'd been so curt about the position of the lift; it had been used by somebody coming up to his apartment and not sent down again. There was a murmur of voices from within and her -nostrils caught the elusive but potent fragrance of 'Joy' with underneath it a heavier, more exotic perfume.
'We have visitors.' She turned to look at him where he was following her. 'Is this where the act begins, or do we continue to scratch each other's eyes out in public?' She paused, still with her hand on the door. 'Let's see what we know about them,' she sniffed again. 'My dear little mother—do you think she's called to wish me happiness? And there's another woman with her. Slightly younger, I think, and rather an exotic type.'
'Second sight?' Demetrios put a hand on her arm and she brushed it away.
'No, but I've got a nose like a bloodhound.' Her bad temper never lasted long and now she was grinning widely at her own thoughts. 'It's an advantage in any part of the beauty trade, having a nose like mine. Ladies rarely look the same when they're undergoing treatment, yet they expect to be recognised immediately. I always use my nose, it's infallible.'
'And what if several ladies use the same perfume? Demetrios moved closer, seeming interested.
Hester snorted at such ignorance. 'No perfume smells the same on different women, it's to do with the acids on the skin. Well,' she demanded, 'what's it to be, war or sweetness and light? Do we right or do I play the subservient little wife? I'm afraid I can't blush to order and I'm oversized for looking demure…'
'Just control that too ready tongue,' Demetrios pulled her close, his arm about her waist, 'and you could try looking adoring.'
'Miracles do take a little longer,' she quoted as he pushed the door open.
Hester hadn't liked the apartment much when she'd visited it before. It was, like most hotel accommodation, impersonal, a triumph of decorating and furnishing but belonging to nobody. Cushions, creaseless and immaculate, were set on the chairs and couches, looking as though they'd never been leant on, and each flower arrangement was a set piece without one bloom out of place, and even Vilma and her companion hadn't disturbed the awful regularity of everything.
Vilma was sitting on one of the couches, her chic little suit just matching her baby blue eyes, and the woman beside her—Hester immediately identified as the leading character in this ridiculous stage set, putting her in the 'other woman' role. Her eyes sparkled as she decided that Demetrios' past had caught up with him—and yet, her glance flicked to his face, taking in not only his lack of expression but also the whole aura of him—he was as much surprised as she. It was the past catching up, but, past or present, it had nothing to do with her, and she kept her smile going while the 'other woman' sprang lightly to her feet and ran gracefully across the room to fling herself on Demetrios' chest.
Hester moved aside, detaching herself from his arm while she murmured, 'You need both hands for this,' in a hardly audible whisper. She was rewarded by a tight, almost apologetic smile which illuminated his dark face for the space of a heartbeat before he looked down at the crown of the woman's black, glossy hair.
'Athene,' he said softly and on a note of surprise. 'What are you doing in London?'
Athene didn't answer, not immediately. Instead she wound slender arms about his neck—Hester caught a glimpse of small white hands with long fingernails painted a deep coral pink twisting in his hair, clutching at it almost feverishly—then his head was pulled down and the woman raised herself on tiptoe to fasten her deep coral pink mouth on his.
Hester darted another glance at her mother and saw the smile of satisfaction that stretched Vilma's mouth while her baby blue eyes glittered with triumph and the message came over loud and clear. This was a put-up job! Somehow Vilma had known about the wedding—she had summoned Athene and then come here, too late to stop the marriage but not too late to throw a damned great spanner in the works.
Athene moved back from Demetrios, still clinging to his shoulders. Her eyes were huge, dark and slumbrous and there was a faint flush on her ivory cheeks as she continued to gaze at him as if he was the only man in the world—as though she was eating him. Hester moved, but only to open her bag and produce a man-sized tissue which she stuffed into her husband's fingers.
'You need this,' she told him sotto voce while she gazed pointedly at his mouth, now smeared with coral pink lipstick. 'I don't think the colour suits you.' Just for a moment she thought she detected a smile of pure amusement in his eyes and then decided she'd imagined it as he wiped his mouth. 'There's some on your collar as well,' she reproved in a wifely fashion. 'You'll need to change that shirt.'
This time she was sure of the amusement but not so sure of its purity. There was a mocking quality to it and in his voice as well.
'It can wait for a few minutes, darling. I'd like you to meet Athene, she's by way of being a distant cousin.' Sardonic eyes glinted at her. 'Vilma, of course, you already know.' He assumed the air of a man vastly pleased with himself. 'Athene, this is my wife, Hester. We were married less than a hour ago, so you can be the first to congratulate us,' and then, what Hester decided was his basic cruelty showed through. 'I'm afraid you've arrived at an inopportune moment— we'd hoped to have the rest of the day to ourselves.'
Hester gave Vilma credit for a great deal of savoir-faire. Her mother's small figure stiffened and her hands curled into claws, but the muscles of her face remained relaxed. She had engineered this scene to hurt her daughter, but her daughter showed no signs of being hurt—well, there was always another time. Vilma's mouth, lipsticked to a delicate pink, still held on to a small smile, although she drooped her eyelids to hide the gleam of chagrin in her eyes. But the effect of his words on Athene was much more dramatic.
'Married!' she gasped with something like pain. 'But I told you, Demos—we always said we'd wait—I thought you'd wait for me—it was an arrangement between us. Oh, Demos,' the soft voice almost groaned his name, 'you're cruel!'
Athene's English wasn't all that good and Hester wondered why she used it, but when the woman turned to her, she understood. The dark eyes were no longer slumbrous, they were hard and dead, like pieces of polished jet. Hester had been meant to understand every word!
'Forgive me,' Athene almost cooed the words and then went into an explanation which did nothing to mend matters. 'A long time ago, when we were very young—Demos and I—but of course, we've grown up now and things have changed—Demos has changed,' she implied that she hadn't, 'but I'm very pleased he has married at last, and I hope you'll both try to be happy.'
'Thanks,' Hester said dryly, it was all the hope was worth, and she turned to her husband. 'I'm sure we could all do with a drink and some coffee. There's no hurry for lunch, is there?'
'You want a d
rink, Hester?' His eyebrows rose.
'Yes, please,' she answered sedately. 'Brandy, I think. It's been a very traumatic morning and I need something to steady my nerves.'
'Champagne would be more appropriate,' he murmured as he passed her on the way to the phone.
'Then I'll have both,' she muttered back defiantly, 'I feel like getting sloshed.'
Hester sank into a chair and sipped at the two teaspoonsful of brandy which Demetrios had allowed her while they waited for the coffee and champagne to be sent up from the kitchens. Nobody seemed to expect her to take any part in the conversation or make an effort to entertain the unexpected guests, and neither Vilma nor Athene showed any desire to communicate with her—Vilma had little to say and Athene concentrated on Demetrios to the exclusion of all else—chattering to him softly in Greek. From the reminiscent tone of her voice Hester deduced they were reliving their youth.
Oddly, this behaviour didn't upset her, it soothed— she was glad of a temporary cessation of hostilities, and if it hadn't been for Vilma's inimical gaze, she would have been at peace with the world, but as the waiter arrived with a trolley of coffee and two champagne bottles nestling in ice buckets, she came back to life and summoned a smile from thin air.
Nobody was going to know she felt out of her depth, that all this—the businesslike marriage, the mockery of a celebration drink—was upsetting her, that she longed to run screaming from the room. Instead, she drained the last few drops of brandy in her glass, accepted a glass of champagne and put on a bright, rather forced gaiety.
'I know,' she enthused, 'let's all have lunch together. A sort of celebration—I don't think I feel really married yet. Could the kitchens run to that, do you think, Demetrios? I don't expect a wedding cake, but I'd like a few of the usual trimmings.' She paused, knowing her speech was jerky and forced but grimly determined to continue. 'You don't have to run away, do you?' and she fixed Vilma with an icy stare, daring her to say 'Yes'.
Demetrios shrugged and again went to the phone to order so that she didn't know whether he was pleased or not, and she called herself a coward to be so obvious about not wishing to be left alone with him. Hester didn't want that, not yet—the longer it could be delayed the better she would be pleased. Being alone with him had assumed the proportions of a nightmare—the equivalent of torture, and the thought of it made her shiver despite the more than adequate central heating and air-conditioning.
After a lunch of smoked salmon and salad which was rounded off with a hastily contrived gateau decorated with discreet little silver bells and horseshoes—and during which Hester had drunk three large glassfuls of a dry white wine and endured a toast that mopped up the last of the remaining champagne— Demetrios dropped beside her on a couch, murmuring words in her ear, words which were inaudible to the others.
'You've nothing to fear but the thought of fear,' and she wondered how she could be that transparent; she hoped nobody else had noticed.
'Thanks,' she spoke quickly and softly, without moving her lips, 'that's all I need! I thought I was doing a good job of hiding my feelings,' and then, 'I'm not used to being in such exalted company.' The champagne bubbles were still fizzling in her blood, giving her a false courage. 'I'll try to hide it.'
'Then don't shrink when I touch you.' The words came close to her ear, his breath stirring the short hairs on the back of her neck and he slid an arm about her to pull her closer—as close as her rigid body would allow. 'Give,' he ordered. 'Don't be so stiff.'
'I can't,' she mouthed back at him desperately. 'I think I'm going to have hysterics!'
'Not yet,' he warned, 'save them for later when we're alone,' and then their little private conversation was interrupted by Vilma, being determinedly gay.
'No tête-à-têtes, please—not now, you can leave that till later. I've just had an idea—I'll give a party for you tonight. It won't be a glittering affair, just a few friends who are available at such short notice.' She paused fractionally as a swift glance passed between her and Athene and the younger woman gave a barely perceptible nod. Hester noticed the exchange, the drinks seemed to have heightened her awareness—she wondered if it had escaped Demetrios, and she was going to give him an enquiring look when Vilma continued:
'Sandros would never forgive me if I didn't do something to mark the occasion.'
'So kind of you, my dear aunt.' Demetrios' voice was like dark, liquid honey—it smoothed out the rough patches. 'But it's impossible, I'm afraid. By all means give a party if that's what will please my uncle, but Hester and I have other arrangements.' His hand found hers and he gently rubbed the new wedding ring with the ball of his thumb. 'We're leaving in a couple of hours.'
Not only did the honey soothe, it also served to gloss over his implacability—making it almost acceptable.
Hester had never had much time for what she called 'macho' men, but she had to admit they had their advantages. Vilma didn't argue, but she and Athene both dallied so that it was nearly half an hour later before they left and Hester was approaching screaming point. But she maintained her smile through it all, and when her husband came back from seeing their visitors into the lift, he surprised her with a compliment.
'You did very well through a trying time.'
Her eyebrows, slim and arched, shot up. 'You found it trying as well? That's a comfort! I thought I was on my own, but think nothing of it,' she shrugged. 'I just thought beautiful thoughts…'
'While you pined for your lost freedom? Or were you pining for that man called Crispin?'
'Back to square one,' she snapped. 'How many times do I have to tell you, Cris is my friend. He's not interested in anything but his career. He's determined to get to the top, that's all that matters to him.' She shrugged. 'I don't suppose I'll ever see him again.'
'No,' Demetrios smiled as he pulled her towards him, 'I don't think you will. Remember what I said about intruders on my property.'
'And that's another thing,' Hester struggled against him ineffectually, 'I can't think of myself as your property, so I'd be obliged if you—if you…' The rest of it was lost as his mouth came down on hers, at first featherlight, and then the pressure increased while his hand undid the buttons of her fitted jacket and found the softness of her breast. The touch of his fingers set every nerve in her body screaming and she jerked back in his arm as though she'd been stung. 'No!' It came out explosively, part fear and part an unnameable excitement. 'No,' she repeated with less force—less certainty.
'Of course not.' Demetrios was holding her much more loosely, she could have escaped had she really wanted to, but she felt too exhausted to do anything. 'Once more,' he smiled at her wryly, 'this is hardly the time or the place. Shall we look at your cases? You need one packed with sufficient to last you for a week, ten days at the most.'
The abrupt change in his manner confused her and she felt slightly disappointed that he should be so calm when she was a quivering mass of nerves.
'Tropical or arctic?' she enquired with as much aplomb as she could summon at a moment's notice. 'I mean, do I take bikinis or fur boots?' and then, 'We are going away? You didn't just say that to get out of Vilma's party?'
His laugh surprised her. 'Whenever possible, I tell the truth, it saves a lot of bother,' and at her understanding nod, 'We're flying out to Athens tomorrow morning, a very early flight, so tonight we're staying at a hotel close to the airport, but not too close, we don't want to be kept awake all night by planes overhead.'
Hester looked at him gravely. 'If that's the only thing liable to keep me awake,' she returned, 'I shan't worry!' She said it stoutly and with considerable emphasis. 'Before we go,' she added, 'I think I'll dispense with the floral tribute.' She unpinned the orchids and stuffed them into one of the set pieces which decorated the room. 'I hope our marriage lasts longer and looks happier than the flowers you gave me. They're wilting already.'
CHAPTER FIVE
Hester stirred and turned over to see a black head on the pillow beside her. Demetrios' eye
s were open and watching her every move, almost searching her face as though he would know what she was thinking.
'Was it good?' he asked lazily.
The question brought back memories that made the blood beat more quickly in her veins and the colour sweep up to mantle her face. She recalled his expert lovemaking, the thing he had stirred within her—a thing which had grown with every caress until it clawed at her insides, demanding satisfaction. She had hoped to be able to control it, this wild hunger but it had been uncontrollable so that now, there wasn't a part of her he didn't know, hadn't touched, kissed and fondled.
She turned her head to the window—but that had been last night, a hot passion in the night, an appetite to be fed, a need to be satisfied; but now it was morning, with the sky a faint, clear blue and a weak sun climbing the sky with no warmth in it. Hester shivered and drew the covers more closely about her naked body.
'I don't know,' she said as though she was really thinking about it and not just saying the first hurtful thing which came into her mind. 'How could I know? Unlike you, I don't have any standard of comparison.'
'Which is just as it should be.' Demetrios wasn't a whit abashed and he turned on to his back, pushing back the covers and putting his hands behind his head. The movement disclosed his wide chest and the dark curling hair that covered it—hair which had tickled her nose last night—it was silly how she could remember a little thing like that. She stole a glance at his profile outlined against the white of the pillow— one dark eye, almost hidden beneath a drooping lid with the thick fringe of lashes for a curtain, his nose, rather big and with a flaring nostril, the sensual curve of his mouth and his uncompromising chin, now a faint blue in the morning light.
If she touched it now, it would rasp beneath her fingers, but last night it had been as smooth as silk. Her brows furrowed as she pondered whether there could possibly be some sort of sex maniac lurking beneath her calm, practical exterior—she, Hester Marsh, who'd never been very much interested in men! Her thoughts went wandering on, over her memories of the rest of his body—the flat stomach, the narrow hips, long powerful legs—the thing stirred inside her and she bit her lip in desperation as he curled an arm about her.
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