'I tried to make it good for you—to be as gentle as I could. I know it isn't always satisfactory the first time for a woman…'
'My misfortune—being one, I mean.' She kept it light as though he hadn't carried her up to heaven and leapt with her into a whirling abyss of the sweetest pain she had ever known—so sweet, it had ceased to be a pain and become bliss. Physical gratification was one thing, she argued it out with herself, but surely there was more to love than that, there had to be, and so far, she had known nothing of that softer, sweeter side. Maybe for Demetrios, it didn't exist. She could have wept at the thought, and to cover her emotion, she became practical and consoling.
'Never mind, I daresay you did your best!' She glanced at her watch, rather surprised to find it still going; surely everything should have stopped dead in its tracks last night. 'It's half past six and you said the plane took off at nine. Don't we have to be there a while beforehand? Perhaps we'd better start getting ready.'
'Oh, God,' he rolled over onto his face and from the pillow, his voice came muffled, 'I've married a practical woman!'
'Certainly,' she kept her voice flat and precise. 'That was the object of the exercise, wasn't it? I could hardly do the job you've lined up for me if I was an empty-headed little flibbertigibbet. By the way,' she nodded at the dressing table, 'there are those pearls, I picked them up, although I shouldn't have, not after the way you treated my necklace. I've tied them up in a hankie, you'd better put them somewhere safe,' and she turned her back so she wouldn't see him slip out of bed. The sight of so much completely nude flesh might upset her libido and bring on a strong attack of the lusts!
The brown boat, tied up now to a bright orange buoy and floating serenely on the wine-dark sea, had come to rest at last and Hester pulled herself up the narrow, steep little companionway that led from the small cabin, to emerge on the deck with a sigh of relief.
She hadn't really trusted this small craft, and although Demetrios had assured her there was a diesel engine for emergencies, it seemed he preferred the sail. As soon as they were clear of the harbour at Piraeus, he had cut the engine and hoisted the rust-red, almost triangular sail.
'Mediterranean rig,' he had caught her doubtful, apprehensive look at the bellying canvas, 'a descendant of the old lateen sail and quite safe in these waters. One man can handle it easily,' he assured her.
'Hmm, I thought you could have run to a proper yacht,' Hester answered acidly. 'When I climb out of this cockleshell, I'm going to smell of fish!'
'Sardines, a few herring and the occasional octopus,' he corrected. 'Who did you think you'd married, one of the Onassis clan?'
He had changed out of his conservative travelling clothes into a pair of jeans and a tee-shirt—and he wore nothing beneath them! He'd done it in the small cabin, in front of her—in front of her back which she had turned on him with a makebelieve insouciance— unashamed of nudity. 'Change yourself,' he'd advised, 'then you won't mess up that dress. It suits you, I like it.'
'When I can have a bit of privacy, I will.' Her nose had wrinkled fastidiously. 'I'm not used to all this togetherness,' but he had only laughed at her modesty, his hands on her shoulders, turning her away from the small porthole out of which she had been looking— turning her back to face him. He had shifted his grip so that he had a hand free and begun to undo the buttons of her yellow cotton shirtwaister, and his eyes had gleamed with appreciation as he had pushed the dress from her shoulders. He had hooked a long finger into her front-fastening bra and tugged gently while watching the warm tide of embarrassment stain her cheeks.
'Get it off,' he'd advised. 'It's going to be hot and you're not used to it. You'll perspire and all this confining stuff will bring you out in a rash.'
The little hook which secured the garment parted and she had struggled to pull the two halves together, but he had only laughed again. 'Nice,' he'd teased, his hand cupping the soft weight of her breast. 'Quality and quantity—I'm a fortunate man!' And with an abrupt movement, he had gone and she was alone, her tongue cleaving to the roof of her dry mouth and her breast throbbing from his touch.
Angry with him—but mostly with herself for being so easily roused, she'd scrabbled through her case for a tee-shirt and a pair of shorts, meanwhile casting doubtful glances at the bra. Demetrios was right, it was hot and going to be hotter, there seemed to be little air in the tiny cabin and already her body was covered with a film of perspiration. As she changed, she measured up the two bunks with her eye—too narrow, she decided, and felt a vicarious satisfaction— and anyway, she'd have the place to herself. Somebody had to drive the boat or whatever one did with boats—which reminded her, she didn't even know where she was going.
'An island,' he had answered when she had made her way on deck to phrase the question politely, formally and in a chilly little voice. 'Very small, too small to have a name. It's one of the Naxos group and we'll be there in about fourteen hours. There's food in the galley, enough for an evening meal, and some fruit and bread for breakfast. There's some wine as well, although you can make some coffee if you want it, there's a small spirit stove in the galley. Better let me do that,' he advised. 'The stove's a bit temperamental and I don't want you burning us down to the water line.'
After an evening meal of cold meat and fruit, eaten alfresco under the shadow of the sail, and after the sail had been stowed and the engine nudged into life, Hester had gone down to the little cabin and looked longingly at the narrow bunks. They looked very comfortable and the pillows, when she had punched one of them experimentally, were soft but heat and the lack of air drove her back on deck, the pillow in her hand and a blanket trailing behind her. Darkness had fallen much more quickly than it did in England, and she dragged the blanket about her and made herself comfortable on the planking.
'You won't lose your way?' After she'd said it she could have kicked herself for sounding so ingenuous, but Demetrios, seeing her bewildered gaze on the empty seas around them, nodded understandingly.
'No, sweetheart, I shan't lose my way.' He had looked down at her as she had hooked the pillow into a more comfortable position. 'I'd join you, but one of us has to see we go in the right direction or we'll end up in Africa.'
Some time during the night, she had woken and had felt terror rising in her; she would have given all she had for the sight of a London bus and the feel of a pavement under her feet, but there had been the comforting glow of Demetrios' cigarette in the darkness and she'd gone back to sleep, feeling perfectly safe despite her unaccustomed surroundings.
Now she was scrambling out of the little dinghy which had bobbed along behind them all of the way, secured by a light line from the stern, and she struggled her way up some steps, roughly cut and slippery, to a solid rock platform hewn out of the same rock. An old man and two donkeys were waiting there, the donkeys wearing straw hats through which their large, furry ears poked, waggling now and then to set the tassels which ornamented their cone-shaped coverings swinging.
'One of them's for you.' Demetrios had finished greeting the old man and was busy loading the cases on to the larger donkey. He pointed at the smaller of the two animals. 'That one.'
Hester approached it cautiously, walking round to what she called the front end where, under the brim of the ridiculous straw hat, two large, beautiful, wise and long-suffering eyes looked at her sadly.
'You're going to carry me?' she murmured, and the donkey drooped its head in patient resignation. She walked round to the back of the animal and slapped gently at a thickly coated flank—a cloud of dust rose and hung in the warm, still air and she glanced down at her long legs, very chic in narrow tan cotton pants. 'Not until you've been Hoovered, you won't,' she muttered, and turning to Demetrios, 'It's not big enough—and anyway, I'd rather walk. It'll be good for me, stop me getting fat!' And then she blushed as his eyes slid over her, lingering on the curves of her breast and hips.
'You've got something there,' he agreed amiably. 'An hour-glass figure—it would be a pit
y if the sand all ran to the bottom. It's a long way, mostly uphill, and the track's rough, but Aphrodite will think she's in heaven with nothing to carry. I'll put your case on her back so she remembers she has to work for a living.'
The old man approached her and offered a plastic bottle of liquid and she thanked him. 'Parakalo,' she said hesitantly, and was rewarded with a smile which deepened the sun browned wrinkles.
'You speak Greek?' Demetrios sounded surprised.
'Only please and thank you,' she shook her head, 'and I can't always remember which is which. I came on a package tour about three years ago. The usual thing—Athens, the Acropolis and about four trips to places of interest, but at least I saw the Acropolis, I even walked around it—I wasn't hustled out of a plane, into a taxi and whisked through to Piraeus at the speed of light,' she added in an injured tone. 'I even went out on my own one day and tried to have a meal in a cafe in Omonia Square, but all the places were full of men, there wasn't a table anywhere without men stuffing themselves, and it was only half past eleven in the morning!'
Demetrios' lips twitched, but he merely pointed at the bottle and advised her to save the contents for later. 'Since you won't ride, you'll probably need it.'
The sun was hot on her back and already she could feel trickles of perspiration running in the hollow between her breasts—the track was more than rocky, it was dangerous; loose stones slipped under her rope-soled sandals and she twisted her ankle several times and cast an envious look at little Aphrodite—a ridiculous name for a donkey—whose neat little hooves clicked along surefootedly beside her. Within half an hour, she was exhausted and called a halt.
'I'm going to have a rest and a drink,' she stated firmly as she grabbed at the plastic bottle, retiring with it to the side of the track where she rested herself with her back against half a mountain. 'This isn't my idea of a Greek island, it's more like part of some weird lunar landscape! I've heard that Greeks, when they've made enough money, always try to buy themselves an island. Did you buy this one? Because if you did, you've been had!'
The fresh, slightly warm lemon juice ran down her throat like milk and Demetrios took the bottle from her, wiping the mouth before he drank. She watched the movement of his throat as he swallowed—a throat that seemed browner already, whereas she—she glanced down at her bare arms—she was going an unbecoming red.
Another half hour's walking and the track took a sharp twist and descended slightly to a huge, bowl-like depression where great rocks reared dark and menacing against the deep blue of the sky and in the middle of them, a gold-coloured pinnacle like a flat-topped cone thrust upwards.
It was an awesome sight and Hester gazed at it fearfully. 'Oh, very picturesque,' she said chattily. 'I think I've seen something like this before. I can't remember the name of the place, I think the guide called it Meteora, and there was a monastery on top of the highest rock.'
'There's one on top of this one,' Demetrios waved to where she could just make out the glint of a red-tiled roof that crowned the peak. 'We live up there.'
'In that other one,' she muttered darkly, 'they had a basket thing on ropes to pull people up.'
'So do we,' he grinned at her, 'but there are also some steps, six hundred to be precise.'
'And you keep your poor little daughter up there? How mad can you get?'
'Poor little, safe little daughter,' he corrected. 'Two years ago, when we lived near Catanzaro, in Calabria, there was a kidnap attempt. Here, she's safe from things like that.'
'Sorry,' Hester wiped perspiration from her forehead. 'You did say six hundred steps?'—unbelievingly—'I'll be dead before I get to the top!'
'You only need to climb the last hundred,' he comforted her. 'There's an easier way, it's well hidden and it takes a little longer, but,' he urged her to where Aphrodite was head down among the sparse vegetation, 'you'll have to ride, so get into the saddle.'
It was just like riding the donkeys on the sands at Margate, only now she wasn't a child any more, she was a full grown woman and her feet dangled to within six inches of the ground on either side. 'The latest safety model,' she quipped to cover her embarrassment, and then, 'The things we'll do for money! Come on, my fiery steed, let's see what you're made of!' and Aphrodite moved off quickly towards what looked like a crack in the rocks.
'I honestly never thought I'd do it.' Hester pushed her way through a wooden gate set in a stone arch to enter a small courtyard. 'You did say only a hundred, didn't you? I could have sworn it was nearly a thousand!' She staggered theatrically across to a stone seat set conveniently near and flopped down on it to remove her sandals with a groan of relief and lift her face to the cool breeze. 'If I lived here, I'd never go down,' she said succinctly. 'I couldn't face climbing back up again!'
'You're out of condition.' Demetrios stood over her and she noticed he wasn't even breathing heavily, but anything else he would have said was cancelled out by the squeak of a door and a glad cry. Hester lifted her eyes to see a wooden door, bleached to a pale grey by sun and wind, being flung open and a child running across the courtyard. She blinked, gasped and felt her heart drop right down to the soles of her feet.
Athene! It was her first thought. Of course, it wasn't Athene, the size and shape were wrong, but in everything else, here was Demetrios' 'distant cousin' running to greet them. The hair, the shape of the face, eyes, mouth, even the lift of the chin and the grace of the flying figure, they all shrieked 'Athene'. Suddenly there was no warmth in the sun and the breeze, which had been cool and refreshing, became an icy blast to send goosepimples down her back and make her shiver.
Her thoughts were muddled as she tried to work out the implications—so muddled that nothing made sense. Athene had said she expected Demetrios to wait for her—instead he had married her, Hester, rushed at it like a bull at a gate. If he'd waited only a week, until Athene had arrived in London, would it have made any difference? She gave up, deciding she hadn't enough information to unravel the tangle of her thoughts. Instead she smiled brightly as Katy cried 'Papa!' and hurled herself at her father.
There was another thing as well—nothing he'd said had prepared her for a child as old as Katy—she stole a glance at the girl, hanging on Demetrios' arm and chattering nineteen to the dozen. Hester had somehow arrived at the idea that her new stepdaughter was about six years old but Katy, for all her small bones and delicate build, was older than that—much older. Hester decided perhaps twelve or even a bit more, anyway, a teenager, not the child she had been expecting. A child would have been easier, teenagers were always an unknown quantity, and for Katy to be that old, it meant Demetrios had been very young— in his very early twenties—when she had been conceived—a youthful affair with his 'distant cousin'? Oh hell! What did it matter to her, Hester—a hundred steep stone steps had robbed her of any desire to indulge in mental gymnastics…
Demetrios' voice interrupted her dismal thoughts. 'And Katy, this is Hester, she's not a governess like Miss Mungo—we're married.'
Hester interrupted quickly, cursing the bumbling heavy-footedness of men.
'Hullo, Katy,' she gave the girl a quiet smile. 'Like your papa says, we're married, but you don't have to call me Mama, not if you don't want to.' She dredged around in her memory and remembered Mia. 'I knew a little girl about your age once, she always called me "Hes". I thought we could start off by just being friends, and isn't it a good thing you speak English, because I'm hopeless at languages—I only know two words of Greek.'
Katy beamed. 'Miss Mungo taught me,' she said with a definite Scottish accent. 'She said I was a wizard at languages. I can speak French and Italian as well. When I grow up, I'm going to work for the United Nations as an interpreter.' She took a step backwards and adopted a very grown-up manner. 'Lunch won't be ready for about half an hour, would you care to partake of some refreshment now?'
Hester concealed a smile. Miss Mungo, whoever and wherever she was, had tutored her pupil very well. 'How nice,' she answered gravely and formally
. 'It's been a very hot and strenuous journey from the boat, and a cup of tea would be delightful.'
'How old is Katy?' Hester and Demetrios were alone, the sun had gone down and shadows had swiftly fallen, and Katy was in her bed cuddling a well-worn koala bear whose bedraggled fur testified to many years of use. 'I had this mad idea that she was about six or seven.'
'She's nearly thirteen.' Demetrios leaned back comfortably, cradling a cup of black Turkish coffee in his hands. He sipped it thoughtfully. 'She was born when I was a little more than twenty one, a very raw young man.' He lifted his nose disdainfully. 'Had she been the age you thought, none of this would have happened, the man would have been at an age to realise that bringing a child into the world entailed some responsibilities.'
Hester moved uncomfortably and changed the subject—she didn't want a blow-by-blow account of his love affair with Athene—he mightn't mention the girl's name, but every time he said 'she', Hester would know who he was talking about. A 'very raw young man', indeed! She didn't, she couldn't, she wouldn't believe that; he'd been born with a fatal kind of charisma, guaranteed to undermine any girl's morals and get him his own way.
'Katy's going to need a whole new wardrobe,' she remarked surlily. 'I've had a look at her clothes and although it's all very good, there's not much that's suitable for an English winter.'
'Changing the subject?' Demetrios shook his head in mock reproof. 'How you do love to wriggle out of things, my Hester! I wouldn't have thought you'd suddenly shy away from the subject of a child born out of wedlock. If I remember rightly, you were very hot and went on quite lengthily about the subject one night when we were eating out.'
The Daughter of Night Page 8
