Alien Vengeance (16 page)

This pride, this certainty about the world and his place in it was part of his birthright, she thought, her mind faltering a little at the realisation. That was why there was no self-consciousness about the way the Greeks danced. It was an expression of their belief in life itself.

She could feel tears springing in her eyes, and turned away hurriedly, afraid that someone would see. When she had control again, the dance had ended and another circle was forming, but this time she returned to her place at the table and sat sipping her wine.

She knew she was being watched suddenly, and turned her head. Her glance met his; locked. They could have been alone. It was as if every sight and sound around them had removed to some vague distance, enclosing them in a golden bubble of timelessness which, she knew dazedly, she never wanted to leave.

No one else existed. And she knew that no one ever would for her, and it made no difference at all that in terms of sanity they had known each other for such a brief time.

The passage of actual hours and days was only another irrelevancy, she realised with a kind of shock. And if at this moment, she was seeing him for the first time, she knew she would still want him as fiercely—a wanting that transcended mere physical desire.

She shared his bed, but what she wanted was to share his life, however alien to her, with utter completeness, and the depth and passion of that wanting frightened her, especially when she knew it applied to her alone.

There was no future in their relationship. None. And she was all kinds of a fool to even consider the possibility. She’d begun by fighting him. She’d even won some kind of hollow victory, then ruined everything by her rapturous, mindless surrender to his unexpected tenderness. He’d seduced her after all, she thought baldly, and she’d let it happen. In fact, she’d gloried in it, allowing herself to forget briefly exactly why he was taking her.

Only, she hadn’t been permitted to forget for too long, she thought painfully.

Perhaps the harshness of his reminder to her of the stark reasons for his possession had been quite deliberate. Maybe, he was being cruel to be kind, stripping away any foolish illusions she might be harbouring about their relationship, and making her face reality.

He was an experienced man. She’d probably betrayed her true feelings to him a dozen times as she lay in his arms—but never more so than at this moment, she realised with anguish.

With a supreme effort of willpower, she tore her gaze from his, concentrating her attention fiercely on the frankly unintelligible conversations going on around her, refusing with a kind of defiance to look his way again.

She’d succeeded so well that she almost jumped out of her skin when his voice beside her said almost laconically, ‘It is time we were going.’

The dark eyes were aloof again, his face forbidding.

She said, ‘Oh,’ and paused. ‘Then may I say goodbye. Everyone’s been so kind to me ...?’ Her voice trailed away in appeal, and he nodded briefly before turning away, and striding off in the direction of the jeep.

They all seemed sorry to see her go. Even though verbal communication had been minimal between them, Gemma managed to establish that she was sorry too. One of the women darted away and returned breathlessly with a small flat package which she presented ceremoniously to Gemma. She could see she was expected to open it there and then, and did so. It was a tablecloth, she discovered, made of handwoven lace, produced with the skill and care of generations somewhere in this village. On the open market, it would cost a great deal, but this was a gift to her—a gift which it would cause offence to refuse.

And not just any gift either. The smiles and signs and gestures all around her were signifying that the present was intended for when she herself became a bride.

She was blushing painfully, her throat constricted as she managed, ‘
Efharisto—efharisto poli.
’

Her cheeks were still burning when she arrived back at the jeep. She’d bundled the cloth back into its wrapping, but all the same she was aware of Andreas eyeing it as she climbed into the passenger seat, his face coldly cynical as he did so.

‘They have taken you to their hearts,’ he said, as he started the engine.

‘Yes,’ she forced a smile. ‘They shouldn’t have done this.’ She gestured almost helplessly towards her parcel. ‘Obviously they’d made it to sell and...’ She swallowed. ‘I hope you didn’t mind my accepting it.’

‘Why should I mind?’ His brows rose. ‘I am glad you had the sensitivity not to offer to pay for it.’

‘Did you think I would?’ she demanded, stung.

He shrugged. ‘It has been known. Your countrymen seem sometimes embarrassed by the generosity they are shown here, and try to respond by producing their cheque books.’

Gemma shook her head, ‘Not me, I’m afraid,’ she said too brightly. ‘I priced some of the textiles during the first few days I was here, and a cloth like this would be totally beyond my means.’

‘This job you have is poorly paid?’

Gemma shook her head. ‘Not at all, but I can’t afford to splash every penny I have on a holiday. I have to support myself when it’s over, after all.’ 

‘You live alone?’

‘No, I live with my parents, but I pay my share of the bills. And I was thinking of finding a place of my own—in the autumn perhaps,’ she added, remembering with a kind of amazement all the plans she’d been making in what seemed a lifetime before.

Hurriedly, she changed the subject. ‘Where are we going now?’

‘To Aghios Nikolaos.’ His mouth curled a little. ‘You will find it in complete contrast to the village we have just left.’

‘And is that where you work? Where you sell your textiles?’

His sideways glance at her was sharp. ‘What gives you the notion that I deal in textiles?’

She shrugged. ‘It was just a guess. Those ladies you were visiting—I thought perhaps they might work for you.’ She paused. ‘I don’t think I saw them at the wedding. Were they there?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘They were not. Neither do they work for me in any way. I visited them because Soula used to live in Loussenas and I wanted news of her family.’ There was sudden harshness in his voice. ‘Does that satisfy your curiosity?’

She said stiffly, ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.’

‘Does that mean no more questions?’ he asked derisively, and she flushed.

‘You ask enough,’ she muttered defensively.

It was his turn to shrug. ‘You are not obliged to answer,’ he pointed out casually, as if it was of little interest to him whether she did or not, and Gemma subsided, biting her lip in chagrin.

At last, she said, ‘If you’re still angry about what I said this morning...’

‘I am not,’ he said briefly, and she was silenced again.

It was a long journey, and the broad national highway which cut its way across the island to Aghios Nikolaos although fast was not particularly interesting, Gemma decided. Nor was she overly impressed with the string of resorts which bordered the coast down to the Gulf of Mirabello. The Gulf itself was an intense shimmering blue as they descended towards Aghios Nikolaos. It looked almost unreal, Gemma thought. An artist’s dream come to life with the bleached rock, and the dazzle of the buildings crowding almost to the edge of the dancing, glittering water.

Aghios Nikolaos was larger than she’d expected, and very much busier—the Crete of the tourist, with its streets lined with souvenir shops, offering leather and ceramics, and the crowded tavernas edging the harbour where pleasure boats and caiques jostled each other at their moorings.

After the seclusion of Loussenas, the noise of the traffic, the hubbub of voices and laughter from the people thronging the narrow streets seemed to batter at her ears.

She gazed around, trying to assimilate the cheerful, noisy charm of the place and caught sight of another glimmer of water.

She pointed. ‘Is there an inner harbour?’

He shook his head. ‘That is our so-called bottomless pool, where legend says Pallas Athene used to bathe,’ he told her drily. ‘I would not choose to do so myself.’

‘Is it really bottomless?’ Gemma craned her neck for a better view.

‘It is deep enough,’ he returned.

She was hoping he would stop and let her have a closer view, but to her disappointment he edged the jeep through the busy traffic round the harbour, emerging on to a broad promenade with hotels and tavernas on one side and the shining blue of the sea on the other, dotted with the sails of small boats and windsurfers.

He glanced at her. ‘Don’t you want to ask where we are going?’ he challenged, faint amusement in his voice.

Gemma lifted her chin. ‘It’s really none of my business. I’m just enjoying the drive.’ She paused. ‘It’s so wonderful to be allowed out of prison for a while.’

‘Yet not every prisoner can boast a cell as comfortable as the Villa Ione.’ The amusement was overt now. ‘Or a jailer so aware of your needs,’ he added cynically.

‘So what is this?’ she asked jerkily. ‘My parole. Do you expect me to give my word I won’t try and run away?’

‘Is there really any need?’ The words were softly spoken, but they burned her, because they told her quite unequivocally that he was aware of how she felt. That he knew that separation from him would be an agony for her. She could only pray that he would assume it was merely a physical infatuation.

She knew she should answer him somehow— snap back at him, try and build some defences, however precarious, but she couldn’t think of a single thing to say. She wasn’t even sure she could trust her voice. Instead, she concentrated her attention on the glamorous settings of the luxury hotels which fringed the outskirts of the little town.

The signposts indicated they were on their way to Elounda. It was one of the places she’d read about before she came—a little fishing village which had been rocketed to resort status by the popularity of the British television serial,
Who Pays the Ferryman
, which had been filmed there.

The road was climbing steeply, and when they reached the crest she almost cried out because the broad bay below them was so beautiful, the water shimmering from jade to turquoise, then melting to azure where it merged with the sky. There was a sprinkling of islands too, dominated by one eyecatching rocky mass.

Andreas said, ‘That is Spinalonga. It was once a leper colony.’

Gemma shivered. Such a grisly reality seemed to have no place in the fairytale vista ahead of her. ‘How awful.’

‘It is quite safe now,’ he said. ‘In fact it is an attraction for tourists. Boats visit the island regularly.’ He paused. ‘You don’t approve?’

‘I think it’s a little morbid,’ she said. ‘After all you come on holiday to enjoy yourself—to escape even. It seems odd to deliberately seek out misery, even if it is in the past.’

‘Yet you yourself visited Knossos. Do you believe that life there did not also have its dark side once?’

‘No,’ she said, with a little sigh. ‘I suppose every age in history has its own brand of violence. But it wasn’t all like that, I’m sure. It couldn’t have been. The Lily-Prince for example ...’

‘Ah,’ he said softly. ‘Where I first saw you, Gemma
mou
.’

She bit her lip. ‘I’d forgotten,’ she lied.

He laughed. ‘You did not know,’ he told her, but in turn she could have told him that he was wrong. Even then her senses had warned her she was being watched, although in her wildest imaginings she could never have guessed why, or where it would lead.

He was signalling he was about to turn off the road. Leaning forward, Gemma saw a tall arched gateway surmounted by a display of international flags. There was a rope barrier across the gateway which a smartly dressed security man unlooped for them, saluting as they drove past.

‘What is this place?’ she asked.

‘This is the Hotel Apollonissos,’ he said laconically.

‘Are you meeting someone here?’

‘Several people,’ he agreed. ‘I hope that you will be able to entertain yourself in my absence. There are the usual water sports on the beach, or you could sun yourself by the pool, if you would prefer.’

‘I think perhaps I’d better wait for you in the jeep,’ she said.

‘What nonsense is this?’ He turned to her, frowning.

‘No nonsense at all,’ she returned levelly. ‘I’m not dressed for the kind of activities you’re talking about for one thing, and for another, I’d imagine, judging by the guard on the gate, that the management prefer to keep their facilities private for the use of guests only.’

‘They are not quite as exclusive as that,’ he said drily. ‘You may bathe in the pool, or order a drink at the bar without fear of being thrown out, foolish one. As for your clothes——’ he shrugged. ‘That can also be arranged. The hotel has an adequate boutique.’

‘Adequate for millionaires, I expect,’ Gemma said stiffly, glimpsing through the trees and shrubs which bordered the drive they were traversing, smooth lawns stretching down to a ribbon of pale sand along the edge of the sea. ‘Perhaps you’ve forgotten that I happen to be a working girl. The Hotel Ariadne in Heraklion is more my environment.’

‘Why denigrate yourself, Gemma mou?’ he asked coolly. ‘If I had thought you would be out of place here, then I would not have brought you.’

The jeep rounded a corner, and Gemma saw the hotel itself in front of them, an imposing two-storey building, dazzlingly white in the sunlight.

Andreas drove under another archway, and brought the jeep to a halt in a small paved courtyard, fragrant with green plants growing in huge stone urns. The air felt refreshingly cool after the heat and dust of the long drive, and Gemma inhaled thankfully as she looked around her.

He sprang out and came round to the passenger side, his hands closing inexorably on her waist as he lifted her down. ‘Come.’

She hung back reluctantly. ‘I really don’t think I should. It all looks incredibly upmarket and glamorous.’ She looked down at her simple chainstore dress with a faint grimace. ‘I shall be totally out of place.’