Moon of Aphrodite (11 page)

be needed for very long, that you wil have a husband to share your waking moments.'

Helen laughed aloud. 'I think your job's safe, Josephina,' she said, aware that she had

blushed slightly. 'I have no plans to get married in the foreseeable future.' She saw a

shadow of bewilderment on Josephina's face and hastened to make her meaning

clearer. 'No husband, Josephina, not for many, many years.'

The girl Yannina spoke again, dearly asking a question which Josephina silenced with

an urgently lifted hand. Helen was aware of a subtle change in the atmosphere which

she could not explain.

'Is something wrong?' She looked from one to the other, with brows raised enquiringly.

'Ochi. Me sinhorite.' Josephina rather peremptorily signal ed Yannina to be gone, and

she scuttled away. 'Pardon me, Thespinis Eleni. It is just that—for one so young and so

lovely, there must be a husband waiting.'

'No,' Helen shook her head, 'I promise you there isn't.' She thought of Christopher

whom she had been dating desultorily before her grandfather's summons. She had

enjoyed their pleasant, undemanding relationship, and he hadn't been too pleased

when she had announced her intention of leaving for Greece, but she had no doubt he

would have found suitable consolation already, and certainly marriage had been the

furthest thing from either of their minds.

When Josephina had departed, she took her coffee and her chair on to the balcony,

siting it, mindful of the doctor's instructions, in the shade of the trel iswork which

separated her part of the gal ery from that of the adjoining room. There were bees busy

among the blossoms, and their humming produced a sense of pleasurable languor in

her.

As she had laughingly told Josephina, she could soon get used to this kind of life. But

she mustn't al ow herself to do that. She was here for a month, and then it was back to

an English autumn
and her work at the gal ery. Later, she would write to her father and

tel him of her safe arrival and first impressions of Phoros. She bit her lip. She would

not, however, mention Damon Leandros; there was no point. There was nothing Hugo

could do about him, and her father was probably anxious enough already about her.

Her main problem now was how to reveal the truth about Damon Leandros to her

grandfather without agitating him too much. On the face of it, it seemed an almost

impossible task. She remembered the firm lines of Michael Korialis' mouth, the stil

aggressive jut of his chin, and sighed a little. Supposing he did not believe her?

Perhaps there was someone else whose support she could enlist in advance. The

doctor, maybe? She considered that and shook her head. He also took orders from the

arrogant Mr. Leandros.

And there was absolutely no point in asking her great-aunt for any help, if her reception

last night had been anything to go by. Helen frowned in bewilderment as she

remembered the blank hostility in the older woman's face. Yet as far as she could recal ,

her mother had always spoken of her father's sister with affection, or perhaps that

might just have been the gloss applied by distance. She wished she had been older

when her mother had spoken of her family, then she might have known the
right

questions to ask, and might have come here with a shrewd idea about the levels on

which the various relationships were conducted.

She drank the rest of her coffee and went back into the bedroom to get dressed. The

crumpled navy dress and the undies she had worn had already been removed for

laundering, she realised rueful y, and her cases had been unpacked, and their contents

bestowed in the fitted wardrobes. She readied for a pair of white cotton jeans and a

sleeveless top, then paused. The doctor had mentioned that her grandfather proposed

to have a meal with her, and it occurred to her that tight-fitting jeans which hugged her

slender hips and made the most of her long legs might not be the most tactful choice. A

rebel ious voice in her head argued that she should start as she meant to go on and

wear what she wanted, without regard for outworn conventions about dress. But

tempting as the thought was, she dismissed it. The conviction that her grandfather

would not approve of women wearing trousers, no matter how attractive, prevailed,

and the last things she wanted was to upset him, especial y about such a trivial matter.

Instead she picked out a cream flared skirt, teaming that with the simple dark green

top, its neckline deeply scooped at the front and hack. Her damp hair had dried out on

the balcony and she brushed it so that it hung smoothly to her shoulders, curving

slightly towards her face. She applied moisturiser and added a touch of green shadow

to her eyelids, deciding that the heat made other cosmetics inappropriate.

When she was ready, she opened her bedroom door and peeped out into the corridor

outside rather cautiously. There was a bel in her room, and she had no doubt if she

rang it then someone would appear with the speed of light to guide her downstairs with

due ceremony, but she decided she would prefer to find her own way. She walked

along to the end of the passage and found she was standing on the gal ery overlooking

the main reception hal . She began to descend the stairs slowly, taking in her

surroundings with more attention than she had been able to give them the previous

night.

There was a marvel ous feeling of space and height, she thought, and very little

embel ishment or ornamentation. Whoever had designed the house had decided to let

the beauty of the stone speak for itself.

She hesitated when she reached the bottom of the stairs. Several doors opened off the

hal , which was deserted, and Helen glanced about her. One of the doors would lead to

a dining room, she supposed. She tried the nearest door and found it opened on to a

large sitting room, furnished with a number of low sofas in cream hide. There were fur

rugs on the tiled floor and one end of the room was dominated by a large open

fireplace—a reminder that the weather on Phoros could attain a certain bleakness in

winter, although she would not be here to see it, Helen told herself. She walked across

the room and stood staring out through the sliding glass doors which led on to the

terrace she had noticed the previous night. As wel as the festoons of climbing plants,

there were stone urns planted with blossoms al along the terrace.

Helen pul ed the heavy door open and stepped out into the sunlight. Bees droned

among the blossom, and further away in the garden she could hear the eternal rasping

of cicadas. The stone of the terrace's balustrade was warm under her hands, as she

leaned on it. A smile curved her lips. It was like a foretaste of Paradise, she thought.

'Kalimera, Eleni.'

He had come round the corner of the house so silently that she had no advance

warning of his approach, and was standing on the flagged path underneath looking up

at her.

Helen felt herself recoil as violently as if one of the labouring bees had floundered out

of the blossom and stung her.

'Oh—it's you.' She hunted not too successful y for a semblance of composure. He

looked tough, virile and amazingly arrogant in brief bathing trunks which clung to his

lean hips. His bare feet were thrust into heel ess leather sandals and a white towel ing

jacket was hung carelessly round his shoulders, emphasising his deep tan, and the thick

mat of hair which covered his chest, tapering into a vee across his flat abdomen.

She al owed her lips to curl slightly. 'Dressed for a hard day's work, I see.'

'I'm going for a swim before taking lunch with your grandfather. Do you wish to join

me?'

'No, I don't, thank you.' She paused. 'And perhaps I should warn you that I'm also

having lunch with Grandfather, so your company wil not be required. In fact, I'm

surprised that you're stil here.'

He smiled. 'Perhaps I don't frighten as easily as you think, Eleni. And I have every

intention of remaining here until your grandfather asks me to leave.'

'Bravado, Mr. Leandros.' Helen forced herself to speak coolly. 'You're hoping that

concern for my grandfather's health wil keep me quiet, and that you can— brazen

things out somehow.'

'You may tel your grandfather whatever you wish, Eleni. Your little threats have no fear

for me.'

'You're very sure of yourself, aren't you?' she snapped angrily. 'Wel , remember this, Mr.

Leandros. No one is indispensable.'

She turned and went back into the room behind her, pushing the door shut with

unnecessary force, furious with herself for having been drawn into another con-

frontation with him.

She crossed the room and went out into the hal , pausing irresolutely as she tried to

decide what to do next. Somewhere near at hand a woman was talking, her voice high-

pitched and voluble. She was speaking in Greek, so Helen could not understand what

she was saying, but her tone was sharp and almost hysterical.

Every so often there was a long pause, and Helen realised she was listening lo half of a

telephone conversation. She also realised that if anyone came into the hal , they would

find her standing there apparently eavesdropping, and she Hushed a little and moved

towards the stairs, intending to return to her room and wait until her grandfather sent

for her.

She heard a distant tinkle of a receiver being vehemently replaced, then a door to the

left of the one she had just emerged from was wrenched open, and Thia Irini came into

the hal . She was dressed in black from head to foot as she had been last night, and

she carried a handkerchief which she was jerking through her fingers.

She stopped as soon as she saw Helen, and a heavy frown descended on her brow.

'Ti thelete?' she demanded, her attitude no more friendly or welcoming than it had been

when Helen first arrived.

Helen spread her hands. 'I'm afraid I don't understand,' she said quietly.

She was surprised to see an expression of relief pass quickly across the older woman's

face, and wondered if Thia Irini's half of the recent, conversation had included any

uncomplimentary remarks about herself.

At last Thia Irini said slowly, 'Something—you want?'

'Not real y.' Helen shook her head. 'I just wondered where everyone was, that's al .'

Thia Irini shrugged in an uncomprehending manner, but Helen had the strangest

feeling that she understood her much better than she wanted to admit.

She wanted to cry out, 'What's the matter? I'm my mother's daughter and she never

spoke of you with anything but affection. Why don't you want me here?'

But she remained silent. Damon Leandros was enough of an enemy for her to

cope with at the moment. Perhaps Thia Irini was simply concerned for her brother's

health and considered her arrival as an unnecessary disturbance. Maybe when she

realised that Helen was only there as an act of reconciliation, she would soften and

become more amenable.

I certainly hope so, Helen thought rueful y, as she gave her great-aunt a rather strained

smile, before turning away.

As she reached the gal ery she met the nurse.

'Ah, thespinis.' The woman smiled and nodded at her. 'You slept wel , I think, and so

did Kyrios Michaelis. We must thank you for that. Today he is so wel , so happy.' She

laughed. 'He wishes to show you everything, I think—the vil a, the grounds. It wil be

difficult to make him rest.'

'Oh, dear,' Helen pul ed a slight face. 'The last thing I want is for him to over-exert

himself. I wil be careful.'

'But yes, thespinis, no one would doubt that. It warmed the heart to see you' together

last night. Kyrios Leandros was much moved, that I could see.'

Helen was about to declare tartly that she was wholly indifferent to Damon Leandros

and his reactions, but she checked herself just in time. The last thing she wanted was

to cause talk or speculation of any kind while she was at the vil a. Besides, there had

been that certain note in the nurse's voice when she referred to Damon Leandros which

suggested that his attractions had not been lost on her.

I hope I'm not breaking up a beautiful relationship, she thought wryly, as she followed

the other woman along to her grandfather's room. It was not quite so dramatic in

daylight, with the lamps extinguished and the bed neatly made. The french windows

were open and Michael Korialis was sitting in a chair beside them, his hands clasped

lightly on a silver-mounted cane. He looked round as Helen entered, and held out a

hand to her.

'Herete, pedhi mou.' There was a smal stool standing near the bed and he indicated

that she should bring it nearer. She placed it at his side and sank down on it, aware

rather uncomfortably that the nurse was observing every move with an indulgent smile.

'You slept wel ,' he said, more as a statement than a polite enquiry. 'You look wel , you