Moon of Aphrodite (13 page)

'It wil be a pleasure,' she muttered between, her teeth, and turned abruptly to go back

up the stairs— anywhere, she told herself, away from the sight and the sound of him.

And she noticed as she did so another movement. On the other side of the hal , a door

was closing smoothly and quietly, as if pushed by a draught or an unseen hand,

Helen paused, gripped by sudden uneasiness. Had there been an unknown witness of

the confrontation between Damon and herself? She hoped not. Even if the

eavesdropper spoke no English, the tone of their voices would have left no doubt that

they were quarrel ing, and a report might go to her grandfather. And only a few

minutes before she had promised she would be civil to Damon Leandros.

He, of course, had gone. The hal was empty behind her, and sunlight spil ed across the

tiled floor through the open front door. She hesitated for a moment, then walked across

the hal to the door she had seen moving. A stray draught on this golden windless day?

She didn't think so. Someone had been there listening. She pushed open the door. The

room was empty—the dining room, she noticed in passing—-and the bench
windows to

the terrace stood open, so anyone wishing to avoid discovery could have beaten a

retreat that way.

Helen sighed. She did not regret one word that she had said to Damon, but she had no

wish for it to come to her grandfather's ears. She could only hope the eavesdropper

would keep whatever information had been gleaned to himself.

She walked across to the terrace, but it was deserted. It was evident, however, that

this was where she was to have lunch. A smal trel is-shaded pergola had been

constructed at this end of the terrace, and a table had been set there with a snowy

linen cloth and silver cutlery. Set for three, she noticed, her lips twisting.

She sat down on one of the slatted wooden benches in the pergola while she rehearsed

what she would say.

'Damon couldn't stay, Grandfather. He asked me to give his apologies. He's been cal ed

away on urgent business.'

Perhaps a tinge more regret on her part to add conviction, but otherwise it was a

reasonable explanation for his absence, and far better than admitting the bald truth—

that she had driven him away because... She paused. Because she hated him? Was it

real y as simple as that?

Yes, she whispered lo herself, it real y is that simple. I'l never forgive him for what he

did to me—for the way I was humiliated.

She heard the murmur of voices inside the vil a. Her grandfather must be on his way,

and she schooled her face to receive him, taking a firm grip on her composure—and

tried to ignore the smal mocking voice in her head which told her that although she

could not forgive him, she was going to find it even harder to forget him.

'THE last ten days have simply flown past,' Helen wrote to her father. 'I haven't seen a

great deal of the island yet, because natural y I've been spending as much time as

possible with Grandfather, and although he seems much better, he's stil restricted to

the house and grounds on doctor's orders. I swim every afternoon from a private

beach, and I'm developing quite a tan, but I'm taking it easy because it would be very

easy to burn.'

She put down her pen, as she considered what to say next, At the moment she seemed

to be treading a precarious path between the unvarnished truth and the kind of

lighthearted relaxed chat her father would be expecting and hoping for.

In fact, the time hadn't flown; it had dragged rather. Oh, not when she was with her

grandfather; her time with him was always interesting and enjoyable. She shared al his

meals; they talked, they played back gammon. They were slowly and careful y

constructing a relationship, but it couldn't be hurried. Apart from the age gap, their lives

had been lived in different environments—almost different planets, Helen though!

sometimes. Their experiences, their expectations o each other, were often poles apart,

so they were proceeding with care.

But when she was alone, she was very much alone and the hours hung heavy on her

hands. Apart from her daily visits to the beach, she was also pretty much restricted to

the house and grounds herself. She sighed. She had expected she would be able to visit

the vil age.

Kostas, after al , drove over there regularly, she knew. But somehow it was never

convenient for her to accompany him. In fact, it was almost as if the vil age had been

declared out of bounds for her, although she told herself she was being over-

imaginative about this.

She supposed too that it made a certain amount of sense for her to remain dose to the

vil a. If her grandfather were to be taken il again and need her, she didn't want to be

several miles away. But even the doctor said he was making remarkable progress, and

professed delight with his improvement. So perhaps she wasn't being unreasonable

when she wished she could be let off the hook just for a little while.

If she had had something to do, someone else to talk to, even, while her grandfather

was resting, things would have been different, she thought. But there was nothing and

no one, except for Josephina whose conversational topics were limited. Helen enjoyed

hearing her talk about her mother as a baby and a smal child, but even the fascination

of that pal ed after a while.

And Thia Irini, it had to be admitted, avoided her. Helen had made overtures, had tried

halting Greek, hastily learned from Josephina, but al to no avail. Her great-aunt

seemed to regard her with implacable hostility, and her rattier timid offer to help with

the household duties had met with an open rebuff. Her face flamed as she remembered

it. She hadn't intended to interfere or imply that the running of the vil a left anything to

be desired, but that was the interpretation that Thia Irini had chosen to place on her

words, according to Josephina's frankly embarrassed translation of her great-aunt's

hissed reply. Remembering her glaring eyes and the tone of her voice, Helen thought

rueful y that her reply might wel have been played down by Josephina, and was glad

she didn't understand more than a few simple Greek phrases.

But al this would change when Madame Stavros arrived in the next day or two, and in

spite of her protests that she did not need a tutor/companion, Helen found she was

looking forward to her arrival more than she could have believed possible. She had

been expected over a week ago, but had been delayed by a summer virus.

Of Damon Leandros there had been no sign since he had walked out of the vil a that

day. Michael Korialis had grumbled about his continued absence, but had accepted her

original explanation without question.

Helen told herself that he would keep away until she was safely back in England, but

she was oddly on edge each day, just the same, and the image of him intruded on her

thoughts far more than she even wished to admit. She supposed he would have

returned to Athens, and found herself wondering if the dark-haired beauty she had

seen in his car that day was with him. Her gibe that she could not be bought had been

foolish and unnecessary, she thought. Damon would never need to buy a woman, even

though she had resented the arrogance of the assertion at the time. She wished she

could press a switch and blot him out of mind and memory, or at least stop this endless

recital inside herself of everything they had said to each other. At least when Madame

Stavros came she would have something else to occupy her mind.

She picked up her pen and ended her letter to her father, thrusting it into an envelope

and sealing the flap. Presently she would leave it with the rest of the outgoing mail on

the table in the hal , but what happened to it after that was anyone's guess. She

supposed Kostas took the letters into Kyritha as part of his other duties, and that al the

mail left for the mainland on the evening ferry, but she couldn't be sure, and her

grandfather was clearly bored by discussion of such mundane details as the operation

of the island's postal system.

She got up and walked over to her bedroom window, thrusting her hand into the large

patch pockets on the front of her skirt. She was wearing a cotton dress today, dark red

and sleeveless with a low neckline and ful swirling skirt. She was thankful that her

instinct to concentrate on feminine clothes in her luggage had been ful y justified. Her

grandfather's reaction to her appearance in jeans had been exactly as she had ex-

pected, so she was careful to avoid them in his presence, although she usual y wore

them for her beach excursions.-

She wandered out on to the balcony and stood looking about her. She was bored, there

was no denying it. Her grandfather always rested in the morning and lunch on the

terrace was a long way off. She had to find something to occupy her. There were no

English books or magazines at the vil a, but surely there would be some in Kyritha. On

at least one day there was a market, she knew, because she had heard her grandfather

mention it. There would be stal s sel ing dress material perhaps, and she could buy

some and make herself a wrap-over skirt, and maybe a blouse as wel . Josephina had

an elderly sewing machine—and at least it would be something to do.

She glanced irresolutely at her watch. She had better take her letter downstairs or

Kostas would leave without it. Perhaps she could persuade him to buy her some

material, if she described what she wanted—draw a sketch of the kind of pattern. Helen

took a breath.

'This is utter nonsense,' she announced to the room at large. 'I'm not a prisoner here. I

can go into the vil age myself.' She grabbed up her handbag and went out of the room.

Kostas was in the hal , arguing cheerful y with Josephina over the contents of a list she

had just given him. He flashed Helen a wide smile as she descended the stairs, holding

out his hand for the letter she was carrying.

She withheld it, returning his smile. 'Today I would like to go with you, Kostas. I want

to do some shopping in Kyritha.'

She had spoken slowly, and he should have under-Stood her perfectly wel , but instead

he turned to Josephina, frowning, obviously asking a question. Josephina looked

concerned too.

'There is little to see in Kyritha, pedhi mou. Kostas wil bring you anything you need.'

'But I want to go.' Helen stood her ground. This was the
kind of argument that had

been put forward on other occasions. 'I want to buy some dress material, and he can't

choose that for me. Besides, I'd like to see Kyritha. So far I've caught one brief glimpse

of it, and that was at night. There are shops, aren't there? And tavernas? I'd just like a

change of scene for an hour or two. We'l be back in time for lunch, won't we, Kostas?'

She smiled at him again, but his broad face was unhappy, and he avoided her gaze,

looking appealingly at Josephina who shrugged in resignation, and said something to

him in Greek.

'Oh, for heaven's sake,' Helen broke in impatiently. 'I'm not asking to be taken to the

moon, just to the vil age. What's the matter with the place? A plague epidemic hasn't

broken out there, has it?'

Josephina said something in a low voice about it 'not being the wish of Kyrios

Michaelis'.

'That's utterly ridiculous,' Helen protested. 'I'm sure you must have got hold of the

wrong end of the stick, Josephina—misunderstood him, I mean. But if that's what you

think—wel , it can be our little secret, if you like. Kostas wil get me back here wel in

time for lunch, and Kyrios Michael is need never know anything about it.'

Driving away from the vil a beside a plainly sul en Kostas, Helen reviewed the situation

in some bewilderment. So she had not been imagining things, after al . It seemed that

her grandfather had indeed declared the vil age out of bounds for her. But why? There

seemed no sense in it. Her grandfather could not expect a girl of her age, brought up in

total freedom as she had been, to meekly submit to dividing her time between the vil a

and its beach, as if the outside world did not exist.

The thought struck her that perhaps Michael Korialis was afraid that she might follow in

her mother's footsteps and elope with a comparative stranger, and a smal derisory

smile touched her lips. That was nonsense, if so, and he must be aware of it.

She would have to talk to him frankly, she decided, and make it plain she could not be

expected to pass her days like a nun in a convent. She would also put his mind at rest,

if necessary, about the possibility of her finding romance in Kyritha. Who did he

visualise her with? she wondered, suppressing a giggle. Another artist or a young Greek

fisherman al bulging biceps and tar-stained vest? The whole idea was ludicrous, and a

little sad as wel .

She settled back in her seat to enjoy the scenery. For such a smal island, if was quite