Moon of Aphrodite (19 page)

identity of the person who stood on the other side of the thick door. She walked across

slowly and stood with her head slightly bent, listening for some sound. At last the knock

came again.

She said in a low voice, 'Who—who is it?'

'It is I, thespinis.' The voice of her grandfather's nurse sent a shiver of relief through

Helen, although this was immediately followed by a feeling of apprehension. She flung

open the door.

'Is something wrong? Grandfather isn't il , is he? He hasn't had another attack?'

'No, no, thespinis.' The older woman gave her a reassuring smile. 'Kyrios Michaelis

grows stronger and more cheerful every day. I tel him that soon I shal no longer be

needed here, which is a good thing for him, ne? I came only to tel you that he wishes

lo speak with you alone before you go down to dinner.'

'I see,' Helen said slowly. 'Very wel , I'l be right along.'

She could have gone at once, she was dressed and ready, but she suddenly knew she

had no real wish to hear what her grandfather had to say. She moved back to her

dressing-mirror and stared at herself, running a dissatisfied finger along the line of her

cheekbone, touching the curve of her throat with scent—finishing touches which had

been added already, she scolded herself as she turned away.

Her footsteps lagged as she wept along the corridor, the long skirt of her dark blue silky

crepe dress whispering around her legs as she moved. The lamps had been lit in her

grandfather's room and he was sitting in the chair by the window, staring out across

the darkening sea. He turned his head and smiled at her.

'You are very beautiful tonight, pedhi mou.'

'Only tonight?' Helen queried lightly, with a faint grimace as she bent to kiss him. 'That

isn't very flattering.'

'It is not my flattery that you need, Eleni.' There was a glint of amusement in the fierce

eyes, and she felt a wave of embarrassed colour rise in her face. He waved her to a

Footstool. 'Sit down, precious child. I wish to talk to you.'

Helen obeyed, sinking down rather limply on to the stool indicated, and putting up

nervous lingers to fuss with an errant lock of hair. The silence stretched out, and at

last she ventured to glance up at her grandfather. He had gone back to staring out at

the garden, and the sea beyond, apparently wrapped in thought. It was difficult to

know whether he had forgotten she was there, or was simply searching for the right

words. She moved restively, and he looked down at her, his expression sad and

withdrawn.

'What's the matter?' She put a hand on his arm.

'I was thinking of your mother,' Michael Korialis said quietly. 'You are so like her, Eleni.

Wil you leave me as she did?'

She stared up at him, her lips slightly parted as she assimilated what he had said.

Whatever she had been expecting, it wasn't this.

At last she said with difficulty, 'Grandfather, you're not being fair. You knew this was

only a visit. You know I have a life—obligations at home in London.'

'And what of your obligations to me? Obligations that your mother ignored when she

ran away?' The old fierceness rumbled in his voice. 'She was my only child. It was her

duty to remain here and face the responsibilities of her position-'

'Including marriage
with a man she'd never even met? Isn't that carrying duty rather

too far?' Helen demanded.

'She had known since childhood what would be asked of her,' he said grimly. 'If I had

had a son, it might have been different.'

'I fail to see how.'

He made a restless gesture. 'A man needs an heir to carry on his business after he has

gone. I built up this chain of hotels with my own hands. I wanted someone who could

step into my shoes and take the burden from me eventual y. Someone tough and

experienced in business. But I had no son, only a girl who spent her days dreaming her

life away.'

'Perhaps if she'd had some sense of purpose in her life, she would have been different.

If you'd told her the running of the chain would be in her hands eventual y ...'

'No,' he shook his head decisively. 'Maria was not capable of such responsibility. Women

have their own world, and it is not that of the boardroom. I needed a husband for her—

a man with the right background and experience ...'

'And you chose Iorgos Leandros?'

He shrugged rather defensively. 'He was the elder son of my friend. There was a certain

wildness, that I knew—but he was young, and his father believed that marriage would

steady him.'

'But it's al so one-sided-—can't you see that?' Helen appealed. 'Mother must have felt

like a cipher—not fit to control the business, or choose her own husband, just expected

to provide a steadying influence for a young—rake, and another heir to the dynasty in

due course. No wonder she ran away! Any girl would.'

'If she had not met this Englishman, she would have been content enough,' Michael

Korialis said grimly.

'But with my father, she wasn't just content—she was supremely happy,' Helen insisted

fiercely. 'And Iorgos probably wouldn't have changed at al . He might have made her

thoroughly miserable.'

She expected an explosion, but instead her grandfather frowned thoughtful y.

'Certainly he was a disappointment to his father,' he admitted at last. He played little

part in the running of the Leandros corporation. He preferred to have a good time. But

he would have been a good husband to my Maria.' He banged his fist on the wooden

arm of the chair. 'His father and I would not have al owed it to be otherwise.'

'I think perhaps they were both spared a lot of un-happiness,' Helen said soberly. 'Did

he marry someone else in the end?'

Michael Korialis shook his head. 'It was a great grief to his father,' he said heavily. 'But

fortunately Iorgos was not his only son, as Maria was my only daughter.'

Silence came down between them again, a silence pregnant with tension, then her

grandfather said abruptly, 'Yet I too am fortunate, pedhi mou, because I have you to

bless my old age and bring me hope for the future. When I die, everything I possess—

this house, the business—-everything wil be yours. You are my heiress, Eleni, as your

mother was before you.'

Helen sat at his feet as if she had been turned to stone, her eyes fixed on his face.

At last she began, 'No, Grandfather—I—I don't want...'

He laid an autocratic finger across her lips. 'This is how it must be, Eleni mou. You are

of my blood. There
is no one else.'

'There is Thia Irini,' Helen protested.

'She has money of her own—her late husband was a wealthy man. She needs nothing

from me.'

'And I need nothing either.' Helen felt sick. 'Oh God, I wish I'd never come here! It

never occurred to me ...'

'Yet you knew I was a rich man,' he pointed out unanswerably.

'I knew, yes, but it didn't
seem to have any real connection with me. Alter al , we'd

never met. And we're very different. We might not have liked each other. You don't

have to like your relations, after al .' Helen stumbled to a halt.

There was another pause and she tried to collect her whirling thoughts.

He said softly, 'How strange you are, pedhi mou. I thought you would be pleased, that

you had realised why I sent for you.'

'Then I must be incredibly naive.' Helen swal owed. 'This is why Madame Stavros is

coming to teach me the language, and al those other things. To turn me into the

Korialis girl—which is what they cal me in the vil age already. That should have told me

something. Wel , go on, Grandfather. Why don't you tel me the rest of the bad news?'

'Bad news?' There was a distinct air of hauteur about him. 'You learn you have become

an heiress, and you regard that as bad news?'

Her hands twisted together in her distress. 'Not in itself—no. But there must be strings

attached. I'm just another girl, as my mother was. Or has your opinion of women

executives improved over the years?'

'What arc you trying to say to me, Eleni?' She heard the undercurrent of anger in his

voice.

'You said I was very like my mother,' she said, blinking back fierce tears as she flung

back her head to look him in the eye. 'Wel , I am, and it isn't just skin-deep. I won't be

used or manipulated any more than she was.'

He glared at her. 'You dare to speak to me in this way?'

'You said my mother evaded her responsibilities. Wel , I'd be evading mine if I didn't

make it clear at the outset how I feel,' she gave back defiantly. 'I'm not a cipher either.'

The door opened and the nurse came bustling in, ful of smiles, apparently oblivious to

the tense atmosphere in the room.

'Dinner is ready for you, Kyrios Michaelis,' she exclaimed, handing him the walking stick

he used to assist his progress downstairs.

Helen rose too, glad of the interruption. The conversation between them was moving

into deep waters. Sooner or later Damon's name would have been mentioned, and she

could not risk that in her present vulnerable state. But at least she no longer needed to

ask herself why Damon should be prepared to lend himself to this preposterous

marriage scheme, she thought achingly. It was the Korialis hotel chain that he was

planning to marry, and the fact that only a few hours before he had worshipped her

body with his hands and mouth and cal ed her his 'sunlit goddess' meant less than

nothing. If she'd been as plain as a mud wal , he would probably have behaved in

exactly the same way.

Her face was. brooding as she followed her grandfather into the dining room where

Damon and Thia Irini were waiting. Damon held Helen's chair for her as she sat down,'

and she thanked him in a smal polite voice, her eyes downcast, evading the searching

look he gave her.

The food was delicious, but she could taste none of it, and she had no appetite anyway.

Conversation was desultory at first, but what there was of it was monopolised by Thia

Irini, who addressed herself exclusively to Damon with something approaching vivacity.

In spite of the miserable confusion of her thoughts, Helen could almost be amused at

her efforts. It was so obvious that Damon's attention was largely elsewhere, and then

something she said must have struck a chord, because he stiffened visibly, and she saw

that he and her grandfather had exchanged a long look. But Thia Irini seemed unaware

of the sudden wariness which had entered the atmosphere and continued to chat in an

animated manner, her thin lips constantly smiling. But the smile faded abruptly at a

barked remark from her brother, who was suddenly glowering at her, his shaggy brows

drawn together.

Helen thought rueful y that those Greek lessons would have come in handy. At least she

would have had some idea what was going on. As it was, no one seemed prepared to

let her in on what could be the seeds of a major row, because Thia Irini was answering

shril y, her own face reddening as she spoke.

Helen glanced at her grandfather and saw that the veins were beginning to stand out

on his forehead. She thought distressful y, 'This is bad for him. I upset him earlier, and

another argument is the last thing he needs.' To her surprise she found she was looking

across at Damon, her eyes wide with appeal, but he was already intervening, his voice

low and smooth and faintly amused, defusing the situation before it got out of hand.

Her grandfather sat back in his chair, stil looking displeased, but immeasurably calmer

about it, and Helen smiled at him, a rather nervous placatory smile.

Thia Irini was looking mollified as wel , even a little smug. She stared hard at Helen,

then said in her slow rather harsh English, 'Was it good—your walk?'

Helen moistened her lips. 'My walk?' she said uncertainly. Surely Thia Irini hadn't been

anywhere around. If she'd followed them . . . Helen closed her mind to this possibility,

the involuntary colour rising in her fate.

'To the temple.' It was her grandfather. 'Damon showed you the temple. Did he speak

to you of the legend?'

She leaned back in her chair, her fingers restlessly playing with some fragments of

bread roll left on her side plate. She said on a little gasp, 'Oh, you mean the goddess

Aphrodite finding husbands for the local girls. It—it sounds a splendid idea.'

And a dowry was an even better idea, she thought, as Damon himself had pointed out.

A local girl would provide some land, or a house, or some stock to win the farmer or the

fisherman of her choice. But the Korialis girl with her string of hotels could expect

Aphrodite to drop a mil ionaire into her hand like a ripe plum. No limits on whatever

passed for love in this
part of the world for an heiress.

Thia Irini said, and her eyes were bright with malice, 'The temple is beautiful, ne?’ You

did not remain there long. I saw you go, and later I watched you return.'

Using fieldglasses from her bedroom window, no doubt, Helen thought hotly, and

wondered just how often her great-aunt had spied on her. At least the temple itself

would have been out of her range.

She said coolly, 'I found it very impressive. It's a pity the statue of the goddess had to

be removed, but I suppose it's safer in a museum. Is the temple the only ruin on the