Moon of Aphrodite (22 page)

be just as stubborn as any of these Greeks.'

Helen returned his smile, but she felt uneasy for no apparent reason, and a slight chil

went through her that wasn't prompted by damp skin and hair.

Craig noticed. 'You're cold. Here, I've got a sweater in this bag.'

She said, pul ing it on, 'It's always colder out on the water. I'd forgotten that.'

It was far too big for her, of course, the wide cowled collarstanding away from her

slender throat, the sleeves hanging below her fingertips. Helen pushed them up her

arms, aware suddenly that in contrast to the thick texture of the wool, her long honey-

tanned legs looked exotical y smooth and bare. She felt more exposed than when she

had climbed into the boat wearing nothing but a wet bikini, and that was ridiculous. She

gave her hair a brisk rub with the towel, asking questions about the caique. Did Craig

use it often? Could he sail it, or did he always use the engine? She was aware of the

nervousness behind her chatter, although she could not altogether understand it. Craig

was pleasant. She had enjoyed his company in the vil age, and it was flattering that he

had deliberately sought her out so soon, but that was al there was to it.

And she was grateful to him for his company. She hadn't enjoyed being alone with her

thoughts on the beach.

She was grateful too when he produced a packet of food—rolls fil ed with cold roast

lamb, slices of smooth creamy cheese, and a bag of fresh peaches'. The air had given

her an appetite.

'That was wonderful,' she said, licking peach juice from her fingers. 'Can you always

produce instant picnics for hungry beachcombers?'

'It could be arranged. Do you come to the beach every day?'

She hesitated. Her remark had been intended to be a lighthearted one, not an

invitation, or a hint that this morning's meeting should become part of a pattern. She

looked at him and saw him smiling rueful y. ,'You think I'm being pushy?'

'No, of course not,' she denied rather too hastily. 'But I'm not too sure of my plans at

the moment. I could be returning to England almost at once.'

'I see.' He looked downcast at the prospect. 'Wel , I suppose it's inevitable. It isn't likely

that a mere taverna keeper wil stand a great deal of chance with the Korialis heiress.'

She felt a surge of irritation. 'Helen Brandon's the girl you need to bother about, and I

don't go in for outdated snobbery. If I stay around Phoros, then I hope we can become

friends. I—I might need a friend.'

'My pleasure.' He smiled at her. 'Now, how do you fancy a few hours' sailing—a

conducted tour of Phoros from the sea?'

'It sounds very appealing. But I think I real y ought to be getting back to the vil a, we're

having guests and I ... Oh, hel !' she broke off. She had turned to look at the beach and

had seen the dark figure standing at the water's edge, holding her discarded tunic.

Craig followed her gaze. 'The rejected suitor?' There was a note of malice in his voice.

'That same.' She stood up, biting her lip. 'I expect Grandfather is asking for me, so I

real y wil have to go. Thanks for the lunch and the loan of the sweater.'

She stripped it off and handed it back.

'You should keep it,' he said. 'It does more for you than it ever did for me.'

She laughed. 'I don't think whoever went to al the trouble of knitting it would be very

pleased! Wel , I'l be seeing you.'

His hand was on her bare shoulder, and he was standing very close to her suddenly. 'I

hope so,' he said softly, his breath warm on her ear. 'I real y hope so, Helen.'

And what that would have looked like from the shore, she couldn't imagine, she

thought miserably as her body cut through the water. Behind her she could hear the

caique's motor splutter into life. Craig had presumably decided that discretion was the

better part of valour. She stood up in the shal ows and began to wade forward with

care, because the seabed was covered in stones, and walking over them was difficult

and could be painful. She could only manage one swift glance at the man who was

waiting for her, but that was al that was necessary. He looked bleak with rage, his lips

drawn into a thin line. When she reached him, he threw the tunic to her wordlessly.

'Thank you,' she said coolly, her heart hammering and her pulses jumping

uncontrollably. 'Have-—have you been waiting long?'

'Long enough,' he said on a snarl. 'What were you doing with Lassiter?'

'Talking. Sharing his lunch. Wearing his sweater.' She sounded flip, but inside she was

fainting. 'If you hadn't turned up, we'd have gone for a sail round the island.'

His hand closed round her arm, his fingers biting into her flesh so deeply that she had

to stifle a cry.

'You wil go nowhere with that man. Do you understand, Eleni? Nowhere!'

'No!' She tore herself free, and stood glaring at him, tension spiral ing up inside her at

his touch, even in anger. 'You don't own me. I'l go where I wish. See anyone I want.

Do you understand?'

'And you want Lassiter?' His mouth curled in derision.

No, she thought in pain. I want you, and I love you. How can you put your hand on me

and not know it?

'I might,' she lifted her chin, sensing that her best, defence lay in defiance.

He uttered an expletive under his breath and turned away. Helen found her discarded

sandals and followed him. He did not look round at her or speak al the way back to the

vil a, and she trailed miserably in his wake through the
garden. There
were voices

ahead of them, and she hesitated. Her tunic was clinging damply to her body, and her

hair was sticky with salt and hanging in rats' tails. She didn't real y want to be

presented to visitors in this state, she thought, wondering whether she could slip into

the house unnoticed.

But the decision was not apparently hers to make. Even as she paused, Damon turned,

and before she could protest he had taken her arm and was urging her inexorably

forward towards the steps which led up to the terrace from the garden.

They were al there—her grandfather, Thia Irini, a smal rather plump woman, very

fashionably dressed, who could only be Madame Stavros, and a girl.

She was slim, and very dark, her glowing, rather insolent beauty offset by the dress she

was wearing—a couture creation in orchid pink silk. She looked the epitome of

confident chic, and Helen by contrast felt more appal ingly scruffy than ever as she

reluctantly mounted the steps beside Damon.

Madame Stavros was rising with an encouraging smile, her hand held out, but while

Damon was performing the introduction, Helen was aware that the girl was watching

her. She glanced towards her, catching the newcomer off guard, and saw an

unmistakable flicker of resentment in the dark eyes, before the long mascaraed lashes

descended to hide it.

Helen thought, 'She doesn't like me. But that's ridiculous. We've never even met. Or

have we?'

She had the oddest feeling that she had seen her before somewhere. A memory was

teasing her. that she couldn't clarify.

'And this is Soula—Soula Markos,' said Damon, and the girl turned her head slightly and

smiled up at him, her glance flicking disdainful y past Helen.

And then Helen remembered where she had seen Soula before. It was the lift of the

head, the smiling profile that jogged her errant memory.

Athens, she thought. She's the girl who was with him in Athens. She saw the

manicured, hand slide confidingly over Damon's arm, saw the slight provocative sway of

Soula's body towards his—and saw Damon look down smilingly into her eyes, the

bleakness wiped from his face. Pain tore at her. She said huskily, 'I—I think I'l go and

change if no one minds.'

No one did, it seemed, but then they were al far too busy watching Soula and Damon.

Approving smiles al round, even from Grandfather, Helen thought as she went into the

house.'

'I'm not going to be able to bear this,' she told herself despairingly, 'but I must- I can't

complain about anything he does- I told him I didn't want him. I told him to find

consolation. But it never occurred to me I'd have to watch while he did-'

She was shaking like a leaf when she reached her bedroom- She closed the door behind

her and stood for a moment, trying to steady her breathing, trying to hang on to her

self-control.

Aloud she whispered, 'I had to do it. I couldn't have married him, knowing it was only

part of a business deal, and that he didn't love me.'

But she knew she was wrong- She knew now, too late, that she would rather have

married Damon, even knowing he was indifferent to her, than know this agony
of

seeing him with another woman.

She said, 'Too late.' And then her face crumpled like a child's and she began to cry.

HELEN closed the textbook she had been studying and pushed it away with a yawn. So

far in the ten days since Madame Stavros had joined them at the vil a she had managed

to master the Greek alphabet, and had learned a number of useful conversational

phrases, but she doubted whether she would ever acquire the ability to chatter away in

the language. Yet she was enjoying her lessons and Madame Stavros' company more

than she had ever dreamed possible. At least she had something to occupy her mind

and keep her from brooding, and someone who could distract her attention from the

fact that Damon and Soula were spending every waking minute together.

They might be sharing other moments as wel , Helen sometimes thought when she saw

them together. Soula was usual y demure when Thia Irini was present, but Helen had

seen the way she looked at Damon sometimes, and doubted cynical y whether the

lovely Greek girl was half as innocent as she liked to give the impression.

But whatever the truth of the relationship, Thia Irini obviously thought it was going to

end in marriage, and the prospect was making her purr like a contented cat. She

lavished attention on Soula, and Helen began to understand why the older woman had

been so hostile to her when she arrived. Thia Irini had always intended that her

goddaughter should be Damon's bride, and Helen's appearance on the scene had

provided a hiccup in her plans.

Helen wondered sometimes whether Madame Stavros had guessed her unhappy

secret. She was not only charming and cultivated
,
she also seemed very warmhearted,

and Helen was often
tempted to confide in her, but so far she had managed to restrain

the impulse, reminding herself that Madame Stavros was an old friend of the Leandros

family, as wel as Michael Korialis, and might feel obliged to pass on the news that her

charge was eating her heart out for the man she had refused to marry.

Certainly being with Madame Stavros made it much easier to avoid Damon and his new

companion than it would have been if she had been hanging around the vil a on her

own. Madame Stavros enjoyed swimming, so the daily visits to the beach had

continued. One afternoon they had driven into the hil s for a picnic, and they had twice

been in Kyritha to do some shopping. On one of these occasions, they had passed

Craig's tavern a, but he had been nowhere in sight. There had just
been a rather tired-

looking girl doing some sweeping. Perhaps he was out in the caique, looking for more

beachcombers, Helen had decided with a faint smile. In a way she was relieved that he

wasn't about, because she was sure that Madame Stavros would have had her

instructions.

Soula, fortunately, disliked the beach, so Helen was spared the sight of Damon dancing

attention on her there. The Greek girl was finicky in the extreme about her personal

appearance, and spent hours each day changing her clothes, which Helen had to admit

were exquisite. If she had brought any beachwear with her to Phoros, then she kept it

a closely guarded secret, and Helen couldn't imagine her in anything as informal as a

swimsuit or bikini, with her immaculate hair damp and tousled. In fact Soula very rarely

ventured out of doors at al , preferring the shade of the pergola when she did so. One

hothouse flower, that lady, Helen thought rather caustical y. But as a mil ionaire's wife

she was probably tailor-made for the job. She looked the part already, and Helen could

only pray that the actual engagement would be delayed until she herself was safely

back-in England.

She would have to return soon. The last letter from Hugo bad contained a slightly

plaintive note. He was missing her, she knew, and back on her own ground, in her own

familiar
circumstances, she might find Damon a little easier to forget, or so she hoped.

It was, after al , almost al she could hope for.

She got up restlessly from her seat in the pergola and began to wander along the

terrace. She could hear the murmur of voices from the saloni. Her grandfather was

there, she knew, playing chess with Damon. Soula wouldn't be far away either, her