Moon of Aphrodite (6 page)

herself. The thought of him looking at her
,
touching her when she was sick and helpless

made her feel il al over again.

She should have retaliated after he had kissed her in London, she thought vengeful y,

as she repacked her smal case. She should have hit him or laid his face open with her

nails, then he would not have dared take these kind of liberties. And she ignored the

smal warning voice which suggested that a man like Damon Leandros took what he

chose, as he wished, and without counting the cost.

As she worked, she was aware of him watching her, his dark face enigmatic as she

thrust her toilet bag on top of her night things, and threw her hairbrush in after them.

As she clicked the locks shut, she ignored his outstretched hand.

'Perhaps you would bring the others.' She nodded . towards her other cases, standing

under the window.

'I'l have them brought down, certainly,' he said evenly, after a pause, and she

suppressed a grin. Beneath his dignity, obviously, to walk behind her carrying two large

cases, she thought
.
Perhaps she had discovered his vulnerable point. He didn't like to

look ridiculous. And that, she thought, with the vaguest germ of an idea forming in her

head, could be just too bad for Mr. Macho Leandros!

As she walked along the corridor towards the lift, Helen became aware of two excitedly

giggling chambermaids observing her from a linen room. She glanced questioningly at

Damon, who smiled faintly.

'They are pleased to see you.' he said. 'Your grandfather is a much loved man.'

She felt as if he was waiting for some special response from her, but she could give

none. The prospect of meeting her grandfather was becoming- more and more

formidable.

She entered the lift in silence and stood waiting while her companion pressed the

'down' button.

'How do we get to Phoros?' she asked at last, more to break the
s
ilence than from any

desire for information.

'There is a car waiting to take us to Piraeus. From there we make a journey by sea,' he

said laconical y.

'Oh.' Helen digested this. 'I suppose there's a regular ferry service, even though it's only

a smal island?'

'It runs three times a day.'

The faint wish to make him look ridiculous which had been buzzing in her mind now

began to take shape-It would give her great satisfaction, she thought, to arrive on

Phoros alone, having left Damon Leandros ignominiously behind in Athens. She wished

she had thought of it earlier while she was stil in her room. Perhaps she could have

lured him into the bathroom and locked him in somehow, although she had a feeling

the only bolt had been on the inside of the door. Wel , she would just have to think of

something else.

As they emerged from the lift Helen saw her remaining luggage being carried out to the

car ahead of them. If this was a sample of the service provided by al her grandfather's

hotels, then it could hardly be faulted, she thought wryly.

'Don't we have to—check out or something?' she asked a little desperately as they

moved past the reception desk.

'That's al been taken care of.'

'But my key,' she persisted. 'You've stil got my key.'

'I left it in the door of your room.'

Oh, blast! Helen thought savagely. If she could have delayed him at reception even for

a moment or two she might have been able to get out to the car and persuade the

driver to leave without him.

She could hardly believe her own fortune when she heard one of the receptionists cal

after him, and saw him hesitate with obvious impatience before he turned back towards

the desk.

'You go ahead,' he directed briefly. 'I hope-only to be a few minutes.'

'Take as long as you like.' Helen sent him a dazzling smile. Her heart beating rapidly,

she walked towards the door. The car, an opulent vehicle of a make which she didn't

immediately recognise, was drawn up at the kerb, and a man in a chauffeur's uniform

was standing beside it. When he saw Helen coming towards him he threw
open the rear

passenger door with some ceremony.

She got in, trying to appear calm and in control of the situation.

'Do you speak English?' she asked.

'Only a little, thespinis.'

'That's fine.' She made herself speak slowly and deliberately so that he would

understand. 'I want to leave at once. We must go quickly to catch the ferry.'

The man's face was a picture of astonishment. He started to say something about

Kyrios Leandros, but Helen swiftly interrupted
.

'Kyrios Leandros cannot come with us. He has been delayed.' She mimed a telephone

cal . 'He is too busy. He wil come later.'

The driver gave her a long doubtful look, then stared at the hotel entrance as if wil ing

Kyrios Leandros to appear like the Demon King and put an end to his uncertainty. But

no one emerged.

'Please hurry!' Helen applied a little more pressure. 'If I miss the ferry, my grandfather

Michael Korialis wil be angry.'

It was clear the Korialis name had pul with the driver, because with a fatalistic shrug

he got into the driving seat and started the car. Helen sat back in her seat, al owing a

little relieved sigh to escape her lips. She wished she could be around when Damon

Leandros finished
taking his phone cal , or whatever he was doing, and came out of the

hotel to find the car gone and her with it, but you couldn't have everything in this life,

and she was more than content to be speeding towards Piraeus and the Phoros ferry

without him.

And let him explain that away to my grandfather along with everything else, she

thought.

The drive to Piraeus was a little disappointing, as the road lay through rather dusty

suburbs and industrial estates, and the scenery was flat and uninspiring. Helen found it

difficult to relax. She felt exhilarated, and a little nervous at the same time, and could

not resist taking brief looks back over her shoulder, as if she half expected to see

Damon Leandros following them.

But that was impossible, she told herself confidently. He'd have to find another car, and

that would take time. She glanced at her watch, wondering what time the Phoros ferry

left. The traffic was heavy, and the car was constantly being forced to slow almost to a

crawling pace if not stop altogether. But recal ing her experience of waiting for the bus,

Helen decided that timetables were obviously not as strictly adhered to in Greece as in

the rest of creation. Certainly the driver dil not seem at al agitated by the frequent

delays,' and the easiest thing to do was to follow his example.

She sighed in relief as the harbour came in sight, and sat forward, waiting for the tar to

stop. But it did not stop. The driver steadily threaded his way through the other

vehicles both moving and stationary which packed the narrow streets, narrowly

avoiding laughing, chattering groups of people who roamed across the crowded

highways as if it was just another extension of the narrow footpath.

There seemed to be streamers everywhere, Helen thought dazedly as she stared out of

the window, and hundreds of people boarding and disembarking. She only hoped the

driver knew what he was doing, and that her escapade would not end in her sailing off

into the wide blue yonder on the wrong ship.

She tapped the driver on the shoulder. 'Which is the ferry?' she asked.

But his only response was an owlish look and a faint shrug of the shoulders as if her

meaning escaped him.

'Boat—-Phoros,' she tried again, and this time to her relief he nodded, smiling broadly.

'Soon, soon, thespinis.'

And with that she had to be content. The car moved on, away front the harbour, and

the scent of exhaust fumes mingling with the more pervasive odours of charcoal gril s

and olive oil, and out on to a winding road. Helen twisted round,- staring at the

clustering vessels they were leaving behind. She could only hope the driver knew what

he was doing as they left the vast sprawl of the waterfront behind them. The road they

were on seemed to have been carved out of the vast cliffs themselves, and some of the

views were spectacular, she had to admit. She was intrigued too by the numerous little

shrines and grottoes which were dotted along the wayside. Thank-offerings, she

supposed, but to which gods—the ancient or the modern? Perhaps in a country like

Greece the old pagan undercurrents stil ran strong.

The road turned downhil
,
and she saw another smal er harbour beneath them, where

sleek motor launches and smal yachts lay at anchor. It looked the last plate in the

world where a public ferry for a smal place like Phoros would leave from, and she

leaned forward frowning a little.

The driver looked back at her, as if aware of her uncertainty, and pointed downwards,

saying something in his own tongue which dearly intended to be reassuring. She made

herself smile back, but her tension showed in her smile. She was at the end of one

journey, perhaps, but at the beginning of another. And at the end of it was a man who,

although unseen, had seemed to dominate her childhood and adolescence, on whose

character, whose pride, arrogance and lack of compassion she had speculated so often

and to so little avail. Yet soon they would meet, and her stomach churned involuntarily

at the thought. If her grandfather could be judged by the calibre of the men he chose

to employ, she thought
,
then resolutely switched her mind to other less disturbing

ideas. He had sent for her, he wanted to see her, so surely that indicated a softening of

his earlier implacable attitude. Or at least she had to hope so, or the few weeks she

was committed to spending in Greece could wel be unendurable.

She wished she had never al owed herself to be persuaded to come to Greece, if

persuasion was the word. Emotional blackmail might be more appropriate, she thought

bitterly, remembering how Damon Leandros had deliberately played on her heightened

sensibilities. He was to blame. He was to blame for everything.

The car drove slowly along the waterfront, past open-air cafes whose gay awnings

fluttered in the slight evening breeze. There were people everywhere, tourists

tentatively sipping their first tastes of ouzo and retsina, and the usual anonymous

groups of men talking, the bright strings or worry beads in their hands moving

incessantly as they gestured to lend emphasis to their remarks. The main waterfront at

Piraeus had almost been too crowded to assimilate, but here Helen bad time to look

around her and take in some of the atmosphere.

It was soon obvious that the driver was no stranger here, and this in itself was a

reassurance to her. The car was recognised and voices cal ed and hands lifted in

greeting, to which he responded. He drove slowly along the curve of the quayside

almost to the far end before stopping. Then he turned to Helen.

'Boat here, thespinis,' he announced.

There certainly was a. boat, but not the smal , rather scruffy steamer she had rueful y

envisaged as the most likely craft to be plying between Piraeus and an unimportant

island. It was a large, impressive cruiser with cabin accommodation, and what appeared

to be a sun deck with an awning. And was that a radio mast? she wondered in

bewilderment.

The driver had opened her door by this time and was standing patiently waiting for her

to alight.

Helen gestured weakly at the cruiser. 'This?' she asked with a shake of her bead.

Hi; nodded vigorously. 'Phoros boat, thespinis. You hurry. They wait for you.'

How very obliging of them, Helen thought, sudden amusement rising within her. Her

suspicions about the timetable were apparently total y justified, and she would bet the

other passengers were blessing her by now.

A flight of steps led down from the harbour wal , and at the bottom a man in a white

uniform was waiting to help her on board. Helen waited while her luggage was speedily

transferred to the cruiser, and smiled as the driver returned up the steps.

'Efharisto,' she said shyly, trying out one of the few Greek words she knew.

'Parakalo.' He removed
his cap. 'Go with God, thespinis.

The cruiser had indeed been wailing for her, Helen decided, because as soon as her

feet touched the deck it seemed to become a hive of discreet activity, and she could

feel the throb of powerful engines springing into life. Her cases had vanished, she

noticed, and she stood feeling rather solitary, and a little lost.

A man wearing jeans, and a pale blue vest which showed off a powerful torso and

arms, went past her, and Helen detained him with a quick 'Oh, please!' He paused,

looking at her enquiringly.

She shrugged rather helplessly. 'Where are the passengers?' she asked. 'How long does

it take to get to Phoros?'

He spread his hands out in front of him. 'Then sas katavaleno, thespinis.'