Moon of Aphrodite (9 page)

compartment Dimitri had shown her to.' No doubt he had also formed his own opinions

of the smashed glass and her dishevel ed appearance, Helen thought angrily, but as she

was never likely to see him again, it couldn't be al owed to matter much.

Damon Leandros was leaning on the rail, looking across the dark ripple of the water to

the solid bulk of the land. She joined him silently, not looking at him, leaving several

feet of careful space between them. She could see lights on the shore and guessed

they were from the shops and tavernas bordering the smal waterfront. It was warm

and stil , and she thought she could hear the sound of voices and laughter coming

across the water to them as the cruiser crept forward between the strings of launches

and caiques at their moorings.

She stared at the twinkling lights. There were others too, further away, and she

wondered if one of them was the vil a where presumably her grandfather was waiting.

She bit her lip, and a little shiver went through her.

'Are you cold?'

She had thought his attention was fixed on the approaching shoreline and the slender

dark cheroot he was smoking, yet he had been watching her. She felt herself stiffen, as

she said, 'No,' with ice in her voice.

'Then you are nervous?'

'Much as I appreciate your attempts at polite conversation, Mr. Leandros, I'm afraid

you're wasting your time.' She spoke rapidly, not looking at him. 'My one wish is to get

off this boat, and never set eyes on you again.'

'I cannot grant your wish.' His voice was laconic. 'I have to escort you to the vil a.'

'There's absolutely no need,' she told him. 'If I were you I'd put as many miles between

my grandfather and yourself as you can.' She heard him laugh softly', and clenched the

rail in front of her so tightly that her knuckles turned white. 'You don't believe I'l tel

him, do you?'

'Yes, I believe you. And, of course, you must tel him what you wish.'

'So good to have your permission,' she flashed.

He made no reply, and after a while he tinned away, sending the butt of his cheroot

spinning into the Sea. She remained there alone, staring ac the growing panorama of

the lights and the smal figures moving against them with eyes
that saw nothing.

There was a car wailing on the quayside when they went ashore. Helen was surprised

to see it; on the map, Phoros looked too smal to warrant motorised transport. This

time there was no uniformed chauffeur at the wheel, merely a stockily built young man

in a short-sleeved shirt and faded jeans who gave Helen a long look of burning

admiration before turning to shake hands, grinning, with Damon Leandros.

Damon said drily, 'Eleni, this is Kostas who works for your grandfather. He speaks little

English, but if you talk slowly enough he should be able to understand you.'

'Would he understand enough to throw you in the sea if I asked him?' she asked

bitterly.

He sighed impatiently. 'No, nor would he obey you if he did understand. Stop behaving

like a peevish child, Eleni.'

She gave him a furious look, and stood in seething silence while her cases were safely

stowed in the car's capacious boot. Then Kostas turned to her with a bril iant smile as

he opened the rear passenger door for her. Damon Leandros got into the front of the

car, leaving Helen in solitary splendour in the back. Kostas jumped into the driving seat,

let in the clutch with a jerk, and they started off.

The car negotiated its way along the quayside, then turned inland up a narrow vil age

street. There seemed to be a number of people around, and most of the shops they

passed were open for business, even though it was so late.

She leaned her head back against the comfortable upholstery and closed her eyes,

trying to ignore the incessant jolting as the car bumped its way over the rough surface.

Once dear of the vil age, the road improved a little and Rostra picked up speed. Helen

had been faintly amused when she first got in the car to see an array of religious

medals, and even a smal wooden icon fixed to the dashboard, but now as the car flung

itself round bends with total disregard for any traffic that might be coming in the

opposite direction, she began to wonder uneasily if the religious symbols sp displayed

were there for active protection.

They were stil travel ing inland, and climbing as wel , she noticed. She stared out at the

moonlit landscape with a feeling of unreality. The scenery was barren, with tumbled

boulders lining the road, but here and there were clumps of trees that she supposed

were olives. It looked bleak and alien, she thought apprehensively, yet her father,

seeing it with an artist's eyes, had said it was beautiful. But then he had also been in

love, she reminded herself, and a smal , sad smile touched her lips, as she thought of

her mother who had been born here, but had turned her back on it for ever one sunlit

day.

She closed her eyes again, and must have dozed a little, because the next thing she

was aware of was the car slowing and turning off the road. She sat up with a start,

peering out of the window, but there was stil nothing to see. They were now on a

narrow track which wound downwards between groves of trees, and the mountains

were behind them. They must have come across the entire island, she thought,

because straight ahead she could see the moonlight glimmer of the sea.

Damon looked round at her. 'You are nearly at the end of your journey, Eleni. We are

now on your grandfather's land.'

She made no reply, but sat upright, gripping her hands together in her lap with painful

intensity. Al her doubts and tears returned in force to plague her as, below them, lights

came into view. Damon Leandros had spoken only of reconciliation, but how did he

know —how did anyone know what her grandfather real y felt? Supposing he had

invited her here to this remote place to exact some strange retribution of his own for

being her mother's daughter? She told herself she was being a fool, but the thought

hung around in her head, tormenting her.

Then the car was stopping, and there was no time to think any more. Kostas got out

and came to open her door. His smile was cheerful and reassuring even though he was

a stranger to her.

The vil a at first glance was a low, rambling place, with a tiled roof, and white wal s.

Looking up, Helen saw that a gal ery ran around the upper storey, and that a terrace

surrounded the ground floor. Two shal ow steps led up EO the front door which stood

open, light spil ing out in what she could only hope was welcome.

She swal owed and walked up the steps, aware that Damon Leandros was only one

step behind her. As if on sentry duty, she thought almost hysterical y.

Two women stood in the hal as she entered hesitantly, both dressed in black. But that

was the only resemblance. The first woman, who took a step forward, her hands held

out, was smal and undeniably plump, her thick grey hair dragged back into a bun. Her

eyes were fil ed with tears as she gazed at Helen, and with a little wail she snatched up

the broad white apron she wore and covered her face.

'Her name is Josephina. She was your mother's nurse,' Damon said in her ear.

'She is weeping for joy at the sight of you,' he added somewhat caustical y. 'Say

something kind to her.'

Helen bit her lip, conscious al the time that the other woman, tal and smart in a

haggard way, was exhibiting no sign of pleasure at her arrival. On the contrary, the

dark eyes were coldly inimical as they studied Helen across the hal ,

Helen found her voice. 'Dear Josephina,' she said gently. 'My mother spoke of you so

often,' and was glad she did not have to lie. Memories were Stirring— memories of

bedtime stories and her mother's voice tel ing her that she had heard such and such a

tale from Josephina. She knew that her mother had loved her nurse and grieved

because she had been forced to leave her behind.

Damon spoke again. 'Kyria Atrakis,' he said, and Helen realised with a start that the

woman regarding her with such hostility was Thia Irini. 'Wil you take Eleni to your

brother.'

He spoke slowly in English, Helen realised for her benefit, but the woman replied in

Greek, and even Helen's untutored ear realised the answer was a definite negative. She

glanced at Damon and saw his face darken with anger.

He said, 'If Kyrios Michaelis is truly asleep, then we wil obey the doctor and not disturb

him. But I think that tonight of al nights, kyria, he wil be awake, and I think you know

that too. Come, Eleni.'

His hand was under her elbow. She wanted to pul away, but was reluctant to do so in

front of this strange woman who was her great-aunt, and who, clearly did not want her

here, who had not held out her hand or uttered one welcoming word as far as she

could understand.

The floor they walked across was tiled in marble, and the stairs were marble too, she

noticed, as they climbed them, with graceful y shaped pil ars supporting a broad smooth

rail. At the top of the stairs, gal eries led off in both directions, and there was an

archway directly ahead of them leading to a broad corridor, with large double doors at

the end. It was down this corridor that Damon led
her. She was shaking inside, and

some of her turmoil must have communicated itself to the man who walked beside her,

no longer touching her.

He said, 'You
have nothing to fear, Eleni. He is your own flesh and blood. Never forget

that.'

He knocked quietly at one of the massive doors. It opened slightly and a woman in a

nurse's uniform appeared, her face questioning as she peered at them, then lightening

into a smile.

She took Helen's cold hand in hers and pressed it warmly.

'Welcome, thespinis. Kyrios Michaelis has been impatient for your coming, and that is

not good. Now perhaps he wil rest.'

Gently she drew Helen forward into the room.

SHE stopped just inside the door, momentarily dazzled. The lighting in the corridor had

been subdued, but this room was like a stage set, complete with principal actor.

He sat, propped up by pil ows, in an enormous bed which stood on a slightly raised

platform at the end of the room. It was a large room, lit by a huge central chandelier,

but in addition two tal wrought iron lamps flanked the bed. It was completely wild,

over the top, Helen told herself, yet at the same time not out of keeping with the man

whose setting it was.

He was a big man, and although il ness had slightly hunched and powerful shoulders, it

had not otherwise diminished him. His hair was white and curled thickly stil al over the

massive head set on a broad neck. His nose was hooked and his chin jutted ominously.

Beneath shaggy brows, as white as his hair, his eyes were alert and bright as burning

coals.

He stared at her, his eyes encompassing her greedily, almost unbelievingly. She saw his

lips move, guessed rather than heard the single word they framed: 'Maria.' And she saw

that the brightness in his eyes was tears.

Something in her throat closed up and she swal owed convulsively, standing as if rooted

to the spot. Then the nurse was there, bustling forward.

'See, Kyrie Michaelis, here is your granddaughter come from England to visit you. And if

she wil promise not to make you tired, I wil leave you with her.'

Michael Korialis turned his head slightly to look at her and said one short succinct

phrase in Greek, which sent the nurse scurrying from the room with a scandalised

squeak.

His gaze came back to rest on Helen, and she saw with relief that he had regained his

Self-command at least on the surface.

'The woman is a fool, but her intentions arc good,' he said. He lifted
a
commanding

hand. 'Come here to me, Eleni.' His voice was deep and rather harsh. It was a voice

more used to order than to plead, she thought, as she crossed the wide expanse of

bedroom floor and mounted the single step to the platform.

He patted the counterpane. 'Sit here. Let me look at you, pedhi mou.'

She said steadily, 'I can look at you too. Grandfather.'

He took her hand in his. His hand was big and swarthy, the knuckles prominent. Her

own looked pale and fragile against it. There were marks on her wrists, marks that

Damon Leandros had left on her flesh, but he was not looking at them. His eyes were

searching her face eagerly, looking for further traces of her resemblance to her mother,

:she realised without resentment.

He said slowly, 'Child of Maria, I cannot undo the past. It exists and I cannot change it

even if I wished to, which I must tel you I do not. Your mother did me a great wrong.

She also wronged the son of my friend.'

'Because she fel in love with my father—whom I love too,' Helen said.

'Your father,' he muttered. He took a strand of honey-blonde hair and held it in his

fingers for a moment.

'Yes, I have his colouring. Does—does it distress you?'

'No,' he said heavily. 'No, it is over, as I have said. It is in the past. I must look to the