Gemma bit her lip. ‘Are you thinking that he’ll marry you, perhaps?’
There was a pause, then a negative shake of the head. Maria said flatly, ‘It would not be fitting.’ She did not meet Gemma’s gaze.
She said, ‘I don’t believe that, Maria, and I know my parents wouldn’t either, if you love each other. But there would be problems. Michalis is still studying. He can’t afford to get married, for one thing. And how do you suppose he will feel if I’m forced to stay here with—with this—Andreas?’
Maria shrugged. ‘As I said,
thespinis
, it was not my will that you should be brought here. I tried to tell them—to speak against it, but my father would not listen. All his words were of revenge for the harm done to the honour of our family. And for this revenge he goes to Kyrios Andreas, who is a brother to us in all but blood.’
Gemma flushed angrily. ‘Why should he do that? I’m surprised your father didn’t simply arrange to—pass me round the family.’
Maria looked shocked. ‘He could not do such a thing,
thespinis
. It would cause shame to my mother, and to ,the wives of my brothers. Besides,’ she added on a more practical note, ‘our house is next to that of the priest. The
papa
would be angry to hear such talk of vengeance. But if he hears that there is a woman here with Kyrios Andreas, he will not think it strange, although he may shake his head,’ she added quaintly.
Gemma was thinking rapidly, ‘And if he knew the truth, he’d probably blow his top.’ She looked appealingly at the other girl. ‘Maria I’m not really dressed for visiting, as you can see, but you could ask the priest, secretly, to come here and speak to me. He’d have to help me if he knew what was going on.’ She paused. ‘Please Maria—if you care anything for Mike—do this for me.’
Maria spread her hands helplessly. ‘I cannot,
thespinis
. Only today, the
papa
has gone from the village to visit his own father who is ill. He has driven to Heraklion in Kyrios Andreas’ own jeep with him.’
Gemma said hollowly, ‘Oh God,’ and sat down on the bottom step. She looked up at Maria. ‘When is he expected back?’
Maria shrugged. ‘In a few days, perhaps, a week. I do not know. But do not agitate yourself,
thespinis
,’ she added hearteningly. ‘I have heard my mother say that Kyrios Andreas wearies quickly of his women. Perhaps by that time, you will no longer be here.’
Gemma’s lips parted to say something blistering, then closed again. There was no point, she thought wearily, in venting her anger and worry on Maria, who probably thought she was making a lot of unnecessary fuss, judging by the aggravating note of reverence which entered her voice each time she mentioned Andreas.
So, he came from a wealthy and important family. Gemma supposed she might have guessed as much, and was forced to admit to herself that it only added to her problems. Presumably, he could be expected to have some kind of influence with the authorities, and she might have trouble getting her story believed.
She remembered bitterly his own cynical remark ‘a little adventure with a rich Greek’ and realised with something approaching despair that it was a view it would be only too easy for other people to share. Certainly, the truth sounded preposterous, and who would vouch for the fact that she’d been held at the Villa Ione against her will? Maria? Never in this world, she told herself realistically. Maria might not agree with her family’s methods of avenging their honour, but she would never say so publicly.
She said slowly, ‘You asked me where Mike had gone, Maria. Have you really no idea yourself? You must have seen him just before he left. Did he give no hint? Leave no clue?’
Maria looked as if she was going to cry. ‘None,
thespinis
. All that I know is that he was going to join a friend of his, nothing more.’
‘You never heard him mention this friend’s name?’ Gemma demanded. ‘Was he another Englishman.’
Maria shrugged evasively, her full lips pouting a little. ‘I do not think so.’
‘A Greek?’ Gemma prompted. ‘A Cretan, perhaps?’
Maria walked towards the kitchen with a flounce of her red skirt. ‘I will not answer all these questions,’ she flung back over her shoulder. ‘Your brother promised to help me, and now he has gone, and I do not think he will come back, because he is frightened. He has broken his promise to me, so why should I help you—
vromo anglitha
,’ she added venomously.
Gemma felt bewildered by this sudden change in attitude. She said, ‘I’m sorry, Maria, but I’m upset too. I’ve been kidnapped, and that’s a very serious offence in my country. This Kyrios Andreas of yours could be in big trouble...’
Maria sneered. ‘Trouble? For you, perhaps,
thespinis
, but not for Andreas. You say you were kidnapped—but all the world saw you come here, walking on your own legs up to the villa,
po po po
. Who heard you scream? Who has heard you cry for help? No one, and if questions are asked that is what we shall say. We shall say that you were the
eromeni
of Andreas, and that you followed him here, and that you say terrible things about him because he has tired of you, because he no longer desires a pale skinny English girl in his bed.’
Gemma said acidly, ‘Your command of the English language has improved amazingly, Maria. May I ask if you have a reason for being here, or did you just come to look me over?’
‘I came for the laundry which my aunt will wash,’ Maria said sulkily.
Gemma raised her eyebrows. ‘Well at least that’s one domestic chore I’m being spared.’ She tried not to sound too defeated, but it wasn’t easy. Maria had been a doubtful ally from the start, but Gemma had thought she might be prepared to help her in some way, if only for Mike’s sake. But the girl was obviously bitter at his desertion, and Gemma supposed she couldn’t blame her.
She said, more gently, ‘Maria, I’m sure my brother will come back.’
Maria shrugged. ‘I no longer care whether he does or not,’ she said rudely. ‘Now, I take the laundry.’
She took it, wrapped in one of the bed sheets from upstairs. She did not look at Gemma again, or speak, as she walked through the living area, and disappeared with a swing of her hips towards the terrace steps.
Impulsively, Gemma started after her. She couldn’t let her go like this—when for a few moments they’d seemed so close to an understanding. Surely she could make Maria see that she wouldn’t endear herself to Mike by allowing his only sister to become some stranger’s unwilling mistress.
She was at the door, when she heard the dog’s warning growl just behind her. She took another step, and felt herself held, the hem of the shirt she was wearing clamped in the animal’s jaws. Its eyes gleamed at her malevolently. It was growling in its throat, and she could feel its breath hot on the skin of her thigh.
With a groan, she turned back into the room, and immediately felt herself released.
She said with great distinctness, ‘You bloody animal,’ and burst into tears.
No day had ever seemed so long.
The hands on her watch seemed to crawl round, each five-minute interval like an hour in duration. She was on edge all the time listening for the sound of the jeep, awaiting—dreading—his return.
At lunchtime, she made a sandwich, using some of the bread from breakfast with the lamb. She ate ravenously, surprised at her own appetite. She had started to believe she would never eat again. In fact, her own hunger made her ashamed, and she was thankful she was alone, and could indulge it unobserved.
She offered the dog some meat, but it refused point blank to take it from her hand. She put the lamb bone down on the floor and presently it carried it into a comer and began to gnaw, but Gemma wasn’t fooled into thinking this might represent some kind of truce between them. She’d tried two more casual strolls towards the terrace steps, each time with the same result.
The dog had been polite but firm, she thought with irony. However, she was under no illusion that the politeness would necessarily continue if she persisted.
During the long afternoon, she remembered the paperback novel she’d taken to the sun terrace the previous day, and retrieved it, but it was no real help. The trials of the heroine seemed to pale into insignificance when compared to her own.
She debated about sunbathing; wondered what Andreas would do if she allowed herself to be burned raw; decided the attendant risks were too great, and sneered at herself for being a coward.
There was sun filter cream in her toilet bag. She used it, and for the first time in her life sunbathed nude, turning herself delicately and languorously in the hot rays, enjoying the sensation of freedom it gave her. This time, however, she was careful not to fall asleep.
The sun was already sinking down behind the mountain peaks when she went for her shower. Andreas—her mind used his name tentatively, more accustomed to thinking of him as the Cretan, or, more simply even, the stranger—had still not returned. Not that she wanted him to, she thought stormily. In fact, it would give her infinite satisfaction to know that he and his damned jeep were at the bottom of some precipice, with the buzzards already circling overhead. But his return would mean she’d have some decent clothes to wear again. Being only half-dressed like this made her vulnerable, undermined her morale, she thought, and it was no earthly use reminding herself that during the ordinary course of her holiday only a short while before she’d worn scarcely any more. That was different, and she knew it. And, presumably, he knew it too.
He’d worked out his plan of campaign very carefully, Gemma thought savagely. He knew exactly how to play upon her hopes, her fears, and, she had to admit, her desires.
She shivered as she stepped under the jets of the shower, but not simply because of the impact of the cool droplets on her heated skin. Oh God, but he was dangerous, and she’d known it from the first moment she saw him. Dark as the devil, arrogant as one of the gods of old in this land, powerful as the Lord of Life and Death who’d ruled in his bull mask at Knossos, taking tribute from the alien captives brought in chains across the sea.
Closing her eyes, she lifted her face to the cascading water, letting it pour through her hair and over her shoulders. Then with a little sigh of satisfaction, she turned off the flow.
There was no warning—none at all. The dog hadn’t uttered, and the noise of the shower had effectually blocked out all other sounds.
She turned, reaching for a towel, and saw him standing in the doorway, watching her. He was smiling faintly as the dark eyes coolly assessed every inch of her naked body.
Her first instinct was to shrink, to cover herself somehow with her hands, her hair, yet something told her that such a belated and useless attempt at modesty would only amuse him further. It would be just another petty victory for him if she seemed to care too much about herself so completely. Far better to brazen it out, to let him think his presence here was immaterial because she despised him. Her eyes flared contempt at him, and her chin lifted defiantly as she scooped the heavy strands of damp blonde back from her face, and tossed them over her shoulders. The gesture arched her small high breasts, a fact he acknowledged with a mocking downward slant of his mouth.
Then he moved, stepping towards her, his purpose clear in the sudden intensity of his dark gaze, and Gemma moved too, at speed, all her bravado disintegrating as she grabbed frantically for the errant towel. Her foot slipped on the damp tiles, and she fell down on one knee, cracking the bone painfully as she did so. She cried out involuntarily and at once he was beside her, his hands under her shoulders lifting her effortlessly.
‘You are hurt? Tell me ...’
He carried her into the adjoining bedroom and put her down on the bed. The discarded shirt was lying there and she seized it and held it in front of her.
‘Don’t touch me.’ Bright spots of colour burned in her face. ‘Get out of my room.’
He’d been bending over her, but at her words, he straightened and stood back, the concern in his face giving way to overt amusement.
He pointed to the shirt. ‘Isn’t that a little late?’ he asked, laughing.
That this was her own view as well made it no easier to bear. She glared at him savagely. ‘Kidnapper, rapist and now Peeping Tom,’ she hurled at him recklessly. ‘What a full life you lead,
kyrie
, or should I say—Andreas.’
There was a brief electric pause. His mouth twisted. ‘So—you have had a visitor. Once more, it seems, Maria’s curiosity has outrun her discretion.’
‘Oh, you mustn’t blame her for telling me. She must have thought that, as your mistress, I would at least know your Christian name if nothing else about you.’
‘It is not her place to think about such matters at all,’ he said icily. ‘What else did you discuss?’ She shrugged. ‘Very little. Religion—briefly—and the fact that she’s no longer in love with Mike.’
‘Did you think she ever was? You are a romantic, Gemma
mou
. Love does not describe the kind of brief, sordid association she and your brother shared. If they had—loved, he would have courted her with honour—asked her to be his wife.’
It was odd how those contemptuous words hurt her, more even than the pain in her bruised knee.
She said stonily, ‘Then it’s fortunate for them both that you’ve avenged the family honour and saved them the necessity of being miserable together. And now perhaps you’d let me have some privacy, because I’d like to get dressed.’ She took a breath. ‘I assume you’ve brought me some clothes.’
‘I have warned you before about making assumptions, Gemma.’ His tone was sardonic. ‘By day, you are already adequately covered by what you can filch from my wardrobe. If you feel you need an alternative for the rest of the time—I have brought you one.’
He reached into his pocket, and produced a square packet which he tossed to her. She caught it awkwardly, one-handed, still clinging to the shirt with the other. A bikini, she wondered, or underwear. But, no. The parcel was too small, surely, and too heavy as well. She eased the outer wrapping with her thumbnail, and took off the paper. The decorated box inside was familiar. She looked down at the lettering almost stupidly. ‘
Shalimar
? But that’s ...’