PAGAN ADVERSARY (15 page)

hospitality. There will be no more such misunderstandings,' he added

grimly, and she knew that he was not merely referring to the room she

had been given.

A brief formal 'goodnight' and the door closed behind him. Harriet

sank down on the edge of the bed, trying to catch her thoughts and

bring them together into some kind of coherent pattern.

She was still shaking in the aftermath of that confrontation beside the

swimming pool, her body tingling in expectation of a consummation

which would not be realised. She closed her eyes, trying to shutter the

memory of the way Alex's mouth had moved against her breasts, the

expert feather-light caresses which had brought undreamed of needs

into shattering life.

She shivered, running the tip of her tongue over suddenly dry lips.

Alex had spoken of misunderstandings—had admitted he had

believed she had deliberately followed him to the swimming pool, but

could she really blame him for his cynical attempt to exploit the

situation? Her denials had been feeble enough in all conscience—and

what had she done to fight him off— to convince him that he was

quite wrong in his assessment?

Nothing at all, she thought wearily. On the contrary, she had fallen

with passionate eagerness into his arms, behaved without pride or

self-control—and that was what he would finally remember—not her

denials, but the shaming truth of her surrender.

And his own admission that he had momentarily forgotten the reason

for her being here on Corfu brought her no comfort either.

Because when Alex touched her, when Alex kissed her, it was all too

fatally easy to forget why she was here, to forget all the reasons she

had to hate him.

But for her own safety, her own peace of mind, those were the things

she had to remember.

Just for a moment, when she woke the next morning, she thought she

was still dreaming, and that if she closed her eyes again these

brilliantly alien surroundings would shrink and compress themselves

into her bedsitter in London.

But when she looked again, shafts of bright sunshine were still

spilling across the tiled floor from between the shutters, and the huge

bed still held her in its luxurious embrace.

Harriet sat up slowly, pushing the tumbled hair out of her eyes as the

events of the previous night came scrambling back into her mind. An

alarmed glance at her watch showed her that it was almost ten

o'clock, and rather hesitantly, remembering Alex's instructions, she

pressed the bell on the console which would order breakfast.

She climbed off the bed, and picking up her toilet bag wandered

towards the bathroom, taking in with amazed appreciation the dark

vivid blue of the tiles and appointments, the mirrored walls, and the

deep sunken bath. 'Real colour supplement stuff, she thought, amused

by the reflections of half a dozen Harriets all vigorously cleaning

their teeth.

The notion of using a bath the size of a small swimming pool was an

intriguing one too, and she smiled as she began to look in the

cupboards for bath oil.

There were certainly plenty of toiletries to choose from, she

discovered, but all of them had a distinctly masculine orientation.

With growing puzzlement, she searched through the remaining

cupboards, finding cologne, aftershave, brushes and razors. She

slammed the last door, and stood looking round her with a sudden

chill of awareness. Up to then, she hadn't noticed the black silk robe

hanging on the back of the door, but she sdw it now, and she stared at

it frowningly, her mind trying to reject the obvious conclusion.

She dismissed the idea of having a bath and walked back into the

bedroom.

This was Alex's room, she thought. It had to be. It was the only

answer.

There was another door adjoining that of the bathroom, and she

opened it and looked in. It was a dressing room, its walls lined with

fitted closets. She tugged open the nearest door, registering with

almost ludicrous dismay the row of expensive suits it contained.

There was a brief knock at the bedroom door, and a young maid

entered carrying a tray. As she saw Harriet, her eyes grew round, and

her jaw dropped. It was obvious she believed the breakfast she had

brought was for the master of the house, and not for some female

guest, and Harriet felt a wave of reluctant colour rise in her face.

Her gaze primly averted, as if she was afraid that at any moment Alex

Marcos himself might appear and confirm her worst suspicions, the

girl carried the tray across the room and set it down on a convenient

table for.a moment while she unfastened the shutters and slid back the

big glass doors which gave access to the balcony. Then she carried

the tray through into the sunlight and set it down somewhere out of

sight.

Harriet knew a burning desire to beat a strategic retreat into the

bathroom in order to avoid the girl's knowing look on her return

journey, but a small interior voice told her that she owed it to herself

to stand her ground. After all, it wasn't true, she thought defensively.

Nothing had happened. And yet—and yet no one who had chanced to

witness their encounter by the swimming pool would ever believe it,

she realised with sudden embarrassment.

The maid reappeared, her eyes flickering momentarily
to
the tumbled

width of the huge bed. Harriet's teeth sank into the soft inner flesh of

her lower lip, but she managed with an effort to say, 'Thank you.'

'Parakalo,'
the girl returned almost indifferently, and was gone.

Harriet found herself wondering how many times Alex Marcos had

been found with a female companion when his breakfast tray had

been summoned. The maid had clearly been surprised at first, but the

reason for that wasn't far to seek, Harriet decided ruefully as she

glimpsed her reflection in a full- length mirror facing her. She looked

ruffled and absurdly young, and not in the least like a
femme fatale

while her choice of nightwear, although quite pretty, was practical

and discreet, rather than glamorous. For a moment, her brows met m a

frown of unconscious dissatisfaction, and she lifted her heavy fall of

hair on to the top of her head, twisting it into one of the casual knots

which she so much admired on other girls but which never seemed to

work with her. It didn't really work this time either, she thought with a

little sigh. It made her look slightly older, but that was only an

illusion. She would never possess the true sophistication that

someone like Alex Marcos would look for in a woman.

For a moment she allowed fantasy to run riot, pretending that he was

there with her, taking imaginary pins and combs from her hair, and

letting it spill softly on her shoulders. She shivered involuntarily,

remembering the way his hands had held her, his fingers subtly

caressing, arousing, tantalising. ...

Harriet took a deep uneven breath. That was something she could not

afford to remember. To remind herself that Alex Marcos was an

experienced man who knew exactly how to make a woman's body

respond to him was to do herself a deliberate hurt.

She turned away from the mirror and walked out into the sunshine.

The tiles were already warm under her feet as she made her way

across to a thickly cushioned wicker chair. She wasn't particularly

hungry, but the breakfast awaiting her looked delectable enough to

tempt anyone, she thought with unwilling appreciation, eyeing the

bread rolls still warm from the oven wrapped in a snowy napkin, with

their accompanying curls of creamy butter and assortment of

preserves. Freshly squeezed orange juice to begin with too, and to

round the meal off, a small wicker basket of huge golden peaches.

Later, as she licked peach juice from her fingers, she realised that she

had had more appetite than she thought. All her life, she decided, she

would remember this first breakfast on Corfu. Alex's room was

situated at the back of the villa and the balcony looked out over the

gardens to the sea. The view was incredible. Somewhere there had to

be a horizon, but it was impossible to tell where, she thought," as sky

and sea blurred together in a distant fusion of exquisite misty blue,

while, nearer, the short the gentle swell of the water formed an

amalgam of colours from jade to azure, and from turquoise to

amethyst.

Beneath the balcony, hidden in the riot of flowering shrubs and trees,

the cicadas were already raspingly busy, and behind Harriet's head a

bee worked with a kind of drowsy industry in the tangle of

bougainvillea which clung to the bright wall and draped its brilliant

blossom over the balcony rail. The air was full of scents—citrus,

roses and warm earth vying with each other.

And this would be Nicky's home, Harriet thought with a pang that she

was not ashamed to recognise as envy. This was the beauty which

would surround him as he grew up. No more battles with the many

uglinesses of city life for him! And now could Kostas, who had

presumably been brought up here himself, have abandoned it with

such readiness, settling instead for the very ordinary suburban house

he had shared with Becca, and the vicissitudes of the English climate?

Harriet found herself speculating once again on the nature of the rift

which had separated her brother-in- law from his family, and left such

an incomprehensible residue of bitterness, some of which was bound

to spill over towards her. That' of course was why she had been given

that cupboard of a room. It was a deliberate slight designed to make it

plain to her how little she was regarded or wanted. But she couldn't

pretend that she had not been warned.

Harriet sighed. This corner of Corfu was paradise, but every paradise

had its secret serpent, hiding in the grass, waiting for an opportunity

to turn everything sour, to pervert and destroy.

Alex said, 'You look very serious, Harriet
mou.
What are you

thinking?'

She twisted hastily on the cushions. He was lounging against the

window opening, casually dressed this morning, she noticed, in pale

linen slacks and a dark short-sleeved sports shirt unfastened almost to

the waist.

He said smoothly, 'I came and helped myself to some clothes earlier.

You were asleep, so I was unable to ask your permission. I hope you

passed a comfortable night.'

'Oh, extremely comfortable.' Her tone was ironic. 'That of course was

before I realised that I was sleeping in your bed.'

His mouth still smiled, but his eyes hardened. 'Are you afraid you

have been contaminated in some way? Allow me to reassure you. The

room may have been prepared for me, but I've only used it to shower

and change jny clothes.'

'That isn't what I meant,' she said hurriedly. 'I'm objecting to the fact

that you gave the room to me. It wasn't necessary.'

'You think not? I am afraid I must disagree with you,' he said coolly.

'What I mean is—there must surely be other rooms. By putting me in

here, you've placed me in a very difficult position. I—I don't know

what your staff— your family will think.'

'They already know exactly what to think, because I have made the

position more than clear to them.' His glance was almost

contemptuous. 'And—yes, of course there are other rooms, but none

of them were prepared last night as this was. Or did you wish me to

wake Androula and the maids in the middle of the night to make an

alternative ready for you? Finding us together at that hour,

dressed—or rather undressed as we were— might have begun exactly

the kind of speculation you seem so anxious to avoid.'

'Yes, I see that,' Harriet said reluctantly, beginning to wish she had

said nothing.

'I hope you do,' Alex returned sardonically. 'If it will placate your fear

of scandal, perhaps I should say that your new room should now be

ready, and I will call Androula to conduct you there.'

He was making her sound like a prude and an idiot, she realised with

exasperation. However real her embarrassment had seemed to her, it

was clearly foolish to him. But it was impossible for her to try and

explain the reasoning behind her objection in case unwittingly she

gave too much away.

Avoiding his glance, she said stiltedly, 'I'm sorry— but the

maid—she clearly thought ... I mean, it was obvious it wasn't the first

time. . . .' She halted in total confusion.

'Not the first time I have had a woman in my room— in my bed?' he

finished for her with awful courtesy. 'I won't deny it. Why should I?