Pagan Lover (12 page)

‘Oh....’ For apparently no reason at all a sudden chill fluttered along
Tara’s back. ‘She’s Greek?’

‘Her father’s Greek and her mother’s English.’
Leon idly picked up the dress, fingering the beautifully-embroidered material with the touch of the expert.
Tara was fascinated, for this man was so very different from the arrogant, forbidding one she knew so well. He glanced from the dress to his wife’s slender figure, and then he was examining her face, and her hair.

‘I ought to have had your hair cut before now,’ he frowned. ‘Remind me to phone for the hairdresser to come up here tomorrow.’

Tara’s eyes blazed.

‘I shall do no such thing! I happen to like my hair as it is!’

He shook his head, her anger having made not the slightest impression on him as he said,

‘It doesn’t suit you—not for the way I intend to dress you. Certainly it won’t go with this particular evening gown.’

‘The way
you
intend to dress
me
!’ she gasped. ‘What do you think I am—a spineless slave whose function in life is to obey and please her master! You can think again,’ she added in a suffocated voice, ‘because I’ve no intention of being told what I shall wear.’

‘What a wildcat you are,’ he commented mildly. ‘You’ve worn what I’ve provided up till now.’

‘Only because I’ve had no choice.’

‘You’ll always wear what I choose,’ he told her inexorably. ‘However, when I have that promise I asked for you will be able to come to
Athens with me and look around the shops.’

She would always wear what he chose! Fury scorched her cheeks, but by a tremendous effort she managed to curb her tongue.

But she resolved not to wear the dress he had provided.

The night of the dinner party arrived, and after showering and drying herself
Tara slipped into a negligé and picked up the dress which she had earlier chosen from the wardrobe. But she went and looked at the other and had to admit that it was sheer perfection. Carnation pink in colour, it had an underslip of pampas green which showed through the open pattern of the embroidery. The neck was low, the bodice cut to accentuate her curves. The sleeves were long, cut from the waist in enormous folds. She had tried it on that morning, after her hair had been cut, and in spite of herself she had weakened, half deciding that she would wear it after all, for nothing could have made her look lovelier.
Leon certainly had the kind of flair that brings success to any fashion house.

‘I shan’t wear it!’ she said determinedly, and went over to where the other one lay over the back of a chair. ‘He’s not going to dictate to me!’

She was standing before the dressing-table when
Leon came from the other room, looking superb in a pale green linen suit and white frilled shirt. He took one step and then stopped, his eyes fixed disbelievingly on her figure.

‘What’s happened?’ he demanded. ‘Is something wrong with the dress—’

‘Nothing’s wrong with it,’ she broke in, infuriated at the knowledge that her heart was beating far too quickly. ‘I’m not wearing it, that’s all. I like this one better,’ she lied, touching the front with her finger.

‘You—!’ He strode across the room and stood over her, a tall menacing figure, his face black as thunder. ‘Get out of that at once! It’s not an evening gown—’

‘I know it isn’t! I do have some dress sense!’

‘Where’s the other?’ he wanted to know, his voice quieter now but vibrating with anger.

‘In the wardrobe.’ She swallowed convulsively, militant even while she trembled. ‘I’m not wearing it.’

‘By God you are!’ His black eyes smouldered he added, ‘Do you get this one off or do I?’

She backed away, her cheeks draining of colour.

‘Don’t you dare touch me,’ she faltered, terrified that he was going to hit her. ‘I—’ the rest was cut as, with a strong sweep of his hand, he ripped the dress from neck almost to hem. And before she could move he had stripped it from her, leaving her standing there in her undies and tights. ‘Go and get the other!’ He pointed imperiously to the wardrobe. ‘Get it,
Tara, or else.’ Fury swept over her like a deluge, but she obeyed him for all that, aware as she was of her scanty attire—so little covering if he should be driven by his anger to beat her.

‘I don’t w-want to—to wear it,’ she quivered, holding it in her hand.

‘Put it on.’

Again she obeyed, tears of anger sparkling on her lashes.

‘That’s better. Our guests will be here in a few minutes, so don’t be long.’ And with that he strode towards the door again and disappeared through it.

‘I hate him—oh, I could kill him!’ She put her face in her hands and wept bitterly into them. ‘How can I go on! How can I? David … if only I could send you a message....’ The tears came again, but fear of her husband brought control and she bathed her eyes. She looked awful! And the dress, lovely as it was, had been designed by
Leon to bring out every curve of her body, for even the skirt accentuated her thighs as she walked. Fury rose again, affecting both her brain and her caution. She would
not
wear it! And this time he wou1d not be able to make her! With fumbling fingers she took it off and then, after attempting frenziedly to tear the seams apart, she went over to the dressing-table and, taking up the nail scissors, she began to cut and slash at the material.

She was in the negligé when
Leon came into the room again.

‘Aren’t you ready yet—’ This time his face twisted almost with pain as, staring at the mutilated gown, he shook his head in disbelief.
Tara, uncaring now what he did to her, snatched it up and flung it in his face.

‘I said I wasn’t wearing it and I meant it! I shall wear
what I choose
—get that!’

He was inflamed within seconds; the blood raced through his veins, creating drifts of dark crimson at the sides of his mouth. With the agility of a jungle cat he leapt the distance between them and the next moment the blood was pounding in
Tara’s head as he shook her with prolonged and savage intensity, shook her until he himself was out of breath. The negligé had come open; it slipped from her shoulders and once more she was standing before him, half naked.

‘What the hell are you going to wear now? You’ve nothing suitable!’ She heard the gritting of his teeth, saw him glance at the watch on his wrist. And in spite of the fact that she was almost in a state of collapse, she knew the thrill of having won her first victory over him.

He was at the wardrobe, looking along the rail.
Tara waited, conscious of the silence in the room, and of the only sound outside being that of the cicadas making their nocturnal chant in the olive trees. He turned at last, a turquoise blue evening gown in his hand. To
Tara, it was charming, but to him it obviously was not up to the standard he had required for this particular evening when he was having guests.

‘This will have to do. Put it on.’

She obeyed, all the fight gone out of her. But she was still enjoying a certain amount of exultation at the idea of what she had done. It would perhaps convince her husband that she was not totally subservient to his will.

CHAPTER EIGHT

THE front door was being opened as
Tara came down from the bedroom. Leon had already welcomed a couple of guests, and he was now in the hall as Stamati, having stood aside to allow a young man and a girl to enter, dosed the door and took the mink wrap which the girl handed to him.
Tara stared, gasping at the flawless beauty of the girl who, she knew instinctively, was the model of whom her husband had spoken. Tall and poised and charmingly attired in a gown of sheer perfection designed to show off to every advantage the lovely curves of her body, she was the epitome of feminine supremacy.
Tara, glancing down at her own dress, would have liked to turn and run, so, inferior did she feel. The other dress had been beautiful, a model designed by her husband to enhance all the beauty of face and figure which he evidently saw in her. She could now understand his feelings; she could not understand her own in deliberately destroying what had been expertly designed and produced especially for her.

She noticed the glinting expression in
Leon’s face as, fleetingly, his eyes swept from the delightful picture of his model to the figure of his wife.

‘Elene,’ he said coolly, ‘meet my wife, Tara.’

The girl extended a hand, her dark eyes flickering over
Tara’s dress. Whatever her thoughts were it was impossible to say. She was a girl who gave nothing away—at least, not by her expression.

 
Tara took the hand, aware of an icy chill enveloping her whole frame, for there seemed to be hostility hidden in the girl’s manner, an underlying hatred, even.

‘How do you do?’ Elene turned immediately to
Leon.

‘How charming! And what a surprise for us all! I could scarcely believe you when you phoned to tell me the news.’

The ghost of a smile was all the response
Leon made to that. He introduced his wife to the young man, Nico Kallergis, Elene’s escort for the evening. Of medium height, with jet black hair and dark brown eyes, he was handsome in a thick-set kind of way. At twenty-eight he was the owner of two cruise ships and extensive olive groves on the mainland of
Greece. He took
Tara’s hand and held it rather longer than was necessary. She met his gaze and an unfathomable sensation filtered through her. There was friendliness in his stare, and in the smile that curved his full mouth.

‘Happy to meet you, Tara,’ he said sincerely, his eyes darting to Elene and then to
Leon. ‘How did you manage to pierce the armour of our most confirmed bachelor?’

She coloured but offered no reply, profoundly conscious of Elene’s supercilious glance which seemed to say that
Leon had not married her for her smartness and good taste.

Tara
was in fact inwardly squirming, conscious of the fact that her husband was the head of one of the top fashion houses of the world. Elene must be very puzzled that
Leon had not seen that his wife was better turned out than this.

Another couple arrived five minutes later and were shown into the sitting-room where Leon and his wife and guests were drinking aperitifs. This couple were married, and much older than Elene and Nico. Tara liked them well enough—as she liked the other couple, Julia and Cristakis Mitas—but she felt disinclined to chat and was content to sit and listen to the conversation going on around her. The latest couple to arrive were Agni and Loukis Amaxis, and Agni, about forty-five years of age, had obviously never been anything o
ther than her husband’s equal.
Tara wondered how she had managed to lift herself to that status in a country where, traditionally, women were regarded as inferior.

‘This is a sensation indeed,’ Loukis had declared when on being introduced to
Tara he had smiled into her eyes. ‘
Leon married—and never a word to any of his friends.’ His accent, like that of his wife, was most noticeable—very different from those of Elene and Leon, both of whom spoke immaculate English. Agni asked if Leon and Tara had known one another long, and
Tara could not help but notice that as she spoke the woman’s eyes slid to the lovely girl who was sitting, a little apart from everyone else, on a chair by the window, with the deep gold curtains forming a suitable backcloth for her dark, exotic beauty.

‘Not very long at all,’ said
Leon smoothly in reply to Agni’s question. ‘It was one of those instances of mutual attraction at the very first meeting.’ He paused a moment to look at his wife, whose blue eyes had narrowed as she listened to words that were not in any way true.
He
might have been attracted—he
was
attracted—but she had disliked him on sight. ‘And so,’ continued
Leon suavely, ‘there was only one thing for us to do—get married.’

Elene’s mouth seemed to compress. She leant forward in her chair, flicked back the lid of a gold cigarette box with the familiar touch that told
Tara she had done it many times before, and took out a cigarette.
Leon rose at once to pick up the matching lighter, flick it and hold it to the tip of Elene’s cigarette,
Tara saw their eyes meet and hold, but there was nothing to be read from the expression of either of them.

The dinner party had gone off very well, with Nico, sitting opposite to
Tara, frequently monopolising her, oblivious of the dark glances cast at him by his host. Although
Tara was well aware of them she remained indifferent, continuing to chat with Nico, whom she liked best of all the six guests. By the time the evening was over a bond had been cemented between them although, at this early stage in their relationship, it was merely a vague idea with them both. Yet
Tara knew they would meet again
...
and without others being present....