Devil in Disguise

by Jessica Steele

  It had gone midnight when she heard the sound of a car in the drive and sat bolt upright in bed, her heart

  hammering painfully. She heard a car door slam, and for one petrified moment couldn't think where the phone was so she could ring for help. Even her legs felt paralysed with fear as her seized brain let up sufficiently for her to recall that the phone was down in the hall where it had always been. She couldn't go down those stairs—she couldn't!

  Someone ringing the door bell had her nerves jumping with apprehension. Perhaps they would go away if she didn't answer it, she thought. Then the ringing came again. Oh God, they'd be able to see the light on in her room from the front of the house! The ringing stopped, only for the sound of what to her agitated state seemed like giant fists to start banging on the wood panelling.

  Chewing at her bottom lip, she fought against the coward she owned herself to be. Then finding some inner strength, she reached for her summer dressing gown at the bottom of the bed.

  Noiselessly she tiptoed down the stairs, her heart thudding in her ears, jumping again as she reached the hall and heard a fist crash once more against the oak front door.

  'Who—who is it?' she asked as she reached the door, her voice sounding high and squeaky. She realised her pathetic attempt at speech could not possibly be heard. 'Who's there?' she asked more loudly, and in her highly strung state could make no sense of the answer she received.

  Silence reigned on both sides of the door, then deep masculine tones were saying something about Kit—something about Kit and an accident.

  Clare's fears for herself vanished in that instant. With shaking fingers, knowing it was the police outside, shegroped for the light switch, flooded the hall with light, then switched on the porch light, and was about to take off the safety chain before caution that hadn't waned any over the last five years had her hands coming away to go to the door catch and pull the door open a few inches.-

  It wasn't a policeman who stood there—not a uniformed policeman, at any rate. This man didn't look like a policeman at all, the thought shot into her head as her anxiety for Kit became mixed up with anxieties for her own safety. The man standing there had black hair, a tanned skin from what she could make out, and he was over six feet tall.

  'I am sorry to disturb you,' he said in faultless English, though with her emotions all confused Clare wasn't sure that there wasn't a trace of a foreign accent there somewhere. Her apprehension quickened and she was sure he could tell she was nervous when he gave her a reassuring smile before his face sobered and he added apologetically, 'But it is important that I see Mr Edward Harper.'

  That smile should have reassured her, but she had learned not to trust. Though she did begin with an automatic, 'He's ...' before she broke off. She had almost said he wasn't in, and she mustn't do that. This man looked charming, didn't look as though he would harm her, but ...

  'What about?' she questioned, and when the man made no move to ask to be allowed in, the remembrance came that she had only opened the door because she thought he had said something about Kit, and she had only one anxiety then. 'My brother,' she said quickly. 'Did you say Kit ...'

  'You must be Clare,' the man said, just that sugges-

  tion of a foreign accent coming through. `I am sorry to have to tell you, there has been an accident.' `Accident—Kit?' Her brain went numb.

  'I received a call at my London hotel about an hour ago from my brother in Greece,' the stranger went on, breaking the news to her gently. 'I thought since the accident happened on my property that I should come and acquaint your family with the news personally.'

  Clare felt the colour drain from her face. It hardly registered that this man must be Greek and a property owner, as her mind filled with dread about her brother.

  `He's—he's—Kit's not—dead?' she asked in a hushed voice.

  `No, no,' she was quickly assured. `His condition is grave, but not critical.' He paused to give her an encouraging look. 'Perhaps if I could come in and speak with your father ...' he suggested.

  Her worries all for Kit, Clare's natural caution disappeared. Yes, yes, he must come in. She had to know all there was, had to know if she could help in any way.

  `Just a moment,' she said quietly, quickly closing the door to release the safety chain, forgetting entirely she was dressed only in her summer robe, uncaring of how she looked with her cloud of silver-white hair tousled about her shoulders. Even her shyness with strangers had gone when she re-opened the door and stood back to allow the man over the threshold.

  Five feet six and slender into the bargain, she felt dwarfed by the man who stood by her side. He too was lean, though with a breadth of shoulder that spoke of powerful muscles. For one frightened moment she thought of nothing as she witnessed his eyes, as black as night, on her hair as though he couldn't believe thecolour was real, then he had collected himself and remembered the sombre reason for his visit. It seemed to her then that though this was her home, the command of the man took charge from that moment on.

  `Shall I wait while you call your father?' he asked, politely not moving from where he stood just inside the hall.

  Running distracted fingers through her hair, unintentionally drawing the stranger's eyes to it once more, Clare stammered an invitation for him to follow her into the sitting room, and her legs went weak suddenly so that she just had to sit down, glad the stranger had decided to sit too, because it was too much for her then to have any sort of conversation having to look up so far.

  'My name is Lazar Vardakas,' he told her when she hadn't complied with his request to call her father, and it was as though he, the stranger, was out to put her at ease. `If you will tell your father ...'

  `My father is away on holiday,' she found herself telling him. `My mother too.'

  `Oh,' said Lazar Vardakas, looking surprised and thoughtful. Then, as though trying to recall what else he had been told over the phone, 'But you have another brother, I believe,' he searched his memory some more, 'Bruce, isn't it? Perhaps I might see your brother Bruce?'

  That he seemed to, think that only the male members of her family could deal with this particular crisis touched on her only lightly as she thought fleetingly how charming Greek men must be that their womenfolk must be so guarded. But what impinged on her more was that considering they were a family so unknown to him, Lazar Vardakas seemed to know a

  tremendous amount about the Harpers. Of course—he had mentioned having a brother too. Perhaps Kit had got friendly with his brother before his accident; he must have told him something about them. But now wasn't the time to worry about that. He had said Kit's condition was grave, but not critical, and she had to know more. Almost absently, she told him:

  `Bruce is away on holiday too.' That seemed to surprise him far more than the surprise he had shown that her parents were away, but she had other things on her mind, so it hardly bothered her. 'You said Kit's condition is grave ...?'

  `You are in this house by yourself?' he questioned, his very tone comforting, so that had she thought she would have found herself sitting in her thin wrap entertaining a stranger as short a while as half an hour ago she

  · would have known herself terrified at the very idea, instead she found herself confirming without alarm:

  'Yes, I am. Kit didn't know Bruce was away. I'm afraid I didn't tell him.' Oddly, at that moment, she blushed, and didn't know why other than she felt guilty that this stranger should know she wasn't above deceiving her family. Yet she could never explain, she hardly knew why herself except that this urge to know a little independence had been trying to get through for quite some time. Yet oh, how she wished they were all back with her now!

  Lazar Vardakas seemed not to notice her blush, and as gently as he could he told her, 'I would have preferred to have spoken with the men of the household. Indeed, I was hoping ...' He broke off as though he knew what he had been hoping would not now come to fruition, and began to tell her how Kit's accident had come about.

  `I own a sm
all island called Niakos where my brother Aeneas was having a few days' break from business. Whether Aeneas met your brother in Athens or whether your brother made his own way to Niakos, I am not sure. But Aeneas must have taken a liking to him, because we do not encourage casual visitors to the island. However, your brother admired in particular one of the horses kept at Niakos and Aeneas, believing him to be an accomplished horseman, allowed him a ride.' His face was solemn when he added, 'I regret that your brother took a very bad fall.'

  `Oh,' said Clare, chewing at her bottom lip. Kit did ride occasionally, but his main interest was his car. Oh, poor Kit! He wasn't usually headstrong, but perhaps he had thought it would be letting the side down to jib at riding some brute of a horse he just wasn't up to controlling. `You said his condition is grave,' she reminded him. `What exactly ...'

  `He has severe concussion. A doctor was summoned from Athens immediately, of course,' she was told, `and his prognosis is that he should recover well. The only trouble is ...' he seemed to hesitate as though not to worry her further.

  `The only trouble is—what?' she asked hurriedly, her fears for Kit growing.

  Reluctant to add to her distress, Lazar Vardakas studied the carpet beneath his feet and said slowly, `Well, to tell you everything, your brother Kit seems to be off his head with worry about you, his sister.'

  Clare could have cried with anguish then. She could just imagine Kit, who like the rest of them was forever watching out for her, writhing in a tortured delirium for her safety, somehow knowing he was powerless to

  come to her aid and save her from whatever gremlins were in his head.

  `He has spoken of all his family during this semi-sleep he is in, but his anxieties for you in particular are keeping his head from resting,' she was told regretfully.

  `Oh, poor Kit!' was wrenched from her, and she just didn't know how she kept back the tears. She felt so helpless, so powerless to do anything. She knew Lazar Vardakas wasn't deliberately telling her the worst, and thought with the concern he was showing that it was more probable he was keeping far more from her than he was telling.

  `Naturally, as the accident happened on my property, on one of my animals, I feel that I am responsible,' he went on. 'As soon as I leave here I shall fly to Greece to see if there is anything I can do.'

  Ridiculously, with so much else buzzing around in her head, Clare found herself asking, `Can you get a flight at this time of night?'

  'I have my private plane standing by waiting for me,' he said matter-of-factly, and almost to himself added, `I had been hoping I might be able to take your father or perhaps your other brother back with me, but ...' A thought seemed suddenly to have occurred to him. 'You have your parents' forwarding address?'

  Clare shook her head. An idea was beginning to stir, and she wondered if she had enough courage to act upon it. 'My parents are touring France. I have no idea where ...'

  `Your other brother—Bruce. You have his holiday address?'

  `No,' she said, feeling guilty again. 'I know it must sound awful to you,' she added, remembering reading somewhere that Greeks had a great feeling for familyand trying to defend her own, `but my family don't know I'm here on my own. I—er—tricked Bruce and Kit.'

  He stood-up, and she knew he didn't think much of what she had just told him. But she couldn't let him go, not yet. She had to find the courage from somewhere to act on her idea, to speak up and ask him if he would take her with him. After all, she reminded herself, she had sat here alone with him, scantily dressed too, she thought, catching sight of her robe, and no harm had come to her. He reached the sitting-room door, and the thought of Kit writhing in torment gave her small courage a boost.

  'Mr Vark—Vadarkas,' she said, getting his name all mixed up. He halted, a politely enquiring look on his face. `Er—would you like a cup of coffee?'

  `Thank you, no.' He had the door open.

  `Can I come with you?'

  It came bursting out in a rush. She saw his eyebrows ascend for all the world as though he thought she was suggesting something improper, but she gabbled on while she had the courage.

  `If Kit is as ill as you say then I just know he won't get well again until he sees me. Please, oh, please take me with you! '

  For long painful moments he looked at her, then to her relief his hand left the doorknob. His look was stern when he said:

  `Your brother says you are nineteen. Is that true?'

  Clare wasn't sure what that had to do with it, though perhaps if she could convince him she was of age he might agree to take her with him.

  `Yes,' she said, trying to keep calm and feeling on the brink of the biggest adventure of her life—if he agreed.

  'You look no more than fifteen,' he said coolly. `You have a passport?'

  Did he mean so that he could check her age or so that she could go with him?

  `Yes, yes. Shall I go and get it?'

  For a long while he studied her pale face, recording her clear brow and huge brown eyes, his look taking in her sweet nose and generous, now tremulous mouth.

  `You will need to bring it with you,' he said succinctly.

  CHAPTER TWO

  EVERYTHING happened so fast afterwards that Clare found herself seated with Lazar Vardakas on his executive jet before she had time to wonder again if she was doing the right thing. She couldn't possibly doubt it from the point of view of getting Kit well again. And really it was more than rewarding to know she wasn't quite the faintheart she had always regarded herself.

  It hadn't taken her long to throw a few things into , case. All her clothes were of the loose-fitting variety and would be just the thing in which to nurse Kit bad. to health. Would they allow her to nurse him, though? She had never before had anything to do with wealth people, but a private plane, a private island, must mean that the Vardakas family had money. Well, she am' Kit couldn't afford the services of a nurse, so she would have to tell Lazar Vardakas that, and then per haps he would allow her to look after Kit.

  She looked across at him, his head deep in some paperwork as they flew into the night. He must be a very busy man, she thought, weariness about her now the hustle and bustle of getting ready in the minimum amount of time was behind her. It must be two o'clock in the morning by now; she didn't want to draw attention to herself by taking another look at her watch, but he was working away as though night or day work had to be done before he allowed himself to close his eyes.

  Clearly he was a man who did not forget the slightest detail. She had come down the stairs, her suitcase in her hand, to find he had come out into the hall. He had taken her case from her and when she would have led the way to the front door, he had stopped her, saying, 'Perhaps you should write a note for the milkman.'

  At that point, understandably with all that had gone, she thought, her brain had seized up and even the simplest note to the milkman was beyond her. With a suggestion of a smile upon his face, Lazar Vardakas had handed her his pen and ripped a piece from the telephone note pad, instructing her to write, 'No milk until further notice.'

  The throb of the plane seemed quieter now, or perhaps she had just got used to it. Lazar Vardakas sat opposite her, a table to the side of them on which his briefcase rested. His head was bent over his work, giving her an opportunity to study him. Her study confirmed what she already knew: Lazar Vardakas was very good-looking. The thought bothered her, but mainly, she realised, because she was so unused to seeing men as anything other than just 'men'. His eyes were as black as night, she recalled, unable to see them now as his lids shuttered them, but he had a very fine nose, straight and arrogant—though he hadn't been arrogant with her. Stern perhaps, but for the most part courteous, charming. He had been a little stern perhaps when she had dared her courage and asked if she could come with him. In all, he had done everything he could to ease the pain of what he had to tell her. Her eyes fell to his mouth. It was a warm mouth, she decided, that bottom lip showing a sensuality in his nature that had been absent in his dealings with h
er.

  Ashamed that she could look at any man and think about his sensuality and not a little disgusted to find herself having such -thoughts when before tonight just the very word would have her curling up within herself, she gave herself up to wondering about his age. All this was a deliberate effort to keep her thoughts from Kit and the wild speculation of wondering if he would be improved by the time they got to him—or would he be deteriorating rapidly?

  Lazar Vardakas would be somewhere in his middle thirties, she decided, though she was unable to see any grey in his hair. Without knowing it her eyes fell to his legs, seeing the hard muscle of his thighs beneath the material of his lightweight suiting. As soon as she became aware of where her eyes were fixed, she hurriedly raised them, and went a fiery red as she looked straight into the eyes of the man who had given her permission to fly with him, all too well aware that he knew she had been making a study of his thighs.

  His look was tight, as though he hadn't liked what she was doing, as though he didn't like her very much for that matter either.-

  'Mr Vad ...' Oh dear, she'd got it wrong again, though she had no idea what she wanted to say—to apologise perhaps. And then he gave her a slow smile. `You appear to have difficulty with mÿ name. Perhaps

  you should call me Lazar,' he invited.·

  `Thank you—Lazar,' she complied, wishing she was more worldly, for he was being so nice to her and she must seem to him to be unsophisticated in the extreme.