Devil in Disguise

by Jessica Steele

  'Didn't she ...' Clare began.

  'Not a word did she say,' Kit told her. 'I protested none too quietly that she was a liar and was told in no uncertain terms to be quiet. And then to my amazement he was telling her he didn't believe a word of what she had told her parents, going to stand over her and telling her that as soon as he'd word from Aeneas of what had happened he'd gone to collect her seducer's sister. "I took her to my villa with the sole intention of doing to her what had been done to you," he said. Then all hell broke loose, Clare: I jumped out of my chair, ready to hit him for what he'd been going to do to you, Aeneas was on his feet pushing me back into my seat before I could land a blow, Sophronia had started to cry and Lazar lost his temper. I heard him putting the boot in by asking how she would feel to have it on her conscience as he would have done for the rest of his life had he carried out his intent and damaged a girl who had once in her life already learned that men could be beasts. I was so shaken to hear that you must have told him what happened to you when you were fourteen that I just sat there stunned. Then as though it was too much for him to remember to speak in English with his temper shot, he launched into a tirade of Greek that had Sophronia spilling everything out in the same language.'

  `So you don't know what her side of the story was,' Clare gasped, her packing, almost completed, having been forgotten about for some time.

  'Oh yes. He waited until she'd come to a sobbing finish, then with his voice like ice, he said, "In English now, please. That is the least you owe Mr Harper."

  ' 'He made her tell it again?'

  'Every word. Though by the time she'd finished, I was feeling more sorry for her than anything else.' Clare smiled softly. Kit's heart was like butter. Despite all that had happened, he could still find it in his heart to be sorry for the weeping girl. Though she, found it in her own heart to feel sorry for her when Kit went on to say:

  'Apparently her father had made several attempts to get her married—it's the custom in Greece for the families to do the arranging. But Sophronia wasn't buying it. Aeneas told me on the way here that she's mixed up with a growing movement of feminists in Greece. Anyway, young Sophronia had decided she wanted a career first, and only when she was ready a husband, one of her own choosing.'

  `Oh dear,' said Clare, able to imagine the conflict that must have warred inside the Greek girl, conflict that must have been pretty strong for her to want to flout her country's traditions.

  'Oh dear is right,' Kit grimaced. 'It all came to a head that night I came across her. Vardakas senior had taken her to task, telling her she had to conform and that the following evening the man who was to be her future husband was coming with his parents to dine.'

  `Sophronia was upset about that,' Clare guessed. 'And then some! Her father had put his foot down pretty firmly, from what I can gather—Aeneas told me too that because she was such a late arrival—he was sixteen when she was born, Lazar eighteen-they'd all spoilt her to death. But this time no one seemed likely to let her wind them round her little finger. There must have been one hell of a row which ended with Mr Vardakas refusing to budge and Sophronia dashing out of the house almost beside herself with the frustration of it all.'

  `And that was when you met her?'

  `I wish I never had,' said Kit, his face grim for a moment. `Anyway, by the time she arrived back home, her parents were nearly hairless with the worry of wondering where she'd got to. They then proceeded to put her through the third degree, ranting at her to tell them where she'd been. She's a stubborn cuss, as I saw for myself before Lazar got to work on her, and refused to tell them anything. That was until her father dropped out that anything could have happened to her, and then she had the brilliant idea of saying she'd been seduced, knowing that no man of good family would want to marry her after that.'

  `And so leaving her free to have her own way after all,' Clare inserted, having followed everything Kit was telling her very closely.

  `Exactly. To her credit she had no intention of telling them where to find me, though for authenticity she'd dropped out my name. What she'd reckoned without, though, was that her father would trace the taxi firm and through them—me.' Kit paused reminiscently. `She was crying buckets by the, time she'd finished repeating all this, but her two brothers were immune to her tears.'

  Clare could just imagine the scene, could imagine the proud look Lazar would wear, his face cold at the shame Sophronia had brought to them all by her lies.

  `What happened then?' she asked.

  `Lazar made her apologise, and then,' Kit paused a moment before going on, `and then he asked to see me privately.'

  Poor Lazar, Clare couldn't help thinking. His pride must have suffered a severe blow. He would want to see Kit privately to give him his own full apology, and maybe assure him that he had not carried out his threat to seduce her.

  `Come on, Clare, let's get out of here,' said Kit, seeing from her solemn face that she looked near to tears herself, but with no idea that her heart was bleeding for the way Lazar must have felt.

  `Nearly ready,' she said, forcing a bright note.

  Kit strolled out with her case as Clare took one last look round the room, her eyes coming to rest on the communicating door. She had a real battle against tears then. Oh, if only she'd had the nerve to go through that door! She would at least have that to remember. Instinct told her Lazar would have been patient with her, and she remembered her feelings when his hand had touched her naked breast, and she—she would have given him her all. Too late now. Too late...

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  BECAUSE Aeneas was there, Kit did not have an opportunity to put any questions to Clare. And as she sat with her brother in the rear seat of the car as Aeneas drove them to the airport, Clare was too upset by the thought that she had already said goodbye to Lazar, that she had no information she wanted to volunteer.

  It seemed impossible that she would never see Lazar again. Her broken heart cried out for just one

  more chance to see him—just once more, that was all she asked. Yet she knew he wouldn't be there at the airport to see them off. Even if his pride had not taken that bitter blow of knowing his sister had lied, she couldn't think he would come away from the hospital after seeing his uncle just for the purpose of seeing her off.

  Her mind went back to how friendly he had been with her that morning, the way he had sat on the couch with his arm around her, the way he had made her a cup of tea. Dear heaven, they had been friends then, she knew it. Oh, if only she had known then that it was the last time she was to see him, she wouldn't have stalked off with her cool pride.

  She came out of the sadness of her thoughts to find Aeneas had turned the car into the approach road of the airport. It was foolish of her to scan her eyes looking for the Mercedes convertible, for it wasn't there, but she freely admitted that love had made a nonsense of logic.

  'If you will come this way, Clare.' Aeneas spoke gently at her side, and because he was the brother of Lazar, she smiled at him.

  Between them Kit and Aeneas carried the luggage and she was left with Kit while Aeneas went to check on the arrangements.

  'You look a bit peaky, Clare,' Kit observed. `Are you sure you're feeling all right?'

  She would have to make an effort to cheer up, she saw, her mind having been far away wondering if she could ask Aeneas to say goodbye to Lazar for her. `I'm fine, Kit,' she said, and lied, `Looking forward to getting home.'

  `And so say all of us ! ' was Kit's heartfelt reply.

  Aeneas returned, a pile of magazines beneath his arm which he gave to Clare with the comment, `Perhaps these will save the journey from being too tedious for you, Clare.'

  Thanking him for his kindness, she took the magazines from him, thinking that Aeneas too had a share of the same charm she had seen in Lazar from time to time. It was on the tip of her tongue to try and form some message for him to give to his brother, but shyness held her quiet for a moment too long, and by that time Aeneas had turned to Kit and was tellin
g him that if they went through to the departure lounge their plane would be ready to take off.

  He shook hands with Clare first, wishing her a pleasant flight, then turned to shake hands with Kit. A sudden jostle of people next to Clare had her separated from her brother. She knew he must have thought she had already gone through as she saw him disappear. Aeneas must have thought so too, for looking to give him a last smile she saw him going in the opposite direction.

  As she was about to turn to go through to the departure lounge, her eyes widened and she stood rooted. For there, having spotted her snowy head straight away and coming towards her, was Lazar.

  She knew her colour was high, but try as she might nothing would get the smile she wanted to come. Lazar too, she saw when he reached her, was unsmiling. He stood looking down at her and the thought winged to her mind that years seemed to have been added to him since she had seen him last early that morning.

  `Lazar, I ...' she began, wanting to tell him not to be upset because of what Sophronia had done. But the words stuck, and it came to her that his pride would prefer she didn't mention it. 'I'm—I'm glad you came,' she said instead. And when he just continued to look at her as though wanting to photograph her image, which just showed how badly he affected her, she thought, blaming love for the idiot she had become, she added, 'I wouldn't have wanted to go without saying goodbye to you.'

  `You forgive me, then, Clare?' he asked, his voice sounding tightly in check.

  `Forgive you!'

  'Kit has told you Sophronia lied.'

  Her smile broke. 'Oh, Lazar, of course I forgive you,' she exclaimed, feeling there would be nothing to forgive if only he would smile in return.

  'Your heart is much too tender,' he said, his voice softening, but with no smile for her. 'You are about to take off.'

  It was a statement, no answer needed, but she replied, 'Yes.' She knew she had to turn and leave him, but she felt too choked to utter another word, afraid she might shake him rigid by begging him to let her stay.

  Some part of her had her holding out her hand to him in a movement to shake hands, but it seemed to her she had no part in the formal gesture. Afraid that any minute now her face would crumple, she looked at his hands down by his sides, for he had made no move to take her hand in his. Shaken, she saw his fists were clenched and knew that it had taken a lot for him to hang on to his pride and come to say goodbye to her.

  She was no longer smiling when her eyes met his. She let her hand fall. 'Goodbye, Lazar,' she said quietly, and went to turn away.

  And then, to her utter amazement—and joy—Lazar's two hands came up to stay her as he took her by the shoulders, and the next moment she was in his arms.

  'Hérete, karthia mou,' he said thickly, his voice sounding so agonised, so disturbed, that involuntarily she was jerking backwards out of his arms and standing white-faced to stare at him. She had no idea what he had said, but there was so much emotion in his voice she just had to look at him to see if her ears had played her false.

  They had. Imagination, damned imagination again, she thought as she stood speechlessly looking at him. For there was no emotion to be seen, agonised, disturbed or otherwise, as taut-cheeked he looked into her shocked eyes. And then he took a step back and without waiting another second, without so much as another glance at her, he turned swiftly about and strode determinedly away.

  They had been in the air some ten minutes before Clare was able to put any reason into her imaginings of her parting from Lazar. Oh God, she groaned, what an idiot she was! Why couldn't she just have accepted his embrace of parting as that given only from a man who had seen her through a few emotional crises?—her first kiss, her nightmare, to name but two. He had intended, she saw now, that they should part as friends. And what had she done but jumped back out of his arms as though she was still afraid of men, still afraid of him.

  Kit asking her how in the world she had managed to trick Bruce into leaving, and why had she done so, had her setting her mind to work in other directions to tell him how it had come about.

  She was glad to have Kit with her on that flight, glad that he found so many questions to ask, all of which needed an answer, for at least it kept her from thinking solely of the growing miles separating her from Lazar.

  It was she who suggested they shouldn't tell their parents anything of what had happened, and when Kit looked doubtful, following up what she had told him of her feeling guilty that the whole family considered her before they considered themselves, hence her lying to him so he like Bruce should have a holiday on his own, she added:

  'It will only worry them, make them wonder if it's sent me more into myself, and it hasn't, Kit, honestly it hasn't. Couldn't we just tell them that both you and I went to the flat Peter Nolan booked in Athens?'

  Kit thought about it for some minutes, then, 'Perhaps you're right. It would worry them to know what's happened—it wouldn't be a very nice homecoming, would it?'

  August gave way to September, September to October, and not a day passed when Clare did not think of Lazar. She had heard nothing of him—not that she expected to, but that didn't make it any easier to bear.

  The family were all together again, their holidays mostly forgotten. Bruce had returned after thoroughly enjoying his time spent potholing, and her parents had returned looking much more relaxed for their break.

  Over the next few months after their return, they all began to notice small changes in Clare, each change noted with small apprehension and a great deal of pleasure. For all there were times when she sat quietly, a faraway look in her eyes, there were red letter days like the day she took the Mini into town and came home with a whole range of cosmetics she thought she would like to try, the day she tried out a different hairstyle before deciding she liked her old style best. Small things, admittedly, but to her family who had seen her through the days when she had been afraid of her own shadow, they were things that gave them all a lift. The night Clare went to bed and for the first time closed her bedroom door behind her had them anxiously looking at each other. But when the next night and the night after that the same thing happened, they began silently to rejoice. Was she losing her fear of the dark?

  Apprehension and pleasure were about of equal mix the day she told them she had accepted an invitation to go to the cinema with Bruce's friend Rob Edmonds.

  Clare silently admitted she was a little apprehensive about her date herself. She had no special feelings for Rob, Lazar held all of those, but in bringing her to life Lazar had awakened in her a curiosity to learn more of the everyday things that went on in the world.

  The night Rob called for her, Bruce, seemingly casual, went to let his friend in, but it was some minutes before they both came into the sitting room. The protection her family had practised was still there, then? Clare had no doubts that Bruce had been telling Rob not to try anything with her, probably threatening what he would personally do to him if he did.

  Shyly—perhaps she would always be shy; she didn't know—she sat beside Rob in his car; shyly she had sat beside him in the cinema. He behaved perfectly and after the film brought her straight back home, not attempting to stop on the way or try to kiss her at her door. She hadn't wanted him to, and as her confidence grew she agreed to go out with him another couple of times. On the last of these outings he had attempted to kiss her, but her sharply called out 'Don't!' as she struggled out of arms that didn't fit stopped him, brought forth an apology plus the revelation that Bruce had told him of her deep-rooted shyness, but that she was so sweet he had forgotten himself.

  Clare had gone into the house knowing she had not been afraid when Rob's arms had come round her. She wasn't afraid of being kissed by him either. It was just that loving Lazar so much she had felt compelled to call out `Don't!' wanting no one's mouth on hers but his.

  October gave way to November, and still there was no let-up in her heartache. Conversation began to be of Christmas, preparations to be made, shopping to be done. And it was on the last
Saturday in November when Clare had gone with Kit to select something suitable for a child to give for the raffle at the village Christmas Fayre, that as Kit went to pay for the construction set which he said would be suitable for a boy or girl since girls were into such things now, Clare stood near a display of dolls in the toy department while waiting for him to be served.

  She was glancing idly along the display when suddenly one doll stood out from all the rest. A small 'Oh!' left her involuntarily as she gazed at the doll beautifully arrayed in Greek national costume, oblivious to the fact that Kit had come to join her, the memories seeing the doll evoked taking her to that far-off land.

  `Hmmp.' Kit's grunt had her coming out of her trance. 'Greeks ! ' he muttered disparagingly, and piloted her out of the store.

  They were back in the car before another word was said, but she had been thinking as they walked along. The disparaging way Kit had said `Greeks' was painful to her. She didn't want him to feel that way.