Seeds of April

by Celia Scott

  'I've ordered some coffee for us,' she said, 'and you, Athena, have you had breakfast?'

  'Thank you, I breakfasted hours ago,' she contrived to make it sound like a reproof, 'and I do not wish any coffee. I will go and change now, out of this.' She indicated the school uniform she was wearing.

  'Well, don't be long, Athena,' said Damon. 'I want to take you and Pippa to visit the Acropolis, and I have a business meeting at two.'

  The child threw a glance of distaste at Philippa before replying, 'Perhaps you would prefer to go alone with your wife.'

  'Oh, Athena, please come too,' Philippa answered hastily, trying desperately to establish some warmth between them.

  'I have seen the Acropolis before,' was the crushing reply. Philippa noticed a look of displeasure on Damon's handsome face.

  'But I haven't,' she said, before he had a chance to say anything. 'And it would be so nice for me to have a woman around… to share my first impressions.'

  Athena's set face softened slightly. No fourteen-year-old dislikes being called a woman. 'Very well, I shall come. If Uncle Damon wishes it,' she amended.

  'I do,' said Damon, and then added something sharply in Greek, which made Athena's pale little face turn scarlet. With a stifled sob she ran from the room, nearly knocking over Eda, who came in at that moment with the coffee tray.

  After Eda had left them a black silence filled the sunny room. Damon's curved lower lip jutted out in a way Philippa was beginning to recognise as a danger signal.

  She shifted the silver coffee pot into a more convenient position on the tray.

  'Coffee, Damon?'

  'Yes—black.'

  She handed him his steaming cup.

  'To match your mood?' she asked mildly.

  He turned on her the full force of his smouldering blue eyes. 'If I'm in a mood, as you call it, it's with reason. I will not tolerate rudeness. Athena was rude and I told her so. It won't happen again.'

  Philippa stirred sugar thoughtfully into her coffee. 'You surprise me, Damon,' she said.

  He raised an enquiring eyebrow. 'May I ask why?'

  'I always thought of you as a realist. It seems I was wrong.'

  'Indeed?'

  'Look, Damon,' she put aside her coffee and leaned towards him, her tawny eyes looking full into his angry blue ones, 'it's not my business how you treat your niece, but if you want her to like me you're going about it the wrong way.'

  'Indeed?' he repeated.

  'It's perfectly normal for her to resent me, particularly since it's apparent she's dotty over you. Reading her the riot act isn't going to make her like me any better. I'm surprised you can't see that.'

  'You know nothing about me,' he said frostily, 'how can you know what I expect… from anyone?'

  'Well, don't expect too much from her. Give me time to win her. I can't do that if you keep barking at her because she doesn't jump for joy every time she's around me.'

  'I hope you're not going to suggest I'm as submissive with Athena as you are with Martha!'

  Philippa flushed with temper, but she held it in check. 'I'm simply telling you that you're making it impossible for me to do the job I was hired for. At this rate I might as well quit before I start.'

  'Very well,' he conceded with bad grace, 'I'll let you handle it. But I warn you, Philippa, I won't allow you to knuckle under to a series of adolescent insults— even if that's what you're used to at home.'

  Athena came back at this moment, which prevented Philippa making an angry reply. The girl had changed into a skirt and light sweater. She looked younger, and seemed more vulnerable than when she was wearing her severe school uniform. She held herself very upright, and oozed jealousy from every pore. Philippa felt a wave of sympathy for the child, and smiled warmly at her, but the young girl's face remained stony, and it was in an atmosphere crackling with tension that they left for their sightseeing expedition.

  Spiro drove them to the plaka, or market place, at the foot of the Acropolis. Damon gave him instructions to return for the two girls later that afternoon, then silently led the way. They started to climb one of the narrow streets which wound up towards the unblinking splendour of the Parthenon. Small tavernas and bars dotted the pavement with tables. Vines, trained to creep over trellises would give shade to hot and weary customers in the summer. The scent of herbs mingled with the smell of coffee. Black-clad women, dark scarves tied over their hair, hurried by, crossing themselves when they passed one of the countless churches. The window of a kafeinion displayed freshly baked pastries, bursting with honey and nuts. Jewellery stores glittered. Kiosks offered gaudy worry beads and postcards for the tourists who would throng these streets in summer. Now, apart from a few Germans and Japanese, hung about with their inevitable cameras, the place was relatively empty.

  They left the plaka behind and started climbing the hill which led to the Parthenon, crown of the Acropolis. When they reached the restraining railing Damon made a space for her in the sparse crowd, so she would have a clear view. Philippa was tall enough to see without difficulty over the railing, and she gazed in awe at the regal and majestic Parthenon, its graceful, fluted pillars gleaming golden in the sunshine.

  She turned to look at the Erectheum, its slender caryatids, or maidens, timeless as Athena herself, looking far more serene than the goddess's glowering namesake sulking beside her. The pathway Philippa stood on undulated like a sea, it was so worn by the countless feet that had trodden there. Her breath caught in her throat. It's real, she thought, it's not a dream. I'm really in Greece, seeing all this with my own eyes. I don't have to pinch myself to see if I'm dreaming. It's real!

  She stole a look at Damon and was startled to see his eyes were bright with tears. She could understand that. It was so wonderful here, so moving. She longed to touch him, let him know she understood. But she didn't dare.

  He sensed her eyes upon him and turned away. 'Well, that's the famous Parthenon,' he said gruffly, 'just a heap of crumbling stones.'

  'It's one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen,' she said, 'and although it's a ruin, it's still unbelievably alive, and it always will be.' Now she did find the courage to lay her slim hand lightly on his sleeve. 'How proud you must be to have Greek blood in your veins, Damon—to be a part of all this.'

  His face lost its mask of sadness. 'You have quite a heritage yourself, Pippa,' he said. 'England isn't exactly a new country.'

  'But you have a foot in both places.' She turned to the silent Athena. 'You both do. I think Athens is wonderful,' she went on impulsively. 'I wish I had roots here.'

  'You do,' Athena said. 'You have married someone who is partly Greek, which makes you partly Greek too. You are part of our family, whether we like it or not,' she added, just loud enough for Philippa to hear, then she caught her eye and had the grace to blush, kicking the dusty path with her sandalled foot.

  'What's the matter with you now, Athena?' demanded Damon, sounding dangerously irritable.

  'Nothing, Uncle Damon,' Athena replied, close to tears.

  'I think it's time for lunch, Damon,' Philippa said diplomatically. 'I don't know about you two, but historic sights make me very hungry!'

  Glancing at the gold Piaget watch strapped to his lean wrist, Damon agreed. Particularly if he wanted to get to his meeting in time, he said.

  'I thought everything closed for the afternoon in Greece,' said Philippa. 'Isn't there a siesta hour?'

  'That's where the British part of me takes over,' explained Damon, guiding them towards a small taverna at the foot of the hill. 'I don't usually take siestas. And certainly not until it gets hot. My Greek associates deplore this, but I get a lot of work done.' Holding Philippa firmly by the arm, he helped her down the path. The incline of the hill forced her to lean against him, and she was physically aware of his lithe muscular body pressed close to her side. She tried to get more control of her sliding feet, to stand without his aid, but he set such a brisk pace she was unable to pull away. Athena lagged behind, an
d the two adults were seated at a small table outside the cafe by the time she joined them.

  Damon ordered for them, a simple lunch of omelettes filled with salty feta cheese, a plate of tomatoes and black olives, and slices of crusty Greek bread, beige in colour rather than white. They drank chilled retsina, which Damon assured her came fresh from the blue cans of the plaka, and wasn't the bottled kind. At first she wasn't sure about retsina, but after her first sip she decided she liked its resiny flavour. Athena drank orange soda, and remained silent.

  The sun was warmer now, so Philippa removed her green linen jacket and rolled up the sleeves of her pink silk shirt. She looked at Damon sitting across from her, his blue eyes squinting against the dazzle. He's quite the handsomest man here, she thought, and felt unaccountably proud that she wore his wedding ring, even if it wasn't quite the way it appeared to be.

  After a leisurely lunch Damon got up to leave them.

  'Stay a little longer and enjoy a paklava,' he said. He turned to Athena. 'Your new aunt has a sweet tooth, and I intended to indulge it.'

  'She will get fat,' said the girl, finally breaking her silence.

  'Not Pippa. She's not the type.' He turned his attention to Philippa. 'We're dining out tonight with some business associates—a very dressy affair. Now, reluctantly I must leave you both. Athena, be a good girl now!' He planted a kiss on his niece's cloudy face, and after a fraction of a second, kissed Philippa quickly, full on her mouth. His lips were warm, and she fought the desire to put her arms around him and prolong the delicious pleasure his kiss gave her.

  When she had collected herself, and Damon's long-legged figure had disappeared in the maze of streets, the waiter brought them their paklavas—layers of filo pastry, thin as tissue paper, stuffed with walnuts and drenched with honey. She savoured every sweet, delicious bite, then she turned to her sullen companion.

  'What shall we do till Spiro comes for us, Athena? Do you have any plans?'

  'My uncle has told me I am to entertain you this afternoon.'

  'Poor you! That sounds dreadful,' Philippa commiserated. 'What would you do if I wasn't around?' The girl merely lifted her shoulders in an elaborate shrug. 'Well, since you don't have any ideas, I'd like to continue sightseeing.' She wasn't going to pander to Athena's mood. 'Isn't there a museum on the Acropolis?'

  'A small one, yes. And some caves in the hillside, where local children sometimes play and look for shards.'

  'I don't think I'll look for shards today. I'm scared of caves. I suffer from claustrophobia,' Philippa explained.

  'I do not know that word. What does it mean?'

  'That I panic if I'm in a small space without light.'

  'The museum is small. But there is light.'

  'Then let's look. at it, shall we?' She smiled tentatively, but got no response.

  They started to walk across the paved courtyard, towards the museum which was at the far side. Suddenly Athena spoke.

  'How did you meet Uncle Damon?' she demanded, stopping in the centre of the pathway.

  'I worked for him.' They stood facing each other on the narrow track.

  'As his secretary?'

  'No. I cooked for him.'

  Athena's childish mouth opened in amazement. 'You were his cook?' she exclaimed.

  'Not full time,' Philippa smiled. 'I run… ran… my own catering business. Do you know what that is, Athena? It means preparing food for dinner parties, cocktail parties, things like that.'

  'You were his servant? Like… like Eda?' The girl's voice was filled with contempt.

  'Yes, I suppose I was,' Philippa looked unwaveringly into Athena's belligerent eyes. 'Does it shock you?'

  'I did not think my uncle would choose to marry a servant,' Athena said scornfully.

  Philippa gave a light laugh, 'Why, Athena, I do believe you're a snob!' she teased. The girl didn't reply, but turning on her heel continued climbing. Philippa followed, racking her brains to think of something that would break this impasse. Athena stopped beside a hollowed-out room carved into the hillside. It had a crudely constructed door at the opening. This was propped open, showing a makeshift trestle table, covered with shards of pottery.

  'This is perhaps interesting to you,' Athena volunteered, 'they have started another dig in this area. These are the pieces of pottery they have found. It is allowed to go in and examine them,' she continued when Philippa hesitated. Since this was the first time Athena had been even remotely friendly, Philippa, much against her instinct, walked into the dark room and looked at the shards. They were labelled and sorted into various heaps. She leaned over one pile that had a design on the fragments.

  'This looks interesting, Athena,' she said. 'I wonder if they'll be able to construct a vase or amphora from these?' But there was no reply. She turned around, just in time to see Athena straining to push the heavy door shut. Philippa raced towards the rapidly closing door, but she was too late. It closed with a sickening thud and she was alone in the pitch black room.

  'Athena… no!' she screamed. Then she stood still, shaking with terror. She couldn't see a thing. The dark felt like a blanket, suffocating her. She stretched her arms above her head, and easily touched the low ceiling. Taking a step backwards, she bumped into the table, and a fragment of pottery fell to the dirt floor. Easing her way slowly along the edge of the trestle, she found the wall and followed it, inch by inch, until her fingers encountered the wooden door. In relief she felt for the handle. But the door was uniformly even. There was no handle inside, and not a chink of light came through. Panic swept over her again and she pushed against the door with all her strength, pounding the rough wood with ineffectual fists.

  'Athena… help… somebody help me!' she yelled as loudly as she could. The room echoed her cries mockingly. Sliding to the floor, she wondered for a moment if she would faint, so great was her terror. Her breath was coming in painful gulps, and tears of frustration slid down her cheeks. With an immense effort she controlled herself.

  She realised there was no use hammering on the door and screaming. There were no people around this time of day, and even if there had been it was unlikely they could have heard her. But since this was used as a store room, someone would be coming here eventually. It was just a case of… how long?

  She felt something crawling on her ankle, and jerked away in disgust. Trying to control her panic, she deliberately took several deep breaths and started talking aloud. Her voice sounded muffled in the stifling darkness.

  'Please, God, send somebody soon. Please, dear God, don't leave me here too long. Please send Damon. Oh, Damon! Darling Damon, please help me! Please, God, send Damon,' she sobbed, and through her panic she was aware that, more than anyone else in the world, she wanted Damon. Only he could comfort her. In his arms alone would she feel safe.

  Her tears subsided, and she huddled on the floor of the cave-like room, hugging her knees, allowing her thoughts to dwell, unchecked, on Damon, pretending that his arms cradled her, his hands caressing, comforting. She lost track of the time, sitting with the blackness pressing against her like a wall, only the thought of Damon keeping her from total hysteria.

  Then she heard a muffled scuffling outside, and with a creak the heavy door was pushed aside. A narrow shaft of blinding sunshine cut through the darkness like a dagger. For a moment, so powerful was her need of him, she thought it was Damon silhouetted in the narrow doorway. Instead, Spiro came towards her, closely followed by an ashen Athena.

  Stiffly Philippa got to her feet. She realised she must look a wreck. Her pant-suit was stained with mud, her face streaked with tears.

  'Kyria!' Spiro put out his hand to assist his young mistress. She took a shuddering gulp of fresh air, and became so dizzy she had to cling to his arm to prevent herself from falling.

  'Are you all right, Philippa?' Athena's lips were bloodless.

  'I think so.' Assisted by Spiro, Philippa slowly made her way to the waiting car.

  Philippa looked at Athena. 'How long was I in�
� in that place?' She asked.

  'About an hour. I tried to open the door, but it was too heavy for me, so I phoned Spiro to come.'

  'You didn't seem to have any trouble closing it,' Philippa said bitterly, knowing Spiro couldn't understand them.

  'There is a groove. The door falls into it once it is closed. I could not lift it.' Athena lifted her eyes, which were swimming with tears. 'I did try to open it, Philippa—I swear it!'

  'Well, thanks for getting Spiro,' said Philippa. 'I don't think I would have stayed sane much longer.' She was aware of being tired to the point of exhaustion.

  The blessed daylight was making her eyes smart… not that she cared, she was so happy to be freed from that dark prison… gratefully she leaned back against the leather car seat, blinking in the sunshine, allowing her limbs to relax on the silent drive back to Hymettus.

  She knew Athena was anxiously waiting for her to discuss the incident, to be forgiven. But she was too weary to talk. She would deal with Athena, and all the problems attached to that young lady, later. Now all she could think of was a long hot bath, a strong cup of tea, and a serious re-examination of her feelings for her employer-husband, Damon Everett.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  After a strong cup of tea, which she made herself since it seemed beyond Eda's comprehension that anyone would want tea when coffee was available, Philippa took a leisurely bath in the master bedroom's sunken travertine tub. This gave her time to think. She needed time to sort out her feelings, and face a fact she knew she had been avoiding for some days.

  Lying in the scented water, her tall well-formed body relaxed at last, she thought back on the afternoon's ordeal. It was time to be honest with herself. Only the thought of Damon's strong arms, the fantasy that he loved her, had kept her from a total breakdown.