by Celia Scott
'More than any of the others. But she could not catch him,' Athena gave a giggle.
Not yet, she hasn't! Philippa thought grimly, but judging from last night she hasn't given up hope. 'She's certainly a very lovely woman,' she said, rubbing salt into the wound.
'Not as lovely as you, Pippa,' Athena replied loyally. 'You are so blonde and tall—like one of the caryatids on the Erectheum on our Acropolis.'
'Supporting a roof on my head? That explains why I have a headache,' sighed Philippa. For indeed the combination of sugar, sunshine, and repressed jealousy had produced a slight headache.
Athena was all sympathy and insisted on returning home at once so that Philippa could rest. Once in her room. Philippa dutifully swallowed the aspirins that were offered, and lay on her bed to recover before getting ready for a reception she was to attend with Damon.
She turned over the snippets of information she had learned. The image of Damon as a rake was quite a revelation. Surely, she thought, if he had so many women in his life he could have asked one of them to act as married chaperone. It sounded as if they were all anxious to trap him; the idea of a summer as Mrs Everett would have appealed to any number of his conquests. And no doubt he wouldn't have had to confine himself to a marriage in name only, not with a lady like Thalia; she appeared only too eager to jump into bed with him, Philippa thought nastily. But of course that very eagerness might be a mark against them. For how could he rely on them quietly going out of his life at the end of the appointed time? With a woman like Philippa, a woman he was not attracted to, one he could treat solely as an employee he was quite safe. He believed she felt nothing for him, and therefore was no threat to his precious freedom.
Little did he guess that she burned with jealousy every time she even thought about him with any of his wretched females. He could not know that she ached to have him touch her, caress her, to release the torrent of passion locked within her. That to be his, body and soul, was becoming an obsession, so that his physical presence was both ardently desired and dreaded by her, it was so exquisitely painful.
Her headache had subsided now, but the pain in her heart hadn't. It remained, a sad little stone lying in her breast.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Two days later they left for Crete. In spite of the help of Eda and Spiro who took care of the packing and bought the first class tickets on the ferry, there was still a lot to do. Athena needed clothes for Chania, and Philippa needed sunglasses and sun-tan lotion, for Crete is the farthest south of all the Greek islands, and while it was still cool in Athens, the sun would already be baking the rocky cliffs and windswept valleys there.
After they had bought Athena's new things Philippa prowled around the smart shops on her own for a couple of hours. She discovered that Damon had deposited a staggering amount of spending money in her account, and felt free to be extravagant. She purchased a narrow gold chain with a charm representing an ancient Grecian coin, and a gold ring set with amethysts. These were for Martha. Later Philippa sat at one of the outdoor restaurants sipping lemonade, while she wrote a four-page letter to her sister trying to describe Athens and her life, without giving anything away. She found it increasingly difficult to live on several levels of play-acting. So far her correspondence with Martha had consisted of postcards, and she decided to try and keep it that way as much as possible. There was a limit to how much information could be put on a postcard.
Their last evening in Athens Damon took Philippa and Athena to dinner at Phaleron Harbour. It was Athena's favourite place, and as soon as they arrived Philippa could understand why. To the left lay the harbour, the water black as silk. Right by the water's edge were the restaurant tables under canvas awnings, lights strung haphazardly over them. When they caught the breeze they would cast a momentary diamond glitter on to the inky water. The restaurants themselves were on the other side of the road, and the waiters, trays piled high with food, would thread their way perilously through the traffic to serve the diners.
They found an empty table, and after ordering ate the good Greek bread which had come to the table in a silver-gilt basket, washing it down with glasses of rich, sweet Mavrodaphne.
Athena was delighted that Philippa approved her taste in dining out. 'I knew you would like it here, Pippa,' she said, 'you are not stuck-up like so many of Uncle Damon's other ladies were.'
'Don't be silly, Kookla,' Damon broke in. 'I've never known any stuck-up ladies!'
'You have,' Athena insisted. 'When we came here with Madame Speroudakis she did not like it one bit. She said it was common,' she confided to Philippa.
'Madame Speroudakis was wearing a long dress and it rained that night,' Damon pointed out. 'Pippa, very sensibly, is wearing a short dress, and the weather's perfect.'
'I had advice about clothes,' said Philippa. 'Athena chose my dress.' The charm of Phaleron Harbour was dimmed for her now she knew he had visited it with Thalia.
'And a very good choice it was,' said Damon. 'I like that silk, it looks like pale green grass.' She was dressed in a celadon green shirt dress that swirled round her hips like water. 'You look like a lovely mermaid, Pippa—as if you'd joined us from the water.'
'If I'd joined you from the water I'd be more likely to be a rat,' Philippa said acidly. 'That water's too dirty for mermaids.'
Damon didn't answer, he just smiled at her and took a sip of wine. Athena chattered on about their afternoon's shopping while Philippa watched the waiters scurrying between cars, and tried to regain her good humour. It was so annoying, she thought, that each time she saw Damon now he seemed to grow more attractive. He had met them straight from his office and was still dressed in a navy blue raw-silk business suit. He looked so urbane, so devastatingly handsome, she found it hard not to stare at him in admiration. She remembered that when she had first met him she hadn't found him particularly good-looking, and reflected wryly on the power of love.
'Something on your mind, Pippa?'
She came back to earth with a jolt. 'No… no. Just worrying about the waiters,' she lied. 'I was wondering if we'll get our dinner without sacrificing a waiter in the process!' They laughed, and Philippa made an effort to shake off her mood of melancholy, so that by the time their food arrived, miraculously unspilled, she appeared quite normal again.
They finished eating around ten, quite early by Greek standards. When they were driving home Damon said:
'I'm dropping you and Athena off at the apartment, Pippa, I have an appointment.'
'At this hour?' She could have bitten her tongue out as soon as she'd spoken—she sounded exactly like an aggrieved wife!
'In Greece a lot of business is transacted after dinner, Philippa,' Damon told her. 'Besides, the person I want to see won't be available tomorrow.'
He's probably meeting Thalia, Philippa thought miserably, or some other woman. For she now imagined him relentlessly pursuing new conquests, each more beautiful than the last. It's nothing to do with me, she counselled herself, but her advice brought no comfort, and she spent a restless night.
Damon was not with them when they left for the ferry the following morning, and she wondered sadly if he had returned to the apartment at all last night.
The ferry looked the size of a respectable ocean liner to Philippa. She leaned on the mahogany rail of the upper deck watching the crowds milling around the quay. Black-clad women clutched small children, impressive-looking priests of the Greek Orthodox Church, their flowing robes and beards whipped by the wind, rubbed shoulders with university students dressed in faded jeans, the uniform of the young all over the world. On the jetty pedlars sold everything from worry beads to pretzel-shaped bread rolls that were threaded on long poles that threatened to knock out the eyes of the unwary.
Idly she watched a crane lower a bright red sports car into the hold. It shone like an exotic scarlet insect in the sunshine. Then she saw Damon striding towards the first class entrance, a good head taller than the Greeks jostling around him. He had changed into casual clot
hes, and exchanged the navy suit for beige corduroy slacks and a soft suede zippered jacket. He waved when he saw her, and bounded athletically up the gangplank. Seconds later the ship's whistle let out its strident hoot and they were off. People waved and cried, and shouted last-minute messages dramatically. Someone threw paper streamers at the departing ferry, then the ship gathered speed, leaving Piraeus behind, ploughing steadily through the dark blue water towards the enigmatic island of Crete.
Damon arrived at her side, not even slightly out of breath.
'I was beginning to get worried,' she said, 'I thought you'd forgotten us.' Too busy with your mistress to remember your 'pretend wife', she thought to herself.
'The ferry wouldn't have left without me, Pippa. The owner of the line's a friend of mine.'
'I keep forgetting how important you are,' she said, 'it's rather overwhelming sometimes. Very rich for my blood.'
'But you're used to dealing with rich things… all that cream and pate! Why not just relax and enjoy it?' He smiled at her lazily, and she smiled back. For how could anyone nurse a grievance in all this blue air and rushing sea?
'And while we're at it…' Damon reached out and unclipped her hair, putting the silver barrette into the pocket of his jacket and zipping it decisively, 'I want to see the wind in your hair,' he said.
'Damon!' she cried, laughing as she pushed back her windblown hair from her eyes. She felt suddenly lighthearted, for she realised she would have the whole day with him here on this blessed ferry, where there were no old girl-friends to snatch him away.
Athena rushed on to the deck and nearly fell into Damon's arms. She started chattering excitedly in Greek, then remembering Philippa changed to English.
'Come and see our stateroom, Pippa… quickly…' she pulled at the unresisting Philippa, 'come on!'
Their stateroom was also on the upper deck, amidships, and when Philippa climbed through the doorway she caught her breath with delight. Every available space was crammed with orchids—great baskets of yellow ones, purple orchids in crystal vases, bunches of pale greenish striped ones, as well as bunches of yellow wallflowers and tall blue iris. On the coffee table was a shallow silver bowl filled with violets.
'A foretaste of Crete,' said Damon. 'We're famous for our orchids, and they'll be finished in a week or so… so will the other flowers.'
'They're beautiful, Damon! And violets too. I didn't know violets grew in Crete.'
'They don't. I had those flown in from England… in case you were feeling homesick.' For some unaccountable reason he looked shy.
'I'm not a bit homesick, but I love the violets. Thank you!' Philippa was touched that he could be so thoughtful, but a warning voice reminded her that it could also be the ploy of a philanderer. Any man used to seducing women would have a repertoire of such pleasing gestures.
'Oh good—tiropetas, delicious!' Athena greeted the steward who entered with a luncheon tray. 'Tiropetas are cheese tarts, Pippa, I don't think you've tasted them yet.'
'Athena is giving me a gastronomical introduction to Greece,' Philippa laughed. 'Every day I get a new taste sensation. And each one is better than the last.'
Damon opened champagne. He offered a glass to Athena, but she refused, drinking instead her favourite cherry soda.
They soon polished off the tiropetas, then ate dolmades, vine leaves stuffed with ground meat, rice, and pine nuts, served with yogurt that had a hint of lemon. A dish of nuts and fresh fruit, together with espresso coffee, finished the meal.
Philippa gave a sigh of repletion and stretched out her long legs. She was wearing the white linen slacks and emerald striped shirt she had bought in England.
'Some brandy, Pippa?' Damon asked.
'No, thanks,' Philippa giggled. 'I've had more than enough champagne, I'll sleep all afternoon if I drink any more!'
'Well, I'm sending you both off for a nap now,' Damon said loftily, 'I've a lot of work to do.'
She straightened up in her chair. 'I don't want to go to bed, thank you, Damon,' she said. 'I'm neither drunk nor ill.' Nor about to be bossed around by you, she thought testily.
'I'm not suggesting you're either. But it's a long trip and a rest will do you good. I can't spend any more time entertaining you.'
'I'm not asking you to entertain me. I shall simply have a walk around the ship and entertain myself.' Her tawny eyes glittered with battle.
'You can do all that after you've had a nap.' He turned to his niece, who was watching this clash of wills with fascination. 'Off you go to your cabin, Kookla, and set a good example.' Dutifully Athena left them.
'Honestly, Damon,' Philippa was outraged, 'I must ask you to stop treating me as if I was ten years old! Once and for all, I don't want to go to bed?
He gave an exaggerated sigh of patience. 'Very well, I'll compromise. You will lie on a lounge chair on deck for an hour. Will you agree to that?'
'With a book?' she said mutinously.
'With an entire library if you wish.'
'All right. But I think it's ridiculous,' she conceded. She was livid that it was not possible to let him know she resented being ordered around by him, in the face of his cavalier behaviour the previous evening.
A steward was summoned, and she was installed in a cane chair, and wrapped in a light mohair blanket. Damon watched this operation sardonically, then returned to the stateroom to work.
Philippa was awakened two hours later by Damon's velvety voice. 'Tea-time, Pippa. If you sleep any longer you'll miss the sunset.'
The shadows had lengthened and the sea was dark indigo. Philippa got up hurriedly, dropping her unopened book and struggling with the blanket that wound itself round her legs like a mummy's bandages.
'Take it easy, Sleeping Beauty,' Damon cautioned, 'there's no rush. The tea's too weak to walk away from the table.' He untangled the blanket and picked up her book, 'Browning, eh?' he went on, 'Nice light reading when one's not feeling like taking a nap!' She chose to ignore this, and together they went to the stateroom where tea was waiting.
The tea was indeed little more than coloured water, but there was a splendid almond cake to make up for it, and pieces of chopped fruits and nuts that had been dipped in a chocolate so dark they looked black on the white porcelain dish. Blinking sleepily, Philippa drank a cup of the straw-coloured tea, aware of Damon's detached amusement.
Later Philippa stood alone on deck listening to the swish-swish of the ship cutting through the dark water, and watching the sun sink, a glory of cloud-streaked gold. Damon had wrapped the mohair blanket around her shoulders, since the evening air was chill. When dusk fell she became aware of humps of land, silent islands in the surging sea. Sometimes she glimpsed a light winking in the black hills, but for the most part the shapes were unilluminated and sombre. Now the sun had vanished the only brightness visible was the white foam where the ship's prow carved the blue-black sea.
'We'll be docking in Souda Bay about eleven,' Damon's soft voice startled her, she was so caught up in the magic of sea and stars. 'What were you thinking about, Pippa? You seemed miles away… back in London with Martha?'
'London!… London seems another world. I wasn't thinking of anything in particular, Damon. Wondering about Chania and Crete… and the legend of the Minotaur,' she smiled. 'My knowledge of Greek mythology's a bit limited.'
'You must visit Knossos and see the palace, and Phaestos and Mallia. They're all easy to reach from Chania.'
'Is the labyrinth at Knossos?' asked Philippa.
'It was supposed to have been built there to cage the Minotaur, who was causing a lot of trouble for the Minoans. That was King Minos's fault.' Damon's smile gleamed whitely in the darkness. 'If he'd sacrificed the white bull to Poseidon as promised, Poseidon wouldn't have taken revenge on him by making his wife fall in love with the bull.'
'Poseidon's a very impressive-looking god,' Philippa said, 'I wouldn't like to get on the wrong side of him. He reminds me of yo… of someone I know.'
'Well, King Mi
nos got on the wrong side of him all right, and Minos's wife gave birth to the Minotaur, which proceeded to run amok, so it was locked up in the labyrinth. That's all myth, of course, but the early Minoans did practise bull worship. There's a fresco at Knossos of the bull-leaping, which was part of the athletic games that were religious in character too.'
'Bull-leaping? It sounds very dangerous!'
'It was. Boys and girls did it. They literally grasped the bull by the horns, then leapt over his back while he ran at a gallop. I doubt many of them survived.'
'They don't leap over bulls any more in Crete, I hope?' Philippa queried.
'Not any more. But Crete is still the most savage of all the islands. The countryside is very remote, and feuds and vendettas still flourish. Woe betide anyone who dishonours the daughter of a family! A brother will avenge her, and it's not unknown for the betrayer's body to be found floating in the harbour.'
Philippa gave a shiver of apprehension. 'You make it sound most alarming, Damon,' she said. 'I'm not sure I'll enjoy living among such a violent people.'
'You will love Crete, Pippa,' he answered. 'These things do exist, but the Cretans are also the most hospitable people in the world. They're utterly charming.' He gave a small boy's grin. 'After all, I'm half Cretan, and you know what a delightful fellow I am.'
Philippa smiled and remained silent, her imagination alive with Minotaurs and palaces and stormy vendettas. She became aware of lights in the blackness ahead, and a huge island silhouette rose out of the sea.
'We're nearly there,' said Damon, his voice not quite steady. 'That's the harbour. We're home!'
After a while the curve of the bay was clearer, and Philippa could make out cafes, their brilliantly lit interiors like so many fireflies on the quay. There were clusters of people, like ants swarming around, and taxis waiting for the ferry to dock.
'I'd better see about our luggage,' said Damon, making for the stairs.
'Let me help.'
He turned on her sharply, blocking her way. 'Stay where you are, Philippa. You'll only be in the way down there. If you must go anywhere, go to our stateroom till we're docked.' Clearly he considered her a liability. He looked menacing, his bulk filling the narrow doorway that led to the ship's hold.