by Anna Cleary
Privately, she doubted if those other women’s experiences came even close to the pleasure she’d discovered sleeping with Sebastian. They might think their men were fantastic, but it was hard to believe theirs could be as tender, or as fierce and clever. And beautiful. Why hadn’t she seen before how truly beautiful men could be?
There’d been more heavenly love during the night, with Sebastian taking such gentle care not to hurt her, and he’d said some wonderful things she’d treasure in her heart for ever.
Sebastian must have been an early riser, because when she woke soon after dawn he wasn’t there. He’d come back a little later, glistening wet from an early morning surf to shower and get ready for work. He seemed silent at this time of day, stern and rather brooding. Nothing like the midnight Sebastian. She sensed it might be best to absent herself while he prepared for the office, so she put on his silken robe and wandered giddily out on the balcony to view the surroundings through her dreamy, lovedrunk haze.
And such surroundings. The balcony doors opened to a panoramic view of the Pacific Ocean, with long lines of breakers rolling in to foam on the long sandy beach below the villa. To either side of her more expensive villas and apartment blocks clung to the headland, squeezed in with older, more modest dwellings and charming little shops and restaurants. Stairs from Sebastian’s terraced garden carved a steep narrow path down to the beach walk, where even at this early hour dozens of people strolled or jogged to revel in the bracing sights and smells.
Below the balcony was a sparkling pool, its azure waters cunningly positioned to suggest a cascading effect from pool to ocean. The garden was a little overgrown, though in a leafy corner a lounger and an umbrella table were set up among the weeds with a certain charm.
It wasn’t Naxos, but how would she ever leave it?
She heard Sebastian’s step behind her and turned, smiling. He was fresh with masculine soap and aftershave.
‘Oh, well, I’m off now.’ He bent to brush her cheek with his lips.
Her heart panged. ‘So early?’ She’d hoped he might think it important to spend time with her, but she didn’t want to cling like a needy housewife.
He looked so darkly desirable in his crisp white shirt and business suit, she felt a glow of pride. Legally he belonged to her, at least for the moment. In fact it felt like a risk to let him out of her sight. Amazingly, Jenny, his PA, hadn’t seemed to be in love with him, but there were other women in the workplace, women who must notice his incredible sexiness.
Unable to help herself, she made a slight adjustment to his shirt collar. He barely gave her time to finish before he detached himself and stepped away from her.
‘Oh, I’ve got the marriage certificate here,’ he said, patting his pocket. ‘I’ll fax it from the office, if that’s all right with you?’
‘Oh. Oh, good. That’s fine.’
He sounded so brisk and efficient. Was she imagining it, or was he avoiding meeting her eyes? In no time it seemed he was heading downstairs for the door.
‘What? No coffee? No breakfast?’ she couldn’t prevent herself from calling after him in a last bid to keep him.
He arrested his stride and half turned. ‘There’s stuff in the fridge, I think.’ Then his eyes narrowed. ‘Er…Now that I think of it, you might want to go down to one of the cafés. I’ll catch something in the city.’ He hesitated as if he wanted to say something more, then seemed to think better of it. ‘Well…anyway…have a great day.’ With a backward wave over his shoulder he strode for the door.
Was he so eager to get to his satellite designs? It gave her a bit of a cold burr. She couldn’t imagine Thea allowing Thio Peri to leave for his office without sharing breakfast with her.
Disappointed, she turned back inside and gave her bath a careful rinse, then filled it and climbed in for a long, hot soak in the rosemary-scented bath bubbles she’d brought from Naxos.
In truth, she was sore, though it was a good and useful soreness. The sort that came from having given and received the most bounteous of pleasures as a warm and passionate woman. A real woman, at last. She kept wanting to hug herself with the precious knowledge of her new self.
Fresh-scented and relaxed after her bath, she applied some soothing moisturiser to the areas most affected, then slipped on a tee shirt and went downstairs to investigate the kitchen. There was hardly anything in the fridge, apart from a number of plastic containers holding strange-looking leftovers, and a few bottles of beer. She sniffed a tub of ancient yoghurt and wrinkled her nose in disgust. Nothing like the yoghurt at home. The freezer, on the other hand, was packed with frozen dinners.
No fresh fruit. No vegetables or salad, and where was the coffee? Who could survive on such food?
Postponing the problem, she drifted back upstairs and crawled into the bed to luxuriate in recollections of every fantastic thing Sebastian had done to her, and the gorgeous things he’d said. Every time she thought of how warm his eyes had been her insides swirled. With a twinge she wondered if it was natural of him to have retreated into himself and become rather remote this morning. Perhaps he simply wasn’t a morning person.
She was just drifting into a blissful doze when she was startled back into wakefulness by sounds in the house. Someone was downstairs. Sebastian?
She bounded out of bed and flew down the stairs, only to be brought up short by the sight of a large grey-haired woman in the hall, bucket and mop beside her as she propped herself up against the wall and inhaled from an asthma puffer.
The woman started with surprise when she saw Ariadne. She finished dosing herself and slipped her puffer into the pocket of her capacious overall. ‘Oh, heck,’ she wheezed. ‘I didn’t know anyone was here.’
‘Hello,’ Ariadne said, smiling. ‘Agnes, is it?’
‘That’s right, love. I…’ Agnes broke off again to breathe deeply. ‘Sorry. I just have to catch me breath.’ After a few heavily breathing seconds she inspected Ariadne with curiosity. ‘You must be a friend of Seb—Mr Nikosto.’
Ariadne nodded, noting that Agnes’s face had a high unhealthy colour, as if from major exertion. She held out her hand. ‘Ariadne.’
She’d been about to say Ariadne Giorgias, but wasn’t quite sure where she stood with that now. She clasped Agnes’s rather clammy hand with some concern. ‘Are you feeling quite well, Agnes? Would you like to sit down and have a cup of tea?’
‘Oh, no, love. I’ll be fine in a while. It’s just me asthma. It’s this humid weather. I’m all right if I don’t have to do anything too strenuous. Times like this I just do a bit here and there, and wait for a good day so I can fix up the rest.’ She wheezed in a few breaths, then added, eyeing Ariadne’s tee shirt and bare legs, ‘Staying here, are you?’
Her eyes lit up when Ariadne nodded. ‘Good, good. It’s about time. Don’t like to see a good man go to waste.’ She grinned.
Ariadne smiled uncertainly. ‘Fine. Well, thanks, Agnes. I’ll just…’ She gave a little wave and turned for the stairs.
Agnes bent to pick up her bucket, talking and puffing at the same time. ‘That’s okay. Just leave it with me, love. Though I don’t think I’ll be making it up the stairs today.’
Ariadne walked back up, thinking fast. That bucket looked heavy. Poor Agnes needed help. A villa of this size really needed more staff to do it justice. Sebastian hadn’t seemed very concerned about it last night, though, of course, he’d had other things on his mind. She smiled in recollection of those other things.
Still, if she’d been in charge here, she’d have enjoyed bringing the chaos into order and making everything shine, showing him how comfortable and beautiful his home could be. Heavens, she was even starting to think like a wife. Thea would be so proud to see her life’s work paying off. She grimaced.
A little later she descended again, clad in jeans and a shirt. Agnes was in the dining room, supporting herself by leaning with both hands on a chair back while she caught her breath. She gave Ariadne a wave, clearly unable to speak
.
Ariadne took one look at the suffering woman and was inspired, partly by her conscience. ‘How would it be, Agnes, if I gave you a helping hand?’ Agnes’s mouth dropped open, but she insisted. ‘Come on. Where do you keep all your cleaning potions?’
Vacuuming was strenuous work, Ariadne discovered, and so was washing floors, dusting and polishing. Domestic work had clearly been underrated as an exercise regime. But she’d never have guessed what satisfaction there was in personally being the one to make surfaces gleam and bring the subtle glow of cleanliness to rooms that had formerly been dull and dusty. She could hardly wait to see the surprise and pleasure in Sebastian’s eyes when he came home that evening and saw his villa looking bright and neat and shiny.
Agnes managed some dusting in the downstairs rooms, and, though she’d been worried to be assisted at first, now she seemed grateful to have the load of responsibility shared. In a mounting frenzy of domestic enthusiasm Ariadne attacked the bathrooms with sponges, scrubbing brushes and fresh-smelling germicidal sprays.
Windows, she mused, standing with her hands on her hips to survey her handiwork. Should she clean windows? Theos, married a day and she’d turned into a housewife. If Naxos could see her now!
Agnes went home early to rest, to Ariadne’s secret relief.
After several athletic hours she changed into fresh clothes and prepared to solve the food problem. If she was to stay in Bronte a few days, for those few days she would try to somehow alter the breakfast situation to eat with Sebastian. Perhaps outside on the kitchen deck? By the pool? In bed?
Her insides flipped over when she thought of bed, then she experienced a tinge of regret. Bed might have become a whole new universe of excitement and delight, but it was one that couldn’t last.
It was a pleasant downhill walk to the shops. People greeted her and said, ‘Good morning,’ several elderly souls stopping to chat about the weather. Exactly like Naxos. Among the restaurants she found a café with Danish pastries and quite good coffee. Disappointingly, their orange juice was the same fake stuff she’d been given at the airport and elsewhere.
There was a busy little delicatessen, with a fruit shop attached. She managed to fill a trolley, though remembering the hotel experience this time she carefully tallied the prices as she went. Feta and Greek yoghurt—so they said—eggs and bacon and tomatoes, in case Sebastian liked Australian breakfasts. Cereal to cover all contingencies. Olives and filo pastry, although she couldn’t find any real myzithra cheese to bake inside the layers, and had to make do. Italian coffee beans, tea from India. Oranges, honey and pine nuts, spinach and salad vegetables, and the best olive oil available, though it wasn’t Greek.
And what about Sebastian’s dinner? she thought with a surge of excitement. A man needed a nourishing diet. Simple Greek food, Thea always said, was the best in the world. Ideas for the dishes she might cook crowded into her head.
In the end she had to negotiate with the shop proprietor to deliver all the supplies to the villa. Delivery cost only a little more, though luckily she’d be getting her inheritance in a few days, because her funds were now quite alarmingly low.
After the walk back, she found the boxes of groceries ready and waiting on the doorstep. Excellent. She braced herself. Time to attack the kitchen and make it fit for haute cuisine.
Sebastian closed the Thursday meeting, conscious of the worried faces of his colleagues. Athens would be sleeping at this time, so, although he’d sent the proof of his marriage first thing, it would be several hours before he heard from Peri Giorgias and could relay the good news. His team deserved something to cheer them up.
When the contract came through, signed, sealed and delivered, he’d give everyone a substantial pay rise, extra time off and a bonus for their work on the Giorgias project. In the meantime…
In the meantime, he was glad when the seemingly excruciatingly long meeting was over and he could concentrate on the issue possessing his soul.
He’d married a woman. Another woman. A beautiful, sexy woman was in his house, waiting and available.
Every so often his conscience tried to throw in sly glimpses of Esther towards the end to torture him, her eyes and cheeks sunken, her skin like paper, but replays of the previous night had stormed in to dominate his head-space. Throughout the entire day he’d found himself stopping every so often and closing his eyes so he could savour the stirring images. Ariadne’s lovely body, her smooth satin limbs. Her blue eyes, heavy-lidded and languorous in the lamplight, with that devastating mixture of naivety and arousal.
So trusting, so—giving. Her sensual beauty had promised passion, and he hadn’t been disappointed. Far from it. She’d surrendered herself to him with total generosity and he’d immersed himself in her until his senses were saturated with her. And still he’d craved more.
While afterwards…His thoughts kept straying to her sweet low voice confessing her secrets in the dark. No wonder she’d seemed fragile, after that painful wedding scandal. Again she’d managed to pierce his emotional armour to move him. He’d felt such a fierce need to protect her, to hold her to him, and…
He clenched his fists. For God’s sake, what was he doing? His wife, his true love only three years in the ground, and here he was lusting after another woman, imagining he was feeling things, emotions his conscience told him he had no right to feel.
In a rational sense he could diagnose the situation, of course. He’d been working too hard. Worrying too much about the crisis. Add to that having been deprived of feminine company for some time, it was only natural his senses should have woken up with such a vengeance. He was in the middle of a firestorm, and he’d just have to douse the flames.
Unless, of course, he could think of some safe way to ride them out?
No, it was clear the only way to deal with these few days would be to hold Ariadne Giorgias at arm’s length. Already she was creeping into his mind, twining herself around his emotional nerve centre like some sort of addictive drug. It wasn’t as if she were even his choice. The less he saw into her and her little issues, the better.
His last glimpse of her this morning flashed into his mind. She’d looked so utterly desirable wrapped in the overlarge robe, her hair all in a tangle. The surprise in her eyes when he’d been a little curt with her had somehow twisted its way into his guts and stayed with him all the way into the city. But he needed to make it clear to her nothing had changed. Having sex meant nothing more than that. Sex, pure and simple.
Ms Giorgias needed to understand. She was temporary. Esther, Esther was the lodestar of his life.
He couldn’t help wondering, though, what Ariadne would be doing with herself all day out at Bronte. How did a princess kill time in an empty house? He’d actually considered phoning her at various stages to see if she was all right, but thank God he’d conquered that weakness. Would he have been able to trust himself not to rush home and bed her all over again?
The strange look Jenny had given him when he’d bowled in this morning earlier even than the usual time flicked into his head, and he frowned to himself. Jenny should stick to worrying about her job.
As knock-off time approached people said their goodbyes and hurried off to their homes and families. The building gradually grew quiet. Lights started flickering on all over the city, but he didn’t bother with his desk lamp. The dark made for better brooding, and he needed to get his head around things.
Esther’s life and joy had been snatched away from her. God forgive him for the selfish bastard he was, but he had to grit his teeth and acknowledge the truth about himself at last. Shameful, despicable, but he’d actually felt relief when her dreadful battle was over and she was gone.
He heard the cleaners’ cheerful clatter, then even that diminished. He stayed frozen at his desk, trying not to imagine the vivid woman at home, his soul in a vice.
Ariadne checked the oven for the umpteenth time. The potatoes looked scrumptious, and the aroma of the resting lamb reminded her it had been a
long time since lunch. The salad had been sitting there ready for some time, and a simple avgolemono soup simmered fragrantly on the stove. She hoped Sebastian was hungry.
She’d unearthed a cloth, and set the dining table with silver and the only glasses she could find. In the absence of flowers she’d picked a leafy spray from a shrub in the garden.
She looked anxiously at her watch. Nearly nine. She remembered him saying he didn’t always come home for dinner, but he would tonight, surely? Maybe she should call him. She gave him another twenty minutes, then headed for the study.
Sebastian’s study was surprisingly well organised and quite atmospheric, with books neatly tucked into their shelves, and, on the walls, huge, glowing maps of star constellations to vie with the evening sky visible through the wide windows. At some point he must have intended to work in here, she thought, preparing to dial his mobile number. Her eye fell on a framed photo and she stood stock-still.
It was of Sebastian, on the steps of a church with a bride. A red-hot needle jabbed Ariadne’s chest in that initial instant of shock, and her wild heart revved up for a few pounding seconds, so that she had to sit down until her brain caught up with her body.
So, he was married. Had been, she presumed, since he didn’t seem at all like the sort of guy to commit bigamy. Although what did she know of him, really?
When her heart had slowed down she studied the picture. He was quite a bit younger there, his handsome face split with his gorgeous white grin. The bride was quite lovely too, she supposed. Dark-haired, although clearly not Greek. She didn’t have the big, dark shining eyes, either. They had that look people in love had, joy and euphoria pouring from every pixel.
Ariadne’s heart suffered another jab as she noticed his arm around the woman’s waist. How silly though. How absurd to feel jealous about something she knew nothing about.