Wife for a Penny

by Anne Hampson

  ‘She was not unique, Liz, that’s why I didn’t marry her.’

  ‘Is that the only reason?’ Liz turned her head and sent him a glance from under her lashes.

  ‘What other reason could there be?’ he countered.

  ‘It’s said that a Greek never marries his pillow friend.’

  He considered that.

  ‘Had you been my pillow friend I most certainly would have married you,’ he replied with some amusement.

  Her eyes narrowed. So his reason for marrying her was desire - or so it would seem. With an ironical twist of her lips she recalled what Grace had said about the probability of his marrying her for love.

  ‘Am I supposed to regard that as flattery?’ she inquired with sarcasm.

  ‘It was flattery, my girl, and you know it.’

  She flushed, but said,

  ‘So I do appeal to you in - in some ways?’

  He waited a moment, then said, with taunting amusement,

  ‘You were going to say “in one way”, weren’t you?’

  ‘All right,’ she retorted. ‘As long as we’re being so outspoken - I appeal to your baser instincts, is that right?’

  He frowned in pain and said with a sort of mild irritability,

  ‘How indelicate you are - and what a term! I have never considered the natural instincts as base.’ She turned sharply away and fell into a contemplation of the view. Across a limpid crystalline sea the rocky heights of the islands of Salamis and Aegina cut irregularly into the vivid sapphire of a Grecian sky, naked in contrast to the verdure of the lower slopes of Aegina, clothed with olives and figs and vines. Nigel merely laughed at her withdrawal and presently continued, an edge of mockery to his words, ‘I wonder what you’d say were I to deny that you appeal to me - in one way?’

  She caught her breath in fury.

  ‘Once again, can we change the subject?’

  ‘You brought it up,’ he reminded her blandly.

  She sighed.

  ‘Perhaps I had better take a taxi. Stop the car here and I’ll get out.’

  For an answer he increased his speed and they drove for miles and miles without speaking a word. But as they neared the khani where Nigel had stopped on the occasion of his first bringing her up here he slowed down and asked Liz if she wanted a drink.

  This time she was a little wiser than before.

  ‘Yes, please.’

  One or two men sprawled at another table, but the cafeneion was very peaceful and quiet and Liz and Nigel sat under a spreading tree and drank coffee and iced water.

  ‘I’m sorry, Liz,’ he said suddenly and unexpectedly. ‘I suppose I just can’t resist teasing you—’

  ‘Teasing?’ She raised her brows, but she smiled too, and her husband responded.

  ‘What name do you have for it, then?’ he inquired with affable interest.

  ‘Taunting - goading - provoking.’

  He laughed.

  ‘We’ll call a truce, just for today?’ He cocked her a glance. ‘I’ve missed you, Liz, and I’m willing to admit it. Life before I knew you must have been devilishly dull.’

  Her eyes widened with surprise.

  He had never before lowered his pride this way and Liz felt she should make some small concession herself, but she had much more difficulty than he, and into her silence he spoke, a trifle impatiently.

  ‘Drop the cloak for once, Liz. Let me see what you’re really like.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean?’

  ‘Be honest. Certainly you know what I mean. There’s another side to you altogether. Why you persist in hiding it I don’t know.’

  Recollection brought back a similar assertion which Grace had made and Liz reddened.

  ‘I’m no feminine softie, if that’s what you’re hoping.’

  ‘Indeed, no. A feminine softie would bore me to distraction! What fun is there in life if one can subdue without a fight?’ he added in some amusement. ‘A man worth his salt welcomes resistance.’

  She had to laugh.

  ‘If I’m unique, then you are too.’ She leant forward to take up her coffee from the table.

  ‘Two of a kind, Liz,’ he murmured, watching her over the rim of his cup. And he added, ‘Must we fight to the end - or are you going to show me the other side?’

  ‘So the other side, as you call it, is a weak side?’ she challenged, a sparkle in her eyes.

  ‘Not at all. You’re saying that womanliness and weakness are synonymous, which is ridiculous, simply because womanliness is natural and weakness is not. A woman can be natural without being weak.’ He cocked an eyebrow. ‘Logical, you’ll agree?’

  Again she had to laugh.

  ‘Are you trying to tie me up in knots, Nigel?’ Her eyes were on his face, and something caught at a thread within her, jerking it so that she seemed to be left in a state of unbalance. Undeniably he was handsome! And it was difficult to remain immune to his profound attractiveness as a man, especially with her newly-found emotions clamouring for freedom to grow and expand.

  Nigel gave her a faintly admonishing look.

  ‘You’ll not give an inch, will you?’

  Why couldn’t she respond to this attractive mood of his? - and drop all antagonism? That she wanted to could not be denied and a rueful smile touched her lips.

  ‘Supposing I did give an inch,’ she queried warily. ‘What sort of situation would I find myself in?’

  ‘A most happy one,’ he responded without the slightest hesitation, and Liz gave a visible start. Gentle colour flecked each lovely cheek, and her lips, parted slightly, quivered on the invitation of a kiss.

  ‘What are you saying to me, Nigel?’

  He opened his mouth, then closed it again, and she realized with a little sinking feeling that she would never know what he had been going to say before, with a swift glance at her, he changed his mind.

  ‘Perhaps I’m saying that we might get along in a more comfortable way?’ His dark unsmiling face was firm and hard. She wondered at his change of mood, and tried to find the reason for it. Had he been about to declare his love - but then drawn back, just as an enemy would draw back, deceiving his adversary into an advance that would bring him closer, and make him more vulnerable? Liz studied her husband, her every nerve alert and on the defensive. That she cared she would not now deny, but if caring meant subjugation then it must be cautiously hidden.

  Nigel met her gaze and a half smile touched the firm outline of his mouth. Did he guess her thoughts? she wondered, lowering her lashes as the idea formed. She would never tell him now how she felt - not unless he himself displayed some weakness, or revealed in some way his intention of regarding her always as an equal.

  Someone put on a record and a man at the next table, having been sprawled in an attitude of sleepy indolence, sprang up from his chair and began to dance. This was a regular occurrence, even if there were no tourists about. Greek men danced for the sheer joy of living, and their vigour while thus engaged was incredible. They leapt and twisted and sprang, putting every ounce of energy they possessed into whichever dance they were performing, whether it be slow and graceful or wild and orgiastic.

  But to Liz these dancing men were still much of a novelty and while she was engrossed in the incredible movements going on before her Nigel’s eyes were idly taking in every change in her expression, and he gave a little sigh, which brought her head round. His eyes took on a mocking light then, and he said, his deep voice brisk and faintly commanding,

  ‘Are you ready? It’s time we were on our way.’

  That evening, after dinner when they were out on the verandah, a quietness enveloped them both; they were deep in their own thoughts. It was a clear still night, unlit by the moon, but the purple vault above was bright with stars which rolled through the slow-moving cumulus cloud that had gathered since dusk over the stark massif of Parnassus.

  Scents hung on the still air and as the silent moments passed a sense of peace came over Liz which she had seldom befor
e experienced. Yet, paradoxically, the very serenity disturbed her, because she was so conscious of Nigel’s presence and the sheer masculine strength of him. In addition there seemed to be some subtle interchange of mind, some sweet and intimate communion between them. It could not be ignored any more than her own senses could be ignored - senses vibrant and alive to the power her husband was beginning to gain over her.

  He seemed to sense her feelings and looked at her, his features softened by the opaline shadows in which he sat.

  ‘Tell me your thoughts, Liz?’ Softly persuasive the tones - and yet imperious.

  It was not possible to answer and she shook her head. She smiled, though, and he responded. Liz asked,

  ‘Do you feel like a stroll?’

  His smile deepened.

  ‘Safer to walk, you think?’ he quizzed.

  ‘Such a thought never entered my mind.’

  ‘In that case, my dear, you are blissfully unaware of the danger.’

  ‘Danger?’ She cast him a frowning glance.

  ‘I could, my dear, make love to you right here,’ he told her with some amusement. ‘That one taste whetted my appetite, and you’ve been gone from me for a fortnight.’

  Her frown darkened. The thought of approaching night had naturally been with her for some time and she had almost reached the stage when she could have gone to her husband willingly, but now he had spoiled everything and resentment flared - resentment and anger and the determination to resist him.

  ‘If you’ve managed without me for a fortnight then you can continue to do so,’ she snapped, aware of disappointment at this turn which he had deliberately brought about. Why was he so infuriatingly awkward?

  He stood up, and snapped on a light; it fell full on her lovely face and Nigel stared down at her, his eyes dark and filmed with inflexibility and desire.

  ‘How little you understand me, Liz. You should know you can’t go on forever resisting me. No, don’t interrupt. I’m not a fool; I know full well I awakened a desire in you ... I know, Liz, that although you will instantly deny it, you did in fact enjoy my lovemaking.’

  Her eyes blazed. Why couldn’t he be more subtle? — more diplomatic? He enjoyed riling her, that was it, and she was fool enough to allow herself to be riled. If only she could assume an icy indifference, as she had several times promised herself she would, then perhaps she could wear him down and he would desist from this attitude of taunting mockery.

  ‘What an opinion you have of yourself!’ she cried. ‘And why did you say we’d call a truce when all the time you harbour this urge to provoke me?’ She did not want her disappointment to quiver on the edge of her voice, but it did - and her husband noticed and his face softened as with a gentle persuasive gesture he reached for her hand.

  ‘Am I a fool, I wonder?’ he murmured almost to himself. ‘Is it that I have broken through your reserve and don’t know it?’ She glinted at him, but he ignored it as he added in a quiet voice, ‘Take my hand, Liz.’

  The moment was profound, fraught with suspense ... because Liz knew she wanted nothing more than to capitulate, and yet she said, ignoring his hand,

  ‘I’m too honest to affect submission, Nigel. I am what I am - a woman who has no intention of accepting any man’s authority over her.’

  With a little smothered oath he grasped at her hand, and then she was in his arms, her lips possessed, her resisting body strained to his, and kept there.

  ‘We’ll not walk, after all,’ he said a moment later. ‘It’s too late.’

  Her teeth came together.

  ‘I’m walking, no matter what you say!’

  ‘Alone?’ Nigel took a step away from her.

  ‘I’m not afraid of the dark,’ she returned with strong derision, and a laugh escaped him.

  ‘Not afraid of anything, are you?’ A pause for her to comment, but she turned away from him, furious because her mouth was bruised and her body trembled from his strength and mastery. ‘Shall I put fear into you? Will that bring you down? I can put fear into you, Liz, so don’t adopt that attitude. I’ve warned you that I’m not a patient man, and my tolerance is nothing to speak of either. I’ve reached the stage when the primitive instinct predominates. I have a strong urge to break you - no matter how I do it.’ His expression had changed; he appeared ruthless, pagan as the god Hades himself. And although her head was tilted and her eyes militant - oh, she did feel a trembling sensation inside her! The acknowledgement of this only served to increase her anger and she made for the steps leading off the verandah. An encircling vice on her wrist arrested her progress and she swung round, her eyes ablaze.

  ‘Let go of me!’

  ‘You vixen, Liz.’ His voice was amused, but softly dangerous; his hold remained firm on her wrist. ‘You talk about provocation ... My dear Liz, you are the one who provokes. You’re a challenge which, on first deciding to marry you, I knew I would enjoy meeting—’ His mouth found hers again and she knew the fire of his passion and fought desperately against it. But the next moment he had lifted her off her feet; she felt the rapid beating of his heart against her and his warm breath on her face as, with no more effort than if he carried a doll, Nigel took her into the house ...

  A week later, having been away for three days, Nigel informed Liz that they would be attending a party which was being held on Dendras’s yacht which was moored in the harbour at Mandraki in Rhodes.

  ‘It will last three or four days,’ he told her, ‘so you’ll require lots of clothes.’

  They were in the lounge, having afternoon tea, and Liz glanced away, searching for some answer that would aggravate him. But all she found to say was,

  ‘I’ve no wish to come with you.’

  ‘I can’t go alone, Liz,’ he returned quietly.

  ‘Then take Greta—’ The words were out before she could stem them and she lowered her lashes to mask her expression. If he should take Greta ... What would she, Liz, feel like? But of course he would not take Greta, not to his friend’s yacht.

  Nigel’s eyes had darkened at her unthinking rejoinder and his mouth went tight.

  ‘You are coming with me,’ he said in dangerously quiet tones. ‘So let’s have no more childish refusals or pettish threats. You should know me sufficiently well by now to be sure I’ll retaliate.’

  ‘You can’t drag me to this yacht!’

  ‘You’ll fly to the island with me.’ The same quiet tones, the same film of danger covering them. He seemed so triumphant, so very sure of himself ... and of her. Yes, when he had so confidently asserted that she had enjoyed his lovemaking he knew what he was talking about. He still held her, and although she fumed inwardly, condemning her inability to resist, she at the same time owned that life without Nigel would not now hold very much at all. Had he won merely by making himself desirable to her? - as she was undoubtedly desirable to him? The idea caused her to wince and squirm and endeavour to thrust it from her. She had never wanted love - much less had she wanted sex. And for her to be forced to own that Nigel as a lover appealed to her so strongly that he actually held her a prisoner was something to which she could become resigned only with the passing of time. For the present, the discovery was so new and, therefore, so distasteful, that she felt that all there was between her husband and herself was lust - an insatiable desire for each other’s bodies.

  There had been several clashes between them since that night, so short a time ago, when he had literally forced her to his will, for in her fury and refusal to be overcome she had fought him as tigress would fight in defending her young. But to no avail, as she knew it could not be. She was no match for Nigel in any mood, but in the mood of that night she was utterly helpless. For it was not only his desire that urged him to subdue her but also her own refusal to succumb quietly, her struggles having fired off a primeval urge to conquer her completely.

  ‘When is this party?’ she asked with sudden abruptness.

  ‘Not for another three weeks. You have plenty of time to prepare for it.’ />
  She was interested, in spite of herself.

  ‘Do your friends often have parties on their yachts?’ His fine lips twitched at that.

  ‘Dendras is the only one who owns a yacht - and he wouldn’t own that if it weren’t for Nicoleta’s money.’

  ‘So the others aren’t as wealthy?’

  He shook his head, glancing up as a huge flying beetle came through the open window. Liz shuddered, but Nigel only smiled and said,

  ‘It’ll go out again in a moment.’

  ‘You—?’ She glanced at him. ‘Have you never thought of having a yacht?’ She was really sounding him to discover just how wealthy he was, and he smiled at her, his brows lifted in an air of faint mockery.

  ‘I can afford one, if that’s what you’re wanting to know ...’ He fell silent as she blushed and then added, softly, ‘And I don’t require help from my wife.’ Her eyes flashed; this led to laughter on his part and a swift, ‘No, my dear, I know I wouldn’t receive any help from you. Isn’t that what you were about to say?’

  His quick perception eroded her temper and she flashed,

  ‘How clever you are! Omniscient, in fact!’

  Nigel leant back, eyes laughing, his light grey jacket contrasting attractively with the deep red Italian brocatelle with which the chair was covered.