Man Without Honour

by Anne Hampson

  'Oh, I don't like your putting it like that!' flashed Kathryn with a touch of anger. 'If sounds primitive and… and scheming.'

  'Of course it's primitive and scheming,' admitted the older woman mildly. 'But what's wrong with the primitive? We've come too far from it; that's what is wrong with the world today.' She stopped, waiting for some comment, but Kathryn was deep in thought. 'You're not serious about this man Jake? No, you can't be, because you love my son.'

  Kathryn raised her eyes. 'You seem very sure.'

  'Woman's intuition.' She smiled. 'The thing you mentioned just now.'

  Kathryn had to smile; this was a different side of her mother-in-law, and it was even more attractive than that which was familiar. 'I'm not serious about Jake, as you say,' she conceded. 'It's just that I felt I had to have a diversion, and my meetings with him provided it. But I've been worried because he's getting to like me too much,' Kathryn went on to confide. 'I was thinking only a short while ago that it must end.'

  'Then end it at once, my dear,' advised her mother-in-law. 'For if Leon should get to know about it, then, believe me, you'd be in for trouble.'

  'I'll tell him when I meet him for lunch tomorrow,' promised Kathryn.

  But Mrs. Coletis interrupted with, 'Must you keep the date, Kathryn? Can't you phone him?'

  'I could, but it wouldn't be very fair.' She looked at her mother-in-law apologetically. 'I shall feel much better if I keep the date and tell him then that it is finished.'

  The older woman shrugged resignedly but was plainly disappointed, and she changed the subject to say that Kathryn must have noticed that Marina was more depressed than ever. 'I don't know where it is all going to end,' she added, a quiver in her rich Greek voice. 'Christos has been told what happened and is very depressed, too.'

  'Surely there is someone, somewhere, who can diagnose what is wrong?'

  'Marina has had all that money can buy in the way of doctors, Kathryn. They are all baffled—oh, one said it was due to some kind of deficiency in the blood, while another said it must be a totally new disease and we would be lucky if a cure came in time for Marina to be saved.'

  Kathryn stared. 'You mean… they've no hope? I m-mean, did the doctors say she would… would die?'

  'Of course. Surely Leon mentioned this to you?'

  Kathryn shook her head. 'No, he didn't.' She was recalling that moment when the doctor stopped speaking, and she knew the reason was that Leon had given him a warning glance. So Leon did not want her to know that there had been no hope for his sister. Why? After a moment's thought, Kathryn felt she knew the answer: Leon himself did not accept it. He had felt all along that Marina had brought it all on herself after learning of the curse. Kathryn realised that this also answered another question, the one which had troubled her when Leon had said there was much she did not know.

  But he had spoken as if there were several things she did not know…

  'It's strange that Leon didn't tell you that the doctors had given us no hope for Marina,' Mrs. Coletis said, but before either she or Kathryn could speak again, a maid came out to say that Mrs. Coletis was wanted on the telephone. Kathryn was free to continue her stroll, her mind now full of what they had said about her trying to make Leon fall in love with her. The idea had taken root, but although she felt vaguely excited and optimistic, Kathryn dared not at this stage allow a picture of success to enter her mind.

  Chapter Eight

  It had been a sad parting, but Kathryn had resisted all Jake's entreaties, admitting frankly that as she was still in love with her husband, the idea of this affair had become troublesome to her.

  'Well, if ever you should change your mind, or feel you need a friend, you know the number where you can contact me,' he had said at last when, having become resigned, he had asked Kathryn to stay awhile at the hotel where they had had lunch. They had sat in the lounge drinking coffee until, at half-past three, Kathryn had decided she must leave.

  Sad though it was, Kathryn felt lighter and freer because of her decision. And she was looking forward to making approaches to her husband, subtle and timid at first, perhaps, but she would let him see that she was ready to forgive him and try to make something of their marriage.

  But she reckoned without fate. Leon had seen her with Jake as they came from the hotel and got into his car, for she had agreed to let him drive her home again. As they got in, Jake had kissed her lightly on the lips—a friendly, impulsive gesture which she could not possibly resent. Leon had hurried towards the car, but it had driven off before he reached it—before either occupant had even noticed his approach, in fact. And the first Kathryn knew was when, after she had been home less than five minutes, her husband strode into the salon where she was standing by the open window looking out over the lovely grounds of the villa. On hearing the door open, she spun around, a smile coming instantly to her lips. It froze as she noticed his expression, the lowering brow, the taut features, the compression of the mouth.

  'What… what… ?'

  'So you go into town to look at the shops, do you?' he rasped, crossing the room in three or four long strides. 'Liar! You've been meeting another man! I saw you outside the hotel!'

  'Just a minute…' She faltered, her nerves rioting as fear mounted within her, for never had she expected to see her husband in such a towering rage as this. He terrified her with his aggressive manner—that awful glitter in those harsh serpentine eyes, that satanic expression made more pronounced by the pulsing of a nerve at the side of his mouth. 'It's all over. I… I t-told him today—'

  'And that was why he was kissing you, I suppose?'

  'It was… a g-good-bye kiss… yes—' She cried out as, with another tiger-like leap, he came close and she felt her wrist taken in a merciless grip. And it seemed as if he had completely lost control, because he brought her to him and shook her until, weak and crying, she begged him to let her go. She swayed, and he caught her again, preventing her from falling. Her face was drained of colour, even her lips were bloodless. Never had she been so afraid, for she felt that the wild beating of her heart must surely bring about a collapse. She put a hand to it, a hand that trembled, and she saw him frown slightly at the action.

  'How long have you been having an affair with him?' he demanded grittingly. 'How long, I say!'

  'It wasn't an affair,' she quavered, stepping back to put some distance between them. 'We met and had lunch, or… or afternoon t-tea, and nothing else happened between us—'

  'Except kissing!' he thundered, and it did seem for one terrifying moment that he would do her some serious injury. 'You'd deny all else, I suppose?'

  'There isn't anything to deny.'

  He looked her over with scornful eyes, his anger appearing to have abated a little. 'No wonder you didn't want your husband! You'd someone else ready to make love to you—'

  'Jake has never made love to me—oh, will you listen!' she shouted fiercely. 'It was a friendship and nothing else! It's your evil mind…' Her voice trailed off and came to a stop as her throat constricted at his vicious glance.

  'Be very careful,' he warned, and now his voice had taken on a dramatic quietness, the quietness of danger. 'You still haven't seen the worst of me.'

  Heaven help me then, if ever I do, she gasped inwardly. Aloud she said, a quiver in her voice, 'You must believe me, Leon. It's important.' She thought miserably of her resolve to follow her mother-in-law's advice and try to make her husband love her. Instead, fate had created a rift that could become far wider and deeper than anything that had gone before. 'There was nothing dishonourable in the relationship between Jake and me.' She was pleading, but he was too inflamed to notice, and she sagged, defeated and wanting only to escape to her room and weep into her pillow. 'You don't believe me, do you?' she added in a strained little voice. 'You want to believe the worst of me.'

  'What do you expect me to believe?'

  She shook her head dumbly. What was the use of trying to convince him? He was too angry, with those eyes kindling
with fire and that evil, satanic twist to his mouth. Crimson threads curled up the sides of his mouth, and the blood raced through a vein in his temple.

  'Can I go?' she asked in a piteous little voice. 'I've a… a headache.'

  'When are you supposed to see this man again?' he gritted, ignoring her pathetic little plea.

  'I've told you—we've said good-bye.'

  He looked at her with icy deliberation. 'I don't believe you,' he said. He appeared to have shed his anger, but his calm and quiet manner seemed even more frightening and she asked again if she could go to her room.

  'I can't convince you,' she added, swallowing convulsively to rid her throat of the little ball of misery that had settled there. 'We could be here for hours, arguing…' Helplessly she spread her hands. 'I can't convince you,' she said again, and made a tentative move to reach the door. To her surprise, Leon did not attempt to stop her, and she left the room without another word, forgetting to close the door behind her.

  It was only when she was in her room that a strange disquiet assailed her and led to the sudden quickening of her heartbeats. Leon, after that first unbridled show of temper, had taken on a very strange manner. Only now did she realise that there was some kind of undercurrent about him, as if he had suddenly conceived an idea. And that was why he had allowed her to leave the room without further questions or demands.

  She caught her underlip between her teeth and realised she was hurting herself. But her emotions were rioting; she knew fear without having a reason for that fear. Leon would not do her any real physical harm; his mother and sister were in the house, so she was safe. Yet the image of that satanic countenance intruded into her mind incessantly and she was reminded of his background, the pagan Greeks and the heathen gods they worshipped.

  That evening at dinner he was quiet, and yet, when he did speak, there was nothing even remotely antagonistic about him. It was clear to Kathryn that he did not intend to let his mother and sister know that anything was amiss between him and his wife.

  Marina was as bright as could be, her chatter happy, her smile appearing often. At this change, Kathryn glanced several times at her husband, to see that he was equally as interested in Marina as she was.

  Kathryn stared into the mirror, her big eyes brooding and sad. She had meant everything to be different tonight—oh, she had not actually contemplated a totally uninhibited reunion with her husband, but she had known that if he had tentatively suggested he come to her, she would not have repulsed him. But now… she was alone, as she had been alone since making the decision that she and Leon would no longer live normally as man and wife. Alone… She had taken a shower, had lavishly sprayed her sun-gilded body with talc and had slipped into the new diaphanous nightgown she had bought in Athens a few days ago. Her hair shone under the brushing she was giving it. She must have a little cut off, she mused, noticing how long it was getting, and she recalled having heard somewhere that hair and nails grew much faster in a warm climate. It seemed to be true…

  Her thoughts stopped, but she continued to stare into the mirror, her heart beginning to thud against her rib cage. Her lips felt stiff as the words left them, spoken in low and husky accents. 'Leon—wh-what do you want?' She hated the expression on his face; it frightened her with its austerity, its hard aspect of ruthlessness and hostility. It's… it's late…'

  A sneer caught his underlip as he used his foot to close the door between his room and hers. Kathryn clasped the hairbrush to her breast, an unconscious gesture which seemed to amuse her husband a little. She saw that he had nothing on beneath his blue-and-gold dressing-gown, which was held together at the front somewhat precariously because the silken cord had not been knotted, one end merely slipped over the other, and it was already beginning to move. He seemed unconscious of it, while she stared in a sort of torpid fascination, seeing in her imagination what must . shortly be revealed.

  'Late?' with a lift of one eyebrow which seemed to accentuate the satanic lines of his face. He advanced towards her, slowly and with a sort of predatory silence which could have been designed to increase her fear. 'Not too late for what I have come for, my dear.' He pointed to a spot on the carpet and added, in a dangerously soft voice, 'Come here, Kathryn—immediately.'

  It was the last words which, strangely, brought the angry colour to her cheeks and the fiery glints to her eyes. 'Don't stand there giving me orders!' she flashed. 'And kindly go back to your own room! You are well aware of the terms to which you have to adhere!' So proper. Pedantic. But she wanted to sound arrogant so that he would take notice of her request, and leave. Inwardly, though, every nerve-cell in her body was quivering, and fear encompassed her heart and mind, for the look on her husband's face was one of sheer primordial mastery and she knew he had come here to take her by force—in anger and for revenge for what he considered a slight, a blow to his arrogant male ego.

  She had been out with another man, and she would pay dearly. Yes, she could imagine what had been simmering in his mind earlier when he had allowed her to go, and the same intention had been gradually boiling up during dinner, when he had seemed almost friendly towards her. What kind of evil complexity made up his character? Once again she realised just how little she knew him, this dark forbidding man whom she had married in haste, and in blissful ignorance of what she was in for.

  She heard him say, in that soft and threatening tone, 'I told you to come here, and if you know what's good for you, you'll obey me.'

  She swallowed convulsively, brushing a hand through her hair and hoping her inner strain was not revealed on the surface. She could not have obeyed him even had she wished to, for the simple reason that fear kept her rooted to the spot where she stood. She saw his eyes narrow as an accompaniment to the swift compression of his mouth. The brush dropped from her nerveless fingers as he leapt across the intervening space. Before she could even guess at his intention, she was jerked against his granite-hard body and her lips brutally possessed, captured and violated as his mastery asserted itself and her struggles crushed almost before they had even begun.

  But she did manage to twist her face about after escaping from the pagan cruelty of his mouth, and for a space he let her play with him. It was only when she encountered his glance of mocking humour that she desisted, hot, embarrassed colour sweeping into her face. He took it, holding her chin with slender brown fingers that were like steel rope from which there was no escape. She was in a most humiliating position, her body held with one hawser-strong arm and her face forced up so that her neck hurt as he compelled her to look into his eyes.

  Why was he so strong? Why couldn't she fight him? Her love turned to hate in this moment when, with his power and strength, he deliberately humiliated her, showed her who was master. She could not move as his mouth, sensuous and moist, came down on hers; she tried to resist the temptation as he moved his lips in dominant exploration, forcing her lips apart to enable his tongue to explore the dark depths of her mouth. But as the roughness of his tongue slid tantalisingly over the tip of hers, she reluctantly found herself obeying his unspoken command to respond. And when, presently, he drew away, she heard his low, triumphant laugh, felt his .hand stray to her breast, felt too the cord of his gown slip. And when next he brought her close, there was nothing between his flesh and hers except the almost negligible presence of the fine nylon of her nightdress.

  'Please, Leon—not in anger…' Her lips were quivering and bruised, her eyes filmed with unshed tears. 'If you would only believe me—' She was not allowed to have her say. It was suppressed by the recapture of her mouth, and now it seemed that every vestige of restraint fled and he was the primitive lover and conqueror. She winced at the capture of her breast, gave a protesting little moan as the tender place was hardened to desire within the arrogant pressure of those lean brown fingers. She was craving for fulfilment by the time he stood away, his hands coming to her shoulders to slide the straps of her nightdress down to her waist, and lower. His hands were warm and strong, gliding the
length of her body beneath the garment he was removing. His own gown was discarded, and then his muscled arms encircled her and she was compelled against him, intimately close, her breasts flattened against the iron hardness of his chest, her stomach pressed against the coiled-spring strength of his loins. She quivered ecstatically when he spread a hand across her lower back to force her even closer so their naked frames melded and she experienced the exciting male dominance of his manhood. He swung her off her feet, but now she made a show of protest, for she still felt he was taking her by force. But his words of triumphant humour stemmed what she was saying and made her admit to her own willing surrender.

  'Don't be a hypocrite, Kathryn. You need me at this moment, need me desperately, so your pretence merely arouses my contempt.' He carried her across the room, walking slowly, his hands hard and possessive, the wiry hair on his chest a stimulant to the erotic nerves in her breasts. Almost roughly, he put her down, his roving hands creating a shock of pure rapture as in then-knowledge and experience, they found and caressed and tempted every vulnerable place with the kind of tactile finesse that proved him the perfect lover. She shuddered and arched, desire flaming through her eager body as his hands stroked and then closed, and stroked again before, just at the right moment, he crushed her body beneath the weight of his own.

  She clung to him in ecstasy, her throbbing breath an outlet for the wild, tumultuous explosions that were tearing at her nerves and organs and robbing her mind of thought. This was heaven, and all else was vague, without form or reality. She heard her husband's ragged breathing against her ear, heard too the little gasps of ecstasy that escaped the control he put on his voice, resisting as she had done the impulse to cry aloud as the gates of paradise were opened up to him.

  Chapter Nine