The Heart of love

by Barbara Cartland

  Where had the Marquis gone? What was he thinking of, running after some rough Greek fellow who, for all he knew, may have a knife?

  The kindly shopkeepers fanned her and offered her endless pastries and glasses of water.

  After half an hour, the old lady produced some thick bitter coffee that was a welcome change from the sweetness of the pastries.

  All around her, people were talking animatedly – but she could not understand a word.

  As time wore on and the Marquis did not reappear, Verena became more and more anxious.

  Her worst fears were confirmed when the crowd parted to admit a tall man in uniform, accompanied by a handful of surly looking colleagues.

  “Lady Verena Rosslyn?” the tall man spoke perfect English but laced with a thick, Greek accent.

  “Yes?”

  “I think you should come with me to the British Consulate. You will be quite safe there.”

  “But the Marquis?” she asked, her brow furrowed with worry.

  “He is at the Consulate – now if you would be so kind?”

  He gestured towards a waiting carriage.

  Verena barely had time to thank the kind shopkeepers before she was escorted to the carriage.

  As they sped through the streets of Athens, no one spoke.

  ‘I pray that James is safe,’ she thought, anxiously. ‘He has to be safe. Oh, what will I do without him if the worst has happened? I cannot bear to even consider it.’ Verena found that she could not enjoy her ride through the streets of Athens.

  All about her life carried on, but a part of her had ceased to exist until she knew that the Marquis was safe.

  The carriage finally halted outside a tall white building with heavily shuttered windows.

  The official helped her down onto the street and waited whilst his colleagues climbed out.

  “This way, please, my Lady.”

  He led her through a magnificent, mosaic-floored entrance hall. All around rose tall Grecian pillars carved from marble and on the walls were many fine paintings.

  She was taken through into an adjoining room. The man beckoned her to sit down on one of the brown leather sofas, so like the ones at Rosslyn Hall, and left her alone.

  Anxious moments ticked by until finally the doors opened and in strode a small neat man with grey hair wearing pinstripe trousers and a close-cut jacket.

  Verena admired his style, so fashionable back in London, but she had not expected to encounter such sartorial elegance in this far-flung corner of the Mediterranean.

  “My Lady? I am Sir Richard Wells, Ambassador of Her Majesty’s Government. Would you be so kind as to follow me?”

  “The Marquis?” she entreated, her voice rising.

  “Come with me and you will be reunited.”

  With bated breath, Verena followed Sir Richard.

  “How do you find Athens?”

  “A trifle hot and dangerous so far.”

  The Ambassador nodded sagely, “Yes, we have problems with an itinerate population, mainly from the islands, but thankfully no one has died as yet.”

  “Then the Marquis is safe?”

  Sir Richard opened a pair of white doors and there – seated on a wooden chair, his head bandaged and a cut on his hand being cleaned by the attending doctor – was the Marquis.

  “James,” she cried, casting aside all composure and running to his side. “I was frantic with worry.”

  The Marquis dived into his coat pocket and brought out a very crumpled black silk bag.

  “I am afraid I couldn’t wrestle the contents off the bounders.”

  Verena crushed the bag to her chest.

  “I am not concerned about losing my money, I just feared for your life.”

  “A bump on the head and a cut where the fellow tried to bite me – apart from that, I am quite fit and well. The worst thing is that you missed the lunch I promised you and I failed to show you what I had expressly wanted you to see.”

  “Another time, another time,” said Verena, soothingly. She could not resist the temptation to rest her hand upon his. It was warm and reassuring.

  “Now, if this kind doctor will allow me, let us resume our tour. Doctor?”

  “I would advise rest, my Lord, but I can see no harm to a little light walking.”

  The Marquis looked at Verena and his eyes were resolute.

  “Verena, will you be so good as to accompany me?”

  “Of course, but only if you are feeling quite well enough,” she replied, thrilled at the opportunity.

  “Then, come. We have tarried long enough. Sir Richard, I cannot thank you sufficiently for your help. I will call again before we leave.”

  Without further ado, the Marquis shook the Ambassador’s hand firmly before striding towards the door.

  Verena followed him all the while gazing up at him in mute adoration.

  ‘What is it that he wishes to show me that means so much to him?’ she wondered, as they left the cool of the Consulate to step outside into the sticky Athens afternoon. ‘This is a rare puzzle indeed!’

  Barely pausing to find his bearings, the Marquis took her by the hand and led her purposefully through the streets.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Verena was grateful that the staff at the Consulate had given her a flask of fresh water, for as she and the Marquis trudged up the long dusty streets, she soon became thirsty.

  The road seemed to lead forever upwards and although the sun was now dipping in the sky, its heat was still incredibly fierce.

  “Is it much further?” she gasped, stopping to take a sip of water.

  They were in a narrow street full of square-built white dwellings – they looked as if they were staggering up the hill in a jumble.

  “Do you need to rest awhile?” asked the Marquis. Although he had taken off his jacket, he seemed quite at home in the soaring temperature.

  Whilst Verena felt certain that her face was red and unattractive, the Marquis looked as if he had just stepped off the Seahorse after a bracing trip round the bay.

  “It is just that this incline is quite steep and the heat is defeating me,” replied Verena, feeling more than a little dizzy again.

  “There is a clearing with some trees and a bench ahead,” said the Marquis. “If you can make it up there, we can rest awhile. It is not much further on after that, I promise.”

  Verena gathered herself together and renewed her assault on the steep hill ahead.

  She was almost bent double when, some minutes later, they eventually arrived at a cool-looking clearing. There, as the Marquis had promised, was a modest wooden bench.

  Verena caught her breath at the magnificent view over the City.

  “This is simply marvellous,” she cried, sitting down under the shade of an olive tree, scanning the vista across the Bay of Athens.

  “It makes the climb well worth it,” remarked the Marquis, striding to the edge of the clearing and taking in the full panorama.

  “Won’t you tell me where we are going?” implored Verena, “You will see,” was all the Marquis would say.

  They sat there for some fifteen minutes enjoying the shade. Verena stretched up and pulled a ripe olive off a branch.

  “Oh, but it isn’t anything like the olives I have bought in markets,” she observed, looking at the strange-coloured fruit.

  “That is because olives are dried and cured before they are sold,” explained the Marquis. “In this state, you cannot eat them – they are far too bitter. Now, come, let us resume our walk.”

  Reluctantly, Verena arose from the wooden bench and left the cool of the clearing for the hot dusty road.

  It seemed to go on forever. Eventually they were nearly on the same level as the Acropolis.

  At last, as they reached the outskirts of Athens, a beautiful Church came into view.

  ‘My goodness,’ she thought, excitedly, ‘surely he is not going to spring a surprise on me and we are to be wed!’ Her thoughts were whirling as they climbed the last
few steps towards the Church.

  “Byzantine?” enquired Verena, “Without doubt,” replied the Marquis taking her by the hand.

  At the feel of his fingers, Verena suddenly quivered in anticipation. Apart from the occasional light touch on the head or arm, he had not initiated such close contact before.

  She felt awkward and uncomfortable.

  ‘How can this be when it is what I have longed for?’ she thought, her heart racing. He led her across the flagstones towards the heavy oak entrance.

  ‘Are we going inside? What are his intentions?’ However, instead of walking into the cool interior, the Marquis abruptly changed direction and followed the path alongside the Church.

  “A fine example of eleventh century architecture,” he declared, waving his hand at the narrow windows.

  But Verena could hear in his voice that he was not quite as composed as he appeared.

  As they followed the path, it opened out into a small churchyard. Without saying a word, he began to pick his away around the headstones, dragging Verena behind him.

  Suddenly they came to a halt by a simple stone memorial that read,

  ‘My dearest beloved – 1839-1872

  Always in our hearts’

  Verena stared and stared at the stone in utter incomprehension. Who was buried here? And why was he or she so important to the Marquis?

  ‘Well, I haven’t come all this way to look at an anonymous tomb,’ she fumed to herself irritably, now feeling quite exhausted from her exertions.

  Turning to the Marquis, intending to air her complaint, she was shocked to see that tears were welling up in his eyes.

  His head was bent in sorrow and his whole body appeared limp with grief.

  Verena instantly felt remorseful. Whoever it was who lay buried here had to be someone of importance to the Marquis.

  But who could it be in this hidden corner of Athens, so far away from home?

  Slowly the realisation came to her. The Marquis had never mentioned his mother.

  Verena gently touched him on the arm and said in a tender whisper, “I am not the only motherless child, am I?”

  The Marquis shook his head and slowly sank to his knees. In a voice choked with emotion, he began to speak,

  “I was just seven years of age. My father and mother loved to sail – we owned a fine clipper in those days, the fastest in the whole Mediterranean. One summer, we were sailing around the Greek Islands and we stopped over at Athens intending to linger awhile and visit friends. It had been a far hotter summer that year than usual and it was rumoured that there was an outbreak of typhoid in the City.

  “I was too young to understand what that meant. One day I was outside playing with my little Greek friends, when I noticed some older boys throwing stones at a kitten. I ran over to them and shouted at them to stop. I think they were surprised to see this pale English boy yelling and looking rather threatening, so they left it alone.

  “I took the kitten indoors and looked after it. A week or so later, it died. I was beside myself, but then my mother suddenly fell ill with a raging fever. She, too, died a few days later.

  “I thought I was to blame because I had overheard one of the servants saying that it was the kitten that had brought disease into the house. For years I walked around with the guilt of it.”

  “But surely it was not your fault?” asked Verena softly.

  The Marquis wiped his tears with his handkerchief trying hard to regain his composure.

  “Yes, I know that now. But my father did not make it any easier for me. He was too wrapped up in his own grief to give me any reassurances. He loved my mother till his dying day and looked at no other. He had her buried here because she had loved the City so much.”

  There was a long silence. Verena gently touched the Marquis’s elbow to let him know that she cared and then walked a few paces away so that he might be alone to pay his respects.

  As she stood in the little churchyard, how she longed to run over to him and throw her arms around him.

  ‘But I cannot, it would not be appropriate,’ she told herself sadly.

  She understood now why sometimes he behaved in a strange offhand manner. He was alone in the world. Had he not said that his father had only died the previous year? Why, he was barely out of mourning, what could she expect?

  ‘I must tread gently,’ she resolved, ‘this is not a man to be rushed. I must be prepared to wait for as long as it takes.’ The Marquis walked towards her, his whole bearing and expression so much softer than it had been.

  “Come, you must be famished. I am sure that if we go down into the town we will find a morsel to eat.”

  He looked right into Verena’s eyes as he spoke and she sensed that there was now a new understanding between them.

  He took her hand once more and led her out of the churchyard without a backwards glance.

  *

  Arriving back on board the Seahorse, there was a surprise awaiting Verena.

  “My Lady, if you please, there are some packages that have been delivered for you. They are on the bridge with the Captain.”

  Arthur had met her straight off the ferry. She was barely out of the harness before he was at her elbow, eager to relay the news.

  “What kind of packages, Arthur?” she enquired most intrigued.

  “I could not say, my Lady. They arrived whilst you were out with his Lordship.”

  Piqued with curiosity, Verena made her way to the bridge where Captain MacDonald was poring over some maps.

  “Ah, my Lady, I expect you’ve come for your parcels? I did not think that you had had time for shopping –”

  “You are quite right, I haven’t,” she replied, pulling at the string on the uppermost box in the pile. “I am utterly mystified.”

  She did not wait. She tore off the string, pulled open the lid and gasped in amazement.

  “How beautiful,” she cried, taking out a cream linen gown.

  She opened up the remainder of the boxes to find a pair of summer slippers, a fine linen skirt in navy and a white blouse covered in broderie anglaise.

  “But this is most strange, I have not been shopping today. There has been no time. We had such a horrible experience on the streets of Athens. I fainted and then my bag was snatched. So as you can see, it is not I who has been extravagant.”

  “No, they are gifts from me.”

  Verena turned to find that the Marquis was standing behind her.

  “As soon as you revealed yourself to me, I took the liberty of wiring the British Consulate and ordering some clothes for you. The Ambassador’s wife was most helpful – she has exquisite taste as you can see. I am afraid I guessed your size. I hope they will fit you.”

  Verena held the white blouse against her, thrilled at something new to wear.

  “I will go below and try them on at once and thank you, thank you so much. You must allow me to pay you for them.”

  “As I have said, they are gifts and I will not hear of such a thing. But please, do me the honour of wearing the cream dress this evening. I trust you will be joining me after dinner for some conversation and music?”

  Verena was bursting with joy, her heart felt so full of love that she was almost swooning.

  “I will be there, James,” she whispered, looking up at him adoringly.

  “Excellent,” he said with a smile, “I am looking forward to an enjoyable evening.”

  *

  By the time that Verena had returned to her cabin to put away her new clothes, it was getting on for half past six.

  ‘Goodness! I have to begin dinner.’ She did not have time to change. She simply rushed towards the galley. Upon entering, she could see that Arthur was already beginning his preparations.

  “You’re running late,” he commented, putting down the silver polish and a candelabrum.

  “Heavens, I did not realise how late it was. I have had an exhausting day. Now let me see, the Marquis will not be requiring three courses this evening, we ate l
ate this afternoon.”

  Arthur raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

  Verena continued, “It was in a delightful little taverna, tucked away in a back street. I had the most heavenly dolmades and a chickpea puree with little flat breads –”

  “Dol-what?” enquired Arthur, “Dolmades – vine leaves stuffed with rice and herbs. Quite unusual, I may try and make them myself and I think they would be quite easy.”

  “That reminds me, you recall the list you sent Pete off with to go shopping?”

  Verena hesitated. In her haste to enjoy her time with the Marquis, she had entrusted Pete with the task of restocking her supplies. She had the most awful feeling that Arthur was about to tell her that he had forgotten.

  “You will not believe this, but the boy came back with every last item.”

  Verena heaved a sigh of relief, “I thought you were about to tell me that he had not bought a single thing!”

  “Don’t worry, my Lady. I made it quite plain what would happen to the rest of his shore leave should he fail.”

  “Thank you so much, Arthur. What would I do without you?”

  “Well, my Lady, by the grace of God I will be in the Marquis’s employ for a very long time to come.”

  “I’ll say Amen to that!”

  They were still laughing as Verena ventured into the store cupboard – it was completely full again. There were bowls of big fat tomatoes still on the vine, a crate of lemons, peaches, jars of kalamata olives, bunches of fresh mint, marjoram and thyme –

  “Oh, what is this?” she quizzed, opening a sack of an unfamiliar-looking grain. “The label says ‘pourgouri’.”

  Arthur peered into the sack and grimaced,

  “Looks like that horrible stuff they serve you in Africa. I would wager that is the Greek version of it.”

  Verena remembered a dish she had seen in the taverna that looked as if it had been made with the same grain. She had noticed that it had been dressed with lemon juice and mint.

  “Have no fear, Arthur, by the time I have finished you will not recognise it.”

  Dipping a jug into the sack, she soon had the contents steaming over a pan of boiling water.

  “Now, I will chop some tomatoes, add lemon juice and mint and it will make a fine accompaniment to the main course. I do hope that Pete found me a decent spring lamb.”