'Then I will explain. There is an unusually dogged determination about you for so small a woman. Something tells me you will indeed insist on seeing my grandfather.' His smile widened, displaying impossibly perfect white teeth. 'It should be an interesting encounter.'
Lena leant forward eagerly, her vivid little face lighting up.
'Then you'll tell me where I can find him?'
'I shall myself escort you.'
'That's what you meant by inconvenience!' she exclaimed. 'But there's no need. I'm perfectly capable…'
'Of that I am certain,' he told her, 'but it will be my pleasure—my very great pleasure.' His black eyes glittered with a strange light.
Lena looked at him doubtfully. Was he attempting to chat her up? She had always understood that Greek men respected women and refrained from annoying them as other Mediterranean men did. But at times Marcos Mavroleon's gaze had been frankly, sexually appraising. She knew that many Greek men were attracted by the novelty of a blonde woman, so different from their own dark-complexioned beauties. For Petros the novelty had worn off, she thought with a cynicism that had once been foreign to her nature.
As she wondered about Marcos, he pressed a button on the intercom system on his desk. A husky female voice answered. He spoke in Greek, but Lena knew enough of the language to understand the sense if not the exact wording.
'Lydia, what appointments do I have in the next few days?'
The female voice rattled off a long list too quickly for Lena to follow, and Marcos listened, his dark head cocked attentively to one side. Absently Lena noticed a few silver strands amid the glossy black, just above his left ear. Somehow the flaw in the perfection made him even more attractive. Her study of his profile extended to his square, clean-cut jawline and strongly corded neck. As he spoke she watched, fascinated by the smooth ripple of his Adam's apple beneath the olive skin. His face and neck were already blue-shadowed by a strong growth of hair. He probably had to shave several times a day, she reflected. His skin would be tinglingly rough to the touch.
So vivid was the imagined sensation that she forgot to be wary in her scrutiny of him, and he turned, catching her off guard.
As she coloured once more he smiled and, furious with herself, she believed she could read his mind. He probably thought he'd made a hit with her—conceited devil!
'I find I cannot leave Athens for at least two days. After that I am at your disposal.'
'I don't see why I have to wait for you,' Lena protested.
'It is quite simple.' Again his flashing smile seemed to mock her. 'Since I shall not tell you where to find my grandfather, you can do nothing without me. And do not think,' as involuntarily she looked towards the communicating door, 'that Christos or any of my cousins will enlighten you without my permission. And now,' before she could draw breath for an indignant exclamation, 'let us think how you are to fill the next day or so. At what hotel are you staying?'
'I'm not. I have the use of a friend's flat.' He waited, patently expecting more, but she wasn't about to elaborate. 'And we can take the opportunity to do some sightseeing.'
'The boy is a little young to drag around in this heat,' Marcos commented. 'May I make a suggestion?'
Could she prevent him? Lena thought wryly. Could a rowing-boat prevent the progress of one of his oil tankers?
'My aunt Anastasia, Christos's mother, has a villa just outside the city. Stefanos and Chryssanti could spend a few days with her, leaving you free to come and go as you please.'
Lena shook her head. 'Stephen, yes, Chrys, no. She'd better stay with me.'
'Ah, I see. You are afraid the Mavroleons will spirit the two of them away and deprive you of the satisfaction of doing your duty.'
Until he said this, the idea hadn't crossed her mind. She might have her doubts about Marcos Mavroleon's bold, assessing gaze, but in other matters she felt instinctively he was to be trusted, and instinct rarely played her false. Except in the case of Petros Theodopoulos, she reminded herself, and a little stab of pain made her grimace.
'I have hit the nail on the head, no?'
'Not at all,' she told him. 'It's just that Chrys is here very much against her will. She's afraid and resentful. She might be discourteous to your aunt. Besides, whether she likes it or not, Greece is her inheritance. It might be a good thing for her to appreciate some of its beauties, its history.'
'I see you are not only an attractive young woman, but a wise one.' And as Lena blushed, he went on, 'So be it.' With a glance at his watch which revealed a wrist strongly coated with dark, virile hair, he said, 'It is too late now, but tomorrow I will take you to meet my aunt, so you may satisfy yourself of her suitability to care for Stefanos.'
'His name is Stephen,' Lena reminded him, and he shrugged.
'It is the same thing, and to me the Greek name comes more easily.' He straightened and moved towards the door, held it wide open. It was a dismissal, and Lena found herself automatically complying.
In the outer office peace now reigned. Christos had sent out for ice-cream for his young cousins. Stephen, with besmeared hands and face, grinned beatifically at Lena. But Christos had recognised that Chryssanti was no longer a child to be placated with sticky treats, and the two of them were deep in conversation. Chryssanti was actually smiling.
'Until tomorrow then, Miss Thomas.' Marcos came no further than the threshold of his office.
'What's happening tomorrow?' Chryssanti asked on the lift's downward journey and, when Lena explained, 'Why can't Christos take us to meet his mother? I like him:
'I'm sure you'll like all your cousins when you get to know them,' Lena reassured her, unconsciously defending Marcos.
Lena had insisted that she would bring her charges to the Mavroleon office next morning. She couldn't risk giving Marcos her Athens address, in case he knew who owned the building. She deplored the need for such cloak and dagger behaviour, but Domenicos had been insistent that his name should not be brought into her dealings with Irini's family.
She'd taken considerable trouble this morning, not just over Chryssanti's and Stephen's appearance, but over her own. The Greeks, she had found, were hospitable people. Nevertheless, it was an honour to be invited into the private home of someone she'd never met, a wealthy home moreover, and she felt she must do justice to the surroundings.
She hadn't dressed for his benefit. Nevertheless, she was aware of the approbation in Marcos's eyes as they took in her slight but perfectly proportioned figure, enhanced by the cut of the cream silk skirt and jacket with the toning coffee-coloured blouse. She had wondered a little at the advisability of wearing the high-heeled sandals that matched the outfit. She had several pairs of flat shoes. But somehow she felt the need to minimise her lack of inches. Marcos Mavroleon was so dauntingly tall.
His chauffeur-driven limousine, fitted out with every luxury, including a telephone, was ready and they left immediately, following the road that ran out of Athens and past the airport. Their route then hugged the shore, twisting in and out along a succession of bays where blue seas broke on golden sands.
It was around midday when the limousine turned inland and took a steep twisting road, thick with white dust, that ran up into the heat-shimmered hills. Far below, white villas among sombre trees dotted the grey coast and, on a promontory lunging out into the blue Aegean, Lena caught a glimpse of white columns glittering in the sunlight—a temple?
'The temple of Poseidon,' Marcos confirmed in answer to her eager question.
'The God of the Sea.'
'You are familiar with our gods and goddesses?'
'Yes, I've always been interested in anything to do with Greece.'
Wishing they might have gone closer, Lena craned her neck until the temple was lost to sight.
'Greece has many temples, Miss Thomas. By the time you leave you will have had a surfeit of them.'
'I doubt it,' she told him. 'Can one ever have enough of beauty?'
'Perhaps not.' But his bold black eyes li
ngered on her face rather than on the scenery. 'I think a man might look at you for a long time, Miss Thomas.'
Lena was used to receiving compliments. There were many ways of dealing with them, depending upon the sincerity or otherwise of the donor. But somehow this time she found herself unable to make a coherent reply either of thanks or of humorous self-deprecation. She'd never met anyone quite like Marcos Mavroleon before. And yet why? He had the same component parts as any other attractive male. In fact, in her time she'd met handsomer men. So why this unusual discomposure?
Anastasia Mavroleon was a charming hostess, a dark woman with quiet and delicate movements. Lena liked her immediately and she felt no compunction about leaving Stephen in the older woman's care. To her surprise, when given a choice, Chryssanti too opted for remaining at the villa for the next few days.
'I've never liked sightseeing,' she told Lena. 'You'll enjoy it much better without me.'
That was probably true, and Lena had never minded her own company—until she'd met Petros, she re-minded herself, and become accustomed to being a twosome. But it was a good thing that Chryssanti now seemed disposed to make an effort to get on with her Greek relations. What did disconcert Lena was the thought of travelling back to Athens alone with Marcos Mavroleon. One couldn't count the chauffeur, isolated behind the limousine's thick dividing glass panel.
'You have never visited Greece before?'
She was grateful when, on the return journey, Marcos initiated the conversation. She wasn't usually so stupidly tongue-tied.
'No. But I'd always meant to some day.'
'That's why you took on the task of escorting Irini's children?'
'Partly.'
'You had some other reason for wishing to leave England?'
'Not one I want to discuss.' But he was too perceptive.
'A broken romance?' he hazarded.
'Yes, if you must know. But I said I didn't…'
'What foolish man would allow you to escape him?' Marcos mused.
'Please, there's no need to…'
'To flatter you?' His dark eyes viewed her flushed confusion with deep interest. 'Believe me, that was not my intention. Flattery is so often insincere. But you must know that you are a very lovely young woman.' To her relief, he did not pursue the theme. Instead he leant forward and slid open the glass partition, giving the chauffeur rapid instructions in his own language.
They were approaching the bend in the road from which Lena had glimpsed the Temple of Poseidon, and to her surprise the limousine left the main road, following instead a twisting offshoot out on to the headland.
'This is a favourite target for the tourist coaches.' Marcos seemed to be apologising for the fact, and Lena realised why when she saw the restaurant with its crowded car park and the array of tables outside, set under brightly coloured umbrellas.
'We will walk a little way up the hillside,' Marcos decided. And with a wry glance at Lena's sandals, 'You will need more appropriate footwear for your sightseeing.'
'Yes, I realise that. But I wasn't expecting…'
'You looked so wistful as we passed by on our way this morning, I found myself wishing to gratify your curiosity.' He took her arm to guide her over the worn track that led up to the promontory. Lena tried to tell herself that his hold was an impersonal one, but found herself disturbed by it all the same.
Whatever is the matter with you? she scolded herself. You've just been discarded by one man. Just because you're lonely, don't for heaven's sake do anything foolish like falling for another one on the rebound. Anyway, you only met him twenty-four hours ago. You know nothing about him. He could be married… She realised that Marcos was speaking and forced herself to pay attention.
'The temple was built in the Great Age, under Pericles. It is made of pure white marble. Originally it had nineteen columns. Only twelve are left.'
Lena wished they could have climbed right up to the summit, but even at this distance it was an impressive sight. Its beauty lay as much in its situation as in its architectural form. To either side of it the coast fell away, so that the temple dominated the scene for many miles around. Beyond it, inland, the green slopes of olive groves and vineyards merged into dark, uncultivable land broken by stony outcrops. And beyond again rose rocky heights, sharply outlined against the clear, burning blue sky. The rugged grandeur of the scene must differ very little from what it had been in the days of the ancient Greeks. The beauty of it caught at Lena's heart, and impulsively she looked up into Marcos's face.
'Thank you for bringing me here.'
He inclined his dark head.
'It is my pleasure. In fact, I should like to show you more of our national treasures. I tend to take them for granted. It is refreshing to see them in the company of one so appreciative.'
She found herself waiting expectantly, and was aware of irrational disappointment when he said no more. Of course, she told herself, as they returned in silence to the limousine, he was only being polite. There was no reason why either of them should seek the other's company. It was only her errand that had brought them together.
So it was with pleased surprise that she heard him issue an invitation to dine with him that evening. She felt bound to utter a disclaimer.
'You mustn't feel obliged to entertain me.'
'Oh, but I shall feel obliged—if you accept!'
He was doing it again, disconcerting her with the liquid gaze of those dark eyes, the husky intonation of his voice, and if she had any sense she'd refuse politely. But common sense seemed in unusually short supply. After all, there was no reason why she shouldn't enjoy herself. She might still be in love with Petros Theodopoulos, but she owed him no loyalty. And though she'd disagreed with Sally at the time, maybe the way to forget one man was to find another. Not that she was planning on anything more than a pleasant holiday association. And there was still that unanswered question in her mind— was he married? She approached the subject as closely as she dared.
'It might not be convenient to… to your family. You may be expected at home.'
'There will be no inconvenience. I live alone.'
'You will forgive me if I send you home unescorted?' Marcos asked as the limousine paused briefly outside the Mavroleon office.
'I can walk from here,' she told him hastily. 'It isn't far to my flat.' But Marcos signalled to the chauffeur to drive on, and she found herself having to direct the man through the crowded streets. Though still slightly bemused by the events of the day, Lena had wit enough to tell him to stop two blocks from her own.
'I will pick you up at seven this evening, thespinis,' the chauffeur called after her.
Lena spun on her heel, but it was too late. Already the limousine was gliding away. Damn, that was the trouble with having to dissemble. Now she'd have to be on this spot tonight if she wanted to keep her date with Marcos. And she did want to, very much.
As she considered the contents of her wardrobe that evening, Lena thanked heaven for her experience of mingling with wealthy friends of her Greek employer. True, she hadn't expected to do much socialising while in Athens, but she had packed one or two dressy outfits, just in case.
She had no idea where they would be going, but the silky-look wrapover dress in a sumptuous burgundy-coloured Persian print was suitable for most occasions. She donned matching burgundy tights and shoes, and the heavy gold necklace and earrings which had been her last birthday present from Petros. Left to herself, she would never have purchased anything quite so expensive, but they were just the thing for tonight.
She knew that even in summer Greek evenings could be cool, and as she left the flat she threw a light jacket around her shoulders.
Guessing that anyone who worked for Marcos Mavroleon would be punctual, she timed her arrival to coincide exactly with that of the limousine. If the chauffeur was surprised to see her already standing outside, he did not show it.
Lena was a little surprised and, yes, a little piqued that Marcos had not called for her himself.
She was even more surprised and a little dismayed when the chauffeur took her, not to a restaurant, but to an elegant private house in the modern part of the city.
A thin-faced, severe-looking woman admitted her and showed her into a large salon, then, with a few muttered words in a tone that seemed to imply disapproval, left her to her own devices.
Lena had spent the last few hours since her parting with Marcos telling herself she had no need to be so nervous about seeing him again. But it was an apprehension that mingled with anticipation. Now, in his house, the tremulous excitement had returned. But this time she wasn't going to allow nerves to betray the startling effect he had on her. She would be calm, friendly, but coolly so. To steady herself, she began an appraisal of the room in which she waited.
As she would have expected, nothing that wealth or good taste could provide was lacking. Thick wall-to-wall carpeting, glowing antique furniture, subtly lit paintings—Picasso, Manet, Lautrec and others were among those she could identify. She was on the point of moving closer to study the brushwork when the door behind her opened, and despite all her resolutions she started violently.
In evening dress Marcos Mavroleon was even more striking, in a way that made her blood race. He came towards her, holding out his hand. She swallowed and strove for a steady tone as she put her fingers into his.
'Mr Mavroleon, you have a lovely home. I was admiring your paintings.'
'You are interested in art?' And at her nod, 'Then you will enjoy my grandfather's collection. Compared with his, mine is very modest.' He released her hand but only to slide his beneath her elbow, his fingers warm on her bare flesh. He guided her towards large double doors at the end of the salon, and she found herself in a small intimate dining-room. The table was set for two, the places not opposite but adjacent at one corner. 'I hope you do not mind dining here, a deux,' he said, continuing smoothly before she could reply 'After a long day, I find it more restful to eat at home.'
Black Lion of Skiapelos Page 3