'I'm beginning to think I know more about the Mavroleon Shipping Company than I do about Marcos,' she wrote in another bulletin to Sally. 'It's certainly run on a much larger scale than Theodopoulos's. The funny thing is, they seem to do business with every Greek company based in London except Theodopoulos's. I suppose it has something to do with the feud Domenicos mentioned between him and old Thalassios. I wonder what it was about?'
She had been working for Marcos just over a week when he called her into his office. Thinking he wanted to dictate some letters, she carried a notebook and pen and sat in the chair facing him, waiting expectantly.
He was frowning over a letter on his desk and he did not look up for a long time, giving her an opportunity, lacking of late, to study him. He looked tired, she thought. His rugged face seemed more lined than usual about the brow and eyes, and she was certain there were new signs of grey at his hairline. The normally sensual curves of his mouth were drawn into a grim line. As she studied him, she knew he had lost none of his attraction for her, and her insides twisted painfully as she recalled the times he had kissed and caressed her. But his wedding day was less than two weeks away, and obviously that accounted for his recent restraint. She wondered what would happen when he found out his promised bride had vanished. Would he be hurt? Her heart yearned over him in a longing to show him he did not need Marianthe.
Unknowingly, her eyes were still filled with liquid feeling when he looked up and caught her gaze on him. She heard him draw in a sharp breath and his lips tightened still more. Abruptly he stood up and came round the desk towards her. A profound elemental need stirred within her, and, as her body throbbed, she swallowed and passed her tongue surreptitiously over her lips.
She couldn't have moved if she'd wanted to—and she didn't want to. She hadn't been this close to him in days. He was so close, she could see every one of the individual hairs on the back of his hand as it grasped the letter, and she had to restrain her own fingers from reaching out to touch him.
'Helena!'
She looked up into his face and felt her heart accelerate.
'Marcos?' she croaked.
His hand moved towards her and her heart thudded painfully in her ears, making her feel giddy. But he did not touch her. Instead he threw the letter into her lap.
'What do you know about this?'
CHAPTER SEVEN
'What is it?' Her eyes were still locked with his.
'Read it!'
Reluctantly she looked down at the letter and scanned its contents. It was from Marianthe's father, reporting that his daughter had mysteriously vanished. The letter was angry rather than distraught. It seemed to be blaming Marcos for the disappearance.
'But we know this is not true,' Marcos said when Lena tentatively mentioned it. 'What we do know is that she disappeared the very day we returned her to Mykonos. Too much of a coincidence to be ignored, I think?' He paused, then, tautly, 'What have you said to her, Helena?'
'Me? Said to her? I don't know what you mean.' But she did know that her cheeks were flushed with a guilty stain.
'This is too important for lies, Helena.' His rugged face was stern. 'Marianthe is a young and vulnerable child. I will not have her hurt. What have you told her about us?'
'Nothing!' Lena retorted indignantly. She stood up. 'There was nothing to tell.'
He gave a grunt of incredulity. 'Nothing! You call it nothing what there is between us?'
'Yes,' she said defiantly, though the denial made her heart ache. 'Because there is nothing. We both know you're betrothed to Marianthe. All right, once or twice in the heat of the moment we've both behaved very badly. I'm not excusing myself either. And I certainly wouldn't have told Marianthe about it. It's not something I'm exactly proud of.'
'You wouldn't have told her even in the hope that our engagement might be broken off?' He sounded more curious than condemnatory, but Lena was incensed.
'Certainly not! How can you think I'd be so despicable? And what good would that do me?'
'You do not care that I am not free to marry you?' It was difficult to gauge his expression. And of course she cared, but it behoved her not to let him know it.
'I only care because it makes my behaviour even more despicable,' she told him. 'But I've sworn it won't ever happen again.'
He made an incomprehensible sound in his throat. Then, 'I have your word of honour that you have not revealed any of this to my fiancée?'
'Yes.'
'And you have no idea where she may be?'
'I…' Lena was not a good liar and, despite her efforts to sustain it, her gaze fell before his, a pink flush once more staining her cheeks. He pounced in triumph, his hands grasping her shoulders.
'So you have been indulging in sophistry.' Angry now, he gave her a little shake. 'You have told the truth only as far as it suits you. You do know something.' He repeated the shake. 'I insist that you tell me.'
It wasn't fear of his anger that was making her legs sag, that made it difficult to swallow.
'I…I gave my word, Marcos. I promised,' she managed to say. 'Don't make me break that promise,' she pleaded with him.
'Helena!' He gave her another shake, but it was not as violent and it seemed to bring her closer to him. 'I do not think you realise the seriousness of this. You are not in England now. In Greece, the disappearance of a young unmarried girl is a cause of great concern to her family.'
'And to her fiancé, obviously,' she reminded him tautly.
'As you say.' His own tone was crisp. 'Naturally I am concerned. Now, let us have no more of this nonsense about keeping promises. Where is she?'
'I… I don't know exactly,' Lena confessed. 'She hid on board the Poseidon until we got back to Piraeus. She said she had a girlfriend here in Athens. She was going to stay with her.'
'Thank God for that!' Marcos exclaimed with a relief that was obviously heartfelt. He cared about Marianthe, Lena thought miserably, and that made his behaviour over the past weeks a cynical betrayal, not only of his fiancée, but of her too. She stifled a threatening sob.
'Oh, and she said this friend had been at school with her in Paris.' There was no point now in holding back any details.
'Presumably she also told you why she was leaving home without her parents' permission?'
Lena firmed her lips, but not just to still their tendency to tremble. Wild horses wouldn't drag that piece of information from her. That was for Marcos to find out for himself—if Marianthe had the courage to tell him.
'I can't tell you any more.'
'But you know.' His dark liquid gaze held hers, daring her to deny it. His hands were still gripping her shoulders, and they stared at each other for an interminable moment. Then something in the quality of the silence changed. She heard and saw Marcos draw in a long, deep breath as his gaze travelled over her. All at once the neat blue summer dress she had worn to work seemed inadequate protection. Her eyes widened and sharp little needles of longing darted through her.
She breathed in the warm masculine scent of him and swallowed hard. She wanted him to pull her closer and bend his head to hers. She wanted him to kiss her and press her soft body against his. She imagined him cupping her breasts, then slipping his fingers beneath the material to tease her nipples. Then he would pick her up and carry her… Carry her where? They were in his office and—besotted fool that she was—that mesmeric quality of his had blinded and deafened her once more to their surroundings and to the impossibility of any relationship between them.
With a little choking sound of protest, she pulled free of him. She took a deep, steadying breath.
'Well,' she challenged him, 'I've told you what you want to know. Hadn't you better start looking for your fiancée?'
There was another of those long silences, then, 'Yes,' Marcos said with heavy finality. 'Yes, I have to find her.'
'I'll get back to work, then.' She turned away, trying to sound bright and matter-of-fact.
'No.' The harsh monosyllable halted her. 'Y
ou are coming with me.'
'Me?' she squeaked in dismay. 'Why do you want me?'
For an instant the corner of his mouth flexed, but he made no direct answer. He picked up the telephone.
'I am going to call Kyrios Lychnos and find out the names and addresses of Marianthe's schoolfriends.'
'And when you find her—if you find her—what then?'
'Naturally I shall take her back to her parents.'
And then no doubt the truth would come out and the marriage date would be brought forward. Lena hadn't been too keen on what she'd seen of Mr Lychnos. He struck her as being a typical domestic tyrant.
'What will they do to her?'
Marcos's gaze softened as it rested on Lena's anxious face.
'Don't worry.' His craggy features actually broke into a smile. 'We Greeks do not beat our women. We have too much respect for them. We protect them.' His voice deepened and his eyes became smoky as he met Lena's own blue gaze. 'We cherish them.' He fell into a long, contemplative silence in which his eyes never left hers. Then he seemed to recall himself. 'But she will be severely reprimanded,' he went on briskly, 'and a closer watch will be kept on her for the future.'
'Until she's married and her husband can keep an eye on her?'
'Exactly.'
An hour later, Lena and Marcos stood on the steps of a palatial villa on the outskirts of Athens.
'I feel awful about this,' Lena muttered as a servant unquestioningly ushered them into a large salon where the family and their guest were seated. Apparently, the name Mavroleon was a sure passport to any Greek establishment.
'Lena?' A startled Marianthe came to her feet, then, belatedly, saw Marcos two paces behind. 'Oh, Lena!' Surprise turned to reproach, and the hand she had extended fell to her side. 'How could you?'
'I'm sorry,' Lena began, but the younger girl's face was closed and hostile.
'I thought you were my friend. I'll never forgive you for this.'
Marcos, meanwhile, was in earnest conversation with Marianthe's host and hostess, who, it transpired, had no idea Marianthe was visiting their daughter without her parents' knowledge and consent. Nor did Lena's part in her escapade pass without censure, even though Marcos spoke in mitigation of her offence.
'Helena is not yet accustomed to our ways.' He obviously believed what he said, and his rider made Lena feel even more guilty. 'She did not realise what she was doing.'
From the outset it was obvious Marianthe's cause was lost, as her friend's parents expressed their shock and concurred with Marcos that she must return home at once. And who better to take charge of her than her fiancé?
There was an uncomfortable silence as the limousine bore Marianthe, a silent, unhappy prisoner, back to the Mavroleon offices. Several times Lena looked at her pleadingly, wanting the other girl to understand she'd had no choice but to reveal her whereabouts. But Marianthe stolidly avoided her gaze.
Back in his office, Marcos telephoned the Lychnos family, then gave instructions for his private helicopter to be on stand-by.
'I may be away for several days,' he told his secretary. 'Helena…' He paused by her desk. And for a moment she thought he was going to say something important. Then, with a little shrug, 'I will speak to you when I get back.' With a curt nod he was gone, his hand on Marianthe's elbow, propelling her before him as if he were afraid that even now she would somehow escape him.
When he got back he would probably be a married man, Lena thought dully, and resolved she would not be in Athens to see it.
Lydia, Marcos's secretary, was startled when Lena hinted that she might be leaving Athens shortly.
'Oh, dear, I was hoping that you would be with us for at least another month. You've picked up the work remarkably quickly. One might almost think you've done something similar before. I've found your help invaluable. Especially since this new deal with America is involving us in so much more paperwork than usual. Couldn't you see your way to staying on a little longer?' she pleaded, and Lena felt it would be churlish and ungrateful to refuse.
Lena had expected the days of Marcos's absence to be long and tedious, but she and Lydia were so busy that the moments fairly flew. They worked long hours, often well past their normal time, as did Marcos's three cousins, Christos, Manoli and Dimitri. And often when Lena returned to her apartment she took work home with her.
It was obvious to Lena, when Christos asked cheerfully but casually after Chryssanti, that he had not guessed at the younger girl's feelings for him. Dimitri, his elder brother, showed more concern, gravely assuring Lena that he had only spoken to Chryssanti with her own welfare in mind.
'Christos has a friendly way with him that might be misconstrued. I felt bound to warn her of his impending marriage. But,' he sighed, 'she resents me now, of course?'
'I'm afraid so,' Lena told him.
The ramifications of the American deal were vast and extremely confidential. It would be a disaster if the Mavroleons' competitors got to hear of it, Lydia told Lena.
'A great amount of money is at stake.'
'You wouldn't think the Mavroleons would need any more money,' Lena said. 'They live like princes now.'
'They live well,' Lydia agreed, 'but it is not just the money. To a Greek businessman it is a matter of prestige. Also they are heavily involved in charitable work. If this deal goes through they will be able to do so much more for their less fortunate countrymen.'
Marcos had been away just over a week when Lena, returning home even later than usual, found lights on all over the penthouse suite. Fearing an intruder, she was just about to re-enter the lift and summon the security guard from his post downstairs when she heard a familiar voice.
'Is that you, Lena?'
Incredulously, she walked back into the apartment, put down her heavy briefcase and stared at the towel-clad figure obviously just emerged from the shower.
'Petros! What on earth are you doing here?'
'This is my uncle's apartment,' he reminded her. Then, 'How are you, Lena?' He came towards her, and before she could prevent him pulled her into his arms and kissed her. Automatically her brain registered the fact that his kiss left her quite unmoved, and she thrust him away from her.
'Don't, Petros! And you still haven't explained why you're here.'
'Oh, this and that.' Petros's education and many years in England meant that he spoke excellent colloquial English. He shrugged. 'Some business, but mainly to see you.'
'To see me? What on earth for?'
'Sit down, relax, and I'll explain.'
'When you've dressed,' she suggested pointedly.
'What?' He looked down at himself. 'Oh. Heavens, Lena, I'm decent. And we were engaged once.' Even so, she'd never seen him wearing so little.
'I'd still rather you got dressed,' she insisted. 'You never know, I might have a visitor, and I wouldn't want anyone to find you here like this. They might misunderstand.'
'Boyfriend?' he queried, and, at her mute silence and expressive look, 'Oh, all right, I'll throw some clothes on. Quite honestly,' he grumbled, as he retired into one of the spare bedrooms, 'I thought you'd be more pleased to see me than this.'
'I can't think why.' She tossed the words over her shoulder as she went into the kitchen to plug in the coffee percolator.
He followed her a moment later, still barefoot and clad only in his trousers.
'You were in love with me, weren't you? Surely…'
'That seems a very long time ago.'
'Six weeks? A long time?' Then his outraged expression turned to one of smug conceit. 'Of course, it would seem a long time, if you were missing me.'
'I haven't missed you a bit,' Lena retorted with more truth than tact as she banged two mugs down on to the worktop. 'I suppose you'd like a coffee?'
'Well, I've missed you, I can tell you.' At her look of disbelief, he went on, 'Look, Lena, I'm here to apologise. You might make it a bit easier for me.'
'Petros,' she told him, 'I don't care whether you apologise or not
.'
'Then you have forgiven me?' he said eagerly, moving closer as he spoke. 'You see, I thought I was in love with Eva. But almost as soon as you'd gone I realised…'
'Hold on,' Lena interrupted. 'If you're about to tell me you want me back, you may as well save your breath.'
'But I do want you back. I can't believe you've forgotten two years in just a few weeks.'
'I haven't forgotten, Petros. But I've realised I was mistaken in thinking what I felt for you was love—at least, not the love that lasts a lifetime.' She drained the contents of her cup. 'And now, if you'll excuse me, I'm very tired. I've been working very long hours lately.' She moved towards the kitchen door, but Petros made no attempt to move.
'Yes, I heard you were working for the Mavroleons.'
'How…? Oh, Sally, I suppose.' The two girls were still exchanging letters at regular intervals.
'How does it compare with working for my uncle?'
'It's a much larger firm, of course.' Again she made an unsuccessful attempt to bypass him.
'And how do you like the Mavroleons themselves?'
'Very much. Look, Petros, I've got to get up early in the morning. I really must ask you to leave.'
'Leave?' He sounded astonished. 'Why should I leave? I always use Domenicos's apartment when I come to Athens.'
'I don't remember you ever coming here,' Lena retorted. 'Not since I've known you, anyway. Domenicos always handled the Athens end himself.'
'Well, this time he's sent me.'
'But I'm here alone. You can't stay. It isn't…'
'Oh, for heaven's sake, Lena, you're surely not trying to preach propriety? We were going to be married.'
'You can hardly expect that to be a recommendation,' she commented tartly.
'Oh, look!' He put his hands on her shoulders and adopted his winning little-boy smile that once she'd found so appealing. 'I knew that must still be rankling with you. But I've said I'm sorry. Can't we kiss and make up?'
Black Lion of Skiapelos Page 11