'No.' The touch of his hands meant nothing to her. All she could think of was how she felt when Marcos held her this way. Petros, with his blue eyes and blond good looks—rare in a Greek—seemed vapid and colourless when she contrasted him with Marcos.
Petros's hands dropped to his sides. But, 'You'll change your mind in a day or two,' he said confidently, 'when we've seen a bit more of each other. It will be just how it used to be.'
'I don't intend to see any more of you. And if you're not leaving, then I must. It's too late now, but tomorrow I'll find somewhere else.' She would ask Lydia's help. The other girl had a large apartment. Surely she wouldn't mind putting Lena up for the remainder of her time in Athens?
Lena slept badly that night. She locked her bedroom door, something she'd never bothered to do when she'd had the apartment to herself. But as far as she knew Petros made no attempt to disturb her.
She rose early. She'd meant to look through some important papers before she went to bed, but instead she had done her packing and written a letter to Sally, telling her to address all future correspondence to her at the Mavroleon office. Now she'd have to read the papers over breakfast. But her plans were frustrated again. Petros was already up and in a determinedly talkative mood which lasted throughout her hasty meal.
'What sort of work are you doing for the Mavroleons?' he asked as he lounged indolently in an armchair. 'The same as you did for us?'
'No. I'm just assisting the managing director's PA.'
'Which one of them is managing director these days, now the old man's retired?'
'Marcos Mavroleon.' Just to say his name was exquisite pain.
'Anything interesting going on?'
'Petros, you know better than that. My work is strictly confidential—as it was when I worked for your uncle.' She pushed back her chair. 'I'll find somewhere else to stay and come back for my luggage.'
'There's no need for you to move out,' he grumbled.
'There's every need,' she contradicted him. She picked up her handbag, then looked around her. 'Have you seen my briefcase? Oh, there it is.' She retrieved it from where it lay almost concealed under Petros's armchair. 'I'm off now, and please—once I've moved out, don't try to see me again.'
She didn't wait for his answer, but hurriedly left the apartment, already ten minutes later than she'd intended.
Lydia was most sympathetic when Lena explained that it was no longer convenient for her to use her friend's apartment.
'Of course you must move in with me. To save time, since we're so busy, why don't I send a man to collect your luggage and take it to my place?'
That would avoid another awkward encounter with Petros. Lena agreed, wrote the address on a scrap of paper and handed over her key.
Of necessity, Lydia dealt with all telephone calls, and Lena had given up trying to understand the rapid interchange. After one particularly lengthy call, Lydia re-ported, 'That was Kyrios Marcos. He returns to Athens tomorrow.'
'Oh?' Lena tried to sound only casually interested. 'Did…did he mention Marianthe Lychnos?'
'No. Our conversation was all of business,' Lydia said apologetically. 'Kyrios Marcos will be in the office for a few hours only. Then he flies to America for the final negotiations of the contract. So all these papers must be completed before we leave here tonight.'
Lena had little time that evening to appreciate the comfort of Lydia's apartment. Both girls were so tired, they went straight to bed. Apart from a few necessities, Lena did not even unpack the suitcases brought over from the Theodopoulos apartment.
When Marcos arrived at the Mavroleon corporation next morning, he called Lydia into his office for a consultation, sparing only an abstracted smile and a word of greeting for Lena before he left as hurriedly as he'd arrived.
'Before leaving for America I have to go to Skiapelos—an urgent summons from my grandfather,' he told them.
'Now the contract typing is finished, I suppose I might as well leave,' Lena said to Lydia during the most relaxed lunch hour they'd had for days.
'Finished?' Lydia laughed. 'That was just the preliminary work. Once the Americans have agreed our terms— and that is not certain yet—there will be vast amounts of correspondence.'
'I guessed that, of course.' Lena was still careful not to reveal her familiarity with the shipping firm's procedures. 'But you'll be able to cope now, won't you?'
'I suppose you want to go on with your sightseeing?'
'No,' Lena said slowly, 'I think I might go back to England.' At least there would no longer be any embarrassment in encountering Petros.
'I was hoping,' Lydia said, 'and I think Kyrios Marcos was hoping, too—that you would stay on and let me train you to take my place. You see,' as Lena looked at her enquiringly, 'I hope to be married at the beginning of next year, but I promised not to leave until a replacement was found.'
It was impossible, of course—though for a moment or two Lena let herself be tempted by the idea. To be Marcos's personal assistant. To work closely with him all day, every day. But no, she shook her head; it would be too sweet a torture.
'Don't make up your mind yet,' Lydia begged. 'At least wait until Kyrios Marcos can talk to you about it first. I'm sure he'll make it worth your while to stay.'
Except that there was only one incentive he could offer, and he wasn't free to do so. Even so, she decided weakly, she would stay just a little longer, see him just once more—one more memory to carry home with her.
A day or two later, Lena was taking advantage of the slack period at the office to catch up on some personal shopping. The slender wardrobe she had brought with her from England badly needed replenishing, and she was also beginning to think in terms of souvenirs to take home.
The boutiques were wickedly expensive, but Lena had saved most of her wages and she was in a mood to treat herself. She was trying on several dresses in one of the more exclusive shops when she heard a familiar voice coming from the adjoining cubicle.
'I'll take all of them. I didn't have time to get a proper trousseau, so my husband told me to get anything I wanted.'
Peeping furtively around the curtain of her cubicle, Lena saw Marianthe emerge in the wake of a beaming assistant whose arms were laden with garments. And, as the younger girl wrote a cheque with an air of pretty insouciance, Lena saw the flash of a wedding ring.
She went hot and cold. Nausea rose in her throat. She swayed and clutched at the corner of the booth for support. It was as she'd feared. Marianthe's escapade had resulted in the ceremony being brought forward. Marcos and Marianthe were married, and from the way Marianthe had spoken, the proud lilt in her voice when she mentioned her 'husband', it sounded as if her objections had been easily overcome.
Greek girls, of course, were very carefully protected. It was unlikely that Marcos had ever attempted to make love to his fiancée in the way he had tried to make love to Lena. Marianthe's reluctance might have stemmed from ignorance. Once married to Marcos and subjected to his compelling masculinity, how could she fail to be won over?
You fool, she told herself. So what's different? You knew it was going to happen. But the sick feeling would not go away.
The dresses Lena was trying on had lost all their appeal, but she remained where she was, waiting until Marianthe had departed. Just at that moment it would have taken more courage than Lena felt she possessed to face the other girl.
'You have decided, thespinis?' The voice of the salesgirl made Lena start.
'Oh… no… yes. That is… I'll take this one.' 'This one' happened to be the one she was wearing at the moment. Without another glance at it, Lena slipped it over her head and handed it to the assistant. Having paid for her purchase, she left the shop and went straight back to Lydia's flat. From there, she telephoned the office and pleaded an indisposition. By this time it was perfectly true. She had a raging headache.
Lydia was concerned.
'And I will not be home until late this evening. I am dining with my fiancé. I could cancel…'
'You will be in the office tomorrow?' Lydia asked. 'Kyrios Marcos is returned from Skiapelos. There is much work to be done while he is away in America.'
Lena was relieved she had decided to go straight to the apartment. But tomorrow she would have to face him, and without betraying her mood.
'Yes, I'll be in.'
'I told him I had spoken to you about taking my job here. He seemed very…'
'I can't, Lydia!' Lena interrupted. 'Please, you must tell him I can't possibly stay. I've decided to go back to England.' To the sound of Lydia's dismay, she put the telephone down.
CHAPTER EIGHT
To pass the dreary evening that followed her discovery, Lena decided to catch up on some personal correspondence. She'd been so busy, she hadn't written to her parents lately. They would be glad to know she was coming home, and so would Sally. She would write to Chryssanti as well and bring her up to date with Marianthe's affairs. Perhaps it would help Lena herself to come to terms with Marcos's marriage to have to put it down in black and white.
She passed a sleepless night, and it was a wan-faced, hollow-eyed Lena who went into work next day, intending only to collect her personal belongings and hand in her notice. But she arrived to find the normally well-ordered office in confusion.
There was no sign of Lydia who, to Lena's surprise, had not returned to the apartment last night. Greek girls, even those who were engaged, did not stay out all night with their fiancés. Through the open door into the adjoining office she saw, not Marcos, but Dimitri Mavroleon.
'Lena, thank goodness! We were not sure if you would be in. Are you recovered?' He looked doubtfully at her drawn features. 'Lydia and her fiancé were involved in an accident last night, and so…'
'Are they all right? They're not…?'
'No, no. Both are fine. Just suffering from bruises and shock. They are staying at her fiancé's home for a day or two. But listen, Marcos has been called away again—back to Skiapelos. Our grandfather is not well.'
'I'm so sorry.'
Dimitri nodded a grave acceptance.
'Before Marcos went, he left instructions that only you were to handle some confidential typing. I will be keeping his appointments for the next few days, which means I am off to America in two hours' time.'
Also in Marcos's drawer, Lena discovered, was a square white envelope addressed to her. At first she thought it might be further instructions, but then she realised the handwriting was unfamiliar. By now she was well acquainted with Marcos's firm, upright script. She studied the envelope, aware of an unreasonable feeling of unease that made her reluctant to open it.
But this was ridiculous. What possible harm could it contain? She slit it open and drew out the single sheet of white cardboard, then drew in her breath in an anguished hiss. It was coincidence, of course. She couldn't really have had a premonition of the pain it would cause her. The card read:
'Mr and Mrs M Mavroleon invite Miss Lena Thomas to a dinner party to celebrate their recent marriage.' There followed the venue, date and time. There was a personal note inscribed on the back. 'Do come. I want to apologise. Marcos has explained everything. Marianthe.'
She couldn't go, of course. Lena sat down in Marcos's chair and leaned on his desk, head in hands, fighting back tears. She couldn't go.
But, after the first blow, a few moments' reasoned thought told her she must go and be seen to be unaffected by Marcos's marriage—seen particularly by Marcos himself.
Lydia telephoned next day, sounding none the worse for her experience, but confirmed that she would not return to work until the following week.
'There are some things I haven't been able to deal with,' Lena told her worriedly. 'Things I can't make a decision about. Dimitri's keeping all Marcos's appointments, Christos is always in meetings, and heaven knows where Manoli's been all week. And I didn't like to ask any of the other secretaries. I think they all resent me working for Marcos.'
'You must forgive them,' Lydia laughed. 'They are all a little in love with him.'
'That won't do them much good,' Lena said with caustic fellow-feeling.
'No,' Lydia chuckled again. 'Not now. But leave everything until after the weekend. I will be back then.'
The dinner party was being held at Anastasia's villa that weekend. Lena supposed that a family party as sizeable as the Mavroleons would scarcely fit into Marcos's town house.
At least she had a new dress for the occasion, Lena thought wryly as she dressed that Saturday evening. Despite her hurried, uncaring decision in the boutique, she had chosen well. The soft, midnight-blue cotton with its deep neckline clung alluringly to her slender figure, outlining breast and hip and swirling softly at knee-length to reveal and set off slender, shapely legs. With the golden tan she had acquired she needed no make-up other than a moisturiser, a hint of blue eyeshadow and a soft pink lipstick that enhanced the full, soft lines of her mouth.
She had ordered a taxi to take her out to the villa, and she was just applying a mist of soft, subtle perfume when the doorbell rang. She snatched up her handbag and a light wrap. The evenings were growing cooler now that the end of summer was approaching. As the bell repeated its summons, she hurried to the door.
But it was no taxi driver who confronted her.
'Marcos!' His name was a startled gasp on her lips, and instinctively she drew back, not wanting him near her with the disastrous effect his proximity would have. But he was so handsome in his evening clothes, he took her breath away.
'Who were you expecting?' he demanded, a suspicious note in his voice.
'No one… At least… that is… I ordered a taxi.'
'I sent a message that I would pick you up.'
'I didn't get it. But Marcos, there was no need for you… Surely you should be at…'
'Of course there is a need. You are my guest. Come!' He stretched out a peremptory hand, but deftly she avoided his touch and preceded him out of the apartment and into the lift.
'Surely Marianthe will think it very strange that you…'
'Why should she?' He sounded genuinely puzzled. 'And what does it matter? She has other things to occupy her than wondering how I spend my time.'
Lena was speechless. How could a newly married man speak so casually of his wife? Couldn't he see how odd it looked that he should be fetching another woman to his dinner party? Especially a woman to whom, it had been proved, he was not sexually indifferent.
'You look very lovely, Helena,' he commented as he ushered her into the lift. 'But then, you always do.' His gaze swept over her, taking in the exquisite blue dress, the firm thrust of her breasts beneath it. The clinging skirt enhanced the curves of her waist and hips. It was as if mentally he was undressing her, and she was aware that the exercise was disturbing him. Finally, his eyes connected with hers and held. As always, she reacted to his hypnotic stare. She couldn't seem to look away from him. His gaze had moved to her mouth now. The result was like a physical caress. Her lips parted and she drew in her breath sharply, knowing that she must dispel the sensual tension that had sprung between them.
It was difficult in the small service lift to distance herself from him. Tall, long-legged, broad of shoulder, he seemed to fill the enclosed space, the warmth, the scent, the male aura of him. Lena felt heat spread through her abdomen and wondered if her face was flushed.
'H—how is your grandfather?' she asked. She genuinely wanted to know, but the question broke the sensual spell he had cast upon her.
'Much recovered thank you. Fortunately it was only a slight heart attack, brought on by a fit of anger.' He added grimly, 'I am afraid it was my fault. We quarrelled again. The doctor says that in future he must not be worri
ed with business or family affairs, or he cannot answer for the consequences.' Marcos sounded suddenly weary, and Lena guessed such cares would now fall to his responsibility.
'Here we are.' His hand at her waist, he ushered her into the back of his limousine, following her far too closely for comfort. 'Kyria Tassia's house, Spyros, parakalo,' he told the chauffeur.
'You are quite recovered from the other day?' Marcos asked as the limousine drew away. His voice was full of deep concern. 'I was sorry not to see you before I left.
Lydia felt guilty. She said maybe she had let you overdo things. You are not used to working in our climate.'
Lena seized on the excuse.
'That's one of the reasons I'm thinking of going home.' But as she said it depression gripped her.
'Yes, Lydia said you had turned down the chance of taking her job. She said you sounded almost frightened on the telephone, that you spoke of returning to England. I had hoped you would change your mind about that.'
Lena shook her head, not trusting herself to look at him. She was aware of a very strong desire to burst into tears.
'Do not worry, Helena!' There was amusement in his voice, and he leaned towards her, placing a hand on her knee. 'I do not want you to take the job.'
'You…you don't?' For a moment, surprise mingled with a sense of chagrin banished all other emotions and she was able to look at him.
'No. I have already found a suitable replacement for Lydia.' As his gaze met hers, his dark eyes kindled into liquid fire. 'No,' he repeated, 'I have something quite different in mind for you, mikros ena mou.'
At his words, at the endearment, violent tremors shuddered through Lena's body. She wanted to look away, but his expression compelled her, held her mesmerised. She shouldn't be alone with him like this. It was too dangerous. The chauffeur behind his smoked-glass screen didn't count. Marcos shouldn't be looking at her like this. He shouldn't be about to kiss her. As his head came nearer, the limousine's telephone rang. The spell broken, she jerked away.
To Lena's relief the limousine's telephone rang constantly on the journey out to the villa, engaging Marcos's attention for most of the way. But she was aware, even as he talked business, of his eyes on her, their expression, when she inadvertently met them, curiously thoughtful.
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