Black Lion of Skiapelos

by Annabel Murray

  Marcos did not waste time on a preamble.

  'Dimitri came back yesterday from America. He went there hoping to return with a signed contract. He found instead that our confidentiality had been breached. Understandably the Americans are annoyed. There is some doubt now whether they will do business with us.'

  'Marcos—' In the white oval of her face her cornflower-blue eyes pleaded with him for a hearing. 'Marcos, I…'

  'That confidentiality was breached from this office. Since yesterday I have been making enquiries. I now know how and why. Helena!' he rapped out her name. 'Is your fiancé still in Athens?'

  'He's not…' she began, but she was not allowed to continue.

  'He has left you again so soon? But of course he has obtained what he came here to find out. I am only surprised you did not go with him and make your escape while you could. But perhaps you hoped to do some more spying?'

  'No!' she cried indignantly. 'I…'

  'I should have suspected something. You were always very outspoken in your views about Greeks and their ways. And then you picked up our office routines with an ease that should have made me suspicious. When you spoke of a broken romance, I believed you.' Marcos's deep voice was heavy with self-disgust. 'Now I discover you are still engaged, that your fiancé is a Greek, one of a family very well known to us. You worked for them in London?' It was phrased as a question. But he knew.

  'Yes…I…But Marcos, he's not… I'm not… I didn't…'

  'When you first came here, you were living with him in his apartment.'

  'I was there alone,' she said fiercely.

  'Then he joined you later,' Marcos's tone was impatient. 'Let us not quibble. The fact remains that you were staying there and Spyros saw him when he collected your luggage. The only thing that puzzles me is why you moved in with Lydia. That I do not understand at all.'

  'No, you wouldn't,' Lena said bitterly. 'You're so determined to condemn me. All of you.' She looked around at the grim faces. 'You're very ready to believe I could be guilty of such disloyalty.'

  'Lena.' It was Dimitri who spoke, gently, regretfully. 'It is well known that one cannot serve two masters. In this case, obviously, your loyalty was to Domenicos Theodopoulos and to your fiancé.'

  'No, no, no! You don't understand! Any of you.' She was almost sobbing now, yet pride would not let the tears fall. If only she'd been alone with Marcos she might have been able to get through to him, to convince him. She might even have told him that she loved him, that she would never have betrayed his trust. But she wouldn't beg and plead in front of all these stony-faced men.

  Perhaps that was why Marcos had lined them all up to face her. The thought that he might have been afraid of weakening gave her hope. 'I'd like to speak to you alone,' she told him.

  'Kolasiz!' He swore. 'Never! You will see Lydia, collect your pay and be out of this building in the next half-hour. I do not wish to see you again—ever!'

  Lena managed to hold herself together until she reached the outer office, then, to Lydia's consternation, she collapsed weeping into a chair. For a few moments she was too incoherent to answer the older girl's anxious questions. Then the story poured out of her, haphazardly, lacking chronological order. But at last Lydia was in possession of all the facts.

  'And it's not true, Lydia. I would never, never have abused my position here. I'm not engaged to Petros. I haven't been since I left England. He's married, for heaven's sake—to an American girl. That's why he's so interested in the American contract.'

  'Didn't you tell Marcos all this?'

  'He wouldn't let me get a word in edgeways. Every time I tried to defend myself he just cut across me in a cold, horrible way. I didn't know he could be so…so…'

  'He is one of the Black Lions of Skiapelos,' Lydia said simply. 'When they are hurt, they roar. He is all the more hurt because he is in love with you.'

  'In love with me? Me?' Lena gave a cynical laugh that became a strangled sob. 'You're joking!'

  Lydia shook her head.

  'I have known it for a long time. That is why I said the other secretaries here were jealous, that they did not stand a chance—now.'

  'I thought you meant because he was engaged to Marianthe. Anyway, I still don't believe it. If he loved me, he couldn't think this of me. If you love someone, you trust them.' She stood up. 'I'd better go.'

  'But you can't just leave like this. There are wages owing to you.'

  'I wouldn't touch another penny of his money,' Lena said wearily. 'I don't need it, do I?' she enquired sarcastically. 'My fiancé has just filched a big deal from under Marcos's nose.'

  'So you admit it!'

  With a little gasp, Lena swung round to see Marcos in the doorway, his cousins ranged behind him, and now even Dimitri was looking at her accusingly.

  'No,' she said desperately. 'I didn't mean it like that. I…'

  'Get out!' The thrust of his square-cut jaw was belligerent and he pointed a finger towards the door in a gesture that ought to have been ridiculously dramatic, but wasn't. 'Get out of my sight!'

  CHAPTER TEN

  'I am coming back to the apartment with you,' Lydia told Lena defiantly, as Marcos made a protesting sound. 'She is in no fit state to go wandering through Athens on her own.'

  'I don't want you to get into trouble with Marcos on my account,' Lena protested as they went down in the lift, the older girl's arm about her shoulders.

  'I shall not be dismissed, if that is what worries you,' Lydia told her confidently. 'Right at this moment Marcos cannot do without me. You won't really give up and go home, will you?' she asked in the taxi taking them to the apartment. 'You are innocent. Why not stay and prove it?'

  'So you believe me?' Lena said gratefully.

  'Yes, and so should Marcos, only his judgement is clouded by jealousy of the man he believes to be your fiancé. The truth will come out, Lena. I am sure of it. Stay in Athens and give Marcos a chance to find out, to make amends.'

  Wearily, Lena shook her head.

  'I've no way of proving it. Petros has told his lies too well. I just want to get away and put the whole miserable business behind me. I'm going back to England on the first plane I can get.'

  It was easier said than done. A strike at all Greek airports had every aeroplane grounded for an indefinite period.

  'Everything's conspiring against me,' Lena said despairingly. But Lydia disagreed.

  'I believe the gods are on your side. They are keeping you here for a reason. And you know you are very welcome to stay on at my apartment for as long as you like.'

  For several days Lena did just that. She stayed within the same four walls with no heart to go out into the city she had come to love, not just for its own sake, but for its associations with the man she loved even more. Each day when Lydia returned from the office Lena looked at her questioningly, hoping against hope that there would be some news of Marcos relenting. But every day Lydia shook her head.

  'He never mentions your name, though I have been honest with him. I have told him you are still in Athens. He is not happy either,' she went on. 'The Black Lion is very much in evidence. No one is safe from his temper and his tongue.'

  When news came at last that the airport strike had been broken, Lena booked the first available flight.

  'In two days' time I'll be back in London,' she told Lydia sadly, 'and all this will seem like a dream—a bad one.' Her packing was done. All she had to do was wait.

  She spent her last day sitting out on the balcony. She might as well make the most of the sun, she told herself grimly. There would be little enough in England, with autumn approaching and winter close behind. She tried to read to keep her mind off the fact that tomorrow she would be putting so many miles between her and Marcos, but she could not concentrate. Her thoughts ranged over all the places they had seen together, and particularly the Acropolis in its varying moods. She would never again be able to look at a picture of those noble ruins without remembering Marcos and all that he meant to he
r. Perhaps she would make one last pilgrimage there before she left Greece forever. It was unlikely she would ever feel detached enough to return.

  Lost in these unhappy thoughts, she started violently when the doorbell sounded. No matter how many times it had rung in the last few days, there had always been the slim chance that it might be Marcos come in search of her, his doubts of her somehow dispelled. And as always she hurried to answer it.

  'Domenicos!' She ought to have shut the door in his face, but old habits of courtesy died hard, and he took advantage of her slight recoil to step inside.

  'Helena!' he said, his deeply lined face grave.

  She recovered herself. 'You've got a damned nerve, coming here like this, after all the trouble you and Petros have caused me.'

  'That is exactly why I am here,' Domenicos told her. 'To try and put things right. I insisted that Petros give me your address, and I beg you to give me a fair hearing, Helena.'

  That was what she'd hoped for from Marcos. And perhaps if he'd granted it things might have been very different now. Wanting justice for herself, she could give no less to Domenicos.

  'All right,' she said flatly, 'I'll hear you out. But it'd better be good.'

  She led the way into the living-room and sat down.

  'Firstly,' Domenicos said, 'I would like to assure you I played no part in Petros's actions while he was in Athens.' Lena's look told him 'pull the other one', and he went on hastily, 'The only deception I practised was in not revealing my relationship to Irini—that she was my niece. But I did not feel it was necessary, and we had decided her children should not be told at that time. And I certainly could not know how closely you would become connected with the Mavroleons. What is your present position with them?'

  'I don't have one,' Lena said bitterly. 'I've been sacked. Thanks to your nephew, they think I've been stealing commercial secrets, to pass on to your firm.'

  'I had the impression that there was more—between you and one of Thalassios's grandsons? Sally certainly seemed to think so.'

  'There might have been something,' Lena said flatly. 'I'm not sure what. But whatever it was is finished.'

  'I am sorry.' His regret certainly sounded genuine.

  'Petros claims you sent him to Athens specifically to find out what deals the Mavroleons were involved in— particularly the American one.'

  'Yes,' Domenicos agreed, 'I sent him. Business is still business and the Mavroleons still my rivals.' As Lena drew an indignant breath, he held up his hand. 'But he had no instructions to make use of you, or to blacken your name. I beg you to believe that, Helena. I have always had a great affection for you, and you know how sorry I was to lose your services. Even more so not to be able to welcome you into my family.'

  'Yes.' That was true, and Lena felt herself softening towards the old man.

  'I am seriously displeased with Petros. In fact, if he were not my heir I should be inclined to dismiss him. As it is…' he shrugged philosophically '… there is no one else. Stephen will no doubt become a Mavroleon in all but name.'

  'There's Chrys. You know she's back in England?'

  'Yes. But I cannot leave my firm to a woman.' Again he silenced Lena's protest. 'It is not the tradition of my family. But Chryssanti has accepted my offer of help. With her English grandparents' consent, I am putting her through university.' He hesitated, then, 'Since I am in Athens, I hear a rumour that my old friend Thalassios is unwell. How did you find him?'

  'When I first met him he was very well. But since then he's had a heart attack.'

  'Is it serious?'

  'Serious enough, I believe.'

  'Hmm.' Domenicos looked thoughtful. 'I might just go and see Thalassios, if they will let me anywhere near him.' And, at Lena's look of surprise, 'I feel I should like to make my peace with my friend. We are both growing older and age brings better counsel. The apostle Paul wrote that one should never allow the sun to set on one's wrath. I do not argue with his philosophy, and I find I do not wish the sun of life to go down on our anger. My sister,' he added with apparent inconsequentiality, 'still loves the old fool.'

  Lena asked the question that had been vexing her ever since she'd discovered Domenicos's relation by marriage to the Mavroleons.

  'Why, if the Mavroleons were still your enemies—and you were still trying to do them down in business, why on earth did you want to send Irini's children to them?'

  Domenicos sighed heavily.

  'As I told you, business is still business—friend or enemy. With regard to Irini, I admit I could not altogether approve of her wish to send her children to her father. But,' he crossed himself, 'who dares deny the wishes of a dying woman—my only sister's daughter?'

  'What brings you to Athens, then?' Lena asked him. 'Surely you're not just here to see me?'

  'No. I had to come on business.' He grinned lopsidedly. 'And the less you know about that the better. But when Petros boasted to me of the way he'd used your position with the Mavroleons and that he'd probably ruined your new romance too, I had an added incentive.'

  'Well, I do appreciate your coming to see me,' Lena told him. 'But,' she sighed as Domenicos rose to take his leave of her, 'I'm afraid it can't undo the harm that's been done. I'm going back to England tomorrow.'

  'When I return to London, perhaps you would like to come and see me about a job?' Domenicos suggested.

  'And work under the same roof as Petros again? No way!'

  When Lydia returned from work that evening she found Lena in a strange mood. Lena had prepared a meal for both of them, but was unable to eat her own share.

  'I'm going out,' she announced suddenly after they had cleared away and stacked the crockery in the dishwasher.

  'Where?' Lydia asked, then, 'I am sorry. I have no right to question your comings and goings. But I am concerned for you.'

  'I'll be all right,' Lena assured her. 'One thing I've discovered about Greece is that I never need to feel nervous being out alone—even at night. I just want to see the Acropolis one more time. It…' she flushed betrayingly, 'it's a rather special place for me.'

  'I understand,' Lydia said gently. 'But do not be too unhappy, Lena. I feel that the gods will bring you back to Greece some day. They have always smiled on true love.'

  Like a big oval island, the Acropolis floated above the sea of roofs that was the city of Athens. Floodlights played not only on its columns but on its cliffs, disguising the depredations of years and weather and making it seem a fitting dwelling for the gods. Lena climbed up the steep slope that gave access to the almost level plateau on which the temples stood.

  She made her way to the centre of the plateau. Before her lay the Parthenon with its rows of marble columns-defaced, but still things to be marvelled at. There was an atmosphere up here at night, alone, which could not be captured at any other time. Lena had the sense of being in her own private chapel. But it was not without a wry smile at her own superstitious behaviour that she closed her eyes and offered up a prayer—not to the Christian god she and her family had always worshipped, but to Pallas Athene, the patron of Athens.

  She felt no sense of being heard or answered, but then she had expected none. But she did feel calmer and more resigned to tomorrow's departure. Perhaps her obsession with Marcos had been a madness brought about by the romance of Greece, the enervating effect of its glaring sun. Perhaps at home she would recover her sanity. She sat down at the foot of a broken column and rested her back against it and stared out over the city. It was chilly up here, and the marble against which she leaned was cold, but it didn't seem to matter. It was in keeping with the ice that encased her heart.

  Time passed but still she sat on, unwilling to take her leave of this now doubly sacred spot. Afterwards she thought she might have dozed a little, for undoubtedly she was dreaming that Marcos was speaking to her.

  'Helena! Thank God I have found you. Lydia thought you might be here, but you have been gone so long.'

  Still in a daze she opened her eyes to see him
crouching before her, the floodlights illuminating his craggy features, in which his eyes were deep and unfathomable.

  'Marcos?' Her brain felt numb, incapable of rational thought. She still couldn't believe he was here.

  'Yes, glyka mou.' His voice was unbelievably tender. She hadn't thought to hear him call her that again. 'Come.' He put a hand on her arm. 'Christos, but you are cold. And stiff,' he said as he pulled her to her feet. With his arm about her, he began to lead her back down the slope.

  'Where are you taking me? Why are you here?' Her state of calm euphoria banished by his arrival, her chilled body had begun to tremble. Her eyes pricked with tears. 'I thought I'd never see you again.'

  'And if it had been left to me, stiff-necked fool that I am, you might never have done so. We Greeks do not find it easy to admit we are wrong, but ah, Helena, can you ever forgive me for doubting you?'

  She could forgive him anything, she thought, if only he would tell her that he loved her. Her cold feet stumbled a little over the last stretch of ground, and with a muffled curse he swung her up into his arms and carried her the remaining few yards to where his limousine stood, its engine running.

  Spyros did not wait for instructions. The moment Marcos had lowered his precious burden into the rear of the vehicle, it glided away.

  Wrapped in Marcos's arms, Lena could still not believe what was happening to her.

  'Where are we going?' she asked again.

  'Where I should have taken you a long time ago,' he muttered.

  It was only a short drive to Marcos's town house. Lena recognised the street at once. Still shivering, she allowed him to help her up the steps and into the building.

  Inside they were met by the same elderly, stern-faced woman she had seen on her only other visit to Marcos's home. At the old woman's severe expression, Lena, who felt strangely light-headed now, began to giggle weakly.

  'She doesn't approve of me at all, does she? She probably thinks I'm drunk.'

  'It is not her place to disapprove of you,' Marcos said. 'And in future no one shall disapprove of you. No one!' He rapped out a few peremptory orders in his own tongue, and with a startled exclamation the housekeeper bustled away. 'I have told her to bring some warm soup. You are chilled to the bone and Lydia tells me you ate nothing before you went out. Are you trying to make yourself ill?' he scolded. He settled her in a chair and knelt before her, chafing her hands between his.