by Anne Mather
‘Perhaps its history is so vast that time is swallowed up by eternity,’ murmured Dimitri, studying her dreamy expression. ‘In any event, it appears you are glad you came.’
Joanne gave him a cautious glance, but he was not baiting her this time. ‘Of course I’m glad I came,’ she said quietly. ‘Meeting my father alone was sufficient to make the journey worthwhile.’ She sighed again. ‘If only things had been different ...’
‘Do you mean your mother - or your life in England?’
‘Maybe a little of both. Although in all honesty I must admit that my mother could never have stood this climate. Besides, that’s all in the past, isn’t it? And the therapy of coming out here has helped to banish that pervading sense of the imminence of death. Maybe that sounds silly when my father is so ill, but somehow he won’t let his illness prevail upon the rest of his household. I sit with him - I talk with him - we even have a lot in common. We like the same authors, the same composers! We can discuss plays and music and current trends in art. But never at any time will he allow me to - to - to feel compassion in his presence ...’
‘He doesn’t want your pity,’ remarked Dimitri distinctly. ‘Surely you can understand that?’
‘I suppose so.’ Joanne nodded slowly. ‘Oh, I wish there was something someone could do!’
‘But there’s not.’ Dimitri was chillingly impassive. He rose to his feet and looked down at her. ‘Would you like to go for a drive? Dionysius has ruins of its own if you’re interested!’
Joanne looked up at him frowningly. ‘Don’t you take a siesta?’ she asked in surprise.
‘Do I look as though I need one?’
‘Oh, no.’ She flushed.
He smiled, and putting out a hand drew her unresistingly to her feet. ‘Then shall we go? Or do you want to wash your hands first?’ There was a mocking twinkle in his eyes and she shook her head swiftly.
‘I’m ready when you are,’ she countered.
‘Good!’ He released her wrist and descended the verandah steps. ‘Come. My car is parked behind the house, in the shade.’
They drove along the coast for some distance while Joanne admired the clarity of the view. Even with dark glasses protecting her eyes the light was dazzling, and the air was as clear as crystal. Dimitri’s car was a convertible and their swift passage through the atmosphere prevented the heat from getting too intense on Joanne’s bare head. Dimitri wore dark glasses, too, for driving, although Joanne felt he was used to the glare.
Eventually they left the coast behind and drove higher into the hills at the other side of the island. At times the density of the trees gave avenues of coolness and their scent was intoxicating. Sometimes, Joanne could see the sea through the trees, blue and still below them, scarcely appearing to move at all although she knew it was constantly creaming on the shoreline.
At last they turned off the road and followed a grass- covered track through some trees and emerged upon a clearing where the crumbling columns of some long-ruined temple could be seen. Dimitri brought the car to a halt and Joanne slid out with alacrity. The grass was lush and soft beneath her sandalled feet and apart from the interminable sound of the crickets and the whisper of the wind through the arches of the columns it was uncannily quiet. Dimitri got out of the car and came round to her with indolent grace. ‘Well?’ he said, questioningly, ‘not quite the Acropolis, perhaps, but possessing that same feeling of immortality.’
Joanne glanced at him and then moved swiftly towards the ruins, stroking the stonework of a pillar that rose some nine or ten feet into the air. ‘It’s very still, isn’t it?’ she murmured, hardly daring to speak aloud. ‘It’s incredible to imagine that these pillars have stood here for thousands of years, and only time and the elements have taken their toll.’
‘It’s impossible for the human mind to gauge the limitlessness of infinity,’ remarked Dimitri, passing her and entering what appeared to be the inner part of the temple. ‘Time is a man-made institution. Nature knows no frontiers.’ He spread an eloquent hand. ‘Only the gods remain.’
Joanne looked up at the intricate carving of a leaf motif at the top of the pillar, marvelling that such beauty could have been produced by such primitive methods. ‘To whom is the temple dedicated?’ she asked, with interest.
Dimitri drew out his case of cheroots and lit one before replying. Then he said: ‘Throughout the islands there are many shrines and temples ascribed to different gods and goddesses. This temple on Dionysius is dedicated to Hera, the mother of Apollo.’
Joanne frowned, moving among the columns slowly, studying the way the columns were designed and the stone slabs between. Although only a few pillars remained and many of those broken off within a couple of feet of the ground it did not take a great deal of imagination to picture what the temple must once have been like. Standing here, amongst its shelter of trees, it was eerily possessed by the spirits of worshippers long dead and buried. And she and Dimitri could have been in another age, another century ....
Breaking the silence that had fallen, she said: ‘Hera. She was the wife of Zeus, wasn’t she?’
‘She was also his sister,’ remarked Dimitri, drawing deeply on his cheroot and blowing the smoke skyward.
‘His sister!’ Joanne was obviously surprised.
‘Of course. Surely you know of the legend that tells of how Hera would have nothing to do with him until he transformed himself into a bird which she warmed against her breast, only to discover her brother’s treachery when he resumed his normal shape and ravished her.’
Joanne’s cheeks were slightly pink. ‘I’m afraid my knowledge is limited to the kind of stories written in the Odyssey,’ she said tautly.
Dimitri smiled rather sardonically. ‘Nevertheless, that is the true legend,’ he remarked dryly. ‘I was not trying to shock you!’
‘I’m not shocked, Mr. Kastro,’ she retorted sharply, but she began to walk back to the car. She had no intention of allowing him to amuse himself at her expense.
He followed her rather more slowly, and she was conscious of his eyes upon her back. In consequence she stumbled over a tussock of grass and landed on her knees in a rather ungainly fashion. Her cheeks burning now, she got swiftly to her feet before he could assist her, and brushed her clothes down with impatient fingers. Why was it that with Constantine she felt always in command of the situation, whereas with Dimitri she felt clumsy and awkward and behaved accordingly? She had never felt like this with Jimmy. But then with him she was always conscious of his love for her and of hers for him, and naturally they were at ease with one another.
She got hastily into the car and sat there fuming while he walked lazily round the vehicle and slid in beside her. But he did not immediately start the engine. Instead, he turned in his seat and looked at her rather amusedly, and said: ‘Did you hurt yourself?’
Joanne refused to meet his laughing eyes. ‘No!’ she replied, briefly. And then, belatedly: ‘Thank you!’
He suppressed his amusement, and went on: ‘You’re very tense all of a sudden, Miss Nicolas. I thought we had rid ourselves of antagonism.’
‘I am not antagonistic!’ she denied hotly. ‘It’s just that - well, sometimes you seem to deliberately set out to torment me!’
Dimitri half-smiled. ‘Do I do that?’
‘You must know you do.’
Dimitri raised his shoulders indolently. ‘Then I must try to reform,’ he remarked lazily. ‘And yet I think perhaps I’m merely giving you the chance to air that excellent temper of yours. When you are mad your eyes flash like purple fire.’
Joanne bent her head, unable yet again to think of some biting retort. She wished he would simply set the car in motion and drive her straight back to her father’s house. But instead he continued to regard her with disturbing dark eyes, smoking his cheroot with enjoyable deliberation.
Finally the cheroot was finished, and he stubbed it out in the ashtray before turning a switch on the dashboard and flooding the peace of the clearing
with the lazy murmur of stringed instruments. It was so elusive, that piece of music, so much a part of their surroundings, that Joanne gave a faint sigh, feeling almost relaxed.
But a moment later her relaxation fled, giving place to a feeling of nervous anticipation, as she felt him take a strand of her silvery hair between his thumb and forefinger, smoothing it rhythmically. ‘Is this colour natural?’ he inquired, rather huskily, and Joanne’s lower limbs seemed to dissolve into fluid.
‘Yes!’ she responded tautly, putting up a hand and smoothing her hair down over her shoulders successfully separating the strand from his fingers. Dimitri’s arm was along the back of her seat, and she was intensely conscious of it. She didn’t know what kind of game he was playing, but she wished he would not attempt to make her a participant. She was engaged to Jimmy; and she wanted no extra-engagement activities.
And yet she knew, to her horror, that she would not immediately have protested if he had chosen to persist. Something about him appealed to her in a purely sexual way, and she found herself wondering how he would kiss, and what it would feel like to have those lean brown fingers caress her. Her thoughts appalled her, but that did not prevent them from persisting, and she stole a glance at him to discover what his present occupation might be. He was no longer looking at her but was instead gazing towards the belt of trees apparently watching the antics of a pair of doves at play. Contrarily, she was disappointed at his apparent loss of interest, and she sat up stiffly and said: ‘I think we ought to be going, Mr. Kastro.’
Dimitri glanced at her, and then shrugged lethargically. ‘It seems a pity to leave,’ he remarked. ‘It’s so peaceful here.’
Joanne linked her hands together in her lap. ‘Nevertheless, I really think I ought to be returning to my father’s villa,’ she said tightly. ‘It must be getting quite late, and he may wonder where I am.’
Dimitri glanced at the watch on his wrist. ‘It is exactly three-forty-seven,’ he replied calmly. ‘Hardly late enough to warrant a search party. I thought we might go back to the beach below the house and swim.’
‘Below your house?’
‘Of course.’
Joanne shook her head slowly. ‘I don’t have a swimsuit.’
‘That didn’t prevent you before,’ he commented dryly. ‘Marisa’s bikini was perfectly adequate.’
‘I’d prefer not, thank you,’ she persisted.
‘Why?’
Joanne sighed. It was difficult to produce reasons when no reasonable ones were to be found. Why couldn’t he just accept her decision as final? Always he had this power to reduce her to a mass of nerves and sensations.
‘It never even crosses your mind that I might not want to swim with you, does it?’ she asked irritably.
Dimitri straightened his position, withdrawing his arm from the back of her seat and flicking the ignition. ‘Frankly, no,’ he agreed annoyingly, and turned the car smoothly, driving back through the trees to the road.
Joanne sat in stony silence, and Dimitri concentrated on his driving. After a while she realized that they were returning in exactly the same direction as they had come and therefore were making, unmistakably, for his house and not her father’s.
Joanne compressed her lips. She might as well accept here and now that Dimitri Kastro was not a man one could command. It was no good demanding that he take her home when there was absolutely no way she could control his actions. Besides, deep inside her, she longed for the coolness of contact with the water. At this time of the day it was deliciously warm, but none the less exhilarating.
They seemed to get back quite quickly and Dimitri parked the car in the shade of the trees at the back of the house. Then he vaulted out of his seat and said:
‘Come on. Then I’ll take you home.’
Joanne hesitated, and then she opened her door and slid out with some reluctance. Dimitri grinned at her acquiescence, and she looked up at him impatiently.
‘Another victory, Mr. Kastro?’ she inquired tauntingly. ‘Or just another humiliation?’
Dimitri gave her an impatient glare. ‘Don’t try me too far, Miss Nicolas,’ he said tautly, ‘or I may decide to prove to you just how vulnerable you are!’
Joanne’s cheeks burned, and without another word she marched away from him, round the house and up the verandah steps into the wide lounge. Then she stopped dead in her tracks when she saw a woman reclining elegantly on one of the leather couches, looking slim and svelte in a silk patterned dress which left her tanned arms and legs bare. ‘Andrea!’ Joanne’s expression mirrored her surprise. “What are you doing here?’
Andrea Nicolas rose to her feet slowly, stubbing out the cigarette she had been smoking in an onyx ashtray. Then she smiled rather curiously and said: ‘Waiting for you, Joanne, of course.’
Joanne ran her tongue over suddenly dry lips. ‘My father ... is he ... is he—’
‘Oh, nothing like that, Joanne.’ Andrea shook her head quickly. ‘So far as I know your father is taking his afternoon siesta.’
Joanne was puzzled, and she turned rather nervously as Dimitri followed her through the french doors, halting just as she had done but without her surprised ejaculation.
‘Hello, Andrea,’ he said, glancing swiftly at Joanne and then back to her stepmother. ‘This is a pleasant surprise!’
Andrea was looking at Dimitri intently, holding his gaze with her own as she said: ‘It’s good to have you back.’
Joanne frowned, feeling amazingly de trop. But that was ridiculous! Andrea was her father’s wife, and any relationship she might have with Dimitri was merely a continuation of Dimitri’s friendship with her father, wasn’t it?
‘It’s good to be back,’ Dimitri was saying now, with just the right degree of enthusiasm in his voice. ‘You’re looking well, Andrea. How is Matt?’
Andrea went on to tell Dimitri about her husband, and their conversation excluded Joanne entirely. She was not absolutely sure who achieved that state of affairs, she suspected it was Andrea, and yet she simply could not accept that Andrea’s relationship to her husband’s cousin was anything more than a normal one.
Presently, however, Dimitri seemed to recall that he had another guest, for he said: ‘What brings you here, Andrea?’ He glanced at Joanne. ‘Were you concerned about your stepdaughter?’
Andrea smiled at this, an intimate smile which somehow disposed of that theory completely without even saying a word. But when she spoke, she was quite different. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘when Constantine returned and told us you were back, we wondered whether you would have preferred to have the place to yourself. Naturally, Constantine didn’t expect you back so soon.’
‘Naturally,’ commented Dimitri, dryly, his eyes turning to Joanne. ‘However, I didn’t mind Joanne’s company. We’ve just been up to the shrine actually. And now we’re going to have a swim.’
‘Oh, but—’ began Joanne hastily, not wanting to prolong this unnatural threesome longer than was necessary.
‘But nothing,’ said Dimitri briefly. ‘You don’t mind, do you, Andrea?’
‘Well, I had intended to get straight back,’ she said regretfully, and Joanne’s heart leapt again, but Dimitri merely smiled, a small, enigmatical smile, and said:
‘Then I suggest you go on back, Andrea. Joanne can dine with me and I’ll bring her home later.’
Joanne glared at his unresponsive face and then turned to look at Andrea, glimpsing momentarily something in her eyes that was purely furious. Immediately her heart pounded heavily. She was right. There was something between these two. Disgust almost choked her.
‘I’d rather go back,’ she intervened quickly. ‘I’ve - I’ve been away from the villa long enough. Besides, I promised my father I would go and see him and tell him what kind of a day I’d had.’
‘That’s true,’ Andrea agreed, her smile returning. ‘Matt does enjoy Joanne’s company. Already they’re quite devoted to one another. Some other time, Dimitri.’
Joanne scarcely dared to
look at Dimitri as she walked past him out on to the verandah. She sensed his anger, and was half afraid that not even Andrea’s presence would deter him from saying something more, but he did not, and she managed a polite ‘Thank you, Mr. Kastro,’ before accompanying Andrea up the slope that led to the road where a Land Rover was half-hidden by a belt of trees.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The next morning Joanne awoke with a splitting headache. She had not slept well, her brain plagued by a thousand different anxieties, and she was loath to approach Andrea for aspirin. But fortunately, at breakfast, the older woman noticed her pallor and the dark rings around her eyes and said:
‘Is something the matter, Joanne?’ in concerned tones. Joanne explained, and Andrea went to a cupboard and returned with some tablets in foil which she assured Joanne were far more effective than aspirin. Then she seated herself beside her stepdaughter, and said:
‘Actually, I’m glad of this opportunity to have a word with you, Joanne.’ She considered the girl thoughtfully. ‘It’s about Dimitri.’
Joanne’s fists clenched. ‘Yes?’
‘Yes.’ Andrea sighed. ‘Oh, dear, this is difficult for me to say, Joanne, but I really feel I should warn you.’
‘Warn me?’ Joanne felt she was getting out of her depth. ‘Warn me? What about?’
‘About Dimitri, of course. Look, Joanne, I know you’re going to tell me to mind my own business, but do you think it’s fair on this fiancé of yours back in England to be accepting invitations from men like Constantine and Dimitri?’