by Anne Mather
Sylvie looked back at him with eyes still glazed by her response to his lovemaking. She was finding it incredibly hard to restore her composure, and her pale cheeks and bruised lips bore witness to the ardent possession of his mouth.
‘Are you all right?’ asked Andreas, after a moment, and indicated the way back to the car. ‘Shall we go?’ he added, his voice clipped and constrained, and with a jerky nod Sylvie propelled herself away from the comparative support of the tree.
Her legs felt abysmally weak, and scarcely capable of performing the function for which they were provided, but somehow she made herself follow him, and was rewarded by his brooding look of approval.
Having settled her into her seat, Andreas walked round the car to join her, but after levering his length behind the wheel, he did not immediately reach for the ignition.
‘I know I should apologise,’ he said, in a low tone, staring straight in front of him. ‘I had no right to—do what I did, and what is more to the point, I should have had more sense!’
‘More sense!’ Sylvie drew an uneven breath. ‘Didn’t you want to kiss me?’
Andreas looked sideways at her. ‘That question is not worthy of an answer,’ he replied, and then looked ahead again. ‘I am a man. I took advantage of your youth.
Sylvie allowed her breath to escape on a small sigh. ‘There’s no need to apologise,’ she said, rapidly gaining control of herself again, and he turned his head.
‘Perhaps you do not deserve it,’ he declared harshly. ‘Perhaps because you are a provocative young lady you do not expect any apology from me. But I am a Greek. I have certain—codes that I live by. And getting involved with acquisitive teenagers is not one of them.’
Sylvie knew she should object to his description of her as an acquisitive teenager, but his comment that she was a provocative young lady was so novel, she could think of nothing else. He actually thought she was provocative! She clasped her hands together and pressed them to her chest. Life was certainly becoming more interesting, when in the space of ten days she had been described as ‘sexy’ and ‘provocative’, particularly as her opinion had led her to believe just the contrary.
Hardly aware of the aggravation of her question, she turned to him shyly and widened her eyes. ‘Do you really think I’m provocative?’ she asked, seeking his confirmation, and with a muttered expletive Andreas started the car.
‘My mother is right,’ he stated grimly, thrusting the car into drive and accelerating savagely. ‘Your looking after Nikos is an unsuitable arrangement—I realise that now. And as soon as I can find a replacement, you may return to London.’
Sylvie shrugged, but she did not take offence, even though the idea of returning to England was not at all appealing. She knew his angry reaction stemmed from the fact that he did find her provocative, and while later she might feel apprehensive of this new development, right now it was a tantalising prospect.
CHAPTER SIX
SYLVIE walked up the beach towards the villa, squeezing the salty water out of her hair. It was barely seven o’clock, but the sun was already warm on her shoulders, the water only several degrees lower than the eighty or so it generated in the middle of the day. She had taken to swimming at this hour every morning, and she looked with some approval at the golden tan she had already acquired. In spite of all the odds, she was enjoying herself, and what was more important, Leon and Nikos were happy, too.
Her brother-in-law looked much different now from the wan individual he had been on their arrival ten days ago. Then, he had been exhausted by the flight from Athens, and Stephanos, his nurse, and Paul, his valet, had practically had to lift him out of the helicopter and into the limousine, which had been waiting to drive them the short distance to the villa. After all, Leon had been convalescing since he left the hospital, and the strain of the journey had taken its toll.
But that was all in the past now. Several days of lying on the flagged patio outside the villa had removed the pallor of illness from his skin, and the peace and beauty of their surroundings were rapidly restoring him to health. His appetite had improved. He was gaining weight. And last evening he had even left his chair and walked with Sylvie down to the beach.
She remembered she had not wanted him to go. She had been afraid he might be trying to do too much. But Leon had only scoffed at the fears voiced by Sylvie and his aunt, and in all honesty, it didn’t seem to have done him any harm.
Nikos had followed his father’s example, and he, too, was well content. He had lost that uncertain look he had had that day at his grandfather’s house, and free from all restraint, he was more than a match for his young aunt’s energies.
Much to Sylvie’s relief, Leon’s aunt Ariadne was nothing like Madame Petronides. The old lady was his father’s sister, and although she was not a talkative person, she had a gentle and sometimes humorous disposition that made their relationship seem totally natural. She was an adequate chaperon, if such a thing was needed, but she didn’t intrude, and she was invariably to be found sitting on the balcony outside her bedroom, crocheting some of the intricate lace which was a characteristic craft of the islands. Leon had told Sylvie that the man his aunt had been going to marry had died during the German occupation, and that since then she had lived in isolation on Thirbos, another of the offshore islands.
Monastiros itself was a place of exquisite beauty, and Sylvie could still not quite believe the view that met her startled gaze every morning. The villa they were occupying was situated just above the bleached sands of a small cove, and two stone steps gave access to a sun-baked patio. Stone flags were set about with tubs of hibiscus and geraniums, that spilled their luscious blossoms with careless abundance, and it was here that they generally took their meals, overlooking the dazzling waters of the Aegean.
The villa itself was large, but not elaborate. Simply built of stone, and painted a brilliant white both inside and out, it sprawled at the foot of the gorse-shrubbed hills that rose in gentle terraces behind it. Its rooms were bare but spacious, furnished comfortably, but not luxuriously, with hand-made wooden furniture and locally woven carpets and rugs. It had a certain elegance, evidenced in the grand piano that graced a window embrasure, but its tasteful styling and plain symmetry fitted in well with the other dwellings dotted about the island. As well as the large living room, and the dining room which could be used on cooler days and in winter, there were six bedrooms and three bathrooms with a self-contained apartment attached to the kitchen at the back, where Irene and Stavros, the middle-aged couple who looked after the villa and its guests were accommodated. There was electricity, a luxury Sylvie had discovered not all of the islanders enjoyed, and a telephone connection with the mainland, which Leon explained his father had had installed when his children were young, and he used to spend holidays here. It also explained why Leon had told Nikos the island was Andreas’s home, too. The villa belonged to the family. They were all equally entitled to use it.
However, at present only the four of them were in residence, and remembering Andreas’s attitude towards her before she left for Monastiros, Sylvie doubted anyone else would join them. The only reason Andreas might have for coming to the island would be to tell her he had found her replacement, and she refused to consider this when she was enjoying herself so much. If she occasionally permitted thoughts of that disturbing encounter in the park to enter her mind, they were never allowed to remain long. Exciting though it had been, that interlude with Andreas was unlikely to be repeated, and she thought it was just as well in the circumstances. Remembering how helpless she had been in his arms, she had decided she had had a lucky escape, and she had been quite glad to leave the apartment, and the inevitable intimacy of sharing his life. Besides, during her conversations with Leon she had learned that there was every reason to suppose that Andreas would be marrying Eleni in the not-too-distant future. His father wanted him to marry. He wanted more grandsons to carry on the family name. And Andreas was his eldest son.
Sylvie came
up the steps to the terrace now, twisting her hair into a silky rope that lay over one shoulder. In her brief cotton bikini she looked long-limbed and golden, the very essence of youthfulness and ripening womanhood. To the man seated in the shade of the wall of the house she was the most delightful creature he had ever seen, and he rose automatically to greet her, eager to feel the warmth of her smile upon him.
‘Kalimera, aghapiti mou,’ he said, his voice evidently startling her, and Sylvie turned to him in surprise, acknowledging his welcome appearance.
‘Leon!’ she exclaimed, halting abruptly, surveying his briefly-clad body with wide amber eyes. ‘But why aren’t you resting? It’s only seven o’clock! I thought, after last night, you’d be tired this morning.’
Leon smiled, brushing his bare legs below the cuffs of his shorts with some self-consciousness. ‘I know—I look pale and insipid,’ he said dryly. ‘But I will tan, I assure you, and in a few weeks, who knows? I may yet join you in the water.’
‘You look fine.’ Sylvie was indignant, then she shook her head, and gestured behind him at the chair where he had been sitting. ‘But do sit down again now. I have to go and take a shower and get changed. We can have breakfast together when I get back. I’ll look forward to it.’
‘Will you, Sylvie?’ Leon watched her intently. ‘So shall I.’ He paused. ‘And as it happens, I’ve ordered breakfast for us already.’ He glanced behind him. ‘Here it comes. Your shower must wait.’
Sylvie sighed, looking down at her damp body. Oh, well, she thought inconsequently, she could get a shower later. Right now it was enough to know that Leon felt well enough to join her at the breakfast table.
Irene the housekeeper brought the tray and set it on the glass-topped table, smiling benevolently at her master and his young guest. She spoke to him shyly in his own language, obviously asking him how he was and complimenting him on his evident improvement. Leon thanked her and smiled, while he watched Sylvie seating herself at the table with vaguely proprietorial eyes. The direction of his interest was not lost on the sharp-eyed Irene, and Sylvie would have been somewhat alarmed if she had heard the housekeeper regaling Stavros, her husband, with her conclusion as to the reasons for Kirios Leon’s steady recovery.
‘How are you really feeling this morning?’ Sylvie asked, as Leon seated himself beside her and accepted the glass of freshly-squeezed orange juice she had poured. ‘Don’t—well, don’t overdo it, will you?’
‘Do not overdo what?’ teased Leon, his eyes twinkling, and she coloured becomingly.
‘You know!’ she insisted refusing to repeat herself, and Leon’s lips curved with satisfaction as he surveyed the picture she made.
‘I will not,’ he assured her now, ‘but I felt so well this morning, and when I saw you in the water—–’ He paused. ‘I wanted to be with you.’
Sylvie sighed. ‘The sea is delicious at this hour of the morning,’ she agreed, buttering a warm roll with mouthwatering anticipation. ‘I would like to buy a snorkel, if I could learn how to use it. I swam underwater for quite some way just now, but the salt water stings my eyes, and goggles might give more protection.’
‘Perhaps.’ Leon was noncommittal, helping himself to some apricot conserve. ‘But take care. I should not like you to swim out too far.’
‘It’s quite safe,’ declared Sylvie, her voice muffled as she munched. ‘And if I did get into difficulties, there are always fishermen I could hail.’
‘Nevertheless, I wish you to take more care,’ said Leon quietly, covering her hand with his where it lay on her knee, and she was nodding in obedience when a dark shadow fell across the table.
‘So—am I interrupting something?’ demanded harsh male tones, and Sylvie lifted her head disbelievingly to see Andreas profiled against the sun. His face was in shadow, so she could not read his expression, but his tall frame was unmistakable, and his tone was sufficient for her to know that he was not pleased by what he was witnessing.
Sylvie’s instinctive impulse to snatch her hand from beneath Leon’s was forestalled by his immediate reaction. With an exclamation of welcome he rose to his feet, and the two brothers embraced one another with genuine warmth.
‘What are you doing here?’ Leon exclaimed, after their initial greetings were over, speaking in English for Sylvie’s benefit. ‘How did you get here? We did not hear the helicopter.’
‘I came on the overnight steamer from Piraeus, and walked up from the harbour,’ replied Andreas casually, and as he moved round the table to take the seat Leon offered Sylvie saw that he was more informally dressed than she had ever seen him. Instead of an expensive suit and immaculate linen, he was wearing a sweat-shirt and jeans, with a black leather jerkin draped over one shoulder. As he sat down, he dropped the jerkin on top of the haversack lying at his feet, and looking at him, Sylvie guessed his attire was deliberate. No one, seeing him for the first time, with an overnight growth of beard on his chin, would imagine he was the heir to the Petronides shipping chain, and like this he could travel incognito, untroubled by threats of violence or kidnapping.
‘It was easy enough to take the ferry,’ he continued, his eyes flickering thoughtfully over Sylvie’s scantily-clad form. ‘And I thought I would surprise you by arriving unannounced.’
‘Well, you have certainly done that,’ remarked Leon goodnaturedly. ‘As you can see, we are hardly dressed for visitors. But Sylvie has been swimming, and I persuaded her to have breakfast with me, before she went to change.’
‘So I see.’ Andreas’s dark eyes moved to Sylvie again, and her appetite disappeared completely beneath the mocking appraisal. ‘How are you, Sylvie? Our climate appears to be agreeing with you. You are getting quite a tan.’
‘Yes, I am, aren’t I?’ Sylvie wondered what he was really thinking. Did he imagine she and Leon did this every morning? Would he believe her if she told him it was not so?
‘And you, Leon?’ Andreas gave her some respite, and turned to his brother. ‘Are you really feeling much better? You are not overtaxing yourself?’
‘You are like Sylvie,’ declared Leon impatiently. ‘She is always so concerned that I do not do too much.’
‘She is right,’ said Andreas approvingly. ‘You know what Maxwell said—a little progress at a time.’
‘I—er—I’ll go and tell Irene you’re here,’ said Sylvie abruptly, getting up from her seat, then sighing in embarrassment when both men rose also. ‘Please—sit down. Go on with your conversation. I’ll explain to Irene that—that we have another guest.’
‘One moment.’ Andreas bent to the haversack at his feet, and while Sylvie waited with some apprehension, he produced a handful of letters from inside. ‘There are two for you—Sylvie,’ he remarked, riffling through them swiftly and producing the letters in question. ‘As I needed the break, I thought I could deliver them in person.’
‘Thank you.’ Sylvie took the letters from him, and Leon, after a gesture of apology that preceded his retreat into his chair, said rather breathlessly: ‘You are staying, then, Andreas?’
‘For a few days,’ Andreas conceded, his concern for his brother superseding his apparent desire to observe Sylvie’s every reaction. ‘Yia to Theo, Leon, are you sure you should get up so early? Maxwell said you needed to rest.’
‘Yes, you should be in bed, Leon.’ Sylvie went swiftly to him, squatting down beside him and looking up at him with anxious eyes. ‘Shall I ask Stephanos to bring the wheelchair? Or can I help you back to your room?’
‘No pari o thiavolos, Andreas! I am all right.’ Leon looked up at his brother as he put his hand on Sylvie’s damp head in a revealingly possessive gesture. Then, as he transferred his attention to the girl, his expression grew gentle. ‘Honestly, little one, I am fine. Just a little tired of standing, that is all. Go, speak with Irene. I am sure Andreas is just too polite to tell us he is dying of thirst.’
Sylvie’s smile was only for him, and careless of what interpretation Andreas might put on her actions, she removed Leon
’s hand from her head and kissed his knuckles before replacing it on his knee. ‘All right,’ she said, ‘I’ll tell her. Then I’ll go and take my shower before Nikos makes his appearance.’
Leon nodded, their mutual understanding evident in that small exchange, and without looking at Andreas again, Sylvie walked swiftly across the patio, aware of his eyes following her and registering her progress. The fact that he was staying was something she had yet to come to terms with, but at least he had not brought her replacement, and perhaps she should be thankful for that.
In her bedroom, she stripped off the damp bikini, then perched naked on the end of her bed to read her letters. She had recognised the handwriting as her mother’s and Margot’s, and she wondered if Andreas’s decision to give her the letters as she was leaving the table indicated that he knew Margot had written to her, too.
She opened her mother’s letter first, unconsciously putting off reading Margot’s, and quickly scanned Mrs Scott’s scrawling handwriting. She had written to her mother before she left for Monastiros, explaining as much of the situation as she thought was necessary, and now her mother was writing back, expressing her concern that Leon’s illness should have been kept from them. They really should have let Margot know, she wrote, and Sylvie sighed in exasperation as she realised her mother had misinterpreted her communication. In her efforts not to cause her mother any unnecessary anxiety, she had endeavoured to excuse Margot’s behaviour by intimating that her sister could not have known how serious Leon’s condition was, and Mrs Scott, ever ready to defend her elder daughter, had immediately assumed Margot hadn’t been told the truth.
The rest of the letter was concerned with affairs at home—her mother’s involvement in the youth festival, and her continuing success at bridge. She hardly mentioned Margot, which meant she hadn’t seen her, and about Sylvie’s own involvement she maintained a discreet silence.