Innocent Obsession

by Anne Mather

  Margot’s letter was shorter, but equally self-centred. After expressing her relief that Sylvie was coping so well, she went on to say that rehearsals for the play were going well, and she was reasonably satisfied with her performance. Gerry is having a few problems finding backers for the play, she conceded, in one of her more candid statements, but money is so tight everywhere it’s hardly surprising, and he’s firmly convinced that once they see the play, they’ll be falling over themselves to support us.

  Sylvie was not so sure. Margot believed what she wanted to believe. She always had. But, conversely, and rather selfishly, she knew, Sylvie half hoped the play would succeed. In spite of her reluctance to come here, she had settled down now, and the idea of leaving seemed remote and disagreeable.

  When she emerged from the villa some thirty minutes later, after using a hand-drier on her hair, she was relieved to find only her nephew taking his breakfast on the patio. He raised his face obediently for her kiss, and then, continuing to fork slices of fresh melon into his mouth, he endeavoured to speak to her.

  ‘Thios Andreas is here!’ he announced, speaking with his mouth full in his excitement. ‘Did you know? He came on the steamer before I woke up.’

  Sylvie adjusted the halter straps of her cotton sundress and started to gather together the used dishes on the table. ‘Yes,’ she said, without enthusiasm, clattering the dishes. ‘He arrived while I was having breakfast.’

  ‘Did he?’ Nikos looked up at her consideringly. ‘You do not sound very pleased.’ He frowned. ‘Is something wrong? Do you not like Thios Andreas?’

  Sylvie sighed, and moved her shoulders in a dismissing gesture. ‘I neither like nor dislike him, Nikos. I hardly know him.’

  She crossed her fingers on the lie, but Nikos was still looking at her with obvious speculation. ‘Why are you wearing a dress?’ he asked, wrinkling his nose. ‘You do not usually wear dresses, Sylvie. Are you not going to play with me today?’

  ‘Of course I am, silly.’ Sylvie could not entirely keep the evidence of tension out of her voice. ‘Can’t I wear a dress if I feel like it? Don’t you like it? Doesn’t it suit me?’

  Nikos shrugged. ‘The dress is all right—I suppose,’ he conceded grudgingly. ‘But I like you better without it.’

  ‘Nikos!’

  Sylvie glared at him impatiently, and had hardly squashed her indignation when the sound of footsteps on the stone flags made her glance round. Andreas was walking across the terrace towards them. He, too, had taken the time to change, and shave the overnight shadow from his chin, and beneath the frayed cuffs of his denim shorts his long legs were brown and muscular. The shorts were all he was wearing, and Sylvie looked away quickly from the sight of his torso, with its disturbing triangle of body hair arrowing down to his navel.

  Fortunately, Nikos erased the tension of the moment by jumping down from his chair and going to meet his uncle, grinning up at him cheerfully, evidently glad to see him. For a few moments they spoke together in Greek, Andreas tolerantly correcting his nephew’s somewhat erratic use of the language, and then, glancing at Sylvie, he bade the boy use English.

  ‘We must not be rude in front of your aunt, Nikos,’ he said, as his eyes met Sylvie’s. ‘It appears both you and your father have much to thank her for.’

  ‘Oh, yes!’ Nikos was enthusiastic. ‘Me and Sylvie have had lots of fun.’

  ‘Sylvie and I,’ corrected Andreas dryly, and Sylvie fixed him with a deliberately mocking stare.

  ‘Have we?’ she teased, in faintly malicious tones, and once again it was Nikos who rescued the conversation.

  ‘How long are you staying, Thios Andreas?’ he asked, paying little attention to their double-talk. ‘Are you here for a holiday? Is ‘Leni coming? Can I show you how to build a castle on the beach?’

  Andreas made a quelling gesture. ‘All in good time, Nikos, all in good time,’ he continued, hiding his annoyance with Sylvie’s attitude behind a mask of mild impatience. ‘Yes, I am here for a few days’ holiday, and Eleni may join us later.’ He shrugged. ‘As for how long I can stay—–’ He grimaced. ‘That depends.’

  Nikos pursed his lips. ‘But you will let me show you how to build a castle, won’t you? You won’t spend all your time talking with Papa?’

  ‘No.’ Andreas was resigned. ‘I will not spend all my time talking with your father.’ He paused. ‘But now I suggest you go and let Irene wash your face and hands, while I have a few words with—with Sylvie.’

  ‘I can wash my own face and hands!’ declared Nikos indignantly, but after a moment’s hesitation, while he judged the seriousness of his uncle’s expression, he shrugged his small shoulders and sauntered away.

  Once they were alone, Andreas did not immediately break into speech, but instead moved away towards the low stone wall that separated the terrace from the beach, and stood staring broodingly into the distance. Sylvie, feeling the sun hot on her shoulders, moved into the shade until she could apply some of the sun-tan lotion she had been using, and realising she could not just walk away and leave him, seated herself in one of the low lounging chairs. The air was exquisite, warm and scented from the flowers, with just the faintest breeze to ruffle the fringe of the canopy above her.

  ‘You had a letter from Margot,’ Andreas said at last, without turning. ‘Did she tell you when she expects to come back?’

  Sylvie bent her head. ‘No.’

  Andreas turned. ‘No?’

  Sylvie looked up and met his dark gaze. ‘The play’s in rehearsal. She can’t get away yet.’ In all honesty, she didn’t see how Margot was ever going to drag herself away, and her own reactions to that troubled her not a little.

  Andreas’s expression hardened. ‘You mean this part she was so desperate to take has not yet reached the performing stage?’

  Sylvie plucked at the wooden arm of the chair. ‘These things take time. A play needs money—backers. As far as I can gather, all the—the final details haven’t yet been made.’

  Andreas muttered a word that wasn’t polite, then advanced across the flat stones towards her. Evidently the hot sun did not trouble him, and the brown skin of his shoulders gleamed with sweat. His hair too was moist around his ears and temples, but unlike her, he did not seek the shade.

  ‘Exactly how long do you think this can go on?’ he enquired, between thin lips. ‘What precisely does Margot intend to do?’

  Sylvie was obliged to tilt her head to look up at him, but the brilliance of the sun obscured her vision. ‘I don’t know,’ she said helplessly, wishing they were not having this conversation. ‘I think—well, Margot led me to believe that—that Nikos’s nursemaid would be coming back.’

  ‘Dora?’

  ‘Yes, Dora.’

  ‘But now you know she will not.’

  ‘Why not?’ Sylvie moistened her lips. ‘Just because she’s married it doesn’t mean she can’t have a job, too.’

  ‘Later, perhaps,’ agreed Andreas tautly. ‘If her husband is short of money, and if he is agreeable. But not right away. I would imagine Dora will have her hands full in the not-too-distant future.’

  Sylvie frowned. ‘Oh?’ His meaning was obvious. ‘But—–’ she hesitated to say it, but it had to be said, ‘—you did say you intended to find a replacement.’

  ‘I know what I said.’ Andreas was curt. ‘Unfortunately Leon does not agree with me. He does not want a replacement. He says he is quite happy with you.’

  Sylvie could not deny the feeling of warmth this gave her, but even as she basked in its glow, the coldness of Andreas’s eyes and the contemptuousness of his expression cast a chill.

  ‘You don’t approve?’

  ‘You are damn right, I do not approve!’ he snapped harshly, and Sylvie wished she had stood up while she still had the chance. Now, with him glowering down at her, she could not do so without putting herself too close to him for comfort, and instead she was forced to sit there and suffer his disapproval. ‘Your behaviour appals me. Have you any idea wh
at you are doing? What problems you are creating? Do you think I want Leon to recover his physical strength, if mentally you are crippling him?’

  ‘That’s not true!’ Sylvie did get up now, levering herself out of the chair, her arm brushing his damp skin as she put its width between them. ‘Leon and I are friends, that’s all. Just friends! And—and brother-and sister-in-law, or had you forgotten?’

  ‘And do you usually go around kissing the hands of your male relatives, in-laws or otherwise?’ enquired Andreas scornfully, so that Sylvie’s face suffused with colour.

  ‘Leon—Leon’s different!’ she exclaimed hotly. ‘I—I feel sympathy for him—–’

  ‘You pity him?’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘But he does not pity you. Nor does he pity himself.’

  ‘What are you saying?’ Sylvie pressed her palms to her burning cheeks.

  ‘I am saying that Leon is desperate for a relationship, any relationship—and you might be providing that relationship, whether you are aware of it or not.’

  ‘You’re wrong!’ Sylvie turned away, breathing shallowly, gulping air into her lungs to dispel the feeling of faintness which had enveloped her.

  ‘I hope so.’ Andreas’s cool voice was infuriatingly patronising, and she swung round on him angrily, only wishing to expunge a little of her own frustration.

  ‘You’d know, of course,’ she declared impulsively. ‘Having, as you might say, sampled the goods yourself! How do I know you’re not jealous? Why should I believe you, when you might have your own reasons for wanting me to treat your brother differently?’

  She had expected many reactions to her reckless outburst, but not the sound of his contemptuous laughter. His dark eyes, surveying her with insolent appraisal, mirrored the sardonic amusement on his face, and looking at his sensual face and lean, muscular body, she wondered at her own temerity in voicing such an outrageous proposition. His derision made her feel cheap, as well as childish, and she wanted to lash out at him, but didn’t know how.

  ‘You could be right,’ he said at last, mockingly. ‘Perhaps I am—jealous, I mean. After all, you are a most—how do they say it?—nubile young lady.’

  Sylvie’s jaw quivered, but she managed to conceal it, and with a brief shrug of his shoulders he inclined his head with ironic courtesy.

  ‘Perhaps that is the answer,’ he remarked consideringly, almost as if he was speaking to himself, but Sylvie had had enough.

  ‘Go to hell!’ she said, with bitter vehemence, and practically ran back into the villa to escape his expected response.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  IT was an awful day. Sylvie divided her time between her room and the beach, unable to deny Nikos her company, but unwilling to lay herself open to further taunts from his uncle. Meals she managed to avoid, saying she wasn’t hungry at lunchtime, and making the excuse that she had letters to write to eat dinner alone in her room. It was the first time she had done so since their arrival, but she hoped Leon’s pleasure in his brother’s company would compensate for her absence. After all, it could be argued that they might have things to say to one another that her presence would inhibit, and Thia Ariadne was much more a member of the family than she ever would be.

  Yet it was Ariadne Petronides who eventually came looking for her, her gnarled fingers beating-a tattoo on Sylvie’s door as she sat by the french windows opening on to her balcony, watching the lights of a fishing boat anchored out in the bay. Unaware of the identity of her unexpected visitor, Sylvie opened the door tentatively, then stood back in relief when she saw who it was.

  ‘Thia Ariadne!’ she exclaimed. She had taken to using Leon and Nikos’s name for her. ‘What a surprise! Won’t you come in?’

  ‘I am not disturbing you?’ Thia Ariadne’s English was thick and heavily accented, but excellent for all that. ‘Ah, I can see you have eaten little of your dinner. That was my anxiety.’ Her dark eyes surveyed the girl intently. ‘Etsi, you are not feeling well, hmm?’

  ‘I’m feeling fine, honestly.’ Sylvie wrung her hands together behind her back as the old lady advanced into the room, closing the door behind her. ‘I—er—I’ve been writing to my mother, that’s all. And I wasn’t particularly hungry.’

  ‘As you were not hungry at lunchtime,’ remarked Thia Ariadne, dryly. ‘And yet until today you have had a very good appetite, ohi?’

  ‘Perhaps it’s the heat.’ Sylvie forced a smile, pushing back her hair with a nervous hand, but the old lady was not deceived.

  ‘Perhaps,’ she agreed, giving her a moment’s respite, and then added shrewdly: ‘Or perhaps it is Andreas, hmm? I heard you arguing on the terrace this morning. What has he been saying to you? How has he upset you?’

  Sylvie’s lips parted helplessly. Was she always to be the one who was disconcerted? she thought fretfully. Why hadn’t she considered Ariadne’s normal practice of sitting, sewing, on her balcony, when she started raising her voice?

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said now. ‘Sorry if I disturbed you, I mean—–’

  ‘Oh, nonsense, child, you did not disturb me,’ exclaimed Leon’s aunt impatiently, seating herself in the chair Sylvie had previously occupied, and looking up at the girl with sharp, penetrating eyes. Although she must easily be seventy, her mind was as alert as it had ever been, and only her bony hands, plucking at the fichu about her shoulders, betrayed any trace of age or infirmity. ‘But I know Andreas,’ she continued firmly, bowing her head, ‘and I know it is not usual for him to spend time here when there are so many other matters requiring his attention.’

  ‘There are?’

  Sylvie tried to divert the old lady in an effort to gain time, but she guessed Thia Ariadne would not have allowed herself to be sidetracked unless it was to her purpose to do so. ‘Of course there are,’ she exclaimed now, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. ‘Andreas runs the company, but surely you knew that?’ She looked up at the girl, and when Sylvie rather doubtfully shook her head, she went on: ‘Kala, he does. Since his father’s health has given cause for concern, Andreas has taken the responsibility for the organisation on his shoulders, and with Leon incapacitated as he is, that is no small burden.’

  ‘I suppose not.’ Sylvie didn’t quite see what this had to do with her, but Ariadne evidently thought she should know the truth.

  ‘That is why I know there had to be a reason to bring him to Monastiros, not just his concern for his brother, which is unquestionable, but not enough.’

  Sylvie moved her slim shoulders in an awkward gesture. ‘You think his coming here has something to do with me?’ The proposition was totally ludicrous, but that seemed to be what Thia Ariadne was saying.

  ‘I think it has to do with you—and your sister,’ declared the old lady firmly, and Sylvie experienced a sudden sense of deflation. ‘I think Andreas may be blaming you for Margot’s behaviour, and if this is so, then something must be said.’ She squared her shoulders determinedly, before adding: ‘I have never seen Nikos so animated, or so happy, and even Leon seems to be responding to your—how can I put it?—uninhibited youthfulness! Whatever Margot has done, however she has behaved, you cannot be held responsible for her actions, and if Andreas is using you to get at her, then he must be stopped.’

  Sylvie expelled her breath on a shaky sigh. She realised it was the first time Thia Ariadne had shown herself aware of what was going on around her, but she should have remembered, she was Aristotle Petronides’ sister. And if only it was that simple, she thought, moving into the shadows cast by the lamplight so that the old lady should not see her expression. If only all Andreas was concerned about was Margot’s behaviour …

  ‘Well?’ The old lady was waiting for an answer, and Sylvie did not have one to give her.

  ‘Andreas—Andreas doesn’t blame me exactly,’ she said at last, choosing her words with care. ‘Our—our argument was about something else. Er—nothing important, nothing important at all.’

  Thia Ariadne’s greying brows descended and
her scepticism was evident, but courtesy forbade her to say more. Pushing herself up out of the chair again, she smiled at Sylvie, and then, after a moment’s hesitation, she said:

  ‘Leon is looking much better, do you not agree? And he, too, urged me to find out if you were all right.’ She paused. ‘Then I can tell him you will join him for breakfast in the morning, ne? After your swim, of course.’

  Sylvie licked her dry lips. ‘All right.’

  ‘Kalo, kalo!’ Ariadne touched the girl’s soft cheek with the back of her hand. ‘Kalinichta, Sylvie. Sleep well!’

  Sylvie did not sleep well, she slept badly, for the first time since coming to the island, and she awakened with a feeling of resentment towards Andreas for disturbing her so. Why didn’t he take his complaints to his brother? she thought indignantly, pushing her legs out of bed. It was Leon who was married, after all, not her, and if anyone was to blame, it should be him for creating the situation. Then she sighed. But that was ridiculous! How could Andreas approach Leon in his present condition—and besides, with a return of aggression, what was there to object to?

  It was not a question she could answer. The night before she had gone over everything she and Leon had done together, and she could find little to reproach herself about. They were close, but that was only natural when two people shared the same house, the same meals, the same interests. She had never flirted with him, and to her knowledge he never overstepped the bounds of an affectionate elder brother. Oh, damn Andreas, she thought irritably, damn him for coming, damn him for putting doubts into her head, and damn him for spoiling an innocent relationship!

  Tying on the scraps of a coffee-coloured bikini, she let herself out of her room and descended the stone staircase to the ground floor. The early morning sun was pouring through the cracks in the shutters, and the door creaked as she swung it back on its hinges. But beyond the shadows of the house the brilliance was blinding, and she raised her face to the heavens, closing her eyes and raising her arms above her head. She could understand the sun-worshippers of old, she thought, as she skipped lightly across the terrace and down the two steps to the sand. Who could believe such warmth and bounty could be given by anyone other than a god, and her spirits rose accordingly, uplifted by Apollo.