by Anne Mather
‘Did you enjoy yourself?’ asked Andreas quietly, as they lounged on the harbour wall, watching the lights of the ferry as it approached across the bay, and Sylvie glanced at him ruefully.
‘You know I did. He’s a fascinating man. And he’s done so much in his life.’ She sighed. ‘Travelling to all those exotic places! Hawaii, Fiji—South America!’ She shook her head. ‘You must feel very pleased with yourself.’
‘With myself,’ Andreas made a sound of disbelief.
‘Yes.’ Sylvie frowned. ‘You recognised his talent. You helped him to achieve his ambition—–’
‘With or without my help, Angelos would have made it,’ retorted Andreas flatly. ‘He owes me no credit for anything.’
‘That’s not what he thinks,’ declared Sylvie, pursing her lips. ‘And nor do I. I—I think he has a lot to thank you for.’
‘Really?’ Andreas’s brows arched cynically. ‘Do I detect a trace of approval in your voice for once?’
Sylvie’s lips twitched. ‘Don’t spoil it. I’ve enjoyed my day, and I’m grateful.’
‘How grateful?’ murmured Andreas narrowly, and she bent her head rather quickly, so that he should not see her face.
The arrival of the caique prevented any further discussion right then, but once on board their intimacy was pronounced by the absence of many other passengers, the melodic strains of bouzouki music drifting from the pilot’s radio, and the fading light that was a benediction for lovers.
‘So—tell me,’ he said, leaning his back against the rail beside her, ‘what else did you enjoy about your day?’
‘Oh—I enjoyed Angelos’s pilaff, and swimming this afternoon. And sunbathing. And your company, of course.’
‘Why “of course”? So far, my company has not seemed to your taste?’
‘Oh, that was because—–’
She broke off abruptly, but Andreas prompted her, adding softly: ‘Go on, say it. Tell me what you think.’
Sylvie hesitated. ‘No, it’s not important. Not right now anyway.’ She paused. ‘Did you enjoy today?’
Andreas’s mouth twisted. ‘How could I not? With such a charming companion!’
‘You’re teasing me!’ Sylvie pursed her lips. ‘Did you mind wearing Angelos’s swimming trunks?’
‘Was there an alternative?’
She tilted her head away from him. ‘No. Besides, they suited you. You have nice legs.’
Andreas shook his head. ‘Did no one ever tell you, you do not make comments like that?’
‘Why not?’ Sylvie was beginning to enjoy this. ‘It’s the truth. You do have nice legs. They’re not all white and knobbly, like some boys I’ve seen.’
‘I am not a boy, Sylvie,’ Andreas averred, with sudden emphasis. ‘I am almost forty! Almost middle-aged! You, on the other hand, are just an adolescent.’
‘Thirty-four is not middle-aged!’ retorted Sylvie at once, and his eyes narrowed.
‘How do you know how old I am? Who told you? Angelos?’
‘As a matter of fact it was Marina,’ admitted Sylvie reluctantly. ‘I asked her, and she told me.’
‘I see.’ Andreas rested his elbows on the rail behind him. ‘That must have amused her.’
‘No!’ Sylvie was indignant. ‘Marina’s not like that.’
‘You like Marina?’
‘Yes.’
‘Perhaps she should have come with you to Monastiros, instead of Thia Ariadne,’ he observed flatly.
‘Why?’ Sylvie was puzzled.
‘Thia Ariadne is old. Perhaps her eyesight is not as good as it used to be.’
Sylvie sighed disappointedly. ‘You’re talking about Leon and me again, aren’t you? You promised you’d forget that for today, at least.’
‘Do you not think it is a safer topic?’ he enquired, with sudden impatience, and Sylvie’s skin prickled as she considered this disclosure.
‘How—how long are you staying?’ she asked impulsively. ‘Over the weekend?’
Andreas moved his broad shoulders indifferently. ‘I am not sure,’ he replied, his voice perceptibly cooler suddenly. ‘Eleni arrives tomorrow. If she wants to stay, we will stay.’
Sylvie absorbed this reluctantly, and when he half turned away to watch for the lights of Monastiros, she leaned disconsolately on the rail. Everything had gone unexpectedly flat, and she realised with a pang that by asking how long he was staying she had reminded him of the other girl’s visit. What did he really feel about Eleni Frederiks? Was he going to marry her, as his family seemed to expect? And what was it to do with her, when he had made it plain that he regarded her as little more than a diverting teenager?
CHAPTER NINE
THE next morning followed the pattern of all Sylvie’s mornings since she had come to Monastiros. She swam before breakfast, undisturbed by any unwelcome intruders, and then, after having breakfast with Leon and Nikos, she took the small boy down to the beach. Andreas had not put in an appearance, and she assumed he must be making the most of his rest before Eleni arrived and he was obliged to accommodate her, and therefore she was surprised just before lunch when a dinghy sailed into the cove with Andreas at the helm.
Nikos was very excited, running across the sand to where his uncle was climbing out of the beached dinghy, and gesticulating furiously that he wanted to be taken for a ride. Sylvie, after a moment’s hesitation, followed the boy, brushing sand from her hot limbs, and pushing back the two bunches of hair she had fastened with elastic bands above her ears.
‘Thios Andreas is going to take me out in the boat,’ exclaimed Nikos, as she drew near them, and Sylvie nodded her unwilling approval when his uncle endorsed the statement.
‘Why do you not join us?’ he invited, but the dark eyes were guarded, and remembering his coolness the night before, Sylvie shook her head.
‘I’m too hot,’ she averred, putting her palm on the crown of her head. ‘You go, Nikos. I will see you at lunch. Be careful!’
Nikos nodded, but he was already scrambling into the boat, and Sylvie guessed he was not paying attention.
‘He will be all right. I will take care of him,’ declared Andreas quietly, as she was about to turn away. ‘There are life-jackets in the locker and I will see he wears one. You need not worry on his account.’
‘Good.’ Sylvie’s tone was clipped. ‘See you later, then.’
‘See you later,’ agreed Andreas shortly, and she watched as he pushed the dinghy into deeper water before swinging himself on board. He was wearing the denim shorts he had worn on his first morning at the villa, and as she walked up the beach again, trudging her feet through the sand, she reflected rather irritably that he was one of the few men she had seen who looked as good with his clothes off as with them on. He did have nice legs, she thought, scuffing her toes, but the rest of him was equally attractive. It wasn’t fair, she decided, sniffing a little resentfully. She had never met anyone quite like him before. Yet he blamed her for provoking him, when every movement he made aroused feelings inside her that there seemed no way to assuage.
Leon was resting when she got back to the villa, so she took a cold shower and felt infinitely better after it. She dressed in a cotton vest that tied on the shoulder and a brushed denim skirt, spurning a swimsuit in favour of a more conventional outfit. She brushed out her hair, securing it with a leather thong at her nape, and felt reasonably ready to face the opposition when Eleni chose to put in an appearance. She wondered how the other girl intended to get here. Would she use the ferry, or had she her own means of transport? Whatever, Sylvie guessed she would arrive in the afternoon, and her spirits drooped in anticipation of her intervention.
Lunch was served late, due to the fact that Andreas and Nikos did not arrive back until half past one. The little boy came bounding up on to the terrace, where his father and Sylvie were sitting together sharing a jug of iced cordial, and couldn’t wait to tell them how exciting his trip had been. Leon had casually disclosed that the dinghy belonged to Andreas, and that he k
ept it berthed down at the harbour, and Sylvie reflected disconsolately that no doubt he had really rescued it from its mooring for Eleni’s benefit.
Andreas followed his nephew on to the terrace, flinging himself into a chair by the table and grinning at his brother with easy tolerance. ‘Theos, it is hot!’ he exclaimed, rubbing the back of his hand across his forehead. And as Irene appeared he bade her fetch him a lager, before serving the meal she had delayed for his benefit.
‘I gather you have had a good morning, adhelfe,’ Leon remarked smilingly, as his son moved away to pour himself some cordial, gulping it thirstily. ‘Nikos has enjoyed himself, that is certain, and I appreciate your concern for him, and the time that you have given him.’
Andreas shrugged, his gaze moving briefly to Sylvie as she wiped Nikos’s sticky mouth with a tissue. ‘It was a pleasure,’ he assured Leon shortly, giving Irene a grateful nod as she brought his lager. ‘I guessed he had never sailed before, and the wind was not too strong.’
‘No.’ Leon looked skyward, a frown puckering his forehead as he observed its brassy glare. ‘Yet I think we may have a storm later. There is a certain heaviness to the air.’
‘Perhaps.’ Andreas studied the can of lager in his hands with brooding concentration. ‘I doubt you are right. The sea is too calm.’
Leon shrugged. ‘Oh, well …’ He looked at Sylvie. ‘Shall we eat now? I feel quite hungry. How about you?’
Sylvie forced a smile. ‘I suppose I am a little hungry,’ she conceded, though in all honesty she had practically no appetite at all.
The meal was delightful, as usual. Plenty of crisp lettuce, with the enormous slices of tomato common to the area. There were various salads, served in mayonnaise, stuffed eggs, sliced meats, lobster and quiche, and lots of white wine to wash it all down. The cheese and fruit were delicious, each providing a contrast, and there was ice cream for Nikos, and coffee for the rest.
Sylvie ate little, and she noticed that Andreas did not make a good meal either. Leon did, munching happily through every course, drinking the glass of wine he was allowed with evident relish, and obviously recovering a lot of his strength. Even his legs had lost their initial pallor, the darker pigment of his skin responding well to the sun’s rays, and there was a little more flesh on his bones than when they arrived, pointing to the success of his recuperation.
Stephanos appeared after lunch to escort his employer to his room for a rest, and as Irene had already taken a drowsy Nikos for his sleep, Sylvie and Andreas were left alone at the table.
‘I gather you have not adopted the habit of sleeping the afternoon hours away,’ he remarked, after Irene had cleared all but their coffee cups.
‘You know I haven’t,’ she retorted, her tone faintly irritable. ‘What time do you expect Eleni to arrive?’
Andreas pushed back his chair and got abruptly to his feet. ‘Why do you persist in asking about Eleni? What does it matter to you when she comes or how long she plans to stay?’
Because then I will know how long you plan to stay, Sylvie longed to answer, but she chose discretion and held her tongue.
When she didn’t answer, Andreas looked down at her half impatiently, and then, with another change of mood, he said: ‘How would you like to have some fun this afternoon? I know the ideal place.’
Sylvie caught her breath. ‘But—–’
‘Eleni, I know,’ he finished for her crisply. ‘Well? Do you want to come or do you not? I need to get away from this place and I am asking you to come with me.’
‘In the dinghy?’ Sylvie was still doubtful
‘No.’ Andreas’s lips tightened. ‘We will sail the dinghy round to the harbour and pick up the yacht. I am prepared to believe that Leon knows more about the weather than I do.’
‘But won’t a yacht—–’
‘It is a motor cruiser,’ Andreas interrupted her curtly. ‘Do you come or not?’
Sylvie bit her lip. ‘All right. I’ll get changed—–’
‘Come as you are,’ he retorted, crossing to the steps. ‘Come! Time is wasting.’
The dinghy was easy to handle, and although Sylvie had never sailed before, she found it wasn’t difficult to follow Andreas’s instructions. He seemed to relax as they left the cove, and by the time they reached the harbour, he was laughing at her inexpert attempts to keep her balance, his hands warm and possessive on her body as he swung her up on to the dock.
The motor cruiser proved to be a forty-foot yacht with twin diesel engines, and berths for four to six people, depending on their needs. There was a luxurious forward cabin, and twin bunks in the bow, and a comprehensive living area that could convert to a further double bedroom. Sylvie was fascinated by the galley, and the heads, with their bath and shower facilities, and Andreas left her to her explorations while he took the craft out of the harbour.
On the open sea, the engines carried them along at quite a pace, and it was exhilarating to stretch out on the deck and allow the quickening breeze to keep her cool. She wished she had brought a swimsuit with her. She would have liked to dive overboard in these deep waters and practise more of her snorkelling, but she had to content herself with sunbathing, and be glad that at least what she was wearing was thin and practical.
When she eventually went aft to find out what Andreas was doing, she found him lounging lazily at the wheel, studying the charts laid out in front of him. ‘Where are we going?’ she asked, leaning rather impulsively over his shoulder, and he shifted slightly so that his shoulders did not come into contact with her breasts.
Immediately she drew back, feeling rather chastened, but his tone was casual as he indicated their destination on the map. ‘It is an island called Stavira,’ he replied, narrowing his eyes to gaze ahead. ‘It is used almost exclusively by a travel club based in Athens, and there is usually plenty going on, whatever the time of day or night.’
‘But—–’ Sylvie frowned, ‘don’t the locals mind?’
‘There are no locals,’ declared Andreas flatly. ‘Except for one or two who run the taverna down by the jetty. It is a cosmopolitan resort, very brash and sophisticated, and what the people do there is their concern.’
Sylvie was intrigued, if a little apprehensive. But rather than cause another argument, she refrained from commenting, returning to her previous position on the deck, inhaling the pungent smell of the ocean, and refusing to contemplate Eleni’s reactions when she arrived to find her fiancé missing.
The sound of guitars and the rhythmic beat of drums welcomed their arrival at Stavira. It was the kind of place Sylvie had never expected to find so far from the mainland, but Andreas had been right, it was brash and noisy, and the source of the music was quickly identified as coming from a barbecue party on the beach.
‘Can anyone join in?’ asked Sylvie doubtfully, as Andreas tied up the yacht and held out his hand towards her, and he grinned at her wryly as they walked between the tables of an outdoor restaurant.
‘Providing you buy a few drinks,’ he assured her lightly, acknowledging the greeting of a white-coated waiter. ‘It is only an hotel, Sylvie, even though it calls itself the Club Athénée. A rather modern establishment, frequented generally by the younger section of the tourist population.’
Apart from the taverna, on the waterfront, the hotel did indeed seem to be the island’s only habitation, Sylvie realised. A sprawling multi-storied building, it occupied the prime position on the rise just above the beach, with strategically planted palm trees surrounding pools and tennis courts. There were signs for beauty salons and massage parlours beside others indicating the pools and restaurants, but the atmosphere was cosmopolitan as Andreas had said, and Sylvie thought she much preferred Monastiros, which was essentially Greek.
Andreas seemed in a strange mood, and she was not entirely at ease with him as they descended the steps to the beach. There was a brittleness about him, a sense of hard determination, and her apprehensions were not eased to discover that many of the women present wore only their
bikini briefs.
Almost immediately Andreas was hailed by a group of people gathered around the bar which had been set up along side the barbecue spits. There were perhaps ten or twelve men and women, their ages ranging from early twenties to late thirties, all in swimwear, and all appearing to Sylvie as some exotic tribe from another planet. The women particularly wore a lot of make-up, but the men vied with them when it came to jewellery, sporting rings and pendants, and even ear-rings in one case.
There were no formal introductions. Sylvie was announced as Sylvie, and Andreas mentioned one or two names in passing. But apart from several curious glances, none of the women were interested in her, and Sylvie felt totally out of her depth with the men.
‘Chéri,’ one of the women addressed Andreas in drawling tones, ‘it has been an age since we have seen you. Where have you been hiding yourself? You know what they say, all work and no play …’
‘Perhaps the fair Eleni has been digging in her claws,’ remarked an exquisite-looking blonde, wearing a skimpy white G-string, and a bra that was scarcely decent. Whereas the first woman had definitely had a French accent, the blonde was evidently English, and she regarded Sylvie with sympathetic amusement.
‘It doesn’t look as if he’s been short of company anyway,’ observed a thin young man, in pale blue briefs. ‘Who is Sylvia, that’s what we all want to know. Come on, Andreas, have you taken to baby-snatching?’
Sylvie flushed, and turned away to watch the musicians and the other holidaymakers, all seemingly enjoying themselves, either dancing or plunging into the sea to cool off. There was much talk and laughter, and the sizzling sound of steaks on the grid, but she wished herself far away from this noisy beach.
‘Do you want to dance?’
The young male voice with its definitely English accent was not unattractive, and Sylvie blinked and tried to concentrate on the young man who had addressed her. He was not one of the group surrounding Andreas, who she saw was laughingly endeavouring to explain his reasons for being there, and he looked nice, and friendly, and glad of the diversion, she nodded.