Innocent Obsession

by Anne Mather

  It was good to be active, to dance to the disco music, and forget her discomfort at the hands of Andreas’s ‘friends’. Somehow she didn’t think they were the usual crowd he went around with, but just a fringe element of the same, but for some reason he had felt the need for their company, and had brought her along for the ride. She wished he hadn’t. She wished she was back on Monastiros, having afternoon tea with Leon, and discussing the events of the day. Life seemed so uncomplicated there, or at least it had until Andreas appeared. Now she doubted her life would ever be so uncomplicated again, and the ball of depression swelled inside her as she contemplated going back to England and never seeing him again.

  She became aware suddenly that Andreas had stopped what he was doing and was watching her, a brooding expression on his dark face. She hoped he didn’t object to her accepting her partner’s offer to dance. After all, he had been occupied, and at least the young man, whose name she had discovered was Roger, wasn’t trying to make a pass at her as soon as he had a chance.

  She quivered though when Andreas parted from the group, until she saw that the blonde girl was behind him. A few yards from where Sylvie and Roger were dancing, Andreas stopped and drew the girl into his arms, and they began to move sinuously to the music. It was hardly dancing, just an excuse to put their arms around one another, and Sylvie’s face burned when the girl twined her fingers in his hair and turned her mouth up for his kiss.

  ‘Do you mind if we stop now?’

  Sylvie turned away abruptly, giving Roger an apologetic smile as she stumbled across the packed sand. But she couldn’t bear to go on watching such an intimate display, and she felt a little sick and dizzy, which she told herself was the heat.

  ‘Let me get you a drink,’ exclaimed Roger eagerly, his young face creased with anxiety. ‘You look awfully pale. Have a Coke. You’re probably dehydrated.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Sylvie was grateful, and she was standing staring determinedly out to sea when Roger came back. ‘Here.’ He handed her a bottle of Pepsi. ‘Now, tell me all about yourself.’

  Sylvie shook her head. ‘There’s nothing to tell.’

  ‘I don’t believe it. Who was that guy you came with? Your uncle? Your brother?’

  ‘My—brother-in-law,’ admitted Sylvie carefully.

  ‘I knew it,’ Roger grinned. ‘I knew he was too old to be your boy-friend.’

  ‘But not old enough to be my father?’ suggested Sylvie tensely.

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought so.’ Roger glanced round. ‘Who’s the blonde?’

  ‘You tell me.’ Sylvie was abrupt, and Roger nodded his head as if he understood.

  ‘I get it. You’re worried about what your sister will think if she finds out he’s been fooling around,’ he exclaimed.

  ‘What? Oh—–’ Sylvie pressed her lips together half hysterically. ‘Oh, yes. Yes, that’s right. I’m worried about that.’

  ‘I thought you were. Gee—–’ Roger turned to stare again, ‘he’s with a redhead now. He’s some swinger, your brother-in-law.’

  ‘Yes, isn’t he?’ Sylvie was growing tired of this ridiculous conversation. ‘If—if you’ll excuse me, I think I’d better be getting back.’

  ‘To the hotel?’

  ‘Oh, no.’ She shook her head. ‘We’re not staying here.’

  ‘You’re not?’

  ‘No, she is not,’ averred a harsh voice that Sylvie recognised only too well. ‘Come, pethi mou, it is time we were leaving. It is nearly six o’clock.’

  Sylvie swung round mutinously. ‘Are you sure you’re ready?’ she exclaimed. ‘Don’t let me spoil your fun.’ She looked defiantly at Roger. ‘I’m enjoying myself.’

  ‘Now,’ said Andreas bleakly, his hand fastening round her wrist. ‘Say goodbye to your—friend. I do not wish to argue about it.’

  Sylvie grimaced apologetically at Roger, then allowed Andreas to compel her across the sand to the steps. She noticed the younger man made no attempt to argue with Andreas either, and although she had not been attracted to him, she reflected that Andreas made him look rather immature. Nevertheless, she resented his arbitrary behaviour, and tore herself away once they were back on board the yacht.

  ‘Excuse me, but why did you bring me along?’ she asked sarcastically, rubbing her reddening wrist as he started the powerful engines. ‘And was that display of brute aggression really necessary? I thought you seemed to be having a whale of a time!’

  Andreas ignored her, concentrating on negotiating the craft away from the dock, but Sylvie wasn’t to be silenced. ‘You have no right to treat me like that!’ she declared, sniffing resentfully. ‘Roger must have thought I was a complete idiot!’

  ‘I apologise.’

  Andreas’s words were as unexpected as his behaviour had been, and she gulped. ‘You’re sorry?’

  ‘What more do you want me to say?’ He swung the wheel expertly, and pressed the release valves forward. ‘Take a look at the sky It is not so pretty now, is it? I hope we may get back before the storm breaks.’

  Sylvie looked up, at a loss for words, and saw what he meant. The blueness was overlaid with a film of sulphurous cloud, giving the sky an oppressive appearance, yellow and threatening.

  ‘Is it going to thunder?’ asked Sylvie, looping her leg over the leather seat opposite his where he was seated at the wheel.

  ‘Why?’ Andreas looked sideways at her. ‘Does thunder frighten you?’

  Sylvie compressed her lips for a moment. ‘No,’ she said at last. ‘But lightning does. Is it going to be bad?’

  Andreas shrugged. ‘It may pass over. I have seen such clouds, without a drop of rain falling.’

  ‘That doesn’t reassure me.’ Sylvie could imagine an electrical storm without rain. She bent her head. ‘We shouldn’t have come.’

  Andreas looked at her again. ‘That I would endorse.’

  ‘So why did we?’ Sylvie hunched her shoulders. ‘I though you were enjoying yourself.’

  ‘With Celia? Oh, yes.’ His tone was harsh. ‘She is—how would you say—a good sport.’

  ‘I’ll bet.’ Sylvie cupped her chin on her hand and turned to stare out of the side windows of the steering cabin.

  ‘What is that supposed to mean?’ Andreas was not amused.

  ‘Nothing.’ Sylvie shrugged. She did not want to start an argument with him here. ‘It was quite a place, wasn’t it? All—all those—women.’

  ‘You were shocked?’

  ‘No!’ She gave him a brief scornful stare. ‘I suppose you’re used to it.’

  ‘Why should you suppose that? Greek women do not disport themselves in such a way.’

  ‘No.’ Sylvie acknowledged the truth of this. ‘Because you don’t let them.’

  Andreas’s eyes darkened ominously. ‘You think we should? Is this how you would wish to behave?’

  ‘I didn’t say that.’ Sylvie seemed incapable of keeping out of deep water.

  ‘So what are you saying?’ Andreas persisted.

  ‘Well, you didn’t seem to object,’ she exclaimed defensively.

  ‘No.’ Andreas stared broodingly ahead, over the increasingly choppy water. ‘I have seen a woman’s body before. It is no novelty.’

  Sylvie’s face burned. ‘Have you seen Eleni’s?’ she blurted, before she could prevent herself, and cringed in total abjection beneath his contemptuous stare.

  ‘You had better go below,’ he declared, making no attempt to answer her. ‘You will feel safer down there. As you can see, it is starting to rain, and I shall need all my concentration to keep the craft on course.’

  Sylvie stumbled down the steps into the cabin, shivering from reaction. But not because of the expected vehemence of the storm. Somehow lightning seemed a paltry thing compared to Andreas’s suppressed violence, and she seated herself unhappily on the edge of the banquette, wondering what had happened to make everything go so desperately wrong.

  She was so sunk in misery she was hardly aware of the passage of tim
e, but when she heard the engines slowing she was forced to turn her head. The sight of an island only a few yards away across a rain-tossed expanse of water made her blink disbelievingly, and she knelt on the cushioned seat and stared out incredulously, hardly able to comprehend that they were back already.

  Andreas’s voice calling her name distracted her, however, and she turned, putting one leg to the floor as he appeared halfway down the flight of steps. ‘Sylvie! Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes, yes, I’m fine.’ Sylvie put both feet to the floor. ‘What is it? What’s happened? Is this Monastiros?’

  ‘Does it look like Monastiros?’ he enquired dryly. ‘We do not have jet engines, Sylvie. No, this is an uninhabited island, so far as I know. I have been trying to use the radio, but the reception is bad, so I have anchored here to try and make contact with Monastiros.’ He paused. ‘We do not want Leon to worry about us, do we?’

  ‘Oh, no.’ Sylvie swallowed rather convulsively. ‘Th-thanks for letting me know.’

  Andreas hesitated a moment, then he nodded and went back up the steps again. A few moments later she heard him using the two-way radio, the crackling on the air indicative of the electricity about in the atmosphere. It was thundering and lightning, but she had hardly been aware of it, and only now, anchored in this quiet cove, did she feel a return of her earlier apprehension.

  Presently she realised Andreas must have made contact with somebody. He was speaking in his own language, but not the same words over and over again as before. This time he was evidently describing their position, reassuring whoever was in contact with him that they were in no danger. She sighed. What a disastrous afternoon it had turned out to be, after the success of the previous day. They should have been reversed, she thought unhappily. Andreas should have been left with a good opinion of her, not this awful aggression between them.

  ‘Success!’ His exclamation broke into her brooding reverie, and she turned from her contemplation of the rain driving against the portholes to look at him blankly. ‘I made it,’ he said patiently. ‘I got through to the coast-guard at Siros, and he will relay the message to the villa.’

  ‘Oh! Oh, good!’ Sylvie forced a faint smile. ‘Thank heavens for radios.’

  Andreas nodded. ‘Indeed.’ He came down the last few steps into the cabin. ‘Are you really all right? You seem—pale—withdrawn.’ He sighed. ‘I guess I am to blame for this also.’

  Sylvie expelled her breath uneasily. ‘No—at least, I shouldn’t have said what I did. It was impertinent. What—what you choose to do is no concern of mine. I’m sorry.’

  Andreas’s mouth twisted. ‘You were right, I should not have brought you with me. It was selfish.’

  ‘Selfish?’

  ‘Of course.’ He thrust his hands into the hip pockets of the denim shorts. ‘I have no right to take advantage of you like this.’

  ‘Take advantage of me?’ Sylvie was confused. ‘I don’t understand—–’

  ‘Yes, you do.’ He bent his head broodingly, scuffing his bare toe against the floorboards. ‘I should have left you at the villa. You and I—our relationship is not sensible.’

  ‘Sensible?’ Sylvie couldn’t help repeating everything he said. ‘Andreas—–’

  ‘Andreas, Andreas! Even the way you say my name is a provocation,’ he muttered, looking at her with eyes that were no longer dark, but smouldering like red-hot coals. ‘Oh, Sylvie, why in God’s name do I want you!’

  She did not have time to consider these words. In a couple of strides he had erased the space between them, and she was looking up into his dark face. With studied deliberation he put his hands on her waist and pulled her up against him, and then, as her eyes widened half in apprehension, he bent his head and covered her lips with his.

  It was a hard kiss, but not intimate, her own nervous tension causing her to clench her teeth, so that her lips were bruised against them. When he lifted his head there was a faintly rueful twist to his mouth, but he did not release her, only looked at her with narrow-eyed intentness.

  ‘You can do better than that,’ he said accusingly. ‘But perhaps it is safer this way. I do not want to hurt you, Sylvie, but I fear I am in danger of doing so.’

  ‘H-how—hurt me, I mean?’ she articulated chokily, and his hands slid from her waist, beneath the hem of her vest to spread against the soft skin covering her spine.

  ‘Like this,’ he answered, removing one hand to loosen the knots that held the vest in place. Sylvie’s hand clutched convulsively at the cloth, but his eyes were compelling, and after a moment she let go, allowing him to expose her breasts. They were hard and swollen, the nipples rose-tipped and pointed, and she quivered uncontrollably when he lowered his head and took one between his lips.

  ‘No—I mean—you mustn’t—–’ she got out unsteadily, but the persuasive caress of his tongue was contradicting all her previous convictions. Dear God, she thought dizzily, I want him to do this all over me, and when he trailed his lips across her throat and found hers again, her mouth opened eagerly, inviting his sensuous possession.

  She was breathtakingly close to him, his leg between hers making her unmistakably aware of every thrusting muscle in his body. Yet even the few clothes they had on seemed an unbearable barrier, and her trembling fingers found the button of his shorts with instinctive urgency.

  ‘Sylvie—–’ he groaned, pressing her hands against his body. ‘Oh, Sylvie, what are you doing? You know what will happen if you go any further.’

  ‘I know,’ she breathed, blind to anything but her own hungry emotions. ‘You wanted to see me. I want to see you. Why shouldn’t I? Don’t you want me to?’

  ‘Theos—yes! Yes, of course I want you to,’ he muttered thickly, releasing his fingers, but as she pressed the zipper downwards they heard a man’s voice from somewhere above their heads.

  Immediately Sylvie’s hand froze, and with a smothered oath Andreas let her go, fastening his shorts again with grim determination and making automatically for the steps.

  ‘The radio,’ he said shortly, over his shoulder, and as her whole body sagged with stark reaction she realised someone was calling them on the frequency Andreas had used to contact Siros.

  He came back perhaps five minutes later, but it could have been hours as far as Sylvie was concerned. In the gloom of the cabin, with the rain easing slowly outside, she was numb to anything but a sense of chilled rejection, the weakness of her knees finding expression in her shuddering agitation. With trembling fingers she tied the straps of the cotton vest again, and rescued the leather thong that had bound her hair from where it had fallen, on the floor. When Andreas returned she was standing ghostlike in the centre of the cabin, gazing at him apprehensively as he came barefoot down the stairs.

  ‘It was Leon,’ he said flatly, one hand resting lightly on the polished wood balustrade. ‘They had patched him through from Monastiros. He was concerned. He thought we had taken the dinghy, and been forced ashore to make the call.’ He paused, glancing up the steps behind him, as if already eager to be gone. ‘I told him we were on the yacht, and that we were in no danger, and he expects us back within the hour.’

  ‘I see.’ Sylvie could not look at him. She felt too awful, too embarrassed. Oh, God, how could she have been so—so promiscuous, so utterly wanton! He probably imagined he wasn’t the first man who had tried to make love to her, and no doubt she would not have stopped him if the radio call had not interrupted them.

  Andreas hesitated. ‘Eleni is with him,’ he added. ‘She arrived a couple of hours ago. Leon told her the storm must have delayed us, so we can be grateful for that, at least.’

  You can, thought Sylvie mutely, the bitterness of jealousy like a twisting knife inside her. The idea of Andreas doing to Eleni what he had just done to her was an intolerable conception, and she turned away from him abruptly, crossing her arms across her body and gripping her elbows tightly.

  ‘Sylvie!’

  She had expected him to leave her, and she was not
prepared for the sudden gentleness in his voice.

  ‘Sylvie!’ When she did not respond, he said her name again, and this time she managed a muffled: ‘What?’ when she recognised the trace of impatience he was trying hard to disguise.

  ‘Do you want me to apologise?’ he demanded, expelling his breath heavily. ‘I warned you I might hurt you, and I have.’

  ‘You haven’t!’ Sylvie could not bear to think that he might be pitying her. Swinging round, she faced him bravely, ignoring her hot cheeks as she challenged his troubled stare. ‘I’m only sorry we were interrupted. The situation was just getting interesting, wasn’t it?’ She tilted her head. ‘Pity we have a deadline now, isn’t it?’

  Andreas’s dark brows descended, and he studied her provocative face for several minutes before turning abruptly and remounting the stairs. He said nothing, neither agreeing nor disputing her claim, and Sylvie maintained her defiance so long as he was in view, before sinking down weakly on to the banquette.

  Andreas had driven the car down to the harbour that morning, when he took out the dinghy, and it was by this means that he drove Sylvie back to the villa. It had stopped raining by the time they reached Monastiros, and in the remarkable way of such storms, the clouds were already clearing, leaving an expanse of star-studded velvet above the luminous glow of the sunset.

  They had not spoken since that moment on the yacht, but Sylvie had no wish to break the silence. While she could maintain an indifferent façade, she had a deep well of misery inside her, and had Andreas chosen to breach her shell, he would have discovered the depths of the pain he had inflicted.

  The lights were on in the villa as they drove up the track, and as Andreas parked the car near the garages at the back of the building, two people came strolling round the side of the house. It was Leon and Eleni, and Sylvie’s nerves tightened automatically, as she prepared herself to face their comments.

  ‘All right?’ asked Andreas, in an undertone, as she turned to push open her door as soon as the wheels had stopped turning. His instinctive courtesy was almost her undoing. For a heart-stopping moment she knew an un-controllable impulse to throw herself upon his mercy and let him do with her as he willed. But then Leon was pulling her door open, and his affectionate greeting destroyed the initiative.