Oriel’s eyes filled with tears. She blinked them away fiercely, hoping the fisherman would not guess the tumult of her thoughts. Only last night she’d been the victim of those short-lived passions. After what Mattias had just said, and after Helena had told her that she was just one in a string of conquests in the Room of Secrets, how could she ever see her and Damian’s lovemaking as anything more elevated than a fling? She knew his story – why he was too cynical and wounded to love her – and the unveiled truth, as she saw it now, echoed again and again in the frozen wasteland of her mind. The dream was over. Instead of sweet memories – something to hold and cherish – they would always be mixed with the bitterness of regret. How that hurt!
Mattias patted Oriel’s hand. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve caused you distress, Kyria, but I told you all this for the best reasons.’ He puffed on his pipe a moment, his eyes fixed on a point far out to sea. ‘You see, with your bright hair like an angel, you have come to us for a reason. I sensed it when I first saw you and the feeling is only growing stronger by the day. I’ll say no more but … please don’t run away. Be brave, Oriel.’
There was a wisdom in his eyes as if his habit of always scanning the horizon had allowed him to view the past, the present, and the future in one big picture. Oriel’s heart squeezed painfully but she took some comfort from his words and dried her eyes.
‘Now I don’t want to keep you. Last time we spoke like this I talked so much the sun went down and you had to walk home,’ Mattias told her.
Oriel laughed shakily. ‘I’ve brought the car this time. I’ll give you a lift home if you like?’ she offered, standing up and slinging her rucksack over her shoulder.
‘Thank you, but my home is not far and I’ll be staying here a little longer. One day, though, you must come by the cottage. Anna took a great shine to you at Epiklisi. She would be so happy to see you again. You must try her loukoumades. She makes the sweetest, softest doughnuts of anyone on the island.’
‘I’d like that. But you’re right, I’d better be going,’ said Oriel, although the thought of returning to Heliades held little charm. ‘I need to get back as I’m going out tonight.’
‘Another time maybe you can come and eat pastries with us, any time indeed. You will always be welcome in my house. And if you ever need me, I’m on that rock fishing almost every day, and I’m often to be found at the taverna in the evening.’
Oriel nodded and smiled. ‘Kalispera, Mattias.’
‘Kalispera, Oriel.’ He raised a hand in salute and wandered off with his fishing gear.
Now the sun had become a yellow inferno as it slid into late afternoon, still a cruel mistress, beating down on Helios in her relentless way. Somehow the scorching weather mirrored the inferno that had been Damian’s life, Oriel thought as she lifted her face to the dazzling beams. She made her way back to the car and, despite the heat, shivered.
CHAPTER 9
Damian’s car sped across the island from the airstrip where his plane had touched down. The sun had been setting when he arrived, streaking the sky with rose and gold and angry red as it slid down towards the sea. Now the night was moving in gradually. This was usually the time when the demons residing within him came out to play, bringing out the worst in him.
Yet, tonight was different.
The angels, it seemed, had decided to shield him from the darkness, pain and agony. His heart throbbed with hope, not torment; his soul soared like a bird in the sky and his mind was a frenzy of sparks. With every moment came wonder and with every breath anticipation as he reached the final road home and images of Oriel crowded his mind like a hypnotic dream. In a few minutes he would be seeing her again and would be able to take her in his arms. The medicine she brought healed him and, although Damian was addicted to her, somehow he felt safe because he knew since last night that she was equally hooked on him.
Earlier that day his whole being was still reeling in chaos. When he had woken at five o’clock in the morning he’d been surprised to find that she had already left. He had brooded on her absence, his mind filled with the memory of the taste of her lips, her skin, her exquisite heat wrapped around him – and his body already ached and burned for her again.
He had never done to a woman – and had never let a woman do to him – what Oriel and he had enjoyed with each other: Adam and Eve, exploring their bodies without restraint and discovering all the pleasures the sinful apple could offer. A shiver slipped up his spine at the thought of her arched body, a pagan offering that had stirred him like no woman ever had, and no other woman would … In the past he had always been driven by animalistic needs but, with Oriel, somehow, his need went much further … Damian wanted to be close to her body, to her heart, to her soul; and he had used their bodies to create a blazing fire that had melded them together to the extent that they hadn’t known where the one ended and the other began.
What was happening to him? An uneasy feeling stirred somewhere deep inside him about what it all meant. Vexing thoughts were tangling themselves up with his heightened sexual urges, weaving an intricate pattern whose picture he could not – or would not – see. His mind became one large knot, making him almost growl out loud with frustration.
Damian would have gone to look for her, even to make love to her once more before he left, but the voice of self-control battled with his hungry desire, and he forced himself to leave the house rather than go to Oriel’s room. He was due at an urgent meeting with the Minister of Culture and if he didn’t leave immediately, he would be late.
However, once he’d arrived in Athens, and despite a keen interest in relaying the specifics of their discovery to his excited colleagues at the Ministry, Damian had found it almost impossible to prevent thoughts of Oriel from occupying his mind. Their steaming, intimate encounter had obsessed him all day, to the point where he declined to stay on after the meeting to discuss things further, cutting short his visit and coming back now, rather than the following morning, to be with her.
He needed Oriel … needed her badly.
Now the gates of Heliades were in view and soon Damian was pulling up sharply in front of the house. Striding impatiently through the front door, he went straight up to Oriel’s room. There he was met by Beshir, who informed him that the Kyria needed to speak to him urgently.
He found Helena waiting for him and immediately realized that she was suffering one of her crises. As soon as he entered the room she gave a shrill laugh and her mouth curved scornfully. ‘Ah, the stud has come home! I was told you weren’t coming back until tomorrow, but I suppose you couldn’t stay away … eh?’
Resentment distorted her beautiful face. ‘You’ve opened that room of debauchery … playing your raunchy games with this girl, this foreigner, this slut that you’ve brought to live under our roof.’
‘Calm down, Helena, there’s no need to put yourself in this state. Besides, Despinis Anderson isn’t a slut.’ Damian was used to Helena’s outbursts but, still, hearing her talk that way about Oriel made his blood simmer dangerously.
‘Calm down, Helena, he says … Despinis Anderson isn’t a slut,’ she mimicked, her grey eyes cat-cruel. ‘The girl came here to work, not to provide you and my staff with some live pornographic diversion, here in our home.’
His eyes narrowed to angry slits but he kept his voice even. ‘Helena, I have told you before never to interfere in my private life. What I do in the privacy of my apartment is my business and mine alone.’
‘In the privacy of my apartment, he says … Uch!’ Helena scoffed. ‘Your disgusting groans and cries were so loud, I’m quite sure they could be heard as far as Typhoeus. How do you think I learnt what you were up to?’
Damian tried to keep calm. ‘Because one of your spies told you about it. I noticed our supper had been cleared away when I had given strict orders for it to be left there until the following day, after I’d gone.’
Helena sneered. Again there was that savage light in her eyes. ‘Beshir saw you … he said you were copu
lating like animals. Filthy, disgusting animals. But let me tell you the news. She’s gone off … your little angel has gone away.’
Damian tried to control the mixture of anxiety and anger in his voice. ‘What do you mean? If you’ve upset her, Helena, I swear …’
His cousin sighed deeply, looking up at him with an expression where hatred had suddenly been replaced by self-pity. ‘How could I? Stuck in this wheelchair, a helpless invalid, forced to spend the rest of my days in this contraption … being wholly dependent upon other people … Tell me, how could I?’ She shook her head.
‘Oh, you might think I’m selfish and possessive, perhaps, but that’s the way I’m made, dear cousin. I have no one else but you on this earth and you don’t understand me. Pericles, he knew how I felt, but that bitch Cassandra had to go and spoil it all …’ Helena’s eyes filled with tears.
Damian’s tone hardened. ‘Enough theatricals! Where is Despinis Anderson?’
Helena’s tone changed again and she flashed her cousin a triumphant smile. ‘Oh, didn’t I tell you? She’s gone off to find greener pastures. Vassilis Markopoulos picked her up just a few minutes ago. … I told you she’s a slut in disguise … a harlot dressed up as a saint, with her bright blonde hair. It’s written all over her goody-goody face … the only thing missing is the halo! But you men are guided by your libidos, you—’
Damian left the room, unable to bear any more of Helena’s poisonous words. They were like a bucket of icy water in his face. How could Oriel have gone off with someone else after what had passed between them only the night before? Guessing that Vassilis had taken her to Limenarkhees Taverna, he drove like a madman down to the marina.
* * *
Damian only narrowly missed seeing Oriel. Only half an hour earlier she had slipped out of Heliades, praying that Helena wouldn’t emerge from her apartment as she soundlessly tiptoed down the passageway, holding her white stiletto sandals and thin cashmere wrap in her hand. The house was quiet. She ran down the staircase as though followed by shadows, Irini’s disturbing phrase resounding in her head: Heliades walls have keen ears and sharp eyes that never sleep. She could well believe it.
Oriel had thought carefully about what to wear that night and had selected a sleeveless dress in white broderie anglaise, so simple to look at but, when she put it on, it looked stunning against her lightly sea-tanned skin. Its classic lines suited her and it was just right for an evening at Limenarkhees Taverna. Furthermore, nothing about the dress could possibly shock the sensitivities of even the most conservative Greek islanders. Her hair was looped at the nape of her neck and secured with a tortoiseshell slide. There wasn’t anything about her make-up that could cause offence either: she had applied only a whisper of shadow on her eyelids and a little gloss to her lips.
She had waited outside for Vassilis, having decided to come down from her room ten minutes before he was due. That way, she hoped she could slip away surreptitiously in his car without anyone being the wiser. Oriel breathed deeply. What a relief! The freshness of the night, cooled by the salty whiffs of the sea, was intoxicating, the island breathing richness and earthy airs. The hush was intense. It was hard to imagine a more peaceful setting, a greater harmony between the natural and architectural elements … yet, she recalled, so much pain and hurt lingered behind those ancestral walls.
As she stood in the shadows, her back against one of the pillars of the portico, Oriel let her mind wander over the events of the past twenty-four hours and the words of Mattias. Damian, it transpired, had had more than his share of gruesome experiences to harden his mind. He was a man not only with a scarred face but also a scarred heart. Had Yolanda or Cassandra ever possessed the tenderness to ease the pain of his memories? Yolanda threw it all away, Mattias had told her, while Cassandra had shunned his bed and turned to Pericles, his degenerate brother, just when Damian must have needed her most.
The sad words of the fisherman rushed back to Oriel: Each time love shows the tip of its flame, he snuffs it out determinedly and replaces it with short-lived passions … Who could blame Damian? Even if she had been naïve enough to momentarily become one of his passing flings, how could she condemn him? She had only herself and her wantonness to hold responsible for any heartache she was going through now.
The sensible thing to do was to give in her resignation but Oriel was not a quitter – and besides, she knew she would never have another career opportunity like this. She and Damian had discovered the giant bronze statue of Poseidon, lost to the waters of the Ionian for more than two thousand years. Their find, and this site – one that would make history, surely – was almost impossible to walk away from. Anyway, she had nothing with which to reproach herself, really, apart from indulging in some sex with her employer. Could she really be blamed for her naïvety, or being somewhat under the influence of alcohol? Was it so bad that the history that linked her to this charismatic man and the romance of the setting had led her to mistake sex for true ‘lovemaking’? Yet, then again, surely she couldn’t remain at Heliades in these circumstances? She would talk to Damian. She had to talk to Damian … but at least it wouldn’t be tonight. In the meantime, Vassilis’s invitation was a godsend. Oriel realized she needed, above all, to go out – to see people, and maybe dance the night away until she was exhausted.
At the sound of a car, she looked up: Vassilis was on time. The elegant red Porsche drew to a halt beside her and he leapt out of the car, beaming. ‘I’m not late for you, am I?’ he said, coming round to open the door for her. He bent over and gave her a friendly kiss on both cheeks.
‘No, no, I’ve just come down.’ Oriel smiled, taking in the young man’s casual but smart chinos and shirt, and the wine-coloured paisley cravat, which gave him a chic look. There was something about the way Mediterranean men wore their clothes – a carefree sophistication, as though once they had put them on they never gave their appearance another thought.
‘You look stunning. The sun suits you, for sure. With us Greeks, it can only ever accentuate our natural tan, but it gives your white skin a lovely pale-gold colour. I’ll be the envy of every man at the party,’ he said laughing as he slid in next to her.
Within seconds the powerful car had traversed the drive and was picking up speed on the open road heading towards the harbour, the wind blowing wisps of hair out of the loosely looped style Oriel had created.
‘Are you cold? Would you like me to put the hood up?’
‘No, please, it’s a lovely night. The air smells so wonderful here.’ She inhaled the warm scents. ‘Pines and wild herbs, it’s one of the things I love about Mediterranean countries.’ Oriel relaxed and tried to force herself into a cheerful frame of mind, determined to have fun and forget all about her apprehensions and doubts.
Vassilis drove with skill, yet at breakneck speed, steering most of the time with only one hand on the wheel. Oriel had been briefly wooed by a French racing-car driver so not only was she used to this sort of dangerous driving but it had always given her a sense of exhilaration, bringing out the adventurous, slightly reckless side to her nature. She often wondered if that wasn’t an internal mechanism to compensate for her wariness and control where her emotions were concerned.
Though playful and easy-going, Vassilis neither had the charisma nor the electric je ne sais quoi that made heads turn whenever Damian entered a room. Oriel had witnessed this phenomenon the night he had taken her to Manoli’s and again at Santorini. But she felt comfortable with Vassilis. It helped not being attracted to him in the least, and his playful, boyish charm was exactly what she needed right now.
‘I thought you wouldn’t want to miss the special celebration tonight at Limenarkhees Taverna,’ he said. ‘It’s for the diva’s birthday. This is the first time for a while that she’s on Helios to celebrate it with her people. She will be singing, of course.’
Oriel hadn’t realized that the beach party had anything to do with Yolanda; if she had known, she probably wouldn’t have come. However, she’d
promised herself a night out and hopefully their paths would not need to cross. ‘I look forward to it, she has a wonderful voice,’ was all she said.
They were silent for a moment as Vassilis negotiated a tricky stretch of road, and her thoughts automatically drifted back to Mattias’s words that afternoon: ‘The Kyrios tried his best. He went against everybody … Yolanda threw it all away, and now she weeps.’ She wondered at those words … Was Yolanda the real reason why Damian had absented himself tonight from the island? If he really wanted to, he could have come back from the Athens meeting in time for the party, surely? Mattias mentioned that Damian’s heart hurt over the diva, his childhood sweetheart. Maybe it still did? Perhaps he had never quite been able to break free.
As if aware of her withdrawal, Vassilis glanced her way. ‘You’re very silent,’ he remarked, jogging Oriel out of her thoughts.
Her colour rose. ‘I’m enjoying the drive, you’re a good driver.’
‘Thank you. Driving is my hobby. Last year I took part in the Tuareg rally in Morocco. It was amazing racing through the desert.’
‘That sounds fun. Are you going to drive in any rallies this year?’ Oriel asked.
‘Not sure. There’s a lot of work on, including Damian’s site and everything else I oversee with my company. My dream is to pilot one of my cars in the 24-hour Le Mans.’
‘Dreams come true when you believe in them, you know,’ said Oriel with a smile. ‘You just have to do something about it, turn them into realities.’
‘So I keep telling myself. When I can, I spend Saturdays on a circuit in Athens, practising.’
‘It’s a dangerous hobby.’
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