Scorpio Summer

by Jacqueline Gilbert

  Frances could feel her pulse jumping away like mad against his palm. 'Nothing outstanding. Honeysuckle, I think . . . I can't remember,' she answered incoherently.

  'Whatever it is, it suits you. I'm glad you've come, Frances. It shows you've forgiven me for past hurts and I shall take full advantage of the situation and bask in your pity.'

  'Rubbish!' said Frances, laughing. 'If you truly needed pitying you'd hate it.'

  'How well you know me, dear girl,' he replied lightly. 'The truth is, I'm bored. I feel like quarrelling with someone, and we do it so well, don't we? Pull up a chair,' and when she made no move, he added: 'Can you stay?'

  Her voice became teasing, basking in the knowledge that he wanted her company. 'Yes, of course I can, but I need my hand before I can fetch the chair.'

  He smiled. 'So you do.' She was released and he waited while she pulled forward the other chair. 'What colour are you wearing, Frances ? It's rather dark behind these damned bandages and I want to imagine what you look like.'

  A rush of emotion swept over her and controlling a tell-tale quiver, she answered flippantly: 'Miss Heron is wearing a lightweight wool suit in a delightful shade of heather mixture, with cream accessories. She is also wearing a short haircut, acquired at Maison Elaine of Nottingham . . .'

  'Good heavens!' broke in Felix, sitting up. 'Are you, indeed? That takes a bit of imagining. Let me feel it.'

  Warily, Frances leaned forward and allowed his fingers to run through the short hair. 'For Rosalind, when she pretends to be a boy,' she explained, closing her eyes with pleasure and curbing the desire to cling to his hands, holding them to her face. 'And it will curl so,' she added weakly, as he withdrew.

  'Hmm . . . I shall have to wait judgment on that until I can see for myself, but it feels nice, and the rest of you sounds delightful. Thank you, I can see you quite plainly now.' Felix leaned back comfortably. 'Tell me what you've been doing, Frances.'

  Afterwards Frances was astounded at how quickly the time flew by. When she finally left she walked the park, not seeing anything or anyone, only remembering Felix as he had looked when she said goodbye, hearing his voice, dry and slightly mocking . . .

  Coming finally to terms with the fact that she loved him.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Frances was lucky enough to get a job with a television commercial company, which enabled her to stay on in London, at least for a while. She called in to see Felix every day, to read the paper out loud to him, or sometimes to just sit and talk. What she was doing was shortsighted and emotionally dangerous, but she didn't care. She was taking day by day as it came and thanking fate for whatever crumb it could offer.

  And then, right out of the blue, fate offered a good job. A new Tom Stoppard play to be put on in the West End . . . and a fantastic chance for her. A few weeks ago she would have been over the moon at the offer, but now all ambitions had paled. She auditioned because she knew that life would have to continue once Felix had no further need of her company, and was told that 'they'd let her know'.

  The day after this audition Frances walked into the conservatory to find it empty and putting down papers and books on the table she stepped out into the garden. She saw Felix sitting on a seat, his back to her, and her heart sank. Her time of usefulness was over. She crossed the grass, calling out with assumed cheerfulness:

  'Hullo, Felix! I see they've taken off the bandages.' She stopped, the words abruptly cut as he turned, and she found herself staring at him in dismay. Emotion choked in her throat. Gareth should have warned her he'd look like this, she thought angrily, drawing a deep breath and trying to conceal her initial shock.

  'What's it like being able to see at last? I expect it's rather strange,' she managed.

  'Hullo, Frances. Yes, they unbound me this morning and I'm to sit in the sun on doctor's orders.' Felix watched her move round the seat to sit next to him. 'Poor girl. Didn't Gareth tell you what a mess I am?' He smiled sardonically. 'Never mind, I won't blame you if you don't look too often.'

  'Don't be ridiculous,' she replied calmly, every nerve in her body geared to casualness. 'If you're asking for my sympathy you'll be unlucky.' She looked critically at his face. He was wearing dark glasses, but they did not hide the ugly wound that ran from the middle of his forehead, high up near the hair-line, to finish a couple of inches to the side of the right eye. 'Not a pretty sight, I agree, but it'll fade in time, surely,' she announced at last, tilting her head consideringly. 'In fact, Felix, I think it will enhance your looks, rather than mar them.'

  'Indeed?' His brows rose and the scar distorted.

  'Yes. There's a demonic look about you now—the ladies will come flocking!'

  He gave a bark of cynical laughter. 'Heaven forbid!' adding dryly: 'What a clever girl you are, Frances. Very diplomatic.'

  'I don't know what you mean,' she replied smoothly.

  'Liar!' He frowned. 'Where did you get to yesterday?'

  Frances felt a silly stab of pleasure that he'd missed her. 'I went after a job—I do have to earn a living, you know.' She gestured to the dark glasses. 'Does this mean that you're allowed to read for yourself now?'

  'No, it does not . . . you can't get out of your duties like that.'

  'Then I'll go and fetch …

  He caught her hand as she rose to go. 'Stay and talk,' he demanded, pulling her gently down again, retaining her hand and increasing the pressure slightly when she tried to free herself.

  With colour in her cheeks, Frances asked lightly: 'What shall we talk about?'

  He smiled lazily. 'About how much better it is, seeing you instead of imagining you.'

  She caught her breath. This was much more like the Felix of old, and infinitely more dangerous. 'Have they washed their hands of you now?' she asked hurriedly.

  'Unfortunately not . . . I believe there are some more tests to be done before I can fly away to the sun.'

  Her eyes moved quickly to his face. 'You're going away?'

  He nodded, a mocking smile hovering. 'Will you miss me, Frances?'

  'Why, yes, of course I will.' His thumb was gently caressing her palm, making her flesh tingle.

  'Do you know, I rather think I shall miss you too!' When there was no response to this, he continued: 'On the advice of my good doctor friend, I'm to go away, to rest and relax in the sun.' He gave an exasperated sigh. 'As though I haven't been doing enough resting lately!'

  'Where shall you go?' asked Frances, desolation spreading over her.

  He shrugged. 'The idea was only sprung on me this morning. I haven't had time to consider.' He paused. 'Have you anywhere you can suggest?'

  Frances looked round the old-fashioned walled garden thoughtfully. It was very quiet. The roses and the border flowers made a bright splash of colour among the cool greenery of the shrubs and trees.

  'I've been told that Corfu is a lovely island,' she heard herself saying calmly.

  In the ensuing silence she watched a sparrow tentatively fly down to the sundial in the centre of the small lawn, quickly take up a morsel'of breadcrumb and fly off again.

  'Corfu ?' Felix turned to stare at her. 'Yes, it is . . . but I'd only go to Corfu if you came with me.' His tone was matter-of-fact as he watched her face.

  'Then Corfu it is,' Frances replied, looking at him fully for the first time since burning her boats. She wished she could see his eyes behind the dark glasses. She could perhaps have learned something from them. The frown was very visible. 'You've sold me on the idea,' she added, giving a decisive nod.

  The devil I have!' He broke away from her and leaned forward, staring down at the ground. 'You'd be getting a bad bargain—do you realise that?' The words sounded curiously angry.

  'I know the rules, Felix.'

  'I'm not so sure that I do.' He looked at her sharply. 'Why have you changed your mind, Frances?'

  'Isn't that the lady's prerogative?' she asked flippantly. 'Is it necessary for the third degree, Felix?'

  'Yes, I think it is. You were v
ery articulate on the reasons for your refusal before.'

  'That was over a year ago. Perhaps I've decided to kill off my guilt complexes!' She hoped for a smile, but the austere expression didn't waver. She felt a sudden chill. 'Have I left it too late, perhaps? There's someone else?'

  'No. There's no one I'd rather take with me,' he answered shortly.

  Relief spread over her. 'So what's the problem, Felix?' and she gave a tentative smile.

  'I want you to be absolutely certain that you know why you're coming. I don't want us to be half-way across Europe and you change your mind.'

  'How ridiculous you are! You don't expect me to behave like that, surely?' she burst out, half exasperated and half amused.

  'No, I don't.'

  'Then what's the fuss about, for goodness' sake! Look, Felix, it's not every day that I. . .' Her voice petered out and she bit her lip. This line of argument was best shelved. It was, in fact, her weakest. She was not particularly proud of her inexperience in such matters and had no intention of letting Felix know. Handing over one's virtue as late as twenty-six could have certain hang-ups—such as the idea of living happily ever after, and he wouldn't chance the possible traumas just for a few weeks in the sun with her. She would deal with any personal traumas if and when they came.

  Frances put a hand to her brow and gave a helpless laugh. 'Felix! We're even fighting over this!' she protested.

  He shook his head. 'We're merely getting things into perspective. You know why I want you to come with me. It seems only fair that I should know your reasons. No matter what you may think, I don't embark on such a relationship lightly, and I'm sure neither do you.'

  'No, well . . .' her brain was working furiously. This wasn't going the way she had planned it at all! She ought to have known that Felix, for all his charm and easy talk, wouldn't accept her change of mind unquestioningly. She decided to keep to as near the truth as possible and took a deep breath. 'All right, Felix . . . my reason is this,' and she carefully placed her hand against the side of his cheek. He gave an imperceptible flinch and then caught it with his own, keeping it there. Her palm felt on fire.

  'You see?' she asked softly. 'Even after a year it's still the same . . . so my reasons are the same as yours. I've mistrusted this physical attraction, but now I realise that running away from it is running away from living, and life's too short. So I'll come away with you, Felix, and we'll give the fireworks a chance to burn themselves out,' and Frances didn't add that for her she doubted that they ever would. She withdrew her hand and clasped both together on her lap.

  Felix was leaning back, legs outstretched, the implacable look gone, to be replaced by one of deep contemplation. There was a long silence before he drawled: 'I'llaccept your reasons, Frances,' and sitting up, reflected: 'We'll have to do something about your passport. What about this job that's in the offing?'

  'Oh, I didn't get it,' she said, and smiled ruefully. 'That's the way it goes sometimes,' and Felix nodded, and again she wished he wasn't hiding behind the dark glasses.

  'So you aren't contracted to anything at the moment?' he asked, and she shook her head. Nothing, apart from you, Felix, she told him silently.

  'Is there anyone who's likely to be against this decision of yours?' Again she shook her head. There was, but she could deal with Zoe.

  'No, I'm completely alone in the world and answerable to no one,' she replied calmly.

  His hand came up to lightly touch a curl lying delicately against the curve of her cheek.

  'I'll not let you regret it, Frances,' he said gently, and then leaned forward and brushed his mouth against hers, a wisp of a kiss, lingering briefly, promising. 'There, we've sealed our bargain.' He stood up, saying briskly: 'I'm moving back to my flat tomorrow. I have some loose ends to tie up at the studios, and the police want to see me regarding statements for the accident. I'll telephone you as soon as I know the exact date. We'll fly, of course.'

  'I'll be ready,' she promised, her head in a whirl, not daring to look at him fully in case he should read more in her eyes than she wanted him to know.

  'And you're quite sure, Frances, that you want to go ahead with this?' he asked steadily, and she replied:

  'Quite sure.'

  Lying in the shade of a protruding rock, a discarded book by her side, Frances remembered those words and wished she could still feel so confident.

  In front of her was a calm, glittering sea, lapping the curve of the white, dazzling beach. Behind, her, sheltering the small, deserted bay, towered thickly wooded hills of pine, cedar and cypress, which swept right down to the coast, finishing in hard rock cliffs. Hugged tightly to these cliffs was the small inn of Astrakeri.

  Astrakeri! How beautiful were the sounds of the Greek names, as beautiful as the island itself. Frances remembered her first sight of it as the BA plane approached the cluster of islands dotted far below in the bluest of blue seas; seven islands, looking as though they had been dropped from a painter's palette. Corfu was easily recognisable, being the most northerly, distinctive because of its long sickle shape, lush with fertile valleys, hills of dense olive trees, and Mount Pantocrator, bare and rocky, rising steeply from the sea, north of the airport.

  Frances gave a sigh and rose, collecting together her things. The sun blazed down on her skin and the sand struck with almost unbearable heat to the soles of her feet and she quickly slipped on her sandals. She was glad to leave the beach and savour the refreshing cool of the steep path that zig-zagged its way up between tall, dark trees. Perfume was everywhere, a mixture of orange- blossom and pine, olive and cypress, and coming out of the gloomy shadows, her feet treading softly on the fallen pine needles, she made her usual stop to catch her breath.

  She was in a clearing, an almost fairy-like glade, and the riot of colour always came as a joyous shock every time she came to it. The profusion of flowers was like a jungle. Roses had been allowed to grow to unusual heights, fine walls of wisteria hung like tapestry and honeysuckle reached out to tempt with its heady perfume. An idyllic setting . . . for what should have been an idyllic holiday!

  Frances sank down by a bank of arum lilies growing out of the moist, shady undergrowth, and hugged her knees, going over the last few days in her mind—an occupation she had indulged in more often than was good for her morale.

  They had started off on the wrong foot, she thought miserably, with Felix withdrawn and almost formal, and herself racked first with a stupid shyness and then, because of his reserve, with equally stupid nervousness. By the time they had landed at Corfu airport Felix was beginning to sound like a travel brochure and she was sure it was with relief on both sides that a third person joined them as they passed through customs.

  Spiro Stephanides was this welcome addition—a giant of a man, his battered peaked cap doffed by the largest hands Frances had ever seen. He was standing by a dusty black car, and seeing Felix, he stepped forward, shaking his hand enthusiastically, his leathery face creased in a beaming smile, his rapid Greek a profuse and voluble greeting.

  Spiro had driven them across the island to Astrakeri, on the north coast, where Josef and Sofia, the owners of the inn where Felix had booked for them to stay, had repeated this welcome, showing great affection towards Felix, who was obviously well known to them.

  The inn was small, but charming, having only three guest bedrooms, two of which were allocated to Felix and herself. This was the first slight shock to Frances. Not that she wasn't grateful to Felix in not wishing to offend the proprieties of his friends and cause her any embarrassment, but it wasn't conducive to breaking down this restraint between them. And since then, nothing had happened to offend anyone!

  They had spent two outwardly pleasant days, acting like any other holidaymakers, lazing on the beach or swimming in the sea. They had explored the archipelago of small rocks along the shoreline, Felix rowing Josef's boat, and they would peer down through the crystal- clear water. There, underwater plants wove to and fro, fish darted in and out of them, flashing
bright colours, spider crabs scuttled among anemones clinging to the rocks on which sea-urchins clustered, spiky and dangerous. And when they became tired of the shore, Spiro drove them inland, where peasant girls laughed and giggled on the backs of donkeys as they made their way to work in the fields, and the goatherd gave his shrill whistle, urging his flock from the road to allow the car to pass freely. There was a rustic simplicity about the island that enchanted Frances and she was soon under its spell.

  And at night she went alone to her bed, leaving Felix downstairs talking to Josef and the other Corfiote men who gathered regularly in the inn. She soon realised that Greek women were banished from important affairs, such as kal6 or kak.6, good or bad, of the local wine crop, affairs of state or the day's fishing haul. She learned to recognise the best Greek noise caused by kefi, that release of inspired high spirits which often resulted in spontaneous music and dancing. She felt frustrated in more ways than one . . . life seemed to be holding so much in store for her, and yet was dangling it tantalisingly just out of reach.

  Then, when she had resolved to ask Felix outright what the matter was, someone called Theodore Alexiakis of Athens managed to put a spoke in her wheel.

  They had gone for a walk after their evening meal and on returning to the inn decided to swim, for the air was still warm. As they plunged into the water the phosphorescence turned their bodies into a golden green glow beneath the surface and when they finally emerged, to lie on the sand, fireflies made their nightly sortie from the olive groves, skimming across the water, their lights winking on and off, making a strange fairy-like glow.

  Frances, lying flat on her back on the sand, turned her head to look at Felix. The moon was bright enough for her to see that his eyes were closed, and she leaned over to brush the fall of hair from his forehead, saying softly:

  'Does it still hurt?'