Scorpio Summer

by Jacqueline Gilbert

  His eyes opened. 'The wound ? No, not at all now.'

  'I'm glad. You're looking much better,' she told him, and impulsively planted a light kiss along the jagged line, her wet body briefly touching his. Felix's arms came round her and pulled her to him.

  It was their first real kiss since arriving on Corfu and it was packed with all the intensity and passion that the previous days had stored up. Somehow Frances found herself lying once more on the sand, Felix searching her eyes, cheeks, the hollow of her throat with tiny kisses.

  A wave of happiness swept over her and she returned his kisses with mounting fervour, so relieved that he still wanted her. When he at last lifted himself away, hands either side, she smiled up at him.

  'You taste of salt,' she murmured, running her fingers through his thick hair, trailing them along the breadth of his shoulders.

  'You look and taste good enough to eat,' Felix said, rolling over and standing up in a single continuous movement. He bent to pick up her beach robe and threw it round her, effortlessly pulling her to her feet.

  With his arms round her shoulders and her own round his waist Frances drew a contented breath as they walked back across the sand towards the inn.

  A pair of headlights came sweeping round the curve of the road as they emerged from the cliff path, halting outside the inn.

  'I wonder what Spiro wants?' Frances murmured, as the huge, dark figure loomed towards them.

  'He's come to take me into the airport. I'm flying to Athens in a couple of hours,' Felix replied, voice expressionless.

  Frances stopped short and turned an incredulous face towards him.

  'You're what?' she asked.

  'I'm flying to Athens,' he repeated, calling out something in Greek to Spiro who waved a hand and turned back into the inn. 'I have some business to attend to, you've heard me mention my good friend, Theo Alexiakis . . . I can't get out of it, I'm afraid,' he explained, and before Frances could utter another word, he pulled her to him, gave her a quick, hard kiss and pushed her into the inn, telling her laconically: 'It'll take a day.'

  And here she was, living off memories of that brief interlude on the beach, still on her own . . . and wishing that Theodore Alexiakis would keep his business troubles to himself! Spiro had looked after her with dog-like devotion, and Josef and Sofia communicated as best they could, obviously sympathetic towards thethespoinis in her abandoned state . . . which had stretched now into two days.

  A call made her look up to see Sofia standing in the porchway of the inn, holding a carafe and a glass. Frances made her way over, accepting the ice cold, fresh lemon drink gratefully.

  'You like,Thesponis Frances?' Sofia asked shyly.

  Frances smiled her thanks. 'It's lovely, Sofia,' and after taking a sip, she asked hopefully: 'Kyrios Felix has not yet returned?'

  Sofia shook her head. 'Not yet,thespoinis, but he will come,' she promised, something in her eyes causing Frances a brief confusion, and yet instinctively bringing them to a closer understanding of each other.

  Thanking her again, Frances returned the empty glass and after saying that the evening meal would be in half an hour, Sofia re-entered the inn.

  Frances ate by herself at the small round table in the garden, a lighted candle adding to the romantic setting. Not even the delicious brochettes of beef which Sofia had cooked in an aromatic herbal sauce, or the wine that Josef freely poured, could dispel the ridiculousness of the situation. She put on a cheerful face for them but couldn't disguise the fact that she was all the time waiting for the sound of Spiro's car sweeping round the curve of the road.

  It must have done so the following morning while she was having her early morning swim in the sea. As she panted slightly, out of breath from the steep wooded climb, Frances suddenly saw the familiar black car parked outside the inn. Breathless now for another reason, she ran lightly up the stairs to find Felix's door open and him standing by the window. As this looked out across the bay he must have seen her approach and hearing her footfalls on the landing, turned and walked across the room.

  'Good morning,Thespomis Heron,' he said, lazily, his eyes taking in her gleaming, golden body and glowing face in a satisfactory sweep.

  Frances felt the old rush of excitement go through her at his look.

  'Good morning, Kyrie Ravenscar,' she responded, a tremble in her voice which she covered hastily by asking if he had breakfasted yet.

  'No. I was waiting for you,' Felix replied. 'Sofia has everything prepared at our table in the garden.' He looked at her hair, clinging damply to her head, and throwing over a towel added: 'Do you have to change ? I'm famished.'

  Frances shook her head and began to rub her hair briskly. 'No, I'm almost dry anyway, and my wrap is quite respectable, isn't it?' she asked, throwing down the towel and tying the cord of her bathing robe.

  Following her back down the stairs, her long legs giving him the utmost pleasure, Felix replied dryly: 'Adequate would be a better word, I think,' and Frances flashed him a knowing grin over her shoulder.

  The delicious grilled fish that Sofia brought out to them was served with a rapid stream of Greek, which was interspersed with the occasional glance at Frances.

  When she had disappeared for the coffee, Frances asked curiously:

  'What was that all about, Felix?'

  He began to spread honey on to a roll as he spoke. 'Today is one of the many feast days and as such is a holiday. Something to do with Saint Spiridon, Corfu's patron saint, and the island celebrates the occasion with processions and music, food and wine.'

  'I'm all for celebrating an occasion,' said Frances, slanting a glance at him as she dug her teeth into a melon. 'Metrio, Sofia,' she added quickly, as Sofia brought out the tray of coffee and handed a slightly sweetened one to her.

  'Sketo, Sofia,' responded Felix, his amused eyes upon Frances as Sofia passed him his cup of black Turkish coffee, but before he could comment on her provocative observation, Spiro arrived unexpectedly, loath to interrupt, but feeling it necessary to do so.

  Hat in hand, Spiro smiled apologetically to Frances and then launched into rapid speech, arms gesticulating wildly, to Felix. When he had finished he gave Frances his usual dignified half-bow and backed out of the garden, the sound of the car accelerating away coming almost immediately.

  'And what was that all about?' Frances asked, highly delighted by Spiro's performance.

  Felix hesitated, pouring a drink of fresh orange for them both before answering casually: 'I have a small villa near here which has been having some alterations.

  The plumbers have at last finished, and as Spiro has been breathing heavily down their necks for the past three weeks, he's overjoyed to be able to tell me that we can move in tomorrow.' He raised his glass to his lips, his gaze steadily upon her while he drank.

  To her disgust Frances found a blush sweeping over her and quickly lowered her lashes, unable to meet his look. 'I didn't know you had your own house,' she murmured. 'How long have you owned it?’

  Felix pursed his lips in reflection. 'About five years.' He rose to his feet and Frances followed suit. 'Sofia's sister, Maria, comes in every day to cook and clean. It's an ideal holiday retreat.'

  'Is it far from Astrakeri?' she asked, preceding him into the inn.

  'No, no, less than a kilometer along the coast,' he replied, adding quickly: 'What's the matter? Have you hurt your foot, Frances? You seem to be limping.'

  Admitting to the pain under her heel, Frances squinted down at it, wondering what was causing the stinging jabs every time she put on pressure, and announced, 'I think I have a splinter.'

  'We'll have a look at it,' proposed Felix, walking into his room in search of the first aid box. 'It doesn't do to ignore anything like that, however trivial.'

  Frances followed him in and sat down, offering her foot to him for inspection.

  'Hmm . . . a splinter from a pine needle . . . yes, here it comes,' Felix said softly, easing it out competently with a pair of tweezers and then
dabbing with cotton wool and antiseptic. He pressed a plaster into place and looked up enquiringly. 'Better?'

  Frances stood up and tested her weight. 'Yes, thank you, much better,' and as Felix rose from his crouching position to stand facing her she raised her eyes to his face and taking her courage in both hands, whispered: 'I've missed you.'

  She found that, after all, she could not wait to see his reaction, her eyes falling away from his face. The situation suddenly appalled her. What would she do if he had changed his mind? Or if he hadn't and then soon tired of her? A desolate thought! Her eyes flew back in a moment of swift panic.

  Felix was viewing her with a serious, thoughtful expression on his face. His hands came up and grasped her arms, drawing her to him, and she clutched at his shirt, feeling the erratic thumping of his heart against her hand.

  She made no move to stop his caresses and the robe slipped unheeded from her shoulders to the floor. I love you, Felix, she cried out silently, as his mouth parted hers, leaving her limp with longing, and it was some seconds before she was aware of the persistent knocking at the door accompanied by a volley of Greek words. Felix lifted his head attentively and called a brief answer and the footsteps receeded.

  Frances closed her eyes in resignation, not knowing whether to burst into hysterical laughter or tears.

  'What did Sofia want?' she murmured into his chest.

  Felix brushed his lips along her smooth, rounded shoulder and said calmly: 'She says that the bus that's taking us to Corfu for the festivities will be coming down the lane in fifteen minutes.' He rescued the wrap from the floor and draped it round her, holding it in both hands, keeping her a prisoner. 'I said we would be on it.'

  'Naturally,' she agreed gravely, maintaining her dignity, and refusing to see the smile in his eyes. 'We must pay our respects to Saint Spiridon. You have nothing else on the agenda, have-you?' she asked innocently, eyes wide and enquiring.

  'Nothing that can't be put off for a better time and place,' he replied smoothly, adding: 'Oh, and Sofia also says that there's a peasant dress on your bed which should fit you. She'll be honoured if you'll wear it. Everyone will be in feast-day costume and it will enhance thethespoinis's beauty. Sofia's words, but ones that I endorse.' He turned her round and propelled her gently in to her own room.

  'Oh, how lovely!' she breathed, gazing at the green shot silk dress with its pretty embroidered muslin apron. She lifted a glowing face. 'Does she really mean me to wear this? It looks new!'

  'Yes, of course she does—it probably belonged to one of her daughters.' His eyes glittered. 'If you have any difficulties with the hooks, just shout, 'and he was halfway through the door when he stopped. 'Frances, may I ask you a question?'

  She looked up quickly, attuned to something in his voice that caused a flicker of apprehension. 'Yes, of course you may.'

  'The truth is, and has been, rather lacking in our relationship, right from our first meeting. I shall be grateful if . . . you can bear this in mind.' He was facing her now, one hand raised to the door. 'Why did you give up your part in the Tom Stoppard play?'

  There was an almost hypnotic intensity that held her eyes to his.

  She swallowed. 'H-how did you know I did?"

  'Because it was at my instigation that you were offered the part.'

  'I see.' It became, after all, easy to speak the truth. 'I gave it up because if there was a choice between the Stoppard and being with you, then I'd sooner be with you.'

  A rapid exclamation was directed up the stairs, piercing the growing awareness between them. Felix smiled his slow, lazy smile.

  'Another time, another place,' he promised, and then was gone.

  Twenty minutes later Frances found herself being jogged and rattled up and down, side to side, in the most amazing bus she had ever seen. The windows were empty of glass and the single deck was packed with bodies—and not only human ones, animals too, plus crates of fruit and vegetables.

  There was an air of holiday spirit about the passengers, all dressed in their best, with much laughing and shouting, accompanied by the tooting of the bus horn every time the driver rounded a bend, which was, by nature of their journey through the mountain ridge, often. Frances had long ceased to worry about their safety, no one else seemed to be concerned. She sat between Sofia and Sofia's younger sister Maria, who had inherited the family habit of smiling and nodding happily whenever Frances caught her eye.

  The two sisters carried on a continual conversation across her, and as Frances heard the wordanglkha repeated more than once, knew it was mostly about herself and Felix, and it was probably as well that she couldn't understand it. The rest of the passengers could, however, much to her embarrassment, and the safest person to look at was Felix, which was no hardship.

  He was sitting opposite her, next to Josef. A basket of doves was in the aisle separating them, giving a musical addition to the chatter and laughter. As the olive groves rushed by at an alarming speed Frances suddenly realised that he was smiling at her and she found herself smiling unreservedly back. She felt the sweet stirrings of pleasure rise up within her, grateful for any small crumb that came her way and glad that he knew she loved him. Pretence for her was gone. Restraint was gone. She was happy.

  He looked very handsome, she thought, her eyes devouring him, an ache growing in her throat. With an open white shirt, crisp and fresh by Sofia's careful laundering, and a gay neckerchief provided by Josef, Felix had a feast-day look about him too, his scarred face giving him a rakish air. She herself was virtually unrecognizable as the Frances she knew—lace, ribbons and costume all adding to the unreality of the day.

  It was a few moments before she realised that Felix had spoken to her and she smiled, giving a quick shake of the head and raising her brows in question. He understood that she had not heard him and leaned forward across the doves, saying:

  'Frances, will you marry me?'

  There was no doubt that she had heard correctly. Next to her Sofia began to chuckle, and as quick translations were passed down the bus, they became the centre of attention again, heads turning to look, smiles broad.

  Felix was waiting patiently. 'And I love you very much,' he added as an afterthought, the tawny eyes belying his outward composure.

  Frances caught her breath. Only Felix Ravenscar would bring a girl away on an illicit holiday and propose marriage on a crowded bus! Love and laughter exploded inside her, her eyes brimming over at his impudence.

  She was being encouraged to answer. Sofia and Maria were nudging her, nodding at Felix with approval. . . the whole bus, including the driver, was waiting in fevered anticipation for her answer, although they all knew what it was going to be.

  'Well?' he asked, taking her hands across the aisle.

  Thank you, Felix, I should like to marry you,' she replied, 'and I love you too.'

  Her reply was again translated and a cheer went up. The bus swerved round a corner and pulled to a violent halt, everyone falling, crates and animals rocking. The passengers filed out with what, Frances now realized was the usual Corfiote volubility, and feeling suddenly, ridiculously shy, she allowed Felix to lift her down the steps and swing her to the ground.

  The first person she saw was Spiro, grinning broadly, dressed in an amazingly dapper suit, and looking odd without his shabby peaked cap. Then she saw Zoe . . . and Gareth! and Zoe was dressed in an almost identical dress to her own!

  In a flash the two girls were in each other's arms, spluttering greetings, and Gareth was clasping Felix by the hand while Spiro was saying:

  'I bring them from the airport in damn good time, eh, Kyrie Felix?'

  'Zoe, Gareth, I can't believe it. . .!' Frances began, and then Felix was taking her to one side, saying quietly: 'Frances, this is my very good friend, Theodore Alexiakis,' and she found her hand taken and firmly grasped by a dark, good-looking Greek, who smiled, and said earnestly:

  'I am overjoyed to meet the bride-to-be of Felix. I have waited for a long time for this to hap
pen. Now that I look—I understand. Frances, I wish you have every happiness,' and he raised her hand to his lips.

  Suddenly everything fell into place . . . the two rooms at Astrakeri, the pretty costume, why Zoe and Gareth had been flown out, and why they were now walking down the cool corridors of the British Vice-Consulate.

  'The man's mad, completely mad!' she murmured, lifting her face to seek Felix, and holding his gaze through the small group of people between them, basking in his smile. Sofia thrust a posy of flowers into her hands and tweaked a ribbon here, straightened a lace there.

  'Sofia, is it really a feast day?' Frances asked, her eyes still upon Felix, who was now talking to two officials.

  Sofia laughed and nodded, her headdress and curls bobbing. '

  'Yes,thespoinis, you wait and see. Soon we will make music and dance and there will be much eating and drinking.' She glanced significantly at the disappearing backs of Felix and Gareth. 'Afterwards you will join us.' She gave a sigh of pleasure. 'How beautiful you look, thespoinis. Kyrios Felix will love you much.'

  Theo Alexiakis appeared now, holding out a courteous hand.

  'I have the honour to, how do you say, give you away to my friend, Felix. You are quite ready, Frances?' and returning his smile, Frances took his hand and allowed him to lead her to an adjoining room, Zoe falling demurely behind.

  Feeling calm and serene, Frances took her place beside Felix, warm happiness spreading over her as their eyes met, eyes full of love and tenderness.

  When Frances came out into the sunlight once more she was wearing a plain gold band around her finger and despite the dreamlike state she was in, knew that she was now, quite definitely, Frances Ravenscar.

  As Sofia predicted, the feast-day festivities were exhilarating, but soon it was time to take Gareth and Zoe to the airport where they were to catch the plane back to England.

  Zoe hugged her hard, face glowing. 'Frances, did you ever dream that your wedding would be like this?' she demanded. 'I can't tell you how thrilled I am that everything has turned out so wonderfully. I can't say any more or I'll bawl my eyes out!' and her choking laugh could easily have been a sob. She managed to add, however : 'Will you wish me luck, too, Frankie?' and rather diffidently held out her hand.