‘If we continue along the narrow cobbled alleyway ahead,' he instructed, 'we will enter a square with a colourfully tiled fountain that sits like the hub of a wheel within streets full of bazaars radiating like spokes from its centre.'
It would have been impossible to explore the Old Town thoroughly in the time they had to spare, so by tacit consent they meandered hand in hand along narrow cobblestoned streets lined with medieval facades set so close together they cast a permanent shadow, making it easy to imagine scarlet-cloaked knights patrolling the silent alleyways, searching the night with dim lanterns for the presence of spies or would-be marauders.
Then, just as Terzan had indicated, they passed through an archway into a square filled with the noise and bustle of traders calling out their wares, urging milling tourists in the direction of open-fronted shops packed to bursting point with handmade lace, olivewood carvings, Turkish brass and copper pots, ceramics, leatherwork, sponges, silverware and string upon string of the worry beads that seemed an essential appendage to the peace of mind of every superstitious Greek, young or old, rich and poor alike.
'Would madame like a coffee? A cake, perhaps ...? Please come into my kitchen and make your own choice,' a persistent tea-shop owner urged as Angie paused wide-eyed before a display of tempting confectionery.
‘It will please him very much if you accept his invitation,' Terzan encouraged her with a smile, ‘it is Greek practice for the customer to enter the kitchen and inspect the array of cooking utensils—even to look into the refrigerator if he should so wish.'
'That won't be necessary,' she refused hastily, embarrassed by the thought, then hesitated, bemused by an assortment of mouthwatering pastries filled with cream, chopped almonds and walnuts steeped in honey.
'Parakalo . ..!' When the anxious trader pleaded with her to sit down in the sign language that Nikos had demonstrated—smiling and extending his hand palm downward to pat an imaginary dog—she broke into delighted laughter.
'Terzan, may we . . .?' she gurgled. 'We needn't take too long.'
But sitting on a pleasant terrace, with the caress of the sun against their cheeks, refreshing iced coffee to hand, and the romantic bouzouki music mingling with passionate cries from the colourful market place spelled disaster to their timetable. At first they were content to rest in companionable silence, but when Terzan began to speak she became enraptured by words that revealed a loneliness of spirit he kept buried deep behind a facade of arrogant independence.
‘I used to spend hours just sitting watching the world go by. When I was young and penniless it was my favourite pastime. After my evening meal, once the day's work was over, I would treat myself to a newspaper and look for a boulevard cafe with a vacant back row seat near to a window, then, once the newspaper had been read from cover to cover, I would chat with a neighbour to pass the time away or, more often than not, just sit quietly appreciating the beauty of the girls walking by, laughing at the antics of the boys who invariably trooped behind them; listening to the endless talkers; being slightly irritated by strident laugher, always amused, very seldom bored.'
'But was he ever lonely, that young boy of long ago?' she probed softly. 'Did he ever wish for a companion to share his solitude?'
'Sometimes,' he admitted gravely, 'usually when instead of being the watcher, I felt myself becoming an object of attention. We Greeks are a gregarious race, you understand, we love crowds and are suspicious of anyone who shuns society. Also,' his teeth flashed white in a grin of self-mockery, 'we are very inquisitive, which is why in Greece you will never see houses built in solitude as they so often are in your country.'
'Yet I can't believe that you were alone from choice, not when you've demonstrated so plainly your liking for feminine company.'
'Ah, but I was poor then, and very ambitious. Girls are expensive entertainment, and every drachma I earned was being invested in ways that were to make me my fortune.'
'Not all girls are mercenary,' she had to protest. 'For some it's enough to feel loved and wanted.'
'Then tell me why it is that the world's most beautiful women are married to the world's richest men?' he jeered, yet not unkindly. 'It is a man's nature to covet that which is most unattainable, he must always be the winner, never be content with second prize.'
'Is that all marriage means to you?' she croaked. 'Do you ask nothing more of a wife except that she should be sufficiently beautiful to be regarded as a prize? Do you consider yourself an also-ran simply because you feel deprived of chequebook love?' .
She had imagined that he could not hurt her any more than he already had, until with a casual shrug he confessed, 'There is little point in competing in a race when one cannot see the tape, and by the same token, the incentive to own a beautiful wife diminishes when one can only make love in Braille. However, though I am in no position to contradict your assertion that the face that feels to me like a perfect cameo is plain, I am beginning to suspect that whatever you may lack in looks is compensated by the sort of intelligence that is nurtured and developed so well in your excellent public schools, by diplomacy and tact, and by an elusive quality that no amount of money can buy, a poise and refinement that I can only define as class. It is a novelty for me to be in the company of a female who takes nothing for granted, who is never blasé or bored, who is not totally empty-headed, who does not consider a wallet full of credit cards a passport to heaven. I have yet to discover, elika, the sort of reward you truly appreciate. If luxury goods have no appeal, then tell me what present I can buy that will make you happy.'
'Happiness can't be bought in a shop,' Angie choked, appalled by his depth of cynicism, debased by the realisation that to him she was no more than a voice, a scent, a shy, immature body he could ignite at a whim into a flame of passion yet which mentally had impressed him less than a dot on a page of Braille. Suddenly, all the pleasure she had been feeling was swamped by a wave of homesickness, a yearning to feel welcomed and loved instead of an unwanted trespasser on the island where Helios and Rhodon had fallen in love.
As if aware of her shrinking withdrawal, Terzan traced a fingertip along the dial of his Braille wristwatch. Hastily, she took the hint, wincing as chair legs grated across the stone-flagged floor.
'We'd better hurry,' she urged stiffly. 'Nikos must be anxious to reach Karios before dark.'
'Nikos is fortunate,' he replied with puzzling obliqueness, 'he is more capable than I of navigating the mysterious unknown. Also,' he clipped with a return to arrogant normality, 'he has been quick to grasp that time means little to one who lives in perpetual darkness. This wristwatch is useful,' his lips twisted wryly, 'but its one great limitation is that when it indicates the hour of twelve there is no way of telling whether it is noon or midnight.'
They had almost reached the gate leading out of the Old Town when he stopped and raised his head, his nostrils twitching.
'Christos . . .!' he exclaimed, a slow smile breaking the solemnity of his features, ‘I had almost forgotten his existence.' Obviously guided by a keen sense of smell, he wheeled about to retrace their steps until they halted in front of a shop window when Angie, too, became aware of mingled aromas drifting from an open doorway. A man looked up from his work when they entered and immediately his dark features were lightened by a grin of welcome.
'Terzan, dear old friend . ..!' He leapt across the counter to pump his hand. 'How pleased I am, how delighted to see you deserting your monkish existence on that damned island! Ah...!' His dancing eyes alighted upon Angie, attached like a pale butterfly to Terzan's towering shadow. 'You have been quick to revert to normal—aren't you going to introduce me to the lovely creature clinging so fondly to your arm?'
If Terzan was surprised by the description he did not show it, but drew Angie forward to introduce her with a smile.
'Angelina, I should like you to meet Christos Koniaris, whose skill in blending perfumes is excelled only by his expertise in combining charm and flattery. Christo
s,' he addressed his friend more gravely, 'this is Angelina, my rather shy young wife—do I need to tell you why I have brought her here?'
‘Indeed not.' Christos' appreciative, roving glance caused her to blush. 'You have brought her as inspiration for my next masterpiece, an incentive to create a perfume with a scent that must combine the innocence of eyes grey as the plumage of a wild dove and the maturity of a mouth that is no stranger to pain; the delicacy of features drawn with a fine-nibbed pen and a form showing the promise of full-bodied ripeness soon to come.'
Filled with confusion, Angie turned away from eyes that saw too much, that seemed able to define thoughts as yet unexamined, kept secret even from herself.
'Don't allow him to embarrass you, Angelina,' Terzan urged with a smile. 'Simply because a surprising number of credulous women credit his scented love philtres and perfumes with the miraculous power to turn indifferent mates into insatiable lovers his head has been turned, to the extent that he considers himself something of a wizard, fortuneteller, and mind-reading guru all rolled into one.'
'You underestimate me, dear friend!' Christos roared with laughter, yet his dark eyes were sincere when he assured Angie, 'Such silly feminine notions can be discounted, of course, nevertheless it is true that of all the means of self-expression available to women none is more revealing than perfume. By its means, the very soul of woman, her spiritual atmosphere, can be infused into her own personal fragrance. Through perfume, her thoughts can be expressed without the use of a single word. I may be the artist, but it is she alone who provides the tones and overtones, the tints and highlights, the depths and the shallows of her own portrait in perfume.'
‘Be that as it may,' Terzan interrupted firmly, 'so far as my wife's perfume is concerned I insist that its predominant scent shall be of roses.'
'I could not agree more,' Christos nodded vigorously. 'No other essence is more stirring to man's aesthetic emotions nor can act as a more refining influence. "The rose distils a healing balm, the beating pulse of pain to calm", eh, Terzan? The name of my new creation shall contain but one word,' he decided with his eyes upon Angie, 'Angelina—the name bestowed by the gods upon their chosen helpmates!'
Much later, filled with an inner trembling that would not be stilled, Angie silently led the way out of the town's precincts with Christos's promise that the perfume would be despatched as soon as possible to Karios still ringing in their ears. Her preoccupation with her thoughts was so intense that she did not notice Terzan's moroseness until he checked her progress, holding her arms captive while he demanded roughly:
'What's wrong now, Angelina? You were reluctant to take from me either clothes or jewellery and flatly refused to accept furs, but surely a gift of perfume cannot offend against your principles? Even in the old days when love affairs were full of romantic passion, respect and love, when courtship was carried out beneath the strict eyes of parents, a gift of perfume was not considered offensive.' Suddenly his fingers bit into her arms, tight as the lash of words projected through clenched teeth, ‘I may have built up a reputation of being a hard man in the business world, but even my worst enemy would have to admit that as well as insisting upon value for money I have always been prompt to pay my debts. You have been extremely ... obliging, elika, I owe you much, why won't you allow me to discharge my debt?'
'Obliging . . .?' she echoed weakly, fighting a crazy notion that the ground had suddenly begun to tilt, if that's all I've been, then surely a bottle of perfume is ample exchange for services rendered—'
'Oh, Angelina,' he ground, lowering his head until his brow was resting upon hers, 'have I hurt you again, or are you really as cold and uncaring as you sound? God!’ he exploded violently. 'How I wish I could see!'
But at that moment, standing shocked and cold as ice, with tears of heartbreak coursing silently down her cheeks, Angie felt not the least bit guilty about offering up a prayer of thanks for the small consolation that he could not.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Cilla was not in the least impressed by the shapely dark green bottle filled with perfume that was delivered to Karios two days later. She looked up from the magazine she was scanning with bored, uninterested eyes when Nikos tapped upon the door of a small drawing room and came in carrying a parcel for Angie.
'What is it?' Cilla queried, her blue eyes sharply avaricious, then when her glance fell upon the name 'Angelina' scrawled in gold letters across the face of the bottle, the elegant sealed stopper, and the nest of satin that was obviously the product of a house of quality, her lips drew into a tight line of displeasure.
‘It's a perfume created especially for me by a friend of Terzan's,' Angie sighed, her pleasure in the gift slightly diminished by the reminder of the motive behind the donation. 'He wants me to wear a perfume that's entirely my own, one he'll be able to recognise instantly whenever I walk into his presence.'
But when she unscrewed the stopper and stroked a little of the perfume across her wrist, the faintly sweet yet heady fragrance stirred a delighted response from numbed emotions. 'Oh, how lovely . . .!' She held out her wrist to Cilla, inviting her to sniff. 'Christos truly is a wizard.'
'A psychological genius would be more apt,' Cilla drawled. 'He's captured your personality perfectly with a perfume that conjures up a picture of a great-grandmother dressed in crinoline trimmed with lace, a bonnet tied beneath her chin with ribbons, fingerless mitts, a fan and clouds of attar of roses.'
The sneer drove every vestige of delight from Angie's face. Gravely she regarded her sister, wondering how two people who had once been so close, who since early childhood had shared each other's joys and sorrows, hopes and fears, could have drifted so far apart that they now spoke and acted like strangers. But she had one last secret left to share, a tremendous event which she felt certain would be bound to draw them back into the ring of family harmony that had bound them so tightly together.
'Cilla . . .' She hesitated and swallowed hard.
'Yes, what is it?' With a gesture of irritation Cilla discarded her magazine. The solitude of Karios was getting her down to the extent that any diversion was welcome, even her sister's dull prattling. Curiosity stirred as she noted the rise and fall of colour in Angie's cheeks, the trembling mouth that seemed undecided whether to break into a smile or a quiver, misty eyes that glowed with a light from within, the curvaceous rounding of a hitherto wand-slim body, which altogether added a bloom, a surprisingly lovely maturity to her sister's usually wistful features. A pang of jealousy shot sharpness through her tone when impatiently she snapped, if you have something to say then for heaven's sake say it!'
'Sorry,' Angie gulped, brushing a hand across dazed eyes, 'if I appear hesitant it's because I'm finding difficulty saying the words out loud. I think . . . no,' she corrected with a shake of her head, ‘I'm almost certain . . .' she drew in a deep, quivering breath, 'that I'm going to have a baby!' The silence that followed her announcement was so intense that the ticking of a clock in the hallway could plainly be heard. She waited tense as a high note for Cilla's reaction, scanning her shocked, incredulous face for some sign of delight, of concern, or even of resignation to the fact that Terzan, as an expectant father, must now be considered out of bounds. But all she saw was rigid disbelief preceding the dawn of savage anger. ‘Devious, calculating cat!' Cilla jumped to her feet, quivering with feline spite, her hands clasping and unclasping as if fighting an impulse to strike, Angie backed out of reach of pointed, red-tipped fingernails that looked hooked, ready to scar resentment down the length of her cheeks, and gasped a bewildered protest.
‘I didn't intend this to happen, nor, I'm certain, did Terzan, but I'm sure he'll accept, as I have—as you must—that whatever regrets we might feel the welfare of the baby must come first.'
'You mean you haven't told him yet?' Cilla grabbed the knowledge like a lifeline. 'Then you mustn't!' she shot when Angie shook her head. 'Why . . .?'
'You dare to ask me that,' Cilla stormed, 'when you're p
erfectly well aware that Terzan married you on impulse, uncaring which anonymous creature shared his bed once it seemed certain that the one he really loved was unavailable! And now, just when he's on the verge of broaching the subject of divorce, you intend to blackmail him into living the rest of his life with a wife he can barely tolerate and a child he doesn't want.'
'You've discussed divorce with Terzan?' Angie questioned stonily, white to the lips.
'But of course,' Cilla scoffed. 'Our main topic of conversation whenever we're alone is our future happiness, the things we intend to do, the places we intend to go, once he is finally free of you.'
'He ... he doesn't like strange places.' Desperately, Angie tried to convince herself that Cilla was lying, ‘I'm the only one he'll trust to act as his guide—he told me so.'
Cilla's laughter rang with chilling triumph. 'Then how is it that you know nothing of the plans afoot? Why has he omitted to tell you that he's even now preparing to leave Karios for an indefinite period?'
‘I don't believe you!' Even Cilla felt moved to pity at the sight of Angie's ashen face, but not far enough to miss the chance of furthering her own advantage.
'Then why not find out for yourself—go upstairs and ask Nikos why he's packing Terzan's belongings into suitcases, and at the same time,' she drawled, 'ask Lira why she's doing exactly the same with mine!'
Long after she had followed Cilla's suggestion, Angie sat slumped in her bedroom, painfully nursing her betrayal. Nikos had been unable to supply any information about his master's destination; all he knew, he had told her mournfully, was that he had been ordered to pack sufficient items for a prolonged absence and to instruct Lira that their guest would be leaving at the same time.
'When . . .?' Angie had croaked, humiliated at having been reduced to questioning a servant, even one so loyal as Nikos.
'First thing in the morning,' he had told her, his dark Greek eyes brimming with sympathy, 'just the kirios and your sister—it appears that this time even my services will not be required.'
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