by Sara Craven
At last, she said, ‘If you’re still angry about what I said this morning...’
‘I am not,’ he said briefly, and she was silenced again.
It was a long journey, and the broad national highway which cut its way across the island to Aghios Nikolaos although fast was not particularly interesting, Gemma decided. Nor was she overly impressed with the string of resorts which bordered the coast down to the Gulf of Mirabello. The Gulf itself was an intense shimmering blue as they descended towards Aghios Nikolaos. It looked almost unreal, Gemma thought. An artist’s dream come to life with the bleached rock, and the dazzle of the buildings crowding almost to the edge of the dancing, glittering water.
Aghios Nikolaos was larger than she’d expected, and very much busier—the Crete of the tourist, with its streets lined with souvenir shops, offering leather and ceramics, and the crowded tavernas edging the harbour where pleasure boats and caiques jostled each other at their moorings.
After the seclusion of Loussenas, the noise of the traffic, the hubbub of voices and laughter from the people thronging the narrow streets seemed to batter at her ears.
She gazed around, trying to assimilate the cheerful, noisy charm of the place and caught sight of another glimmer of water.
She pointed. ‘Is there an inner harbour?’
He shook his head. ‘That is our so-called bottomless pool, where legend says Pallas Athene used to bathe,’ he told her drily. ‘I would not choose to do so myself.’
‘Is it really bottomless?’ Gemma craned her neck for a better view.
‘It is deep enough,’ he returned.
She was hoping he would stop and let her have a closer view, but to her disappointment he edged the jeep through the busy traffic round the harbour, emerging on to a broad promenade with hotels and tavernas on one side and the shining blue of the sea on the other, dotted with the sails of small boats and windsurfers.
He glanced at her. ‘Don’t you want to ask where we are going?’ he challenged, faint amusement in his voice.
Gemma lifted her chin. ‘It’s really none of my business. I’m just enjoying the drive.’ She paused. ‘It’s so wonderful to be allowed out of prison for a while.’
‘Yet not every prisoner can boast a cell as comfortable as the Villa Ione.’ The amusement was overt now. ‘Or a jailer so aware of your needs,’ he added cynically.
‘So what is this?’ she asked jerkily. ‘My parole. Do you expect me to give my word I won’t try and run away?’
‘Is there really any need?’ The words were softly spoken, but they burned her, because they told her quite unequivocally that he was aware of how she felt. That he knew that separation from him would be an agony for her. She could only pray that he would assume it was merely a physical infatuation.
She knew she should answer him somehow— snap back at him, try and build some defences, however precarious, but she couldn’t think of a single thing to say. She wasn’t even sure she could trust her voice. Instead, she concentrated her attention on the glamorous settings of the luxury hotels which fringed the outskirts of the little town.
The signposts indicated they were on their way to Elounda. It was one of the places she’d read about before she came—a little fishing village which had been rocketed to resort status by the popularity of the British television serial, Who Pays the Ferryman, which had been filmed there.
The road was climbing steeply, and when they reached the crest she almost cried out because the broad bay below them was so beautiful, the water shimmering from jade to turquoise, then melting to azure where it merged with the sky. There was a sprinkling of islands too, dominated by one eyecatching rocky mass.
Andreas said, ‘That is Spinalonga. It was once a leper colony.’
Gemma shivered. Such a grisly reality seemed to have no place in the fairytale vista ahead of her. ‘How awful.’
‘It is quite safe now,’ he said. ‘In fact it is an attraction for tourists. Boats visit the island regularly.’ He paused. ‘You don’t approve?’
‘I think it’s a little morbid,’ she said. ‘After all you come on holiday to enjoy yourself—to escape even. It seems odd to deliberately seek out misery, even if it is in the past.’
‘Yet you yourself visited Knossos. Do you believe that life there did not also have its dark side once?’
‘No,’ she said, with a little sigh. ‘I suppose every age in history has its own brand of violence. But it wasn’t all like that, I’m sure. It couldn’t have been. The Lily-Prince for example ...’
‘Ah,’ he said softly. ‘Where I first saw you, Gemma mou.’
She bit her lip. ‘I’d forgotten,’ she lied.
He laughed. ‘You did not know,’ he told her, but in turn she could have told him that he was wrong. Even then her senses had warned her she was being watched, although in her wildest imaginings she could never have guessed why, or where it would lead.
He was signalling he was about to turn off the road. Leaning forward, Gemma saw a tall arched gateway surmounted by a display of international flags. There was a rope barrier across the gateway which a smartly dressed security man unlooped for them, saluting as they drove past.
‘What is this place?’ she asked.
‘This is the Hotel Apollonissos,’ he said laconically.
‘Are you meeting someone here?’
‘Several people,’ he agreed. ‘I hope that you will be able to entertain yourself in my absence. There are the usual water sports on the beach, or you could sun yourself by the pool, if you would prefer.’
‘I think perhaps I’d better wait for you in the jeep,’ she said.
‘What nonsense is this?’ He turned to her, frowning.
‘No nonsense at all,’ she returned levelly. ‘I’m not dressed for the kind of activities you’re talking about for one thing, and for another, I’d imagine, judging by the guard on the gate, that the management prefer to keep their facilities private for the use of guests only.’
‘They are not quite as exclusive as that,’ he said drily. ‘You may bathe in the pool, or order a drink at the bar without fear of being thrown out, foolish one. As for your clothes——’ he shrugged. ‘That can also be arranged. The hotel has an adequate boutique.’
‘Adequate for millionaires, I expect,’ Gemma said stiffly, glimpsing through the trees and shrubs which bordered the drive they were traversing, smooth lawns stretching down to a ribbon of pale sand along the edge of the sea. ‘Perhaps you’ve forgotten that I happen to be a working girl. The Hotel Ariadne in Heraklion is more my environment.’
‘Why denigrate yourself, Gemma mou?’ he asked coolly. ‘If I had thought you would be out of place here, then I would not have brought you.’
The jeep rounded a corner, and Gemma saw the hotel itself in front of them, an imposing two-storey building, dazzlingly white in the sunlight.
Andreas drove under another archway, and brought the jeep to a halt in a small paved courtyard, fragrant with green plants growing in huge stone urns. The air felt refreshingly cool after the heat and dust of the long drive, and Gemma inhaled thankfully as she looked around her.
He sprang out and came round to the passenger side, his hands closing inexorably on her waist as he lifted her down. ‘Come.’
She hung back reluctantly. ‘I really don’t think I should. It all looks incredibly upmarket and glamorous.’ She looked down at her simple chainstore dress with a faint grimace. ‘I shall be totally out of place.’
He frowned swiftly, and she tensed, prepared for some blistering retort. At last he said, ‘What do you want from me, Gemma? Reassurances about how beautiful you are? Do you not know that you fill my eyes?’ He pulled her towards him almost fiercely, and his mouth took hers in a hard, bruising kiss in which the simmering anger she sensed in him was more evident than passion. When he let her go, she had to resist an impulse to cling to him, and was glad she’d done so when he said coolly, ‘Now come with me quickly, because I am already late for my appointments.’<
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He opened a door, and she found herself in a broad corridor, floored with marble, the exterior wall made of glass to give panoramic vistas of the gardens. She would have liked to have lingered, but his long stride gave her no chance, and she was breathless by the time they arrived in the foyer. While Andreas went over to the long reception desk, Gemma stood staring about her.
There were stairs, she saw, directing guests to an open-air restaurant on the first floor, as well as lifts, desks for car hire and tourist information and an imposing shopping mall opening off the foyer itself. There were few people about. Most of the guests would be outside, she thought, soaking up the afternoon sun and other delights. Inside, there were no raised voices or loud noises, or even canned music. The whole atmosphere was one of hushed, unhurried luxury, and it made Gemma sigh a little. How the other half lives, she thought ruefully.
Andreas came striding back. ‘I’ll take you down to the pool area,’ he told her. ‘Dimitris, one of the under managers, is there, and he will look after you, and see you have everything you need.’
Gemma shook his hand off her arm. ‘I can look after myself. I don’t need another jailer.’
His mouth thinned. ‘You need a beating,’ he said softly and furiously. ‘It is fortunate for you that I do not have time to administer it. Now, while you are here, you will keep a guard on that wasp’s tongue of yours,’ he added grimly.
His hand closed round hers, and this time she knew she wouldn’t shake him off without a struggle, so she let him take her, seething, out of the foyer on to an enormous sunny terrace, and down a narrow flight of steps in the corner on to the lawns beneath.
She was aware immediately that they were attracting attention. Every step they took was being monitored in some strange way from beneath the sun umbrellas they were passing between, and Gemma couldn’t imagine why.
Unless everyone knew they weren’t guests at the hotel, and their presence was being remarked and resented, she thought forlornly.
She began to hope they would find this Dimitris soon.
He turned out to be a short, stocky man, talking to the waiters at the poolside bar, and when he saw them coming towards him, Gemma saw his jaw drop visibly, although he recovered immediately and came towards them smiling, and holding out his hand in greeting.
Gemma felt absurdly self-conscious as she stood waiting while they talked to each other. She didn’t understand a word of what was being said, but it sounded as if Andreas was giving instructions rather than asking any favours, she thought, surprised.
And then a new voice intervened, female, husky and speaking good but accented English. ‘Andreas—where have you been hiding yourself all this time? We have all missed you.’
She was beautiful, Gemma thought detachedly, a real Valkyrie of a girl with flaxen hair, and a figure bordering on the voluptuous and shown off to the best possible advantage in a tiny leopardskin print bikini. She was smiling at Andreas radiantly, and at the same time managing to give Gemma a look from her vivid blue eyes which was both hostile and dismissive. A clever trick, Gemma found herself thinking, and one which the newcomer had got down to a fine art.
Andreas turned to meet her, his smile easy in response. He said, ‘You flatter me, Helga. I am sure your life is too full, too interesting, for you to have even given me a thought.’
She gave a little gurgle of laughter. ‘Then you are wrong. We were only saying at lunch how cruelly you have been neglecting us.’ She came even closer, putting a hand on his arm caressingly. ‘But it is good to see you because I have an invitation for you. Tomorrow is my father’s birthday and we are having a special dinner to celebrate. Both he and my mother would be so glad if you would join us.’
Her smile was winning, her fingers curling possessively on his dark skin. Gemma, watching, was shocked by a predatory impulse to do her violence.
He said, ‘If only it were possible, but to my infinite regret, I have engagements for several days.’
She pouted appealingly. ‘They will be so disappointed. We have hardly seen you at all this year.’ Her glance flicked to Gemma. ‘It is not kind to desert your—old friends.’
‘Have I done so?’ He lifted her hand to his lips. ‘Then I apologise. Convey my respects to your parents, and assure them I shall have the pleasure of dining with them one night next week.’
Helga’s eyes were heavy with seductive meaning. ‘That will be good. We shall all look forward so much ...’ She paused. ‘Now, won’t you introduce me to your little friend?’
As a put-down, it couldn’t be bettered, Gemma thought as she shook hands politely and murmured something. Helga’s eyes were all over her taking in every detail of the cheap dress, and the simple sandals, and letting Gemma know what she thought of them with one derisive flicker of an eyebrow.
Andreas was looking frowningly at his watch. He pulled Gemma to one side. He said in an undertone, ‘I have to go.’ He paused, the frown deepening. ‘You will be all right?’
She said brightly, ‘Never better,’ and watched him walk away round the edge of the pool. It needed all the strength she possessed not to run after him, begging him to take her with him wherever he was going, and she was proud of the control that kept her standing where she was.
She didn’t know what his relationship had been with the gorgeous Helga, although she could guess. And the fact that her parents seemed to be around would make very little difference either. She was beautiful, sexy and very determined—a potent combination, Gemma had to acknowledge.
And next week—when her plane had left for England—next week he had promised to dine with them—with Helga for dessert, no doubt, she thought, her nails digging convulsively into the palms of her hands.
And she was all kinds of a fool to feel so bitterly, grindingly jealous because she’d known all along that she only existed on the fringe of his life, their relationship, such as it was, purely temporary, born out of bitterness and vengeance.
And when it was over, Helga and others like her would be waiting ...
And I’ll be waiting too, Gemma thought achingly. Waiting for the rest of my life.
CHAPTER NINE
GEMMA lay under the sun umbrella, pretending to read. Dimitris had been endlessly kind, producing a lounger and umbrella for her as if by magic, providing a selection of the latest paperback bestsellers for her to choose from, insisting that she had a long cool drink. But he could not persuade her to accompany him to the hotel boutique and choose a bikini to sunbathe in. Kyrios Andreas, he kept repeating almost plaintively, had left instructions. Kyrios Andreas would not be pleased if they were disregarded.
Gemma, however, remained adamant. She did not want to swim, she told Dimitris mendaciously because the glittering turquoise water looked infinitely cool and alluring, and she preferred to stay in the shade.
At last he shook his head sadly, said that if she required anything, she had only to tell one of the waiters, and took himself off.
She knew she was being an idiot, but she couldn’t help it. She was conscious all the time of Helga’s sharp blue gaze following her every move from across the pool, and there was no way she was going to strip and reveal all her body’s pallid deficiencies in front of that sneering, suntanned goddess. Compared with Helga, she wasn’t just slim, but thin, she knew despondently, and under the circumstances she preferred to remain covered, no matter how hot it was.
She found she was stealing covert glances at Helga from time to time, despising herself as she did so. The German girl was spectacular and knew it, she thought drily, especially after she had casually discarded the top of her bikini. She wondered what Helga’s parents, who looked portly, middle-aged and conventional, made of their glamorous daughter’s antics, and decided after a few moments’ observation that they regarded them with doting, uncritical fondness. And presumably if she wanted to spend part of her vacation in bed with a rich, sexy Greek that was all right too.
She bit her lip sharply. That kind of speculation was bad ne
ws. The last thing she wanted was to start building images of Andreas and Helga together, his darkness against all that golden splendour.
She tried to interest herself in her book. It was by one of her favourite writers, but the problems of the main characters seemed to pale into insignificance beside her own, and for once the plot failed to grip.
‘Still all alone?’ Helga asked with sweet malice. Without waiting for an invitation, she gestured to a passing waiter to put a vacant lounger next to Gemma’s. She had her sunglasses with her, and a bottle of expensive oil. She looked as if she’d come to stay, as she stretched languorously on the lounger, and began to apply the oil to her full, firm breasts. ‘It is wicked of Andreas to leave you for so long. But that is the way he is.’
She paused, and Gemma wondered drily whether she was supposed to say, ‘Thanks for the warning.’ ‘Have you known him long?’ Helga asked. ‘And how did you meet?’ She was eyeing Gemma almost incredulously.
Gemma said lightly. ‘Not long. And I suppose you could say my brother brought us together.’
She could see Helga trying to work that one out, and failing, then the other woman said, ‘You are here on holiday, one supposes.’
The supposition was correct, but what Helga really wanted to know was when she would be going home, and Gemma was damned if she was going to tell her.
She said, ‘Yes, I’ve always wanted to come to Crete.’ And launched into a spritely and specious account of the museums she’d visited and the antiquities she’d seen, sensing and enjoying her companion’s rising irritation.
At last Helga interrupted shrilly, ‘But you did not meet Nikolaides in such places. It is not possible. And you are not a guest in this hotel. Did you come on some package tour?’ She made the idea sound like an insult, which was probably exactly what she intended.
And Gemma thought, ‘I’m not the only one who’s eaten up with jealousy. She’ll be here when I’m gone, but she isn’t sure of him.’