The Honey Is Bitter

by Violet Winspear

  "I've been to many places," he said, his fingertips against her cheeks, "and here in Greece I found the light so exulting that I couldn't stop painting. Mount Ida and the cave of Zeus like a leering eye. Dark Naxian fishermen. The beautiful, frightening battlements of Rhodes. The Greeks believe that men are clay fired in flame; they have faced up to the darkness in the soul, and this was what I wanted for my work, and for us, Domini. For us."

  The silence between them was somehow intensified by the music of Telethusa, its rhythm ebbed and flowed like pain and passion.

  "It has always been a pastime of Greeks to trap birds in a net." Barry touched a hand to her hair. "And they've always had a taste for wild honey."

  "Is that your definition of my marriage?" A pulse as beating quickly in her throat.

  "You aren't happy with the man. I know! I've seen your eyes and how they glow blue as anchusas when you're happy."

  "Happiness isn't the whole of living, Barry."

  "Nor is drinking wine, or singing songs, or making love." He tilted her chin, and added harshly: "Tears and kisses have made you lovelier than I remember you —what is between you and that brooding Greek, love or hate?"

  "I can only answer that he stands between you and me, Barry. I belong to him. He's my husband."

  "And have you known a happy moment with him since he became your husband?" His voice grated.

  "Yes—ah, you look shocked, Barry, as though it wasn't possible." She gave a bitter-sweet laugh. "He isn't a monster. Paul has the power to make a woman feel—almost a goddess in his arms."

  "Was it for the lovemaking that you married him?" Barry's fingers were bruising her arms. "The kisses of Apollo?"

  Her eyes closed from the pain of his grip, and from the inward pain of knowing that she could never tell him the truth about her marriage. Love of family was fool's gold, he had said long ago. Something you surely dug out of your heart at your own expense. He had been able to say it because he had no family and had been reared in a home for orphans. Uncle Martin and Douglas had been her family from babyhood.

  "We must go in," she said, grown wary again, on her guard for footfalls and the tall, dark figure of her hus­band. "The music has stopped and people are clapping."

  She attempted to pull away from him, but he held her forcibly within inches of his lips. "Kiss me first, Domini," he said. "It's a forfeit I'm entitled to, in the circumstances."

  "No, Barry—" her heart was in her throat, for each rustle, each shadow, each second she stayed out here with him was increasing her nervousness. "You'll be at the party tomorrow night. We shall see each other then, and dance together."

  “Domini, you little fool," his low, laughing breath fanned her face. "You and I can never be friends ... we were meant to be closer than that to each other."

  "What was meant has no meaning now," she said desperately. "Neither of us can be compared any more to those youthful innocents who did their courting on the keel of an upturned boat on the sands at Knightley. The girl with the pony-tail and the carefree eyes doesn't exist any more—can't you see that? Domini Stephanos has taken her place."

  "No, the sweet familiar is still there," he insisted, "and added to it the enchanting unknown. Be grown up, Domini. If you think—"

  "And if you think I can live in a dream world and pretend Paul doesn't exist, then you're very much mis­taken, Barry." She met his eyes, hers stormy. "He's a Greek and he's very possessive, and nothing can alter the fact that I married him."

  "You're his possession, eh?" Barry spoke harshly. "If you knew what it does to me—to imagine you in his arms!"

  "I belong in his arms." It was a cold statement of fact.

  "Yes, he has the claims," Barry tilted her chin and studied her pale, gold-masked face, "but I have something else."

  "Have you?" she said shakily.

  "I have your heart, Domini . . . I'm sure of it."

  Everything was hushed and still when he said that, it was as though the vines and tamarisks stopped moving to listen. A dangerously sweet moment, fraught with memories of youthful promises, and freedom. Domini felt the touch of the familiar hands. Tears ached in her throat, and she was swept by a stormy longing to reveal

  everything to Barry. "Take me away," she wanted to say to him. "There are caiques in the harbour for hire, and we could be miles away by morning. Take me away, Barry, and we'll be young and carefree as we once were . . ."

  "Why did you marry him, Domini?" Barry's voice matched the urgency of his hands. "I know he's as handsome as the devil, that he has position and power, but none of those would matter a jot to you . . . unless you loved him. Domini, tell me!"

  "I-I can't tell you—the reason involves another person—"

  "A man?"

  "Yes."

  "Ye gods! What happened to you, Domini? What changed the lovely, gay-hearted kid I fell in love with?"

  She shook her head, wordless, and feeling the slacken­ing of his grip she broke free of him and hastened back into the Venetian Mask. Fig-boughs caught at her hair as she brushed past them, and she didn't know that a crushed honeysuckle was clinging to the lace of her dress.

  People were dancing again, and her eyes swept the couples. One couple made all the others look mediocre —Paul with a smiling Alexis in his arms. Then a hand touched Domini's arm and she turned to meet Kara's eyes. They scanned her face and her hair, then almost casually Kara brushed the honeysuckle from Domini's dress. "Nikki has deserted me to dance with blonde and gigly Susie Vanhusen," she smiled. "Paul is dancing with Alexis, but you must not mind."

  "I don't mind," said Domini, and she saw a frown wrinkle Kara's mask, and the flash of her eyes towards the glass doors that now framed the tall figure of Barry Sothern, with his lion-mane of hair.

  He looked directly across at Domini and Kara, and though both he and Domini were masked, she had the uneasy feeling that the girl beside her had unmasked them. The toe of Kara's green slipper crushed the honeysuckle petals ... she knew that her brother's wife ad Barry had been talking together in the garden . . . but not as the strangers they pretended to be.

  CHAPTER TEN

  "KALI MERA!" Kara came to join Domini on her balcony for breakfast. Domini had overslept after their late return from the Venetian Mask, finding Paul gone from their bed when she awoke. Kara, busily helping herself to grilled roes and tomatoes, informed her that he and Nikos had gone to the Turkish baths down in town.

  "Nikos is a real charmer," Domini said as she poured coffee and added cream. The morning was a golden one, and the sun stroked her hair, loose on the shoulders of her wrapper.

  "He is a handsome mother's boy." Kara wrinkled her nose as she tucked into her breakfast. "Aunt Sophula need not worry that I am after her precious son. I like him for a cousin, but he has only to pull my hair and she finds holes to pick in me. I am fed up with it."

  "Poor little Kara!" Domini smiled over the rim of her coffee cup. "How would you like to come and stay with Paul and me at the house on the eagle's crag?"

  Kara stopped eating and stared at Domini with dark eager eyes "I would like it more than anything," she said. "But are you serious? You and Paul are so newly married—would I not be in the way?"

  "It's a big house," Domini laughed. "There is ample room for a whippet like you."

  "What does Paul say? You have asked his permission?"

  "Yes, I have asked the master's permission," Domini said dryly. "He agrees with me that you are restless here at your aunt's house. He wants you as much as I do"

  "Domini, I am gratified." Kara's eyes shone like dew­berries. "I have longed to be more with Paul, but I don't want to be in the way."

  "How could you be in the way when we are both fond of you?" Domini buttered a slice of toast and piled rich Greek honey on to it.

  "A honeymoon is for two people," Kara said simply. "It is an interlude of great delicacy and I don't wish to —to strike a false note."

  "My dear," Domini gave a gentle laugh, "no one with your sensitive ear cou
ld ever strike a false note. Both Paul and I feel that you'll be happier with us, and I shall appreciate and enjoy your company while Paul is busy at work in his office each day."

  "It will be fun." The sparkle came back into Kara's eyes. "There is the beach below the house, the caves to explore, and the dolphins that play and swim in the lagoon. Paul will not be working all of the time, will he? He loves to swim ... he and Loukas could always swim like sea-cats."

  Kara pushed her plate to one side and took a peach from a nest of leaves. Her lashes threw shadows on her cheeks as she ran her fingers over the velvety fruit. "Loukas liked to go deep diving, you know." Her voice shook and she had to wait a moment to compose it. "There is a world of colour and mystery below the sur­face of the sea, and often he would go down with a camera fitted to take undersea photographs, wearing an air-mask and looking like a shiny merman. He would take photographs of the tentacled anemones, the trees of coral, the grottoes that might have been carved for Undine. Loukas was clever at his hobby, and like all hobbies it could absorb him beyond time, fear, anything."

  Paul's sister glanced up; and found Domini regarding her with eyes whose depth and compassion was inten­sified by her dark double lashes.

  "We were out in Paul's boat," Kara went on, "and Loukas went over the side with his photographic equip­ment almost as soon as we had headed out into the Ionian. Alexis was sun-basking on the deck. Paul was at the helm, and I was playing my zither and we were making up comical verses and singing them. It was a day like now, Domini, with the Grecian isles all hazy and green, and the sea-mews flying down to meet their reflections in the water. There was such a feeling peace . . . until Alexis remarked in her lazy, not really concerned way, that Loukas must be seducing Undine on the sea-bed, he had been down so long."

  Kara's nails dug into the peach and juice ran out. "Alexis is fond of making such remarks and we had grown used to them, but Paul did not laugh. He called our mikro up from the galley to take the helm; he added that he was going down to see if Loukas was all right, and he changed into diving gear . . ."

  The girl's English had been faltering for minutes; now her story was interspersed with Greek words and Domini was leaning forward on one elbow, listening intently.

  "Paul went a long way down," Kara said. "Searching, searching for Loukas. There is a point of depth where you can remain only a few minutes before you risk your supply of air . . . and- it was then that Paul found Loukas. He brought him to the surface, quickly, and we pulled them into the boat . . . Paul knelt to strip off his brother's aqualung harness, then all at once he crumpled over himself and he looked terrible, his eyed rolled back in his head, and Alexis screamed out that they were both dead."

  Kara gave a shudder. "What had happened was than he had surfaced too rapidly on a low supply of air, which is very dangerous and can cause death or paralysis. Alexis got calm again and gave Paul artificial res­piration, and though he was breathing normally again by the time we put into harbour, he did not regain consciousness until later in hospital. At the insistence of the doctors he remained there for some days, in case a complication should develop. Loukas ... he was dead. Paul had found him below an undersea cliff of coral, the jagged kind that had formed into rocks . . ."

  “Don't talk about it any more, Kara." Domini's own hand was none too steady as she pressed the girl's thin fingers. "I am sure Loukas couldn't have suffered."

  "Paul said the same when I visited him in hospital. "Kara gave Domini a shaky smile. "It was for Paul that I told you about Loukas. He has not always had happiness in his life, and I was so glad for him when he wrote to tell me he had taken an English girl for his wife. We feel close to the English because it has been a custom since Grandfather's time for us to be taught your language. Because of the shipping line, you understand, and doing so much business with English-speaking people."

  "You speak English perfectly," Domini smiled. "My Greek will never be as good—look, how about taking me on an exploration of the harbour when we've had breakfast? Perhaps Nikos could be persuaded to come pith us. Paul, the work fiend, has brought some correspondence with him which he proposes to answer, and I’m dying to see more of Andelos."

  "What a good idea!" Kara brightened up and took a big juicy bite out of her peach. "Today is Sunday, so Nikki is free from his work at the local office. Nikki is very ambitious, you know."

  "I would say that ambition runs in the blood of your menfolk, Kara." Domini wore a thoughtful smile as she gazed out to sea, following the vermilion-sailed boat that was etched with its shadow against the blue water. The tangy scent of the sea was in her nostrils, Kara's story in her mind. She had never doubted Paul's courage, or the love of family that ran strongly in his Greek blood. She knew how generous he could be, and she could give him respect, even sometimes the shaken re­sponse of the moment, but there was no sense of security in her relationship.

  Only the loved had security, people grew tired of their caprices, the things they took for their passing pleasure.

  Kara dashed away to get ready for their walk, and Domini was in her bedroom, fastening a necklace of white beads, when Paul came in. He looked overpoweringly big and clean, his hair a cropped riot of curls from the steam-bath, his eyes, as they met Domini's in the mirror, a sheer amber between the density of his lashes., Handsome as the devil, Barry had said, and she tensed as his hands closed over her shoulders and he bent to kiss the side of her neck.

  "You smell like mimosa," he said, lifting her from the dressing-stool and turning her to face him. She wore a sleeveless white dress appliquéd with mimosa sprays on the hip, and tiny hidden nerves rippled as Paul's eyes travelled over her. She did not resist as he drew her close against him. Her fingertips pressed into his shoulders, then slid nerveless down the steel-like ridges of his muscles as her lips were lost under his in a long possessive kiss.

  She breathed the familiar spicy tang of his after­shave, and lay quiescent under his kiss. Then quite suddenly his hands bit into her sides. "You little piece of ice," he muttered, "kiss me for once!" And gentleness was gone as he tipped her over his arm and forced her lips to soften and yield to his.

  When he finally lifted his head and allowed her to stand upright, the world for Domini was spinning and she had to clutch at the dressing-table. Paul's teeth glinted in a narrow smile. "Domini, mia, don't look like that," he mocked. "You might strike me dead with such a look."

  "It would take more than a look from me to kill you, Paul," she said, still shaken and angry at the way he had forced a response from her to that savage kiss. Her lips still hurt, and she knew she would find bruises on her waist from his grip.

  He shook his curly black head in mock reproof. "As I have told you before, my dear, I am not so invulner­able. I have my Achilles heel like other men, and you might even miss me a little—who knows?—if the keeper of the door were to suddenly open it and call me through it."

  She looked him over when he said that, and the dark, pagan head that was carried so arrogantly on the brown column of a neck. "What am I to you?" she felt compelled to ask.

  He considered her question, his fingers playing idly with her necklace. "Perhaps the fabric of dreams," he murmured. "The pearl I trapped in my ear—as our artist friend put it."

  "The successful man's status symbol," she corrected coldly. "Strange, but I should never have thought that you would be content with less than adoration, Paul, the complete sublimation of a woman's heart."

  "Circumstances sometimes decree what we must be contented with," he replied, with irony. "What do you want, Domini, a dream knight?"

  "That would be pleasant," she rejoined, thinking of Barry the boy who on an upturned boat with the sunset in his hair had seemed like one.

  "Galahads on white chargers exist only in the land of fable," he said dryly. "You will have to content yourself with a Lancelot."

  "Lancelot the black knight," she quipped. "But he won the heart of the queen, didn't he?"

  Paul tilted Domini's chin and his eye
s held hers, made devilish by the scar above the right one. "What if I asked for your heart, Domini?" he said.

  "That broken thing?" She forced a laugh. "It was something you didn't want when it was intact . . . don’t you remember what you said to me on our wedding day? That you had no time to spend on the triviality of being loved."

  "The word I used was 'liked,' " he corrected.

  "Was it?" She shrugged. "Surely a man can't expect to be loved if he isn't liked?"

  "There are many proofs that love has little to do with the lesser emotions." He feathered her chin with his thumb and added abruptly: "What are your plans for the morning?"

  "Kara's going to take me on an exploration of the harbour. We're hoping that Nikos will go with us."

  "Good, be a child for a day with those two." Sud­denly his hands were cradling her face and a quick smile warmed his eyes. "Forget your tyrant of a husband."

  She gazed up at him, at the tyrant who could be gentle at times. Her heart seemed to draw a sigh as on impulse she went on tiptoe and brushed a kiss across his cheek. He made no comment, but turned from her and took up her raffia handbag and pushed some notes into it. "You are bound to see things you will want to buy," he said casually. "Andelos, like London, has its Petticoat Lane."

  They drove down to the harbour in Nikos's low-slung car, where he parked in a patch of shade. The trio then walked under an old gateway through which a flock of sheep bleated and tumbled, and entered the alleyways and arcades of the market-place.

  The air was rich with spicy smells, and people clustered round the many stalls and haggled in loud good-natured voices. Squid hung from hooks, and there were panniers and pyramids of exotic-looking vegetables and fruits. Cradles, quilts, pitchers and pewter were among the many articles for sale, and outside a bakery Domini paused to admire the coils and lengths of fresh-baked bread. "I can't resist the smell of hot bread and sesame seeds," she said. They bought brioches and ate the sugary things walking along.

  Those few carefree hours down at the harbour passed happily. With Paul's drachmas in her purse, Domini couldn't resist treating her companions and herself to odd, delightful little presents. Then all at once Kara caught at Domini's arm and pointed to a gipsy sitting on the harbour wall with a basket beside him. He looked like an old brigand, with baggy trousers tucked into knee-boots and wearing a grubby coloured shirt. There was a knotted kerchief about his head, and he had black moustachios with a boot-polish lustre to them.