Waves of Fire

by Anne Hampson

  Waves of Fire Anne Hampson

  It was five years now since Shani had married Andreas Manou - but the marriage had been in name only and she had not seen him since the wedding day. And now Shani was planning to marry again - and Andreas had chosen this moment to come back into her life ...

  “This lawyer of yours apparently believes an annulment will be simple. Did you tell him we were married in England?”

  Shani's spirits began to sink, even while she obstinately refused to admit that Andreas had

  the power to keep her bound to him.

  “He knows we were married in England, yes.”

  “And yet he believes he can obtain an annulment for you.” Andreas shook his head. “Only I can annul the marriage - you are not in a position to do so, whatever you, or this lawyer, might think to the contrary.” “You?” She stared at him. “But I'm the injured party. I was forced into marriage - blackmailed!” “Don't talk rubbish! You married me willingly.

  I'm the injured party! I've offered you a home and you've refused to live with me. In the eyes of the law I'm the one with the grievance; consequently it is only I who can annul the marriage.”

  CHAPTER ONE

  The phone call was for Shani. Eagerly she took the receiver from her friend, but before she had time to speak Sister Glover entered the room and whispered, ‘Matron wants to see you.’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘At once, yes.’

  Shani spoke to Brian.

  ‘Darling, I’ll have to ring you back in a few minutes.’

  ‘But, Shani—’

  ‘Sorry....’ Replacing the receiver on its hook, Shani glanced in the mirror, smoothed her apron and went from the room, followed by Jenny, who had just come off duty.

  ‘Poor Brian,’ grinned Jenny, stopping by the door of her room.

  ‘I promised to ring him back in a few minutes. He won’t pine away in that time.’ Shani smiled happily at her friend.

  ‘Wedding bells soon?’ asked Jenny, opening the door.

  At that a slight frown touched Shani’s brow. She said awkwardly, ‘Not for a while, Jen.’

  ‘You are going to marry him, though?’

  ‘He hasn’t asked me yet, but—’ The smile reappeared. ‘Of course I’m going to marry him,’ finished Shani with confidence.

  ‘Then why wait?’ Jenny eyed her friend curiously, noting her fluctuating colour and the clear evidence of uncertainty in the movement of her hands. ‘Is it that you can’t bear the thought of having to leave here?’

  ‘I must admit the idea dismays me,’ confessed Shani, seizing on the second question as a means of avoiding the first. ‘I shall certainly be sad when the time does come.’ Through the window at the end of the corridor she could see the blue Mediterranean shimmering under a cloudless Cyprus sky.

  The hospital stood on a high rise overlooking the lovely Bay of Loutras. Being the largest and most efficiently-run hospital in Cyprus, it was favoured by the British immigrants and consequently one or two English nurses had obtained posts there. Matron was also English, as were two of the doctors.

  Matron glanced up and smiled as Shani entered the room in response to her ‘Come in’.

  ‘Ah, Sister, I thought you might already have gone over to the annexe.’

  ‘I’ve been talking to one of the patients.’ She gave a little grimace. ‘Mrs. Forster.’

  ‘She’s still nervous about the coming operation.’ Rising,

  Matron crossed the room to close one of the shutters; it was not yet half past eight, but the sun was becoming unbearably hot. ‘However, she’ll feel better on learning that you’ll be there. I sent for you to tell you your request has been granted; you’ve

  been transferred to the theatre.’ Shani thanked her,

  endeavouring to hide her elation. Theatre work had always appealed to her and on coming to the Loutras Hospital two years ago her one ambition was to work with Mr. Rodgers, senior consultant of the neuro-surgical unit. But to everyone's dismay Mr. Rodgers had now been forced into retirement owing to ill-health. A kindly, tolerant man, he was the most popular doctor in the hospital and it was generally accepted by those on the neuro-surgical ward that the new consultant could not possibly be as charming, whoever he might be.

  ‘The new surgeon will be arriving tomorrow afternoon,’ Matron went on to add. ‘I know you’re off duty then, but I want you to hold yourself ready to him. He’s rather eccentric, I’m told, and quite likely to demand to see his staff immediately on his arrival.’ Eccentric? What would he be like to work with? Shani wondered, thinking regretfully of Mr. Rodgers’ early retirement.

  ‘I’ll stay about,’ she promised. ‘What time will he be here?’

  ‘His plane gets into Nicosia at two-thirty, so he should be here about an hour later.’ Matron went on to discuss Mrs. Forster’s coming operation, which the new surgeon would perform. ‘From what I’ve heard about him Mr. Manou won’t have much patience with her nervousness—’

  ‘Manou?’ The colour drained from Shani’s face. ‘Andreas Manou?’

  ‘Do you know him?’ Matron looked anxiously at her, for it was patently clear that Sister Reeves was badly shaken.

  ‘I thought - thought the new surgeon’s name was Manolis.’

  ‘A mistake, obviously. Do you know him?’ repeated Matron, her expression changing to one of curiosity.

  ‘He used to work in a London hospital.’ That inadequate statement only served to increase the older woman’s puzzlement and Shani stammered, ‘He w-was a colleague of — of my father.’

  ‘I see. But that would be some years ago?’ Matron still regarded her with that questioning look and Shani made an effort to regain her composure. She succeeded, outwardly, but the wild beating of

  her heart was something over which she had no control. ‘How long has your father been dead?’

  ‘Five years.’ Was it so long ago that it had happened?

  How time did fly!

  ‘Mr. Manou is still at the London hospital - or at least he was until yesterday. He is coming to us from there, and will be based here at Loutras for about a year.’ Matron paused contemplatively and Shani feared she would be questioned further, but at that moment the telephone rang and all Matron said was, ‘Don’t forget, Sister, be ready to meet him.’

  Ready to meet him.

  On reaching her room Shani felt so weak that she sank down on the bed. She had known, since realizing how she and Brian felt about one another, that she would have to contact Andreas - but never had she contemplated a meeting with him.

  Refusing to dwell either on the coming ordeal or the one that had long since passed, she went downstairs and rang Brian back.

  He merely wanted to confirm their dinner date for that evening, and just twelve hours later they were dining by the sea, under a shelter of vines, their faces fanned by a breeze drifting across the warm dark waters of the Mediterranean. Above, a crescent moon hung over the sea, a silver arc in a sky lit by a million stars.

  They ate mullet freshly-caught and garnished with crisp brown potatoes and salads, finishing off with figs newly-picked from the tree and sweet Turkish coffee. They danced to bouzouki music before, guiding Shani to the steps leading down to the beach, Brian put a possessive arm around her shoulders and rehearsed to himself the question Shani knew must come. The night was magical; the time would never be more right, and after walking in silence for a moment or two he whispered, his lips close to her

  ear, ‘I have something to ask you, Shani. I’m sure you know what it is?’

  This was what she had anticipated ... what she desired.

  ‘I think so.’ Her voice was shy and hesitant; a little laugh broke from Brian’s lips and his arm tightened, bringing her close.

  ‘I love you -
love you! Darling, will you marry me?’

  Her eyes lifted. The breeze had tousled his hair. How attractive he was — and how everyone envied her! But her mind was disturbed as she struggled vainly for the right words. What sense was there in prevarication? Why search like this for a gentler way of imparting her news? Twisting from his embrace, she turned, her lovely eyes seeking escape from his by an intense concentration of the distant line of darkness where the sky met the sea.

  ‘I’m already married,’ she said without emotion, and in the silence that followed she began to wonder if he had missed her words, for they were no more than a whisper on the clear night air.

  ‘What did you say?’ Brian found his voice at last; it was high-pitched, yet oddly harsh,

  ‘It’s true. I-I’ve been married for five years.’

  ‘Five years! But you’re only twenty-three now—’ Roughly she was brought round to face him. ‘Married! What sort of nonsense is this!’

  ‘Unfortunately it isn’t nonsense. I was forced into it

  - blackmailed.’ Shani saw again that dark pagan who, having seen her but once, became consumed by a desire that could not be suppressed. ‘I left him.’

  Another silence, broken only by the murmur of waves tossed gently on to the shore.

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ declared Brian at last. ‘Forced? Blackmailed? What are you talking about? You’re lying!’

  But his tone had lost its vehemence; he knew better than to suspect Shani of lying. ‘Oh, God, Shani, how could you lead me on like this? Why didn’t you tell me before?’ He released her and she moved away, flinching at the despair in his voice.

  ‘It’ll be all right, Brian,’ she told him quickly. ‘I can get an annulment. You see, I ran away before - before

  - I ran away before the marriage was consummated.’

  The significance of this brought Brian from the stupor into which he had fallen. Hope rose, yet puzzlement was still there and for the moment he only asked accusingly,

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me? You’ve known for some weeks how I felt about you.’

  ‘Not weeks,’ she denied gently. ‘It was a fortnight ago to be exact—'

  ‘We’ve been going out together for three months,' he cut in wrathfully. ‘Three months!’

  ‘It was just the odd dinner date at first, if you remember? It was only at Sister Smallman’s party that I

  realized you thought more about me than any of the others —’ She stopped, flushing at her lack of tact. But until he began taking her out, Brian Davies, the handsome young R.A.F. officer stationed near Limassol, had been a notorious flirt. ‘What I mean is,’ she added hastily as he stiffened, ‘it was only a couple of weeks ago that I began to think you were serious - that you would ask me to marry you. I decided then to write to Andreas, telling him I wanted an annulment.’

  ‘Andreas?’ he echoed, diverted. ‘Isn’t he English?’ They were walking along the beach and automatically made for a low wall and sat down. ‘He can’t be Greek surely?’

  Shani’s gaze wandered to the sea, but her only vision was of a slim dark giant, striding purposefully across the lawn, wrathful condemnation on his cruel and arrogant face.

  My husband,’ she said, wondering at her composure, ‘is Andreas Manou, the brain surgeon.’

  ‘Andreas Manou? I’ve heard of him. He’s performed several miracle operations. That’s right isn’t it?’

  She nodded.

  ‘As I told you, Father was a doctor. Andreas worked in the same hospital.’ She paused and added with the greatest difficulty, ‘He’s - Andreas is our new consultant at Loutras.’

  An astounded silence followed. Brian seemed not only incapable of speech, but also incapable of comprehending this

  last piece of news. Shani tried to speak, to break the awful silence, but she could not, and at last Brian said, in rasping tones that made her wince, ‘Coming here - your husband! God, what a coil!’ ‘Brian,’ she pleaded, ‘don’t speak like this to me—’ ‘How do you expect me to speak!’

  She frowned. It was sympathy she needed, and understanding. A tender word of reassurance and hope would have strengthened her, but all she received was the force of his anger and a glance that could only be described as baleful.

  ‘Brian—’ She stopped, her composure no longer supporting her as the present faded and memory returned, refusing to be thrust away. ‘Perhaps I should tell you the whole.’

  ‘I think you better had.’ The hostile note increased her fears. Had she lost him? It was so odd that on meeting him her marriage had not seemed in the least important; there was no obstacle to a speedy annulment that she could see, and Brian would understand and wait patiently until she obtained it. But now ... now Shani was not at all sure. ‘At least you owe me that,’ he added through thin, compressed lips. ‘I’ve been made a fool of, led on—’

  ‘No - oh, no! Don’t say that. This episode in my life was my own affair. The reason for my leaving England was so that I could start afresh. This was natural, and right from the first I retained my own name - from the moment of leaving him, I mean. In fact, I have never once used his name.’ She looked pleadingly at him, but his face was turned away and all she saw was the hard profile and sulky set of his mouth. ‘You can’t blame me for not telling you until I was sure.’

  ‘Well, seeing that you are sure, let’s have the truth. I love you and want to marry you, so don’t keep anything back, if you please!’

  Not at all the approach she would have expected. No sign of compassion, no immediate willingness to listen to the whole story before displaying angry accusation, no loyal declaration that she must be blameless. Shani was afraid. If she were to lose Brian now....

  ‘It all began really when Mummy died. You see, Father took to drink....’ The quiet dispassionate manner in which her story was related amazed Shani, but then she seemed not to be telling the story at all, but to be re-living it as she sat there, on the low wall by the waterfront, under a magical Cyprus sky.

  He had descended upon them one fine sunny day in September, the dark and sinister Greek with fire in his eyes and black fury in his heart. Little did Shani know, as she watched his approach, of the upheaval Andreas Manou was going to cause in her life.

  They were in the garden having tea, two ordinary people living their quiet uneventful lives. Dr. Reeves, stout and greying, had a slight stoop and walked with a limp. This was a result of a war injury when a piece of metal lodged close to his spine. It could not be removed and one day it would prove fatal; that day could be soon, or a long time off. He had lost his wife a year previously and to Shani’s dismay had become addicted to drink.

  ‘You shouldn’t, darling, being a doctor,’ she had repeatedly warned, but even though he knew of her fears he could not control the habit. For his wife had been so lovely, and he so devoted to her. Just like Shani she had pale gold hair and wide blue eyes. To the last her features had retained the delicate lines and entrancing contours that had captured his heart on their very first meeting. Shani took after her mother in every way, even possessing the same build, perfectly proportioned if, in Shani’s case, not perfectly developed, as she was only just eighteen years old. Her cornflower blue eyes had already upset many hearts, her smile sent them racing. None of the other trainee nurses was more unsophisticatedly beautiful than Shani, none possessed a nature so in keeping with the captivating loveliness of the veneer.

  She was the first to see the man; he came striding across the lawn, having been to the front of the house where, presumably, he had left his car. She frowned a little, for he reminded her of some sleek and dangerous animal, with claws unsheathed, ready to tear its victim to shreds.

  ‘Andreas ... how come you to be here?’ Rising, Dr. Reeves proffered a hand; seconds later he let it fall to his side, his face paling as he saw his visitor’s expression. ‘Is anything wrong?’

  Involuntarily Shani looked up at the sky; it was as if a dark cloud had obscured the sun, so changed was the atmosphere by the pr
esence of this man, and Shani felt an icy shiver pass slowly along her spine.

  ‘I’ll speak to you privately.’ The Greek never gave a glance to Shani and even as the introductions would have been made he snapped out, ‘Immediately!’

  The two men went towards the house; Shani followed them with her eyes. The Greek was clearly under some great strain, his face being dark and drawn, making more pronounced the lines running from nose to jaw, lines that lent an evil aspect to a face that already carried a manifestation of cruelty in that the eyes were as hard as tempered steel, and the lips thin and tightly compressed. Andreas Manou, the eminent brain surgeon whom her father had several times mentioned, their both being employed at the same hospital. Andreas had recently performed a miracle operation and the newspapers had carried headlines about it. The patient was still in hospital, making a most satisfactory recovery.

  What could a man like Andreas Manou want with her father? Suddenly his visit became an event of vital importance, for it must be a most serious matter that could not wait until the morning, or even be on the telephone. For some inexplicable reason Shani’s heart raced and that icy shiver crept along her spine again. Unable to rest, she left her tea and went into the house, entering by a different door and standing unashamedly outside the room in which Andreas and her father talked.

  ‘You were drunk! I’ve warned you, over and over again--’

  ‘No - no, Andreas, you shall not say I was drunk. You’ll never be able to prove it!’

  ‘Would you have prescribed that drug had you been sober?’

  ‘I - I—’ As her father’s voice broke Shani had to keep a firm grip on herself, her one desire being to go in to him, but this was not the time to do so. ‘Is he ...

  - dead? After your wonderful operation?’

  The voice of the Greek came to Shani, soft and menacing like the low drawn-out snarl that precedes the attack.

  ‘If he had died, Reeves, you would have killed him. What right had you to prescribe a drug for my patient?’

  ‘I was attending to someone else and the man couldn’t sleep. You weren’t there and I felt I couldn’t disturb you, so I gave him something-’