by Anne Hampson
'How do you do?' Martine automatically held out her hand.
'Your… fiancée?' Odette's lovely eyes were wide and disbelieving. 'You—you can't be serious. Why, all these years you have never—' She shook her head, mumbling something in her own tongue. Luke stopped her with an arrogant flick of a finger. It was plain that he had no intention of allowing the girl to talk in Greek.
'Martine and I became engaged an hour or so ago.' He paused a moment and then, with slow deliberation that was in the nature of a challenge, 'Aren't you going to congratulate us? Wish us well?'
Looking at her, Martine shivered at the coldly venomous glitter in the Greek girl's eyes. It seemed an eternity before Odette said, her brittle smile as forced as the words that left her lips, 'Of course. Congratulations, Loukas.' She turned to Martine. 'And to you… much happiness.'
Martine went cold. This, she knew without any doubt at all, was the girl whom Luke had once loved. Yes, despite his views on love, his flat denial of its existence, he had once been in love.
And the girl he had loved had married someone else. She was now free and Luke, fearing he would fall victim to her charms again, had also decided to marry someone else.
Chapter Three
As soon as Odette left them Martine turned to Luke. 'You were once in love with her.' It was a statement, calmly spoken and just as calmly received.
'It was inevitable that you would guess that there had been something between Odette and me.'
'You were in love with her,' persisted Martine.
'There was no love on her side.' Luke took up the champagne bottle and seemed to become absorbed in a study of the label.
'I was talking about you, Luke,' said Martine, still persistent. 'You said you did not believe in love between a man and a woman, and I suspected your words were due to disillusionment. You did love Odette, and she let you down.'
Silence, while Luke poured the wine. 'As you have guessed so much I will tell you the rest,' he then said, surprising her, for she had half suspected he would tell her to mind her own business. 'Odette and I were betrothed; whatever I felt for her was deep—but I was young,' he added swiftly, as if by way of an excuse for some incredible folly. 'I was twenty-three and she a year younger. She swore she loved me and, I must confess, we had wonderful times together. My father was living, and an elder brother who was his sole heir. In Greece a younger son does not expect to inherit much,' he explained. 'And so Odette began to cool off when someone else came along, a wealthy hotelier whose flattery— and fortune—went to her head.' Luke paused, and again Martine saw that harsh and evil expression mar his features. 'She married him—' He broke off abruptly and now there was both pain and bitterness on his face. It was plain that he had suffered by the girl's action in throwing him over. 'As you heard, she is now divorced.'
'And free,' inserted Martine, watching his expression closely. It was a mask, unreadable. 'She was obviously taken aback to hear you were engaged.'
Luke picked up his glass and, for a long moment, sat staring at the bubbles coming to the top. 'She wrote to me recently to ask if we could take up where we left off.'
'And you are afraid—'
'Of what?' harshly, and with a glitter in his eye.
'Of falling for her again, which means that you do believe in love.' Martine waited, her nerves tensed. Until this moment she had been undecided about marrying him, had known that it was not too late to change her mind. Yes, she realised, that had been at the back of her consciousness even while she was allowing herself to be driven by Luke's dominance and her own physical desire. But now she knew that she really wanted to marry Luke, that within her there was an unfathomable emotion and a need that had nothing to do with sex or the pleasure she would derive from it as Luke's lover. 'You do believe in love,' repeated Martine, determined to have a straight answer from him.
He looked at her, his expression still inscrutable. 'I do not believe in love between a man and a woman,' he said at last.
'But you loved Odette?'
'I was infatuated with her.'
Martine drew an impatient breath and suddenly her companion laughed.
'Forget it,' he advised. 'I learned a lesson— which is never to feel too deeply about a woman.'
She frowned, vitally aware of that sensation within her that was a world apart from anything physical. She did not try to analyse it, nor even to examine it too closely. It was there; it might stay or it might go. Time alone would tell.
'Your brother died, I take it?'
He nodded, putting his glass to his lips. 'Soon after Odette… jilted me. Father died less than a year later.'
'So you became wealthy after all.' There was a quality of genuine indifference in her tone which told him that, to her, his fortune and what it would provide were immaterial.
'I inherited everything, yes.' Luke's voice was brusque now, as if he felt he had confided quite enough and would deter her from asking any more questions.
She picked up her glass and drank deeply, then wanted to sneeze. She controlled the impulse and said lightly, 'If I drink any more you will have to carry me out of here.'
'A pleasure.' All seriousness was gone; they went from the hotel into the sunshine and bustle of Athens, Martine's hand in his. She was happy at this moment; the future could take care of itself.
'Can I have a proper wedding dress?' she asked and her fiancé lifted his brows a fraction.
'What do you mean by that? Certainly you shall have a proper wedding dress.'
'I thought perhaps you wanted it to be very quiet.'
'Not at all. We shall have a wedding to remember.'
'Even though it is based on spite—revenge—' She broke off, but too late, 'I didn't mean to say anything like that,' she murmured, biting her lip.
'Spite and revenge…' He was thoughtful as they walked along, then stopped among the vast crowd waiting to cross the road. 'Not much on which to base a successful marriage, you are thinking? Well, my dear, it is not only that. It is mainly the physical attraction we have for one another that will make our union successful.'
She made no comment, for what he said was true. They were both depending on the sexual draw… and if ever that should fail…?
That evening they dined at the hotel in a romantic setting of candlelight and music and soft-footed waiters. They ate Greek food and drank champagne again and afterwards they went into the city and up to the Acropolis to witness the famous 'sound and light' spectacular. All was magic—the illuminated temples, so ancient and evocative, the voices, strong and imperious. It was all new and exciting for Mar-tine, who was able to forget all about Kelvin and his inconstancy. But she was no fool; she knew she would feel again the deep hurt, knew that this was merely an interval of forgetfulness that would disappear and leave her thinking again of her broken engagement, and of what might have been if Sophia had not come upon the scene.
'It seems strange that both your hurt and mine were caused by two sisters,' she murmured, voicing what had been in her mind since she had been introduced to Odette and discovered what she had meant to Luke.
'Ironic,' he agreed. 'But it was meant to be. I believe in Fate.'
'So do I. Our lives are mapped out when we are born.'
He looked at her, his face in the bright light more handsome and severe than ever, with the scar scarcely noticeable.
'So you admit that you were meant to marry me?'
She heaved a sigh and said, 'I suppose so.'
'Then stop worrying about Kelvin and your broken engagement.'
'I'm not worrying.'
'Perhaps not consciously at this moment because other things are here to occupy your mind —you're excited, for one thing. But tomorrow when we arrive home you'll have time to think, and brood. Don't even think of changing your mind, though,' he warned with a stern inflection, 'because if you do you'll regret it.'
She had no intention of changing her mind but she was curious and so impelled to say, 'In what way shall I regret it?'
'I me
an to have you.'
'Yes?' with a frown of bewilderment.
'And if it's not to be marriage then you shall be my pillow friend.'
Her frown deepened. 'You could never force me to be that,' she asserted with conviction.
'My dear Martine,' he said with a hint of asperity, 'you are as putty in my hands. The repeated betrayal of your emotions is probably more transparent than you imagine. I could take you whenever I liked… and having slept with me once you could not resist sleeping with me again, and again…'
Martine snatched her hand from his. 'I hate you when you talk like that!'
'But not enough to throw me over.' The statement angered her but she made no comment for all that. Luke spoke again to remind her that it was not as a pillow friend he wanted her and, should he be forced to take her as that, it would obviously be only the prelude to marriage. 'Because you are the kind of girl who would prefer marriage to the other,' he added finally.
'You appear to understand me perfectly,' she said through lips that had gone dry and stiff.
'Let us change the subject,' he urged. 'Or, better still, let us concentrate on the performance.'
Later, when they had had a bite of supper in the hotel lounge, with quiet bouzouki music drifting through the elegant room, Luke escorted Martine to her room and before she had time to utter the swift 'good night' she had intended and close the door on him he was inside the room and it was he who was closing the door. She moved quickly towards the window, ostensibly to draw the drapes. But the window was open and she would have to close it first.
Luke came to her, drew her away and towards him. His mouth found hers, hot and sensuously exploring, compelling her to part her lips so his tongue could find the sweet dark hollows, caress in rough possession. His hands were equally exploring, one sliding from her slender waist to move across her stomach while the other closed on her breast, the long, lean fingers possessing the nipple, closing tightly on it, while all the time he was pressing her body against his, demanding that she know and understand the strength of his passion. She felt his hand move from her breast to caress her most sensitive places, his fingers expertly gentle, feather-soft on her throat, her ear, her temple where the blue veins tinted the delicate alabaster of her skin.
Martine arched her soft young body in a kind of supplication when, her own desires ignited by the burning fires of his, she abandoned all resistance and gave herself up to the exquisite joy of surrender. Eventually he held her at arms' length so that he could devour her beauty, look deeply into eyes dark and torpid with passion about to flare.
Softly he laughed, the laugh of the victor, and he picked her up, walking rhythmically towards the bed. Only then did she begin to struggle, and because it was his will and not hers that he should release her, she was set down on her feet. Luke bent and kissed her, gently, as his fingers, traced a line from the delicate curve of her throat where a pulse throbbed uncontrollably to the tender lobe of her breast where they rested, teasingly, until she uttered a little moan and twisted away, her cheeks burning, her whole body on fire, heated to torment by the stimulation of his lips and his hands and the virile hardness of his frame.
'Please go,' she mumbled in a voice she scarcely recognised as her own. 'It isn't right for you to be here.'
A smile of mocking amusement curved his chiselled mouth. 'On the contrary, it is very right. I ought to stay,' he continued, his perceptive eyes intently scrutinising her face. 'You're in the mood and so am I. It's not natural for us to desist now.'
'You sound clinical and I dislike your manner intensely!'
'Are you trying to find something more here than sex?' he inquired and a frown touched his forehead as he spoke.
'Of course not!'
But was she? The idea had not occurred to her until this moment when he had mentioned it. Did she want more than he could give? Something spiritual, for instance? But that would entail love, which neither could give the other-she because of her love for Kelvin, and he because of the disillusionment he had suffered at the hands of Odette.
'Then don't,' was Luke's advice as he turned towards the door. 'Never ask for too much from life.' He paused on the threshold. 'I'm leaving even through I know I ought to stay.' The fine lips curved in a smile that was both cynical and mocking. 'It's no consolation to me to know that once I'm through that door you'll regret asking me to leave.'
Martine's teeth snapped together. 'Your arrogance and pomposity stick in my gullet!' she threw at him furiously. 'Be careful, or I might change my mind!'
To that he made no response, but merely smiled a knowing smile and left the room, quietly closing the door behind him.
Martine had not been home an hour when Kelvin knocked on her door and entered the living-room at her invitation. She looked at him in surprise as it suddenly occurred to her that he was supposed to be in Athens. He had changed his mind about going, he said tersely.
'You've come to talk about my job,' she said coldly. 'I didn't consider it necessary, under the circumstances, to give you the customary notice. I have left your employ, as I said, so there isn't anything we have to talk about.'
'Yes, there is,' he said grimly and with a glowering look. 'This thing about your getting married. I've thought about it and I can't accept it—'
'There isn't any reason why you should, or why you should not,' she broke in, marvelling at the calm manner she was able to adopt. 'When you broke our engagement your interest in my life ceased.'
He stood with his back to the window, studying her intently. 'I can't quite make you out.' It was a complaint, spoken like a child in a fractious mood, and suddenly Martine wondered how she had ever come to look up to him as she had. True, his appearance was something special, and she had been interested in his work, which had been an added incentive for her to admire him. But when she compared him with Luke… 'You're not really getting married, are you?'
For answer she held out her hand. 'An engagement ring,' she supplied, when it seemed he was too dumbfounded to utter even one word.
'But who—?' He shook his head, gritting his teeth. 'You don't know anybody round here!'
'I know Luke Leoros,' she corrected quietly. 'It is he whom I'm marrying. He lives in the large white villa on the hill.'
Kelvin stared in astounded disbelief. 'It's not true!' And then, inconsistently, 'You must have been carrying on with him while you were engaged to me!'
'Then that made two of us. You were carrying on with Sophia.'
He took a threatening step towards her, then stopped, his whole manner undergoing a change. 'You're doing this for revenge,' he accused and now his voice was quiet and faintly concerned. 'There's obviously much I don't understand, but if this is true, Martine, then you must be out of your mind. The shock of our broken engagement's affected you far more than I had anticipated. After all, engagements are broken all the time, and it's my opinion that it is far better to realise one's mistake before marriage than after—at least it's simpler to put right.'
'You're so casual about it,' she returned bitterly. 'To me, our engagement was permanent; it meant what it was intended to mean— a pact, an act of faith—' She broke off and shrugged her shoulders. 'What is the use of all this talking? You and I are through, so much so that you are marrying someone else and so am I. If there's nothing else you want to say then please go. I have things to do.'
'You're making a big mistake in marrying on the rebound like this, Martine. For heaven's sake, let me help you. There must be something I can do.'
Martine's smile was bitter. 'Do you really believe that?'
He studied her face, noticing the pallor that had come to it while they had been talking. Her mouth was moving convulsively and her eyes were darkly shadowed.
'I feel a cad,' he admitted unexpectedly. 'I don't know if I'm doing the right thing in letting you go. Sophia's young, immature…' His voice trailed into silence with a deep and heavy intake of breath. 'Perhaps you and I ought to think again…' Again his voice petered out as
he saw her shake her head.
'I'm engaged to Luke,' she said quietly. 'He'd never release me even if I wanted him to.'
'Never release you?' Angrily and with a frown. 'He could do nothing if you were to decide to give him his ring back.'
'Obviously you don't know him very well,' was Martine's dry rejoinder.
'Are you telling me he would threaten you?'
'I'm not telling you anything, since it's occurred to me that a man like you would never understand a man like Luke. You're weak in comparison, Kelvin, though I am sorry to say it.'
'Weak!' he flashed, dark colour creeping up the sides of his mouth. 'That's an insult, Martine!'
'Sorry, but I have spoken only the truth.' She glanced at her watch. 'I must ask you to leave. I'm going to Luke's for dinner and he told me to be there at seven o'clock.'
'You're out of your mind! Mad!'
'I don't agree, but even if I were out of my mind it would not be any of your business.' She preceded him to the door and opened it.
'I've a pile of typing,' he muttered. 'How am I going to get it done?'
'Sophia—'
'Can't type and you know it!'
'Then she can learn. It strikes me that she has lived the idle life far too long. It's time she did something useful for a change.' The last sentence was significant and Kelvin caught on to it at once.
'You're jealous of her!'
'Any engaged girl would be jealous of another who took her fiancé from her,' Martine was honest enough to admit. But she did add, without malice or spite, 'You might come to regret giving me up, Kelvin, for I rather think that Sophia can be fickle.'
'That's nasty!'
'It wasn't meant to be. After all,' she added after a slight pause, 'you yourself have just said she's young and immature and that you are already beginning to regret—'
'I said no such thing,' interrupted Kelvin hotly.
'You implied it when you said that you and I had better think again—' She stopped, frowning impatiently. 'This is getting us nowhere! I have asked you to go, so please do just that!'