by Anne Hampson
'Yes, Vidas, I understand.' And she had made her escape, almost colliding with Alexandra, Dendras's mother, as she crossed the massive hall and reached the stairs. Alexandra had emerged from the salon to the left of the wide, balustraded stairway, the room being her boudoir, a sacred and inviolate sanctum, which Kim had not yet been permitted to enter.
'Running?' A frown and a lift of Alexandra's arrogant eyebrows followed the words. 'Take care! Remember you are carrying my stepson's child!'
What a woman! Fury left Kim visibly shaking. From the first moment they met, Kim had disliked her intensely. Black-eyed, cold, and distant, she was the most objectionable person Kim had ever had the misfortune to meet. As she had shown no sign of sorrow at her son's death, Kim guessed that if grief did affect her, she would rather die than show it. Her dignity was almost frightening, her acid tongue an instrument whose sting had already discouraged Kim from entering into conversation if it were at all possible to avoid.
As for Vidas's attitude—it was a little better, but he too could be icily cutting at times. Kim had been left in no doubt, right from the start, that she was regarded with contempt for what she had done—or was supposed to have done—and also for what she was: an inferior. Yes, she was unmistakably treated as an inferior, but for all that, she had been accepted, because she was to provide an heir to the Christou wealth.
What a plight she was in! She almost wished she were having Dendras's child. It would certainly solve all her problems! If only she had made her admission before Vidas mentioned the doctor. Although she tried to muster up the courage on a couple of occasions, she had shirked the ordeal, and to do it now must look so suspicious that Vidas would be sure to accuse her of having been lying in the first place. Feeling totally unable to cope with the problem, she actually succeeded in thrusting it temporarily from her mind, and moving away from the large, gilt-embellished dressing table, she went to the wardrobe to look for a suitable gown for this evening. Vidas had brought a dressmaker up to the castle and Kim had been measured for dresses, skirts, and blouses. No slacks. She would not be wearing slacks, Vidas had stated, and she did not trouble to ask whether this rule held permanently or just while she was in her present 'condition.'
After making her choice, she laid the dress on the bed, her pensive gaze fixed on the high, richly carved door, the door that led into her husband's suite of sitting room, bedroom, dressing room and bathroom. She had been in it once, venturing a quick look when she knew that Vidas was not in the house. Like her own suite, it possessed the mellowed quality that pervaded the whole vast edifice. The walls were hung with tapestries; the drapes were rich crimson Italian brocatelle; the thickly luxurious carpets spread from wall to wall. The high ceiling of the sitting room was of a geometric design, lavishly embellished with gold leaf; the white marble fireplace flaunted the arms of an illustrious Italian house, testimony to its origin in some mansion that particular family once owned. There was a superb writing table set in the deep window, its matching cartonnier close by. The black lacquer bookcase was filled with leather-bound volumes—priceless editions, Kim surmised. The rest of the elegant furnishings were all antique, the two tables gleaming with the patina of age, the sofa and chairs upholstered in French tapestry, multicoloured but subdued.
As it was too early to bathe and change, she decided to go for a walk on the beach, a favourite place since the day she discovered the lonely cove backed by palms and plane trees, which provided welcome shade from the fierce Grecian sun. Here she could relax, away from the castle and the people in it; here she could be alone with her thoughts.
Chapter Four
Reaching the cove, Kim stood looking out over the golden-blue of a sun-spangled sea, watching its slow rise and fall, noticing a white-sailed yacht riding in graceful motion against an egg-shell sky. The salt tang drifted in on the zephyr of a breeze, and the movement of the water made slender curls of blue-white froth roll gently in towards the shore. Behind her the breeze rustled the foliage of the trees, and the incessant trill of cicadas floated on the air. In the undergrowth corn poppies of brilliant scarlet mingled with the delicate gold of crown daisies and the mauve-blue of borage. So much variation of form and colour! Its beauty took Kim's breath away and for a few treasured moments her mind became free of all anxieties and doubts. She swung round to absorb the entire aspect in all its sun-gold of old glory—the waving palms, the polished leaves of carob trees, the olives against the hillsides, a tantalising silver at one moment, pewter-grey the next. High in the heavens filmy trails of cirrus clouds streaked the blue, drifting and swirling in fascinating shapes.
Strangely, considering the weight of her problem, her spirits lifted as she stood there, a lone figure on the seashore, her ears attuned to the variety of sound, her eyes appreciative of the variety of form.
The minutes stretched to more than an hour, and it was only when a restlessness assailed her that she decided to return to the castle. And immediately with this decision came the pressing weight of her problem, the magnitude of her offence hovering within her mind, a smothering cloud ruthlessly enveloping her until there was no escape, no peace. What had seemed so simple at the outset now seemed impossible. How could she go to her husband and say she had made a mistake, how confess that there was no child after all? A few days ago she had toyed with the idea of saying she'd had a miscarriage, but that was now impossible, seeing that Vidas had been in touch with the doctor. No, it had to be the original idea, but how to apply it was something that Kim could not now visualise.
As she entered the grounds of the castle she saw her husband. A wild, uncontrollable panic seized her and she could think of only one course open to her: she would write him a full confession, then flee, shaking the soil of his country from her shoes forever. But no… Aside from the pangs of conscience already assailing her, there was the far more oppressive awareness that Vidas would contact her parents. He knew their address and it was logical to assume that his first act would be to get in touch with them, if only to find out where their daughter was. Kim could visualise their concern, their happiness shattered at the breakup of her marriage.
'God help me,' she prayed. 'What must I do?' Vidas had not seen her and she halted by a cluster of trees, her full attention fixed on his tall, athletic form. How handsome he was despite his austerity, how superlatively male! He was walking slowly along the edge of a border, hands loosely clasped behind his back, his dark head forward as if he were deep in thought, with all else escaping him. Kim was vitally aware of the gulf between them, created by his cold, indomitable withdrawal, his arrogant assumption of authority. In a way he reminded her of his stepmother, with her insufferable pride. Kim was ever conscious of the woman's contempt and the condescending way she was treated by her, and there were times when, goaded almost beyond endurance, she could almost have blurted out the truth: that she was not having a child at all. As yet Alexandra had made no move to leave the castle, but certain changes were taking place, changes insisted on by Vidas. Her place had been changed at the table; Kim now sat at the end facing her husband. Vidas also insisted that Kim gradually take over the management of the house, assuming authority over the servants. Alexandra bitterly resented these changes but could do nothing about them. Kim had done as she was told, even though she had no wish to usurp the older woman's position. On the contrary, she would have preferred to leave things as they were.
Vidas had still not noticed his wife, standing there in the shade of the trees, and her brooding eyes travelled from the noble forehead to the line where the thick hair met it, and higher to where the dark waves strayed backwards, and then to the silver threads shining at his temples. Truly a distinguished man, impressively superior, unapproachable. And yet, was he really as cold and distant as she had branded him?
During the fortnight she had been his wife, various facets of his personality had been revealed to her, through her own observations, since he certainly never volunteered anything about himself. But at times she encountered dist
urbing qualities about him that alerted her sensitive mind to danger. She became vitally aware of his dark eyes burning with a distinctly amorous light when they looked at her, and she would not have been a woman had she failed to recognise the signs, to accept the fact that she was beginning to interest him. Not spiritually; most certainly she appealed to what some people would term 'his baser instincts'—the sensual, passionate side of his nature. He was of the East and also of the race whose reputation for being preoccupied with sex was known the world over. So it was natural that she should regard his interest with some foreboding, dreading to think what the outcome might be; for if he should decide to put their marriage on a normal footing, she would be helpless to deny him his rights.
He half turned, after standing motionless and watching a slender little gecko catch insects with its long dark tongue. Kim stepped back, to blend further into the shadow of the trees. The reason for this action eluded her, but she seemed compelled by some force beyond her control to look at him, long and hard… and she found a strange, intangible pleasure in doing so! Pleasure? A frown creased her wide, intelligent forehead at the idea that had unwontedly come to her, stirring unconscious emotions, awakening her senses as the first rays of dawn awoke the earth to the vibrations of life. She was deeply moved without knowing why, and a tentative yearning touched her heart. From the dark recesses of her mind, words emerged with startling clarity: 'This man is my husband. He belongs to me, just as I belong to him.'
They had been married in the mellowed little church high on the valley side a short while after they arrived on Malindos by boat, having flown to Athens and then taken the ferry. They had passed other islands on the way, some so small as to be mere rocky summits of the vast volcanic mountain range that lay beneath the waters of the Aegean Sea. All had been so strange, and yet she had known excitement too, and a sense of adventure to mitigate the fear which hung over her when she thought of the stony path she might be called upon to tread.
For Kim the marriage ceremony was memorable in spite of the lack of guests and music and flowers and the sweet young voices of choir boys—how often she had formed the picture of a white wedding, with two hundred guests and all the trimmings! Yet, somehow, as she had stood with Vidas before the swarthy, long-bearded priest of the Greek Orthodox Church she had been touched in a way she would not have believed possible when first she contemplated marrying for the sole purpose of easing her parents' lot. It had been a business deal on her part, suited to her own ends, without a thought for the man she was duping. Because she had disliked him on sight, her act seemed not quite so iniquitous as it would have seemed had Vidas been a likeable man. But now… Gradually she had been learning to see her husband in a new light. He had faithfully played his part; even now her parents were preparing to move into their new home, and the Spanish doctor who had her father under his care had confidently assured her mother that his condition would continue to improve.
Suddenly Vidas became aware of being watched and swung round, scanning the shadows until he spotted her. She coloured and came forth reluctantly, slowly walking towards him, a smile quivering on her lips. His long lithe body never moved; it was as if he considered it his right to have her come to him, and not he to her, and slowly her smile ebbed. As she drew close she was sure she heard him catch his breath. He stared at her in a long unsmiling appraisal before breaking the silence, which for Kim was fast becoming fraught with tension.
He said, 'Where have you been? Your mother phoned just now—'
'Mother!' In spite of the reassurance she had received by telephone three days ago, Kim's heart lurched as fear spread over her. 'Father's had another—?'
'He's fine,' broke in Vidas, as if to spare her any further anxiety. 'They're thoroughly enjoying their new life in the sunshine.'
'They've moved into their apartment?' Kim's relief showed as the lost colour flowed back into her cheeks. Vidas stared, an odd, frowning expression in his eyes. He seemed puzzled by her manner, and she was forcefully reminded of that other occasion when he had intimated that something about her baffled him. Could it be that his opinion of her was gradually changing? The idea brought a lightness to her spirits and she grasped the reason instantly. She desperately wanted him to like her, to be friendly towards her and treat her as an equal.
'They moved in yesterday, and all their friends and neighbours have been helping, so it would seem that your parents are very fortunate.'
'It's all due to you.' Her voice was quiet, filled with gratitude. 'You've been so kind to them.' But not particularly kind to me, she added silently, then admitted at once that there was absolutely no reason why he should be kind to her. Their marriage meant nothing; it had taken place for no other purpose than to give a child its rightful name.
And there was no child… This thought led quite naturally to the problem facing her, and she wisely decided that the confession would best be made as soon as an opportunity arose, for there was nothing to be gained by further delay. She would be a nervous wreck if she went on like this much longer. Besides, she would in any case have to confess within the next few days, owing to the appointment Vidas was making for her to see the doctor. If only she knew how Vidas would react, though. At times she was sure he would accept the new situation philosophically, but there were occasions of doubt, when fear would creep in; for if suspicion should enter his mind, and he should accuse her of fraud, she felt sure she would never be able to stand before him and deny it. The deceit had been difficult enough the first time; it would be impossible for her to repeat it.
He was speaking, commenting on her words about his kindness to her parents. 'It was my duty to help my wife's people.'
'I wasn't your wife at that time.'
'You were soon to become my wife.' His hooded eyes flickered over her figure and she felt her nerves tense. She supposed she should have lost her waist by now but instead it was as neat and trim as ever. 'I have phoned the doctor and he'll be calling the day after tomorrow at eleven o'clock in the morning. He believes the child is mine, of course.' Unemotional were the words and the manner of their delivery. It was Kim who was squirming with embarrassment.
'He knows when we were married.' She spoke automatically, the statement a natural follow-up to what Vidas had said.
'Of course.' A casual shrug preceded his next words. 'He will think, but certainly not comment.' The remote indifference of his tone was proof of his unconcern for the opinion of others… and yet he had warned her in no uncertain terms, that he would never tolerate scandal brought to his name by his wife. It was as if he himself were supreme, so arrogantly confident of that supremity that he was like a king—above criticism.
'You can telephone your parents anytime you wish,' he was saying as they walked slowly towards the tower-flanked entrance to the castle. 'Your mother's given me a number. It's the phone number of the people in the adjacent apartment.'
'It's kind of their neighbours to let them use their phone.' Vidas was slightly ahead of her and, to her surprise, he slowed to match his pace to hers. Why her feet were dragging she could not say, but they were. The last hour had been rather wonderful, her burden temporarily lifted as she enjoyed her solitude, but now…
Her thoughts had returned to the possibility of his wanting to end the marriage and she realised that this was the source of her dejection. Staggered by the knowledge, which could not be denied, she was dazed for a moment as she tried to discover the reason for it. Why should she feel this desolation at the thought of leaving the castle and returning to her own country? After all, it was what she had wanted—an annulment and freedom again, even though her parents would be upset at the breaking up of the marriage. She had given . this a great deal of thought and decided she could convince them that she wouldn't be hurt in any way— that she genuinely wanted a separation. But she now freely admitted that a separation was the very last thing she wanted. As she wandered along beside the tall figure of her husband Kim's mind became a whirlpool of questions, and as they were
answered she shook her head, frantically trying to discard the one answer to which all the questions had led.
She could not be falling in love with her husband! It was impossible! He had never given her any encouragement; any conversation they had was impersonal, and almost always she would encounter a scathing glance to remind her of his opinion of her. Although she believed that opinion had improved a little, she was ever conscious that her 'condition' reminded him that she had been his brother's pillow-friend. If only he could know the falsity of that belief, but it wasn't possible to enlighten him under the present circumstances. In any case, he would never believe her even if it were possible, she admitted with a sigh. She sent him an upward glance as they neared the castle, its entrance looming before them, its noble facade clothed with luxuriant ivy. His body was erect, head set high on broad, arrogant shoulders. In profile he was attractive enough, but when he turned, conscious of her stare, she caught her breath as something quickened in her veins and she again found herself trying to deny that she was falling in love with him.
He glanced down and was puzzled by her expression.
'Something wrong?' The fine-drawn intentness of his eyes robbed her of confidence and her reply was stilted and awkward.
'No, nothing's wrong.' She caught a movement at one of the windows of the castle and stared. Alexandra's boudoir… The fine lace curtains fluttered and a dark shadow flitted away from the light. 'Your stepmother doesn't like me.' The words flowed swiftly, thoughts spoken aloud. 'Dendras didn't seem to get along very well with her, either—from what he told me.'
'Alexandra is old,' remarked Vidas, nothing in the accented voice to betray his inner thoughts. 'She is often impatient with youth. Dendras was not all she would have wished a son to be.' Vidas paused a moment, his glance fleeting as it swept his wife's figure. 'She had put all her hopes in his producing an heir.'