Icon of Gold

by Teresa Crane

  Cathy shook her head. ‘More than a thousand. I offered him that, and he said it wouldn’t be enough.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Leon — even if you can’t lend him the money — would you please consider giving him a job? Taking him into the firm? Keeping an eye on him?’

  The smoke rose again. ‘Oh, I’d do that,’ Leon said, softly.

  ‘I’m worried sick about him.’

  ‘I think you probably have every reason to be.’ Her husband poured another brandy, lifted his sharp, dark eyes to hers. ‘Of course if you spent more time in London you could keep a better eye on him yourself.’

  She drew a deep breath.

  ‘Well?’ he asked, gently. ‘Isn’t it so?’

  ‘I — suppose so.’

  Leon leaned forward, covered her hand with his. ‘Kati, my dear, it’s time for you to join me. I need you. It can’t have escaped your notice that the business, like a child, grows day by day. I need a home. I need a wife. Is it too much to ask?’

  Cathy said nothing.

  ‘You want me to help Adam. I’ll help him. I’ll lend — I repeat “lend” — him whatever it takes to get him out of trouble. I’ll give him work; and he will have to work, we carry no passengers, as Nikos has found. But in return…’ He let the words trail into silence.

  She sat, rigid. ‘In return you want me to give up Sandlings.’

  ‘Not give it up. I wouldn’t expect you to sell the house. But at least spend less time there. You can still play with your children’s books —’

  Her mouth tightened, and she bit back angry words.

  ‘— though you must know you no longer need to earn money. Things are changing. Changing dramatically. Adam needs my help. I need yours —’

  ‘What sort of help?’

  He shrugged. ‘I need a home — a home where I can entertain customers and associates. I need a wife who will do that for me. A wife who will support me, back me up —’

  ‘A hostess,’ she said, bleakly.

  ‘Yes. Amongst other things, yes. The presence of a woman -’ he put a finger beneath her chin and lifted her head, forcing her to meet his eyes ‘— of a very attractive woman — can, shall we say, oil the wheels of commerce. You could be a great asset, my Kati, if you would give up this ridiculous life of yours and join me. Here, in London, and in the Greek house when it is finished you would be a great ornament in my life.’

  ‘An ornament,’ she repeated, quietly, and in despair. ‘An ornament?’

  He appeared not even to have heard her. ‘You’ll see, koukla mou. I’ve told you - we have money now. We can afford to spend a little. We can afford a home — a home like this —’ he gestured, indicating the luxury of their surroundings. ‘You will soon forget your primitive little Sandlings. Come to London. Help me to find an apartment. You shall furnish it yourself, I promise. Anything you want…’

  She had leaned her chin on her hand and was regarding him, steadily and in question. ‘Adam was right,‘ she said.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘He said you had more money than I thought you had. And it’s true. You agree to bail him out without even knowing how much it will take to do it. You talk about renting a place like this and furnishing it as if it were going to cost the small change in your pocket. Leon — where is all this money coming from?’

  He leaned back in his chair. Smoke drifted between them, veiling his expression. ‘I’ve made some good deals these last few months. Made some killings. There is money to be made, my Kati — I’ve told you that before —’

  ‘Doing what?’

  ‘Why do you keep asking? Why do you bother your head so? Your husband is a successful man.’

  She picked up her brandy glass, surveyed him thoughtfully over its rim. ‘My husband is a secretive man,’ she said.

  He smiled, as if she had paid him a compliment, tapped the side of his nose with a finger. ‘It pays, my Kati. It pays. Now…’ He leaned forward again. ‘You wish me to speak to Adam? You wish me to help him?‘

  ‘You know I do.‘

  ‘Then — you will consider what I have suggested?‘

  The silence lasted for perhaps a dozen heartbeats. ‘Yes,’ she said, very quietly.

  ‘Splendid. Splendid! It will be fine, you’ll see. So now — we go to bed. To celebrate.’ He stood up, his bulk looming above her in the flickering candlelight.

  ‘You go ahead,‘ she said, ‘I’ll clear away first.’

  ‘Do it in the morning.‘

  She did not look at him. ‘I’d rather do it now. I can’t stand dirty dishes in the morning.‘

  She sensed the quick anger in him, sensed the effort he made to control it. ‘Very well, koukla mou. But be quick, eh? Be quick.‘ He turned and left her.

  Cathy sat like a statue until the bedroom door had closed behind him. Then she got up, switched the light on, blew out the candles, began to carry the dirty dishes out to the kitchen. The curtains were drawn back The lights of the city reflected into the foggy sky. The constant movement and noise of the still—busy streets penetrated the quiet of the room. Somewhere in the apartment block a telephone shrilled. The long, deserted beaches of Suffolk seemed suddenly to belong to another life. Another world. A world she was losing.

  ‘I’m in trouble this time, Ma,’ Adam had said quietly as he had held the taxi door for her. ‘Real trouble. Please don ‘t let me down. There isn ‘t anyone else.’

  She dumped the dishes noisily into the sink, ran the water on to them.

  The doorbell rang.

  Cathy nearly jumped out of her skin. Drying her hands she went back into the sitting room, and out into the hallway.

  ‘Kati?’ Leon called from the bedroom. ‘Who is it?’

  Nikos, standing on the threshold, did not take his eyes from Cathy’s face. When she stood in stunned silence he raised his voice: ‘It’s me, Pa. Sorry to wake you. I forgot my key.’

  ‘Nikos! Nikos, my boy!’ Wrapped in a dark silk dressing gown Leon had appeared in the doorway. He advanced on Nikos, clapping him on the shoulder, hugging him. ‘What are you doing here? We weren’t expecting you until the week after next —’

  Nikos wrenched his gaze from Cathy’s face, hauled his suitcase into the hall, shut the door behind him. ‘A friend of mine was coming to London. I’d done what needed doing so I decided to come back with her. Sorry — I should have let you know — I didn’t realise —’

  ‘Oh, don’t talk nonsense, my boy! This is your home. You come and go as you please. Come in, come in! Kati - what can we give him? The boy looks exhausted.’

  Hastily Nikos shook his head. ‘No, truly, I don’t want anything. Just a good night’s sleep. It’s been a long trip.’

  ‘A drink. A drink at least. Come tell me about the trip. Did you see Galliano? What will he take?’ Leon ushered his son into the sitting room.

  Cathy hung back. Nikos’ eyes flickered to her and away as he followed his father; and in them she saw what she knew he must have seen in her own. The sheer shock of the sudden and unexpected confrontation had left her trembling, and in that briefest of moments had stripped her of all her carefully constructed defences. ‘Are you sure you couldn’t eat something?’ she asked, astounded at the steadiness of her voice.

  ‘No. Thank you.’ He was, as always, quietly courteous.

  She stood uncertain, gestured, vaguely. ‘I’ll leave you two together, then,’ she said. ‘You’ve obviously got a lot to talk about. But Leon, don’t keep Nikos up too long. He looks very tired.’

  Leon patted Nikos’ cheek; Nikos pulled back a little. ‘See what a little mother she is?’ Leon chuckled. ‘Don’t worry, Kati. I won’t keep him from his bed for too long. Off you go. I’ll come later. Now — Nikos — tell me the news —’

  Cathy went into the bedroom, shut the door and leaned against it. She could hear the murmur of the men’s voices. Leon laughed. Cathy closed her eyes for a moment, seeing again the expression on her stepson’s face when she had opened the door to
him.

  When Leon came to bed an hour or so later she was apparently fast and peacefully asleep. He turned out the light, settled himself beside her, tentatively put out a hand to touch her. She breathed deeply and slowly. Heavily he turned from her, and in a very few moments was asleep.

  Chapter Twelve

  Cathy was in the kitchen washing the dirty dishes from the night before when she heard the door open behind her. She knew without turning who it was that had entered the room. Meticulously carefully she stacked a plate on the draining board.

  ‘Cathy,’ Nikos said, quietly. ‘How are you?’

  ‘I’m well.’ Her voice was neutral; she did not turn her head. ‘And you?’

  He did not reply.

  A door opened. ‘Kati? Did you see what I did with my blue tie?’ Leon’s voice, bellowing.

  Cathy raised her own. ‘On the right-hand side in the wardrobe. With the white shirts.’

  ‘Cathy —’ Nikos began again, softly.

  ‘I’ve looked there.’ Leon was plaintive. ‘I’ve found the pale one. It’s the dark one I want. Kati?’

  Cathy sighed, dried her hands. ‘I’m coming.’ She turned. Nikos was standing a couple of feet behind her. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, rapidly and quietly. ‘I didn’t expect you back so soon. If I’d known you were coming I’d have made sure not to be here. I’ll leave as soon as I can make an excuse —’

  ‘Kati!’

  ‘I’m coming.’

  Nikos stepped back to let her pass. ‘You don’t have to leave because of me.’

  She held his eyes for a moment, steeling herself against anything she might see — or want to see — in them. ‘Oh, I think I do,’ she said, very composedly. She had had a long and all but sleepless night to prepare for this. And to consider Leon’s ultimatum — for that it surely had been — concerning Adam. In those dark hours she had come to two very firm resolutions; or rather, perhaps, had realised that in neither case did she have a choice.

  ‘Kati!’

  She left him standing there.

  Over breakfast Leon, his dark blue tie neatly knotted and his good temper restored, took to some heavy—handed teasing. ‘So, Nikos — who is this young lady that you told me of last night? The one who tempted you home from New York? She’s pretty? Rich?’

  Nikos flushed to the roots of his hair. ‘She’s — very nice.’

  ‘Nice? Nice? Nice you don’t need, my boy.’ Leon chuckled. ‘Rich and beautiful. That’s what you need.’

  ‘She is pretty. But she’s not rich. Not so far as I know, anyway.’

  ‘How does it happen she flies from New York to London?’

  ‘It’s her job. She’s a freelance journalist and photographer. Mostly to do with fashion. She’s working on an article. She needed to come to London, and then she’s going on to Paris. I’d finished my business. I was at a loose end. She’d never been to London before. I offered to fly back with her, show her the ropes. That’s all.’ Nikos was studiously avoiding Cathy’s cool, unblinking gaze.

  ‘So you’re seeing her while she’s in London?’ Cathy asked, sipping tea.

  ‘I’m — yes. I’m seeing her tonight, actually. For dinner.’

  ‘That’ll be nice. If she’s staying for long enough you’ll have to bring her here for a meal.’

  ‘Excellent idea.’ Leon stood, brushing crumbs from his jacket. ‘Nikos - you come to the office with me. You give Miss Hooper the notes on Galliano, and then as I told you last night I have something to discuss with you. We need to expand. We need more staff. Reliable staff. As I said, Adam wishes to join us — this is good — but perhaps not enough — we’ll see, we’ll see.‘ He dropped an absent-minded kiss on Cathy’s hair. ‘I’ll be a little late, koukla mou. I have a meeting at six.’

  ‘We can eat in,’ Cathy said. ‘Will eight do?‘

  ‘Eight will be fine.’

  ‘You’re sure? I can make it later —’

  ‘No, no. Eight will be fine.’

  Cathy glanced at Nikos. ‘You’re eating out?’

  ‘Yes. I’ll go straight from the office. We’re going to the cinema first. I’ll be late, I expect.’

  Cathy felt for one awful moment that if she opened her mouth again she might scream. How could Leon not sense the tension beneath the trivial exchange? How long before he did? When the door finally closed behind father and son she sank into a chair and buried her face tiredly in her hands. She felt fraught and exhausted. She lifted her head. ‘I love him,’ she said, aloud. ‘I thought I could deny it, but I can’t. I love him. And I want to go home. Oh, God, I do so want to go home!‘ For a second her hard-held control deserted her and she laid her head on her arms, tears burning in her eyes; but only for a second. If she started crying now, she told herself grimly, she might well never stop. ‘Best not to, then,’ she told the butter dish, on a long, shaky breath, and set about clearing up.

  *

  The telephone rang a couple of hours later. Cathy was sitting at the kitchen table sketching. She laid down her pencil, went into the sitting room, expecting to hear Adam’s voice when she answered it. ‘Hello?’

  Coins dropped in a call box. ‘Cathy.’ Nikos’ voice was quiet. He spoke very quickly. ‘Cathy — I must see you — talk to you properly —’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Please!’ The word was anguished.

  ‘No!’- She was shaking. ‘Nikos, leave me alone. Go away and leave me alone!’

  He was still speaking when the handset clattered back on to the cradle.

  She walked in Hyde Park for most of the afternoon, wandering aimlessly along the walks beneath the giant, leafless trees, solitary amongst the dog—walkers, the pram-pushers, the lovers. It was very cold. The air, even here in the capital’s largest open space, smelled of traffic fumes and stung her eyes. She tried, unsuccessfully, not to think. Tried not to admit to herself that she was afraid to go back to the apartment; afraid that Nikos might come, afraid of what might happen if he did; tried above all not to remember those days they had spent together at Sandlings, the things they had said, the things they had done, the bond they had forged. She was chilled to the bone when she got back to the dark and empty flat. She ran hot water into the bath, pinned her hair up and climbed in, lying back in the steam. The water lapped about her body, the warmth lulling her. She had hardly slept all night. Her eyelids drooped.

  She awoke to hear the clock striking in the sitting room. The bath water was stone cold. Shivering and disorientated she scrambled out of it, wrapped herself in a towel and reached for her watch. Seven o’clock. ‘Seven o’clock? Dear Lord, it can’t be! There’s a fire to light, a dinner to cook — oh, blast it! What an idiot!’ She was clumsy with cold and the catnap had left her if anything even more ill-temperedly tired than she had been to start with. The fire refused, sullenly, to light and she cut herself peeling the potatoes. By ten to eight, however, with Leon still blessedly absent, the apartment was tidy, the fire at last beginning to draw, the table was laid and the supper, late but smelling good, was in the oven. Relaxing a little, and breathing a small prayer that Leon might not turn up for ten minutes or so to give her time to recover from the rush she poured herself a small sherry and settled down to wait.

  An hour later, with the meal close to spoiling and the sherry bottle half empty she was still waiting. She eyed the telephone. Wherever Leon was, there surely must be a telephone? She picked up the handset to check the line was live. It was. She tossed aside the magazine she had been reading and went in to the kitchen to salvage the meal.

  By ten o’clock she was truly worried, convinced that something quite terrible must have happened. She had by then tried the office number, in case Leon had gone back there after his meeting, but there was no reply. There was nowhere else to try; she had no idea where he might have gone — he could be anywhere in London. She couldn’t phone every hospital in the city. There was nothing to do but to wait, and to worry.

  It was nearly half past eleven when she heard a key
in the lock. By now beside herself with anxiety she rushed to the door.

  Leon, smiling beatifically, swayed a little. ‘Kalisperu sas, koukla mou.’

  Cathy stared at him.

  ‘You are looking —’ he raised a finger, waved it as if conducting an orchestra ‘— very beautiful.’

  ‘You’re drunk,’ she said.

  He shook his head. ‘No. No. A little merry, yes. It was a good meeting. We celebrated a little afterwards.’ He shut the door behind him, reached for her. ‘Aren’t you going to give your husband a kiss?’ He smelled of cigar smoke, whisky and something subtle and flowery.

  Trembling with anger she moved her head so that his lips brushed her ear, pulled herself from his grasp and stalked into the sitting room. ‘And where was this meeting?’ she asked, coldly. ‘On the moon? In Outer Mongolia?’

  He frowned, puzzled. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It was obviously somewhere that hasn’t yet acquired a telephone system.’

  He shrugged, threw off his overcoat. ‘I was busy, Kati.’

  ‘And I was worried. Worried sick! You said you were coming home to dinner. You said you’d be here by eight —’

  ‘I told you —’ his volatile temper was, inevitably, rising to match hers ‘— I had a meeting.’

  ‘At six o’clock! It’s now getting on for midnight! I don’t care where you’ve been. Or what you’ve been doing. I care that you didn’t bother to ring me and tell me you weren’t coming home —’

  ‘I’m home now, aren’t I? What kind of a greeting is this I get?’

  ‘The same kind of apology you’re offering me. None at all.’ The clipped and angry words seemed to come from someone else’s tongue; she could put no brake on them. ‘Leon, you are the most self-centred person I have ever met! Did it even occur to you to ring me? Did it even occur to you that I was sitting here alone worrying myself half to death? That I had cooked you a meal? That I was waiting for you?’

  ‘Of course it did.’ Irritated he turned from her, walked to the table upon which stood bottles and glasses, reached for the brandy. ‘I thought you would understand —’