by Anne Mather
‘It’s too hot,’ Sarah repeated, looking up from her magazine rather impatiently. ‘You go and get hot and sweaty. I’d rather sit here, in the shade, and enjoy what little breeze there is.’
‘But, Sarah, you’re not making any attempt to adapt—’
‘I have no intention of adapting, as you call it. I didn’t want to come here, and I don’t intend to stay. Whatever you decide to do.’
Martha was in a rather distracted frame of mind as she and Josy drove down the narrow road to the village. She had hoped that once Sarah got here, once she began to enjoy the unaccustomed warmth and relaxation of the islands, she would try and make the best of the situation, but as always, her sister was taking a negative attitude towards everything, and even Dion’s absence had made very little difference.
Happily, Josy was unaware of her feelings, and excitedly pointed out a donkey wearing a flower-covered hat, with its ears sticking through the straw, and the huge mounds of fruit and vegetables which were just being unloaded from a newly-arrived cargo boat.
‘Can we stay and watch, Mummy?’ she demanded, bouncing up and down in her seat, and good-humouredly Martha pulled on to the quayside, enjoying the placid, unhurried movements of the seamen. Here, away from the villa, she could imagine they were in any Mediterranean port, albeit a small one, without any of the problems the Myconos family presented.
‘Can’t we get out, Mummy?’ Josy persisted, not content with just hanging out the window. ‘I can’t see!’
‘I doubt if you’ll see any more if we get out,’ declared Martha wryly, but she agreed that they could, and Josy danced off along the wharf.
The sun was so hot, it was dazzling, and even Martha’s dark glasses did not entirely prevent the glare of sun on blue, blue water. Standing there, shading her eyes with one hand, she was completely unaware of the striking attraction of her blonde beauty, but the man who had just disembarked from the M.S. Athena was entirely aware of it. Aware, too, of the envious glances cast in his direction, as he excused himself from the crewmen he had been talking to, and strode determinedly towards her, his jacket looped round one finger and tossed casually over his shoulder.
Martha saw the man walking towards her, but she didn’t immediately pay him any attention, although it was unusual to find someone wearing formal clothes down at the harbour. She did not associate him with her husband. When Dion arrived, they would know about it, she was sure. There would be the hum of the helicopter for a start, and Alex rushing down to the airfield to pick him up. She guessed it might possibly be one of the security guards, though they usually kept a low profile, and she continued to observe Josy, avidly watching the mechanical skills of the driver of a small crane.
Only when the man reached her did she realise who it was, and her lips parted in a disbelieving gasp. ‘Dion!’ she exclaimed, pulling off her sunglasses, as if their smoky lenses might lie, and he inclined his head in a mocking salute.
‘The same,’ he agreed, his narrowed eyes requiring no protection, and in full view of the men on the quay, his hands descended on her slim shoulders, and pulled her towards him.
‘Dion—no,’ she managed, before his mouth settled over hers and drove all resistance from her mind. It was too quick, too sudden, too unexpected for her to summon any defence, and her lips parted automatically beneath the expert pressure of his.
‘Relax,’ he said, against her mouth, his wine-scented breath almost suffocating her. ‘Our friends think you are a welcoming committee. We would not like to disappoint them, would we?’
When she eventually fought free of him, she was flushed and breathless, the marks of his fingers clearly visible on her bare arms. She gazed up at him indignantly, searching for some reason for such an unprovoked attack, but all she found was speculation and mockery, and a certain cool-eyed triumph.
‘Is this what you expect of me?’ she demanded, in a low voice, trembling hands seeking the reassuring neatness of the knot she had secured on top of her head for coolness. ‘Because if it is—’
‘Where is Josy?’ Dion interrupted her mildly, looking about him with all the assurance of the dominant male, and smilingly acknowledging the admiring glances of the fishermen. They could have no idea of the unequal battle they had just witnessed, Martha thought bitterly, wondering how Dion could behave so emotionally one minute and appear so emotionless the next. The truth was, it wasn’t emotion at all, she decided frustratedly. He had been demonstrating his ownership, and she had been subdued.
Josy herself saw her father at that moment, and with a squeal of delight came skipping back along the quay towards them. She seemed to find being swept up into Dion’s arms well to her liking, and with a feeling of helpless fury Martha climbed back into the station wagon. She deliberately chose the seat behind the steering wheel, hoping Dion would question her position, but he didn’t. Instead he carried Josy round the car, and climbed in beside her, with Josy on his knee.
‘Why didn’t you let us know you were coming?! Josy demanded, voicing the question that trembled on her mother’s tongue, and Dion smiled.
‘I wanted to surprise you—and I did,’ he declared, with a sidelong glance at his wife. ‘Besides, the—er—helicopter was needed for other things, and I enjoyed riding on Andropolous’s boat.’
‘Andro—Andro—what?’
Josy was perplexed, and Dion pressed a teasing finger on her nose as Martha vigorously started the car and swung it round, away from the harbour. As she accelerated up the hill away from the village, Dion endeavoured to explain the pronunciation of the captain’s name, and she felt an increasing surge of frustration at his easy companionship with the child.
‘I learned to swim today,’ Josy told him proudly, as Martha concentrated on negotiating the curves in the road. ‘Uncle Alex taught me. Will you swim with me, Uncle Dion? When we get home?’
‘Home?’ Dion echoed her word reflectively, and Martha’s lips compressed. How was she ever going to accept the ambiguousness of her position, even for Josy’s sake? she asked herself despairingly. She could not—she would not—become Dion’s plaything. If he thought he could make love to her at will, treat her, as he had done down at the harbour, he was very much mistaken. She had come back to him for Josy’s sake, and Josy’s sake alone. Somehow, tonight perhaps, she had to make her position clear. It was a daunting thought, particularly remembering the way her body reacted to the touch of his, but she would do it—she must do it. For her own peace of mind…
Alex was delighted to see his brother, and for once Martha was glad of Sarah’s incapacity. It gave them both a chance to escape, but after seeing Sarah to her room, Martha made her way to the apartments she had been using. She did not need Sarah’s pointed observations to realise that the situation at the villa was bound to change now, and she needed some time to compose herself before speaking to Dion again. Josy had been quite content to stay with her father, and Martha flung herself on the smoky damask silk that covered the bed and gazed unhappily up at the ceiling.
She had only been lying there about fifteen minutes however before the door opened, and she jerked up on her elbows, staring round in surprise. No one ever entered the room without knocking, except perhaps Josy, but it was not the little girl whose entry caused a fluttering of the curtains at the long windows. Her husband stood in the aperture, surveying the tense apprehension in her face, and then closed the doors behind him with a distinct, unnerving click.
Until that moment Martha had not considered whose apartments these might be. They were not the rooms she and Dion had used in the past, and she had assumed they were simply guest rooms. The adjoining dressing room could have belonged to either this room or the room next next door, and as all Dion’s brothers spent time on the island, the contents of the wardrobes could have belonged to any one of them.
Only now was she convinced that these were Dion’s apartments, that that was Dion’s dressing room, and the muted blues and greys of their decoration were his choice and no one else’s.
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Still, she had to feign ignorance. ‘What are you doing here?’ she exclaimed, her eyes wide with protest. ‘I’m trying to rest, if you don’t mind, and I’d like to be left alone.’
For an answer, Dion raised his dark eyebrows and walked across the room, flinging his jacket on to a low basketwork chair, and unfastening the buttons of his waistcoat. Then he strolled to the windows, staring out silently at the view, and stretching Martha’s nerves like violin strings, before turning back to face her.
‘Alex tells me you have settled down quite well,’ he remarked at last, shedding his waistcoat and starting on the buttons of his shirt. ‘I am glad. You—and Josy—look much better. Very soon, there might even be a little more flesh on your bones.’
Martha swung her bare feet to the floor. ‘What are you doing, Dion?’ she demanded tremulously. ‘This is my room. Will you please leave me alone!’
‘Correction—this is our room,’ retorted Dion calmly. ‘It would not do for the servants to imagine our—how shall I say?—reunion is anything less than complete.’
Martha summoned all her energies to say tensely: ‘You can’t honestly expect me to—to sleep with you!’
‘Why not?’ Dion was removing his shirt now, and her senses stirred at the sight of his lean brown body. It would be so easy to give in to him, she thought desperately. Too easy. But if he wanted her, he would have to take her. She was giving nothing.
‘Why not?’ she echoed now, getting to her feet, unable to remain on the bed in the face of his statement. ‘Why—why, because it’s ludicrous, that’s why not. You and I—we haven’t seen one another for five years, Dion. We—we parted on—on unfriendly terms. You can’t expect me to forget that!’
‘Neither of us can forget the past,’ he agreed heavily. ‘And now, if you will excuse me. I need a shower, and a change of clothes. Then we will have more time for talk, no?’
Martha watched him go into the bathroom with a sense of disbelief. He really did intend that they should take up where they left off. She could hardly believe it. It could not be true. And whatever his intentions, she would not be used like this.
When the sound of the shower water reached her ears, she broke into jerky action. Pulling out her suitcases from their place inside the cupboard, she opened the wardrobe and began tumbling her clothes into them. Skirts and dresses, blouses and sweaters, all were stuffed inside with the least amount of effort, and if they got creased, then she would have to iron them later, she decided, without really caring. She would share Josy’s room. She wouldn’t mind. And if she did—well, perhaps later on, another room might be found for her.
She was so intent on what she was doing that she was unaware that the water had stopped running, and she swung round guiltily when Dion’s angry voice addressed her.
‘What do you think you are doing?’ he demanded, striding towards her menacingly, dark and disturbing in a black-figured robe that fell to his ankles. ‘Do you think I would allow you to remain in another room, always supposing you had succeeded in leaving this one?’
Martha straightened, a handful of underwear clasped foolishly in her hands, but his fingers around her wrist made her drop the fragile shield. ‘You can’t force me to sleep in here,’ she insisted, tilting her head. ‘I can share with Josy, until—until—’
‘Yes?’ he interrupted coldly. ‘Until what? Until I return to Athens, or until you decide you want to share my bed again?’
‘That’s not likely to happen, is it?’ she retorted, trying not to be intimidated by the fury in his face, and his eyes narrowed speculatively.
‘No?’ he enquired, with deceptive mildness, and her knees shook alarmingly.
‘No,’ she repeated, steeling herself to face his anger, and was disarmed once again by his sudden change of mood. With an ease born of long practice he released her wrist, his hands seeking her waist and drawing her insistently towards him. Beneath the thin robe his body was firm and muscular, but she had hardly time to register this before his hands slid intimately to the cuffs of her shorts, curving over the smooth flesh at the tops of her legs. She was moulded to the contours of his body, made aware of every stirring muscle, and then robbed of all breath by the stifling pressure of his mouth.
‘Dion…’ Her choking plea went unheard beneath the demanding urgency of his kiss, and as before, weakness enveloped her. It had been so long since any man had kissed her, and no man but Dion had ever kissed her with such passion. She wanted to protest, to hold out against him, but her awakening senses blinded her reason, and with a feeling of abandonment her arms wound themselves around his neck.
Then, just when she thought he was going to lift her up and carry her to the bed, he drew back, taking her arms from around his neck and pressing them gently but firmly to her sides.
‘Now,’ he said, and there was an edge of sarcasm to his voice, ‘unpack those things like a good girl, and I will go and dress for dinner.’
Martha clenched her fists, but she didn’t say anything, and with a faint cold smile he walked towards the door of his dressing room. He had done it again, she thought incredulously, and there seemed to be little she could do about it.
‘Oh—and by the way,’ he paused in the open doorway, ‘we will be returning to Athens in three days.’
‘We?’ Martha couldn’t prevent the shocked ejaculation, and he nodded.
‘You—and I,’ he agreed smoothly. ‘There is a party which I wish you to attend with me, and of course, my mother wishes to see you once again.’
Martha’s head started to move from side to side. ‘I—I can’t leave Josy—’
‘Josy has been—how do you say—taken care of, no? I have employed an English nanny for her, which I thought would please you, and it is time she learned that you will not constantly be at her beck and call.’
Martha was bewildered. ‘Dion—’
‘Later,’ he averred firmly, and the dressing room door closed behind him.
Left to herself, Martha unpacked her clothes again almost without being aware of it. She had too many other things to think about, not least this proposed trip to Athens. Why did Dion want her to accompany him to this party, wherever it was, and why should his mother want to see her again? Surely, he had explained why he was taking her back. He couldn’t really expect them to behave as if nothing had happened. It was not possible. And her nerves tightened at the prospect of meeting Dion’s parents after the way Aristotle had spoken to her, here, at the villa.
Then there were her clothes to think about. Her wardrobe had once been quite extensive, but time and changing fashions had narrowed it down to a couple of cotton dresses, one or two suits, and a selection of skirts and tops. Nothing suitable for a party in Athens, not the kind of party that the Myconos’s attended anyway.
The other arrangements Dion had made she viewed with even less enthusiasm. An English nanny! What did he mean? Who was this person he had employed, and when was she expected to arrive? And what would Sarah think when she discovered that Martha was expected to walk out on her?
Sitting down on the edge of the bed, she buried her face in her hands and was still sitting that way when Dion came back into the room. She didn’t want to look up at him, but her attitude of dejection smacked too strongly of an appeal for his pity, and that was the last thing she wanted to convey. In a dark green velvet dinner jacket and black pants, he looked every inch the successful tycoon she knew him to be, and a sense of inadequacy and overwhelming defeat gripped her. How could she fight him, when he held Josy’s happiness in his hands?
‘Do I take it you intend to eat dinner in that outfit?’ he asked mockingly, and she got automatically to her feet.
‘I have to supervise Josy’s bath,’ she said defensively, twisting her hands together, and he acknowledged this with a frowning inclination of his head.
‘Only until tomorrow,’ he amended. ‘The good Miss Powell arrives tomorrow, and from then on she will attend to Josy’s personal requirements.’
M
artha’s jaw stiffened. ‘But I like looking after her myself,’ she objected.
Dion shrugged. ‘As I have said, you will be accompanying me to Athens. Do not argue, Martha. I have made up my mind.’
‘And I have no opinions?’
‘You will be consulted, of course—’
‘When?’
‘When I consider it necessary,’ he stated quietly. ‘And now I suggest you—do what you have to. I have business to discuss with Alex. We will meet again at dinner.’
The door closed behind him leaving Martha feeling even more distraught than before. What was she going to do? How was she going to fight him? Was she condemned to submission until Josy was old enough to choose for herself?
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE sunlight filtering through the slatted blinds awakened Martha. It was still very early, but she no longer had any desire for sleep. She was too restless, too confused to lie there, at the mercy of her anxieties, and drawing in a trembling breath she flung back the silken sheet which was all that had covered her.
The room was limpid amber in the morning light, the hazy blue curtains at the windows melting into the shadows. The mahogany chest and matching dressing table looked almost golden as they reflected the sun’s rays, the polished blocks of the floor shafting dust motes in a transparent cascade.
As she padded across to the windows, she glanced back half apprehensively at the bed, but she was alone. She had been alone all night, and the trembling anticipation which had kept her awake until the early hours had heralded nothing more than a restless night’s sleep.
Jerking on the cord, she half opened the blinds, gazing out broodingly at the colour-washed garden. She felt a little sick and headachy, a sense of bewilderment and disbelief vying with the relief she knew she ought to be feeling. Why hadn’t Dion come to bed? Where had he slept? Had he slept at all? And if so, what had all that conversation been about earlier?