Apollo's Seed

by Anne Mather

  ‘I have something here which might be a suitable addition,’ Dion remarked now, crossing the floor to stand behind her, removing a narrow case from his inside pocket. ‘Take it,’ he said, handing it to her, and she caught her breath at the necklace and earrings that lay on its white velvet lining.

  ‘I—I don’t know what to say,’ she murmured, her throat closing up with the intensity of her feelings. ‘They’re beautiful. But not for me, surely?’

  ‘Rubies and diamonds,’ remarked Dion, without emotion. ‘An ideal combination with what you are wearing. Here, let me fasten it for you.’

  Martha stood quite still as he clipped the necklace at her nape, and then covered the cold stones with her fingers as they chilled her throat. This was obviously why he had asked her to wear the gown, and she wondered when he had purchased such an expensive trinket.

  ‘Now—the earrings,’ he suggested, offering them to her. ‘Can you fasten them yourself? Kalos. You look every inch the pampered wife, no?’

  Martha pressed her lips together, staring at her reflection without enthusiasm. ‘Is that why you bought them?’ she asked, her voice low and uneven. ‘So that I wouldn’t let you down in front of all your friends? So no one could say that Dionysus Myconos is not generous to his wife, no matter how shameful her behaviour has been?’

  ‘I bought them because I did not think you would wish to wear the jewels you left behind you when you walked out on me!’ he stated grimly, showing the first traces of emotion she had seen for days. ‘Now, if you are ready, shall we go? My parents, and Nikos and Cassandra, are already waiting for us.’

  Martha collected a gauzy wrap, and without another word, preceded him out of the room. Obviously, her appearance had made no impression on him, and it was hardly an auspicious beginning to what promised to be another nerve-racking ordeal.

  The party was being held on board Andrea Stangos’s yacht, moored off Mikrolimano, near the picturesque harbour where the Hellenic Yacht Club had its headquarters. Like all these occasions, it was an opportunity for the men to talk business in more relaxed surroundings, while their wives circulated together, picking up the latest gossip. Martha had attended many such functions when she and Dion had first lived together, but tonight she was on edge and uneasy, aware that her own attendance would be a primary source of speculation. When she had attempted to protest at Dion’s reasons for bringing her, he had refused to discuss it, stating merely that the sooner their friends became aware of their reconciliation the better. Martha did not agree. These people were Dion’s friends, not hers, and being put on display as it were, for their benefit, could only embarrass her. However, he was adamant, and she wondered exactly how long he expected her unquestioning obedience.

  They drove to Mikrolimano in a chauffeured limousine, a long black snake of a car, with two rows of luxuriously upholstered seats behind that containing the driver. Martha found herself in the rear seat, between her mother-in-law and Cassandra, Nikos’s wife, while the three men occupied the seat in front. It was the usual start to the evening, the separation of the sexes beginning early, and Martha’s head began to ache a little at the prospect of meeting all the other wives, by whom she had obviously been condemned.

  ‘And how is little Sandro this evening?’ Madame Myconos enquired now, speaking across Martha to her other daughter-in-law. She spoke in Greek, but Martha did not find it difficult to understand her, her own familiarity with the language returning with every passing day.

  Cassandra, who was dark and plump and very Greek, gave her mother-in-law a gentle smile. ‘He is much better, Mama, thank you,’ she answered with evident satisfaction. ‘The spots are almost gone now, and only a little irritation remains.’

  ‘That is good.’ Ariadne Myconos nodded her greying head, and Martha felt herself stiffening as the dark, piercing gaze was turned in her direction. ‘And I suppose we will eventually get to meet our other granddaughter,’ she remarked coldly. ‘Although I agree, after five years, what is a week more or less?’

  As Martha strove for words to answer her, Dion turned in his seat in front of his mother, and rested his arm along the back. ‘You know the situation, Mama,’ he advised her steadily. ‘I told you—Josy has not yet had time to adapt to her new surroundings. It would have been foolish to uproot her once again to bring her to Athens, when it is so hot, and your visit to Mycos is only a few days away.’

  This was the first Martha had heard of this, and her eyes sought her husband’s for explanation. But he had already turned round again to answer some question posed by his father, and Ariadne acknowledged his explanation with a little dismissing flutter of her hands.

  ‘We are all looking forward to meeting—Josy,’ said Cassandra kindly, bestowing her smile on the other girl. She was about Martha’s own age, but very different in personality, asking nothing more of her husband’s life than the minute portion he chose to give her. She already had three children, Alessandro, the eldest, being about Josy’s age.

  ‘Josy!’ declared her mother-in-law disparagingly. ‘Whoever chose such a name for the child? She should have been called Louise or Cristina.’

  ‘My mother’s name was Josephine,’ Martha replied quietly, and the older woman subsided into a disagreeable silence as Cassandra chose to speak again.

  ‘She is five, is she not?’ she asked, obviously interested. ‘Sandro is five, too. They will be playmates for one another.’

  ‘Yes.’ Martha was a little awkward, but ignoring her mother-in-law’s disapproval, she added: ‘Has—Sandro been ill? I couldn’t help listening to what you were saying. Rashes must be so unpleasant in this heat.’

  Cassandra nodded. ‘It was the measles,’ she explained, pulling a face. ‘Poor Sandro! He was quite poorly. Happily now, though, he is recovered, and looking forward to coming to Mycos.’

  Martha managed to conceal her alarm at the prospective advent of so many visitors. Was she expected to entertain them all? Would Alex be there? Or was this to be another of those occasions when the male members of the household departed about their business, leaving their wives to look after the children? It had happened before. Would she feel differently now that she had a child of her own? From Josy’s point of view, it was the best thing that could happen to her, mixing with other children who were also her cousins. She would have a whale of a time, and with Jill Powell to look after her, she would need no one else. Not even her mother…

  The Stangos yacht was a blaze of coloured lights, a glowing beacon of music and conversation. There was plenty of food, plenty to drink, and dancing for those energetic enough to take advantage of the specially sprung deck. Martha thought it was more like a cruise liner than anyone’s private sailing craft, but at least it would be easy to find anonymity among so many other guests.

  Andrea Stangos was a short, stocky individual, a business colleague of the family, whom Martha did recall meeting once several years ago. His wife resembled him, though the formality of his white dinner jacket could not compete with the rings and bracelets that occupied every vacant inch of her flesh. Obviously she enjoyed displaying the fruits of his labours, though for someone who was reputed to earn a certain number of dollars every time he took a breath, Martha did not think he looked overworked.

  Her arrival was greeted with mixed feelings. Everyone was incredibly polite, but she sensed the vaguely malicious speculation that went on behind casually concealing hands, and wondered how Dion could appear so indifferent to their mildly outraged indignation.

  After the initial introductions were over, and everyone seemed absorbed in conversation, Martha took the opportunity to slip away unnoticed. The last thing she wanted was to become the cynosure of a group of enquiring females, and she wished it was possible for her to disappear completely until the evening was over.

  Leaning on the rail at the far end of the yacht, she watched the play of lights in the water. It was a beautiful evening, the heat of the day mellowed to a peachy softness, darkness lapping about her like a velvet
cloak. Nowhere were the nights more delightful than in these southern waters, and she sighed when she thought of the artificiality of the party going on without her.

  ‘Champagne?’ enquired a husky voice behind her, and she started in alarm. Her consternation did not ease when she recognised her husband, and she took the slim glass from his hand with evident reluctance. ‘What do you think you are doing?’ he continued, after swallowing a mouthful of his champagne. ‘I did not bring you here to lurk about in the shadows, hoping no one will notice your absence until it is time to leave.’

  ‘How well you know me,’ murmured Martha, rather tremulously, sipping from her own glass. ‘Why did you bring me here, Dion? To humiliate me? To embarrass me? Or just to demonstrate your mastery over me?’

  Dion sighed now, resting his arms on the rail beside her, and staring out to sea with a distant expression. ‘Would you believe—for none of those reasons?’ he demanded flatly. ‘We are man and wife again, Martha. I see no reason to hide that fact.’

  Martha made no response to this, and half impatiently, he turned to look at her. ‘Well?’ he said. ‘Shall we return to the other guests? Or do you wish them to speculate precisely what we might be doing in this most secluded part of the ship?’

  Martha held up her head. ‘You go back to—to the party,’ she said. ‘I would rather stay here. It—it’s quiet. And I have a headache.’

  ‘Do you?’ His expression was sceptical. ‘How convenient!’

  ‘It’s not, actually,’ Martha defended herself. ‘It’s rather inconvenient. Besides,’ she hesitated before continuing, ‘you know if I go back there, I’ll become the—the brunt of all the resentment they feel at your audacity in bringing me here!’

  ‘Is that what you think?’ he drawled, his dark brows drawing together. ‘You think I brought you here to abandon you, is that it?’

  ‘And didn’t you? Haven’t you always?’

  Dion’s mouth twisted with bitter humour. ‘In the past, maybe,’ he conceded. ‘Before I learned better.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Come,’ he said, putting his fingers round her upper arm. ‘I shall not—abandon you. Not tonight. Not ever.’

  Martha’s grey eyes widened at this declaration, but Dion was already propelling her along the deck. He made these statements without giving any real thought to their outcome, she thought despairingly, and she, for one, could not go on living in ambiguity.

  With Dion at her side, the stalwart matrons and their younger counterparts had to accept Martha as one of their number. Apart from his obvious influence with their husbands, he was a popular man, and much of the animosity exhibited towards his wife was the result of jealousy. She was the only English girl among their number, and the disapproval that had briefly been silenced by their marriage had quickly resurrected itself when she had behaved so outrageously. The fact that they appeared to have mended their differences was therefore hard to swallow, and time alone would convince them that Dion was not making another mistake in taking her back. So far as the child was concerned, she would be judged on her own merits, and Martha hoped that Josy would never feel as alien as she did tonight.

  She had not noticed Julia Kuriakin’s presence earlier, but now the Greek girl detached herself from her escort and made her way to where Dion and Martha were exchanging small talk with a Greek politician and his wife.

  ‘My dear!’ she exclaimed, addressing Dion in their own language, as she always did. ‘I thought you had not yet arrived. I was speaking to your mother and father a few moments ago, but they omitted to tell me that you and—er—your wife—were here.’

  ‘We came together,’ replied Dion smoothly, his hand at Martha’s waist, preventing her from moving away from him. ‘You know Doctor and Madame Spirodon, do you not? We were just deploring the temperatures in the city this afternoon.’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Julia’s thin smile encompassed the other members of the group, before returning avidly to the younger man’s face. ‘I looked for you at the Academy this morning, Dion,’ she added guilefully, ‘but apparently my little exhibition slipped your mind for some reason.’

  Her gaze flicked his wife contemptuously, and Martha could feel the warmth of indignation sweeping up her cheeks. So Dion was not above making assignations with some other woman, even while she was in Athens. What price now his hollow talk of reconciliation?

  With the Spirodons looking on in somewhat embarrassed silence, Dion smote his forehead With an impatient palm.

  ‘Theos!’ he exclaimed. ‘Prato’s exhibition! I apologise. We did forget all about it.’

  We?

  While Martha struggled with a mingled sense of relief and resentment, Julia’s expression could not entirely conceal the irritation his statement had evoked. However, controlling her feelings, she managed to say gracefully: ‘No doubt you have other things on your mind at the moment, my dear,’ and looked at Martha again, as if daring her to deny it.

  ‘Indeed.’ Dion inclined his head now, and only Martha was aware that his arm about her waist had tightened. ‘I am especially sorry because my wife would have enjoyed seeing your friend’s paintings, I am sure. I did tell you Julia was something of a patron of the arts—and the artists, did I not, darling?’

  Martha quivered beneath that deliberate endearment, but when she turned her head sharply to meet his gaze, she was disconcerted by the warmth of his appraisal. It was all very well telling herself that he was only acting this way to convince the Spirodons of their affection for one another, to allay the suspicions of any of the guests present, that in any case, he had never mentioned Julia’s exhibition to her, but when he looked at her like that, she felt incapable of defying him.

  ‘I—well—yes,’ she got out at last, jerking her head round to face Julia. ‘It sounds a—a fascinating hobby. Perhaps we could arrange to come at some other time.’

  ‘I think not.’ Julia’s expression was unguarded now and the angry resentment was there for all to see. ‘It seems your current responsibilities leave you little time for enjoyment, Dion,’ she stated contemptuously. ‘Perhaps you had better contact me again when you are not so—heavily committed.’

  The insult was unmistakable, and Martha’s embarrassment was complete. She had no idea of Dion’s commitment towards this woman, but whatever it was, she refused to stand by and be abused in front of him and anyone who might be listening. With a stiffening of her spine she opened her mouth to defend herself, then closed it again when Dion began to speak.

  ‘I doubt if you and I will have anything further to say to one another after tonight, Julia,’ he remarked, the mildness of his tone belying the cold incision of his words. ‘It appears you are suffering some misconception regarding my feelings towards you. I am sorry.’ A half smile made a mockery of his apology. ‘Surely you were always aware of the fact that I was married. I have a wife…’ he glanced briefly at Martha’s shocked face, ‘…and a daughter. And although I find you an attractive young woman, I have no need of a mistress.’

  It was harsh and it was cruel, and Martha could find it in her heart to feel sorry for the other girl. She even shivered as Julia made some futile word of apology to the Spirodons, before disappearing into the throng surrounding the buffet tables, but she knew that given the opportunity, Julia would not have pitied her.

  ‘Eki, I, too, am sorry,’ Dion apologised courteously, keeping his hold on Martha. ‘And now, if you will excuse us…’ And he drew his wife on to the apron-sized dance floor.

  Martha had no time to protest, before he had drawn her close to him, enfolding her in the circle of his arms, with all the self-assurance of a lover. The music was low and melodic, and she felt the shudder that shook his body as she relaxed against him and allowed the tempo of the rhythm to dictate her movements. The last few minutes had been exhausting ones for both of them, she suspected, and while there were things she wanted to ask, for the moment she was too weak to resist him.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said at last, turning
his face into her nape, and allowing his lips to move against her skin.

  ‘For—for what?’ she probed, her cheek against his shoulder. ‘Not exposing you for the fraud you are?’

  ‘Fraud?’ he echoed huskily. ‘I am no fraud.’

  ‘But you did not tell me about Julia’s exhibition,’ she pointed out.

  ‘No, I did not do that,’ he agreed huskily. ‘But equally, I did not encourage her to run after me.’

  ‘So you admit she did?’

  ‘I cannot believe you are jealous,’ he remarked dryly, drawing back slightly to look down at her. ‘As I recall, that word occupies no place in your vocabulary.’

  ‘You’re right.’ Martha endeavoured to keep her tone light. ‘Nevertheless, you haven’t answered my question.’

  ‘All right.’ Dion moved his shoulders in weary acquiescence. ‘There have been one or two women who perhaps fancied the idea of becoming the next Madame Myconos. Those jewels around your neck alone would inspire the most ardent declarations of love from certain members of your sex.’

  Martha’s smile was tight. ‘You underestimate yourself, Dion. Even without the jewels, you’re quite a prize.’

  ‘Do you think so?’ His eyes were intent.

  ‘We’re not discussing me,’ she retorted carefully. ‘But once I would have said yes.’

  ‘Once?’ His mouth twisted. ‘You are so romantic, mou kardhia.’

  Martha bent her head. ‘How soon can we leave? Now that you have proved I can be manipulated, can we go home?’

  ‘Home?’ he mocked. ‘Dare I believe that like Josy, you are beginning to regard this place as your home?’