And there was the fact that she hadn’t been sleeping with him herself to contend with too.
He was hardly a monk, she recognised, and could hardly be expected to live an entirely celibate life. And if she wasn’t sleeping with him, then who was?
It was all so terribly difficult, and Nena gave a deep sigh, wishing things could be different.
‘Something wrong, querida?’ Ramon asked, leaning forward and taking her fingers in his.
The touch of his hand, which for the past few weeks she’d accepted as tenderness and care for her wellbeing, turned suddenly to fire. Nena caught her breath imperceptibly, wanting to draw back, yet staying all the same. Ramon was somehow different here. Not radically. But there was a subtle change. He looked more rugged, more determined, and his eyes held a gleam that she hadn’t seen in the past few weeks. She swallowed, felt her body tingle. Was it this place that made her feel so suddenly altered? Was it the gentle breeze blowing in from the sea that was dissipating the pain and unhappiness leaving the way open for the new, unexpected feelings surging through her being?
Ramon drew closer. Night was falling fast, stars peeking in the inky sky. She rose quickly and turned towards the sea, unable to face him.
It had been too long, Ramon decided. He had waited the time she’d needed to recover from the miscarriage, but now he wanted her. Rising, he moved behind her and slipped his hands around her, caressing her ribcage, stopping just below her breast and nuzzling her neck.
Nena gasped, unable to control the rush of desire searing through her like a white-hot arrow. Her breasts ached, and she could feel the soft, moist surrender between her thighs. Then Ramon’s thumbs grazed her taut, swollen nipples, very lightly, taunting them through the thin kaftan, slowly, lazily, until she let out a gasp of pleasure. His body pressed against her back, her bottom, and she could feel the full length of him.
Then just as quickly he turned her around and she stood facing him, reading the hunger and determination in his eyes, in the unyielding line of his lips, and knew that he was not going to give in. He would take her. What she wanted was immaterial.
His mouth came down upon hers, and Nena knew a hot rush of exaltation. At first his mouth was tender, as though afraid of hurting her, then all at once she could bear it no longer, knew a raw, primal need for him, could no more control the rampant hunger gnawing at every inch of her body. And as she brought her arms up around his neck and cleaved to him Ramon let drop all barriers, let go the fears he’d had of frightening or hurting her and allowed his mouth to ravage, his tongue to play havoc. He pressed his hand into the small of her back, bringing her closer to him, forcing her to feel the extent of his desire, revelling in her hair, the soft feel of her skin, her scent, her being.
Then, when he could bear it no longer, he did what he’d done once before, and lifting her into his arms carried her masterfully through to the bedroom.
Nena sighed as he laid her on the bed, unable to protest, her whole being pining for him, for his hands on her body, for the feel of him inside her aching core.
And Ramon was quick to satisfy. In one swift movement he lifted her kaftan and threw it aside. Somehow his own clothes were quickly strewn on the floor and he stood naked.
‘My linda, my beautiful, lovely Nena,’ he murmured hoarsely. ‘How I’ve wanted you, how I’ve missed you.’ Then he was on the bed and his hands were all over her as she writhed, unable to control the spasms of delight overtaking her body as stealthily his fingers ventured within her, easing that delectable yet unbearable pain until she was gorged, filled with the same delicious saturation he’d shown her already, and that, though she hadn’t admitted it, she’d missed like the devil.
Ramon crushed his own need, mastered his feelings, delighting in her moans, triumphant when she let go a raw cry of completion when he brought her to a peak.
But this time he didn’t wait for her to recover. Instead he thrust deep inside her. For a single instant he experienced a wave of fear that he might be harming her. But Nena’s immediate breathless reaction, and her legs curling about him, drove him on and on, dispelling any and all doubt. And once more they travelled as one on an ever-rising journey that ended in a rush of such unadulterated joy that neither could do more than lie gasping, limp in each other’s arms.
The next few days were spent in a glorious lazy haze. They spoke little, unwilling to allow anything to obliterate the blissful atmosphere created on their first night, only too ready to let it last for as long as possible. Together they investigated the island in an old army Jeep kept for the purpose. They had picnics up on the rocks overlooking the sea, spent long hours idling away the time, kissing, fondling one another, unable to resist the urgent sexual tug that was present from dawn until dusk.
Nena knew she was deluding herself, that soon she would have to wake up and make up her mind. But for now she didn’t care. She was too busy absorbing the whole of Ramon’s seductive being—the scent of him, the feel of him, the delicious hours spent trailing her nails over his back, his arms, through his hair. Then suddenly, when she least expected it, he would turn around and with a wolfish grin bring her on top of him, and the whole thing would begin all over again.
Each time they made love he taught her more. Sometimes Nena experienced a stab of shock when they became more experimental, and Ramon positioned her in ways she would never have thought of. But that too excited her, gave her new and exhilarating confidence. She felt truly a woman now, baptised for ever into the art of lovemaking by a man so expert he would be very hard to replace, she realised ruefully, smiling at her own daring.
One day they went out fishing with the villagers. They were friendly and open, and she enjoyed seeing Ramon help heave in the heavy nets. Such a different Ramon, she reflected, from the severe, well-dressed businessman back in London and Buenos Aires. He was getting browner by the day, as she was herself, the soft autumnal sun streaking her hair and seeping into her tanned skin.
Gradually the events of the previous month, the deep sense of loss and fragmentation that she’d experienced faded. She could laugh again, often giggling at Ramon’s jokes, amazed at how relaxed he’d become since their arrival on the island. And she was secretly afraid of the day when they would have to leave it. She wished that they could stay on and on, stowed away like luxury castaways, not having to face the ordeals of an everyday life, of the business waiting for him back in London, or the possibility of another woman popping out of the woodwork to destroy the status quo.
In the evenings they sat on the terrace, sipping ouzo or retsina, then sitting down to a late dinner prepared by Efi, the cook, delighting in her melting moussakas or delicious aranaki—lamb. Occasionally they would take the motor boat and ride over to the nearest island to eat in one of the tavernas by the waterside, where large squid were hung up to dry like washing, then squirted with lemon and cooked on the grill.
Sometimes they would stay there for several hours, and Ramon would play a game or two of backgammon with some of the older villagers, old Petros or Taki, who sat all day, their backs to the warm wall, smoking their strong Turkish tobacco and drinking cafedaki—small cups of thick, lethally strong, sweet, black coffee.
When Nena had drunk hers, Maria, the wife of the taverna’s owner, would sit down heavily on a creaking wooden chair and turn Nena’s cup upside down, allowing the grains to take their course. Then several minutes later—usually after a lengthy conversation with her husband that sounded like a quarrel but that Ramon assured her was not—she would turn back to Nena with a smile and begin telling her fortune, which her grandson of thirteen, Janis, translated into surprisingly fluent English.
‘She says you are married to a good man but you don’t trust him,’ he said one day, as his grandmother placed the cup back in the saucer and looked at her understandingly. ‘She says it is normal. Kirios Ramon is a very handsome man. His cup says he had many women. But not any more.’
‘Right. Well, thanks,’ Nena said hastily, looking up uneasily, hoping
his words had been drowned by the lapping of the water and the sirtaki music playing on the radio, and that Ramon, seated two tables away, hadn’t heard.
‘Want a game, Nena?’ he called. ‘I’ve just been beaten by Petros. He’s the best player on the island. But we still have time for one more before we get back.’
Then he glanced out to sea and said something to Petros in Greek. The old man narrowed his eyes and peered across the water.
‘Actually, I think we’d better go after all. Petros says there may well be a storm brewing. It’s autumn now, and these things can whip up out of the blue at this time of year. I’ll play you at home, mi linda, how’s that?’
Nena could think of other games to play at home, but she agreed, picked up her basket and the straw hat that had become a part of her island uniform and, saying goodbye to the islanders, moved with Ramon towards the motor boat.
They were three-quarters of the way back when the storm struck. The sky turned purple and dark, heavy black clouds loomed, lightning flashed and the wind picked up. Huge waves heaved to and fro, making it difficult to steer the small motor boat.
‘Hang on tight,’ Ramon said, ploughing mercilessly through the rising waters. ‘We’ll be there soon. Are you okay?’ He sent her a worried glance, then concentrated once more on steering.
‘I’m fine,’ Nena shouted, disguising her fear.
Then all at once an immense wave rocked the boat off balance, nearly sweeping them into the deep.
‘Hold on!’ Ramon shouted, as they clung, drenched, to the boat. ‘Grab a life jacket.’
Nena did as she was told, and with difficulty pulled on the floatable life jacket. Ramon was just doing the same when a clap of thunder sounded and another huge wave rammed into them. Before Ramon could do anything they capsized.
Nena felt her body catapulted into the deep waters of the Aegean. Where was Ramon? Oh, God. She spluttered and tried desperately to hold on to the boat, that was still near enough to clutch.
‘Ramon!’ she shouted desperately as soon as she surfaced. ‘Ramon, where are you? Answer me.’ She could just distinguish Agapos and realised that they were not far from land. But would somebody see them? Would anybody be out in this weather and able to rescue them? And where was Ramon? Why didn’t he reply?
A horrible vice-like fear gripped her as she tried desperately to fight her way around the capsized craft to see if she could find him. Maybe he’d been knocked out in the fall. Maybe— Oh, God, no—please, dear God, make him be safe, make him be alive.
She was finding it hard to stay afloat as the waves rushed at her, sweeping her and the boat in their wake. She could hardly breathe as water filled her lungs and she went under once more, before spluttering back to the surface, desperate to find him.
Then suddenly she heard the distant rumble of a motor and a wave of relief poured over her. Someone had sighted them. Thank goodness. If only she could reach Ramon.
But what if he’d been swept away and—? No—she mustn’t think like that. He was here, close by, she was certain. He just couldn’t call to her.
Then at last she saw men from the island leaning over the side of a small, sturdy fishing boat, undaunted by the turbulent sea. They came up close, then one threw her a cord with a lifesaver attached and urged her to hold on to it as he pulled her in.
Shivering, she climbed on board, oblivious of her cuts and bruises, her eyes searching the water for any sign of the man she loved.
She loved!
Suddenly the words sprang at her. How hadn’t she recognised it fully before? Why had she not admitted to herself just how much he actually meant to her?
Then she heard a shout and watched frozen to the spot as one of the men, wearing a life jacket and secured by a rope, jumped in and swam towards an inert form floating nearby.
Nena gripped the side of the boat and gazed in terror as the man slipped his hand under Ramon’s chin and brought him in the lifesaving position back to the fishing boat. There were shouts and exclamations as the men heaved him on board and Tasso began immediately to pump his lungs.
Nena stood by, terrified, fearing to interfere lest she get in the way. Come on, she begged silently. Please, dear God, make him all right. Please don’t let him die.
After some thirty seconds she heard a cough, and watched, trembling, as Ramon spluttered and wretched.
‘Oh, darling,’ she cried, throwing herself on the deck and reaching for him.
Ramon spluttered again, and gulped, and tried to open his eyes. He’d been hit hard on the head and was reeling from the shock and pain.
‘Breathe deeply, darling,’ Nena urged as the boat turned and ploughed steadily back towards Agapos and safety.
She held him in her arms, feeling him limp on her breast as he lay there, too exhausted to move, to do anything but try and breathe. Soon they were docking in the tiny harbour at Agapos, and men rushed aboard and lifted Ramon easily in their arms.
Nena followed close behind as they carried him into the nearest villager’s home and laid him on a simple wooden bed, above which hung a large Greek cross and a picture of Hagios Stefanos—St Stephen—the patron saint of the area.
Women came in and began treating him. The owner of the house was named Elpida. Luckily her son, who was a doctor in Athens, was visiting for the weekend, and came hurrying in with his medical bag. He pulled out his stethoscope and carefully began listening to Ramon’s heaving lungs while Nena stood by in agony, waiting for the verdict, wishing she could wave a magic wand and make him all right.
Slowly Ramon’s breathing became easier. The doctor went about his business, and little by little he began to register what was going on around him.
‘Nena?’ he whispered hoarsely, his voice a thread. ‘Where is she? Is she all right?’
‘I’m here, darling, and I’m fine.’ She sat down next to him on the bed and smoothed his brow, wincing at the sight of the cut on his cheek where the boat must have hit him. ‘Darling, you’re fine. Everything’s all right now. You’re going to be all right.’
Ramon’s eyes met hers for a moment and he tried to smile. ‘I thought I’d lost you,’ he whispered, the words obviously an effort.
‘Don’t talk, darling, just stay quiet,’ Nena admonished, her fingers entwining his, watching as his head sank back on the pillow.
The doctor reassured her, ‘He’ll be much better in a few hours, once he’s had some rest.’
‘But I thought people who’d had concussion should stay awake,’ Nena countered, looking at him uncertainly.
‘Don’t worry,’ the doctor replied in excellent English, ‘We’ll keep an eye on him. Now, I recommend that you let me take a look at you. A few cuts and bruises as well, I see.’
Nena looked down at her arms and legs. It was true. There were a couple of bruises forming on her arm, and a cut just above her knee.
‘Let me treat them,’ the doctor said firmly, seeing how loath she was to leave Ramon’s side even for a minute. ‘Your husband will be fine now. All he needs is some rest.’
Reluctantly Nena rose and allowed him to disinfect her cut and put a bandage round it. But she never took her eyes off Ramon’s sleeping figure.
They stayed there all night—Ramon sleeping peacefully in the little wooden bed, with Nena seated on a stool next to him, never taking her eyes off him, gently smoothing the hair from his brow from time to time. As dawn broke she saw how pale he was and her heart lurched once more with fear. Was he really all right? He had to be. She couldn’t bear it if he wasn’t.
There was no sign of yesterday’s storm now. The day dawned bright and sunny, and soon the household was up and moving. Nena could hear Elpida’s movements in the kitchen, could smell the scent of fresh coffee and baked bread and hear the low murmuring of voices.
Then Elpida peeked around the door.
‘Ti kani?’ she asked.
‘Better, I think,’ Nena answered in English, smiling.
‘Eisai kourasmeni,’ Elpida said, an
d Nena understood enough to realise she was telling her she must be tired.
Only then did she become aware of the stiffness in her limbs, and a mild throbbing in her leg. Elpida was indicating to her that she must go and rest. But first she gave Nena a cup of steaming coffee, which she drank thankfully. She had refused all food the night before, unable to stomach anything. But now, seeing Ramon pale but better, and certain that he was on the road to recovery, she relaxed a little and realised that she was in fact quite hungry.
Elpida pointed to the kitchen and insisted she join the family for a breakfast of thick hunks of bread spread with home-made butter and fresh honey. It tasted glorious, and as she bit into it Nena sent up thanks for their timely delivery from what could have been a fatal accident.
Then she returned to Ramon’s bedside, watching him tenderly, hoping that soon he would open those wonderful chestnut eyes and smile at her as only he knew how.
‘I can’t believe we’ve been here three weeks,’ Nena said one evening as they sat with jerseys slipped over their shoulders, for the nights were much cooler now. Ramon had made a surprisingly quick recovery but he still needed to rest.
‘It has passed so quickly,’ Ramon agreed, slipping his hand in hers and squeezing her fingers. ‘Thank you, mi amor, for caring for me as you have. I couldn’t ask for a better wife.’ He grinned at her, the cut on his cheek practically healed now and the bruises barely visible.
‘You aren’t an altogether easy patient,’ she chided, recalling the first few days after the accident, when Ramon had begun to recuperate, demanding to get up, impatient at being kept quiet when he wanted to be active. But Nena had insisted, and for some reason he could not put his finger on, Ramon had complied with her wishes.
‘Another glass of wine?’ he asked, leaning the bottle in the direction of her glass while glancing at his watch. ‘I have a couple of calls to make in about twenty minutes—just time to sit here a little longer.’
The Society Bride Page 13