‘Oh, I understand. All too well. I understand that I’ll always come second to the other priorities in your life — whatever they may be. I understand that if I give in and come and join you in London I’ll spend half my life —’
‘Give in? Give in?’ He tossed back the drink and turned on her, interrupting her, his voice suddenly hard. ‘What is this you’re saying? That I’m forcing you to come to live with me?’
The silence was taut, and suddenly perilous. But in her anger and unhappiness she could not pull back now. ‘Well, aren’t you?’ she asked.
He stood, glowering, a pulse beating in his heavy jaw. ‘I offered you a home with me,’ he said, very quietly. ‘I asked you to leave your pathetic backwater and come to live here. With me.’ He emphasised the words with a furiously pointed finger.
Like the sudden blaze of a heath fire the quarrel had from one moment to the next run totally out of hand. ‘In return for helping Adam. You can’t deny it. Your trouble, Leon, is that you’re coming to believe you can buy anything,’ Cathy heard herself say, furiously and stubbornly, and knew she had gone too far.
Shaking his massive head he reached for his overcoat. ‘No, my Kati, no! I have just found something I can’t buy, have I not? A loving greeting when I come home. A wife who is pleased to see her husband —’
‘You’re nearly four bloody hours late!’ Suddenly, tears of temper and misery running down her face, she was screaming like a fishwife. ‘What do you expect me to do? What do you expect me to say? “Hello my darling, I didn’t want dinner anyway”? Where the hell do you think you’re going now?’
Leon had flung his coat back on. ‘Out,’ he said. ‘Out to where I know I’m welcome. Out to see people who will be pleased to see me.’
‘Well, you’d better take your key,’ she snapped. ‘I shan’t be waiting up.’
‘Why would I expect you to?’ A moment later he was gone, the door, all but shaking the substantial building, slamming thunderously behind him.
Cathy threw herself on to the settee, sobbing, all control finally lost. She cried until she could, physically, cry no more. Curled up in a tense and trembling ball, her knees to her chest, for a space of time she never afterwards measured she abandoned herself totally to her confusion and misery. Until, at last, exhausted, she cried herself into a disturbed half-sleep.
And that was how Nikos found her.
It had not been by any measure a successful evening. He had not remembered Lois being quite so strident, quite so overpowering in New York. She was, so much he understood, one of those people who counterbalanced a basic lack of self-assurance by an occasionally nervewracking show of over-confidence. He thought everyone in the restaurant must have heard her none-too-thinly veiled invitation over dinner, to say nothing of her cutting displeasure at his refusal. In fact he had almost been tempted; the thought of going home to the apartment, of seeing Cathy and his father together, of knowing them in the intimacy of the marriage bed together was almost more than he could bear. Yet the thought of not seeing her, of missing any opportunity to be near her, was worse. He fitted his key into the lock and pushed the door open.
Cathy was lying curled up, fully dressed, on the settee. Her hair was tumbled, damp with sweat, about her blotched face, her eyes, even in sleep, were swollen with crying. Her breathing was uneven, as if with no volition she wept still. The apartment was darkly silent, and obviously empty. The fire was almost out. He knelt beside her. ‘Cathy? Cathy, what is it? What’s happened?’
She stirred a little.
He put a hand on her shoulder, shook her. ‘Cathy.’
She opened her eyes. Sat bolt upright, covering her face with her hands. ‘Nikos. Go away. Please go away.’
‘What is it? My darling, what’s wrong?’
‘Everything. Everything’s wrong.’ The miserable tears had started again. Her shoulders shook.
Nikos sat beside her, drew her gently to him. Unable to resist she lay against him, her head on his shoulder. His arm tightened about her. ‘Tell me what happened.’
She struggled to control her voice. ‘Leon didn’t come home till nearly midnight. He didn’t call. He didn’t attempt to let me know he wasn’t coming. He might have been dead for all I knew. When he did arrive he breezed in as if nothing had happened. I’ve had a wretched day. I lost my temper. We quarrelled. He walked out.’ She pulled away from him, sniffing.
Wordlessly he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to her.
Calmer now, she mopped at her face, blew her nose. ‘Look at the state of me.’
‘I love you,’ he said, his voice very soft and very certain.
Tears welled again. She shook her head. ‘Nikos, you mustn’t. You mustn’t say it, mustn’t think it.’
‘Mustn’t feel it?’ he asked, quietly. ‘How can I not? Do you know where the switch is to switch it off? You’re with me every moment of the day, wherever I am, whatever I’m doing. You’re in my blood. In my heart. Tell me how to stop it and perhaps I will.’
She stared at him in helpless silence. Her swollen eyes were red with crying, her hair wild as a bird’s nest. He reached a hand, tested the back of his curled fingers on the burning skin of her face. ‘I love you,’ he said again. ‘I can’t fight it any longer. I love you and I want you. I don’t care if it’s right or wrong. I don’t care what anyone thinks. Because whether you like it or not I think you love me too. Don’t you?’
She ducked her head, fiddling with the handkerchief.
‘Cathy?’
‘Yes. I do.’ The words, separated by a small hiccough of a sob, were scarcely audible.
‘Then let’s start from there. At least we’re being honest with each other.’
She lifted her head to look at him again. ‘But not with anyone else.’
‘To hell with anyone else.’ His voice was still gently patient. ‘I’m talking about us. A pact. A promise. Whatever happens we won’t misunderstand each other again. We’ve problems enough without making them worse for ourselves.’
‘You were the one who quarrelled. At the cottage.’
‘I know. And I’m sorry. I thought you were sending me away.’
‘I suppose I was. I couldn’t think of anything else to do.’
He took her hand, lifted it to his lips, kissed the tips of her fingers. ‘And now?’
She shook her head wearily. ‘I still can’t think of anything to do.’
‘What do you want to do?’
‘I want to kiss you.’
He smiled. ‘I’d taken that as read. Apart from that.’
‘I want to go home.’
‘Then do it. Go home. I’ll come to you there.’
She took a quick breath to reply, but then said nothing.
‘I won’t let you go,’ he said, simply. ‘Not now that I know you still love me. Go home. I promise I won’t take risks. But I will come. I will see you.’
She closed her eyes, suddenly remembering. ‘I can’t.’
‘Can’t what?’
‘I can’t go to Sandlings. That was the other thing Leon and I quarrelled about. Adam needs help. He’s lost his job and he’s in debt. Leon agreed to bail him out — but only if I came to live here in London —’
Nikos leaned forward, her hand still trapped between his. ‘Forget Adam. He’s old enough to look after himself -’
‘He’s my son.’
‘You think I don’t remember that? Look - I’ll talk to Pa. I’m sure he’ll help. He’s already talked to Adam about coming into the business. He wants him to. He won’t let a quarrel with you spoil that, I’m sure. Go home to your cottage. Give yourself time to think. But don’t think yourself out of loving me. Please don’t do that.’
She lay back tiredly, her head tilted back on the cushions. ‘No. I won’t. I promise.’
He settled himself beside her, drew her head on to his shoulder. She lay peaceably for a long, quiet time before she said, softly, ‘Nikos? Are you going to make love to me?’
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‘No.’
She lifted her head to look at him.
‘Not here. Not now. I want you to myself. I don’t want you worried, or listening for interruptions. Pa could walk back in at any minute. I won’t risk that for you. It isn’t that I don’t want to; you know that. But I’m ready to wait.’
She touched his lips with her finger. ‘And I thought the young were always so impatient.’
He smiled. ‘That’s the first time you’ve joked about it.’
‘What?’
‘The difference in our ages.’
She flushed a little.
He kissed her. ‘Tired?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you want to go to bed?’
‘No. Not if you can’t come with me.’
‘Then stay here.’ He reached for a cushion, laid it on his lap. ‘Cuddle down. Get some sleep. I’ll wake you if Pa comes back.’
For the few hours that were left of the night he kept watch over her as, despite her best efforts to stay awake, she slept. His own near—exhaustion he ignored, indeed he hardly noticed it. As the quiet hours ticked on he rested, quietly, with her. His mind, at last, had cleared. The New York trip had served only to demonstrate to him how much he loved her. The familiar places had been cold and empty. Memories had been simply that; something to remember, not something to live for. He had found the only thing he wanted to live for, and it was here. What the future might bring he dared not contemplate. All he knew, as Cathy, her face still puffy and tear-marked, slept like a tired child on his lap, was that for the moment he was happy.
*
Leon did not return that night. Tired and fuzzy-headed the next morning Cathy packed to go home.
‘Pa’ll be at the office.’ Nikos leaned in the doorway, watching her. ‘What will you do? Phone him?’
She shook her head. ‘No. If he’d wanted to speak to me he could have phoned here. I’ll leave him a note.’
He grinned suddenly. ‘I’ll grant that Adam’s right about one thing.’
‘What’s that?’
‘You are as stubborn as a mule, aren’t you?’
‘Yes.’ She flashed him a tired smile. ‘Be warned.’
He came to her, gathered her into his arms, laid his cheek upon her hair. They stood so for a quiet few moments. ‘I’m still officially on holiday,’ Nikos said. ‘Pa agreed I should have some time off. I came home early from New York. There’s no reason why I can’t come to the cottage in a couple of days’ time. I can say I’m taking Lois away for a few days.’
Cathy shook her head a little. ‘Lies. I hate lies. They have a nasty habit of biting you back.’
‘If lying is the only way we can be together then I’ll do it,’ he said, evenly. ‘And smile.’
‘I wish we didn’t have to.’
‘If wishes were horses —’
‘– then beggars would ride. I know.’
‘You want me to come?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then I will. Expect me on Friday.’
‘How long will you stay?’
‘I don’t know. For as long as I can.’
She lifted her mouth for his kiss.
The doorbell rang.
‘Blast.’ She stepped back from him. ‘The taxi. Would you ask him to wait for a moment? I have to write my note.’
A keen March wind blustered in the street. ‘Let me come to the station with you,’ Nikos said.
Cathy shook her head. ‘Best not. I’ll see you in a couple of days.’ She smiled with the words, and his heart turned over.
‘Liverpool Street, did you say, Missis?’ the taxi driver asked.
‘Yes, please.’ Cathy turned back to Nikos. ‘You’ll speak to your father about Adam for me? Promise?’
‘Of course I will. Don’t worry.’
‘It’s important.’
‘I know.’
They stood for an odd, uncertain moment. Then she brushed his cheek with her lips. ‘I’ll see you on Friday?’
‘Yes.’
She climbed into the taxi, waved as it pulled into the traffic. Nikos stood looking after it. ‘Oh, yes,’ he repeated softly.
*
Adam sat, apparently relaxed, legs crossed, the smoke from his cigarette spiralling to the dingy ceiling. He had been surprised at the unpretentious premises of Kotsikas and Son; knowing Leon as he thought he did he had expected something a little more flamboyant.
The silence had lasted for rather longer than was comfortable. He shifted a little in his chair.
Leon lifted his head to fix him with a dark, contemplative gaze but disconcertingly still did not speak. With an effort Adam kept his face schooled and his eyes steady. For Christ’s sake — was the man never going to say anything?
Leon got up from behind the desk, walked to the window and stood looking down into the street. ‘It’s a lot of money,’ he said at last.
‘Yes, I realise that.’ Adam was tense as a coiled spring. He needed the money; desperately he needed it. If Leon were to refuse to help him he would be in deep and dangerous waters indeed.
‘A lot of money,’ Leon repeated, thoughtfully.
Adam leaned to the desk, ground out his cigarette in the ashtray. ‘I’ll pay you back. I promise that.’
Leon turned, smiling a little grimly. ‘You won’t be able to avoid it. You’ll be working for me, remember?’
The younger man smiled a lop-sided, disarming smile. ‘Of course.’
Leon perched on the desk, leg swinging. In the silence he loosened his tie, undid the top button of his shirt. Adam saw the glint of gold against his dark, muscular neck. Absent-mindedly Leon fingered the icon. ‘I rarely — I would say never — give something for nothing. You can understand that?’ he said at last, softly.
The blue eyes that met his were wary. Adam said nothing.
‘so, I would ask – supposing I wanted something in exchange for this loan?’
The frown on the fair, handsome face was puzzled. ‘What sort of something?’
‘Supposing I wanted you to use — shall we say your influence? — with your mother?’
It took a moment for the import of that to sink in. As it did Adam sat back, relaxing a little.
‘She’s very close to you,’ Leon added, pensively. ‘And I know you can be very persuasive.’
‘You want her to leave Suffolk,’ Adam said.
Leon nodded. ‘I want her to leave Suffolk. I want her here, with me. And when the time comes I want her to come to Greece with me, as a good wife should.’
‘Is that all?’ Adam was rueful.
Leon slipped his hand into his breast pocket and pulled out a cheque book; sat tapping it idly into the palm of his hand. ‘That’s all,’ he said. ‘Is it a bargain?’
Adam shrugged. ‘I can but try.’
‘Don’t try, Adam. Do it.’ His stepfather held up the chequebook. ‘Half now. Half when your mother tells me she’s coming to London. Fair enough?’
‘Leon — I don’t know if I can —’ Adam stopped, shrugged. He recognised a corner when he was driven into one. ‘Fair enough,’ he said.
Chapter Thirteen
In a pale, cool sunshine that encouraged belief in an early spring they walked the shingle beach hand-in-hand, their feet crunching on the stones, the dogs racing and bounding excitedly around them. The sky was vast, and clear as crystal, the air lucent and salt-smelling. The coast stretched ahead of them, spacious and deserted. A few small boats, their paintwork weather-beaten, lay empty, hauled high above the reach of the tide. In the distance a huddle of tumbledown fishing huts was the only sign of human habitation. ‘It’s like being alone in the world,’ Cathy said.
Nikos squeezed her fingers. ‘As far as I’m concerned we are. There’s no one but you.’
She smiled, but did not reply. Sandy trotted hopefully to them, a piece of driftwood in his mouth. Nikos took it and threw it for him, into the waves. Cathy groaned. ‘You’ve had it now. He’ll never give up.’
; The tide was ebbing, leaving the shingle washed and glittering in the sunlight, the browns and blacks, golds and ochre yellows of the pebbles contrasting with the mother-of-pearl sheen of shell and the dark and gleaming green of seaweed. Cathy stooped to pick up a smoothly rounded pebble, rolled it between her fingers. ‘Just feel how smooth it is. It never ceases to amaze me that water can do this to stone.’ Their fingers touched as she handed it to him, and both smiled.
They linked hands again, scrambled up to where a small boat lay, upturned. Cathy perched herself on it, Nikos leaned against it and reached for his cigarettes, turning away from the wind to light one. Cathy was sitting, eyes half closed against the dazzling light, looking pensively into the spray-smudged distance of the horizon, where a few small fishing boats rocked on the heaving, pewter-grey sea. For a long moment neither of them spoke. Then, ‘I can see why you love it so,’ Nikos said.
She turned, took his hand and held it to her cool cheek, rubbing her face gently against it. ‘Can you? Can you really? It’s so very different from what you’re used to. And I suppose nowhere near so conventionally beautiful.’
‘It grows on you. And anyway — it’s a part of you. How could I help but love it?’
She kissed the palm of his hand. ‘It’s so wild. There’s so much space. So much sky. You can breathe here. You can shout, and sing, and no one can hear you.’
‘And I’ll bet you do?’
She grinned a little. ‘It’s been known.’ She leaned her face against his arm, still holding his hand. ‘Nikos?’ Her voice was quiet, the laughter gone. The question she had determined not to ask came from nowhere: ‘What are we going to do?’
He did not answer for a long time. ‘I don’t know,’ he said, at last. ‘I only know that now I have you I’m never going to let you go. That I’m not going to waste a single moment that l have you with me in regret, or guilt, in caring about other people. I know that I love you and that you love me. That’s enough.’
She shook her head a little. He felt the movement against his arm, caught her shoulder so that she lifted her head to look at him. ‘Yes!’ he said, fiercely. ‘How can you doubt it? As long as we love each other then nothing else matters.’
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