by Anne Weale
"I don't think Cathy has."
Lucia flashed a swift glance at him. "Cathy doesn't care for the sea, or the country. You must have known that before you asked her here."
"I did," he admitted.
"Then if you knew she wouldn't enjoy it, why did you invite her?"
A faint smile touched his mouth. "It won't do her any harm not to enjoy herself for a few days. It may even do her some good. She's a spoilt little baggage."
Lucia stiffened. "She may be rather thoughtless sometimes, but—"
His arm tightened, drawing her closer to him. "Loyalty is an admirable quality - but only when it's genuine, my dear Lucia. Forced loyalty does nobody any good."
She resisted an impulse to wrench herself free. "I don't know what you mean."
"Then I'll tell you - but not in here. Let's find somewhere private, shall we?" And without waiting for her assent, he danced her out of the lounge, through the open glass doors which gave on to the vine-shadowed terrace. There, releasing her waist but keeping a firm hold on her hand, he led her down to the beach.
To Lucia's relief, they were not the only people who had left the party. Down by the water's edge, a young French couple were gazing out to sea, their arms round each other's waists.
Still holding her hand, Nicholas crossed the sand to one of the beach umbrellas. Then he let her go, and removed a couple of chairs from the pool of darkness into the moonlight.
"Too close?" he asked, on a mocking inflection. He moved the chairs further apart. "There - how's that? Will that make you feel safer?"
Lucia ignored this sally. She sat down, and crossed her legs, and made up her mind that, no matter what he said or did, she would not lose her self-possession.
Nicholas lit a cigarette. After some moments, he said, "You're a contrary creature, aren't you, Lucia? Most women are, of course, but you carry it to an extreme."
"Do I?" she said, without expression.
"You know you do," he said dryly. "You let Cathy upset and embarrass you, but if anyone dares to criticize her, you ruffle like an angry mother hen. You aren't blind to her faults. Why do you expect me to be?"
She did not reply - partly because she had no pat answer, and partly because she was watching the Frenchman and his wife strolling towards the far end of the beach. Perhaps they did not realize there were other people about, or perhaps they did not care. Suddenly, the girl broke away, and ran off. She did not get far, and when the man caught her, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
Lucia averted her eyes. The sight of them embracing filled her with pain and longing. She hoped Nicholas had not noticed them. She felt she could not bear it if he made some flippant comment about them.
Instead he said, "Do you think it's wise to spend so much me with Yannis?"
Again she stiffened slightly. "Wise?"
He gave her a sardonic glance, but made no attempt to explain himself.
If she had had any sense, she thought afterwards, she would have kept her own mouth shut. But after a pause, she could not resist saying, "Do you object to our friendship?"
"Is 'friendship' quite the right word?" he asked, with an uplifted eyebrow. "I think 'flirtation' would be more accurate."
"All right - flirtation," she said carelessly. "But I'm not in any danger of falling in love with him, if that's what you're hinting."
"Aren't you? How do you know?"
"Because I realize that Yannis makes himself equally agreeable to lots of girls."
"You don't object to being the latest in a succession of romances?"
"No-why should I? He's amusing. He's very good-looking. I think he's an ideal holiday companion," Lucia answered nonchalantly.
He drew on his cigarette. "Your views have changed somewhat, haven't they? A short time ago you disapproved of that attitude."
She shrugged, and rose from her chair. "It depends on the people involved. Anyway, you said yourself that at Marina I might find myself being less 'prim'. It seems you were right." She began to stroll down to the sea. The French couple were climbing the path at the other end of the beach now.
Presently, Nicholas followed her. "Nevertheless, I think it would be advisable for you to spend less time with him," he said pleasantly.
It was Lucia's turn to raise her eyebrows. "Is that a suggestion or an order?"
"It's a piece of advice which you'd be foolish to ignore."
In spite of her resolve to stay calm, she had difficulty in keeping her voice smooth as she said, "Don't you think you're rather miscast as a mentor?"
He laughed. "On the contrary - my own peccadilloes make me particularly well qualified to steer other people clear of similar follies."
"Possibly ... but I happen to be both old enough, and sensible enough, to run my own life, thank you."
"You may be, but is Yannis?" Nicholas asked, coming closer.
Instinctively, Lucia stepped backwards. "What do you mean?"
"It would be rather unfortunate if he were to fall in love with you, don't you think?"
Was he serious? Oh, no, he couldn't be. This was just another ploy to confuse her.
"A few days ago you told me that Greek men were more concerned with dowries than with falling in love," she reminded him.
"A few days ago the situation was rather different." Again he took a step forward, and again she moved back a pace. "That was before you'd begun this determined flirtation, and before you had changed:" He shot out a hand, and caught her wrist. "If you retreat any further, you'll spoil those pretty new sandals."
He was right. She had been so intent on edging away from him that she had almost backed into the shallows. Now, unless she broke from his grasp, she was caught between him and the water.
"Hadn't we better go back? They'll be wondering where we are," she said uneasily.
His fingers did not slacken. "We'll go back when I have your assurance that you'll stop this nonsense with Yannis." All at once his voice was quite different - clipped, decisive, and unmistakably in earnest.
Lucia clung to her self-control. "So Cathy was right- you did bring me here to look after the children. Why didn't you say so in the first place?"
"Cathy told you that? What rubbish! The children aren't babies. They don't need a watch-dog," he countered.
"You can hardly expect me to believe you're genuinely worried about Yannis. I should think the risk of his falling in love with me is as remote as ... as your going into a monastery."
The sting in her voice made him grin. "I hope you are right - but no risk, however slight, can be discounted. The most inveterate philanderer usually meets his match in the end, you know. And for Yannis to think you were his would be a disaster."
"Thank you," she said, on an acid note.
He laughed. "Not the most tactful way of putting it, perhaps. But I think you know what I mean."
"No, I don't," she informed him frostily.
"Well, apart from the fact that you wouldn't suit each other, Yannis isn't in a position to take any girl seriously yet. He has to see his three sisters settled before he can think of marriage. It's a Greek tradition, and tradition dies hard in the islands."
"Oh, this is absurd!" she exclaimed. "You know perfectly well that marriage doesn't come into it. We are simply enjoying ourselves together. Why, Yannis hasn't even—" She stopped short, biting her lip.
"Hasn't kissed you?" Nicholas suggested.
Lucia flushed, and said nothing.
"I am sure he has tried," he went on. "If it hasn't happened yet, it soon will. You can't fend him off for ever, you know. And if you don't mean ever to let him kiss you, it's unfair to make him think you will."
"I haven't... he doesn't. . . oh, why can't you mind your own business?" Lucia flared, her eyes sparkling. She jerked her imprisoned wrist. "You're hurting - please let me go."
"There are moments when I'm severely tempted to wring your neck," he informed her softly. "Don't be a little fool, Lucia. Haven't you looked in your mirror lately?"
"W-what do you m-mean?" she stammered angrily.
"You underestimate yourself. You were always more attractive than you realized. Cathy thrives in the city. You belong in the sun. Katina was saying this morning that she's never seen anyone change as much as you have since you arrived here. She's right. You're a different girl."
She swallowed, her throat oddly tight. "What has that to do with it?"
His hand slid up her arm to the curve of her bare, brown shoulder. He came very close, as close as if they were dancing. "This isn't England, and Yannis isn't like Bernard. But even sound, stolid Bernard might react unpredictably if he saw you as you are now. Any man might."
Lucia drew in her breath, and a curious kind of shudder ran through her. She wanted to rim, but her legs seemed powerless to move. She wanted to speak, but her lips only quivered a little. If, in that moment of silence, he had taken her in his arms, she would have yielded as willingly as the French girl had to her husband, a short time earlier.
His hand dropped from her shoulder, and he moved away.
"Think it over. But I may as well warn you that, even if you choose to disregard my wishes, I can easily bring Yannis to heel."
And before she could master her voice, he walked off, and left her alone.
CHAPTER FIVE
Next morning Lucia woke to the sound of bells. It was Good Friday, a day of national mourning. All over the island bells were tolling as for a great funeral.
"This evening we'll go into town to see the Epitaphios," said Nicholas, at breakfast.
"What's that?" asked Cathy.
It was the children who told her. Although it was the first time they had been at Marina for Easter, they knew all about the ceremonies, and were eager to see them for themselves.
Yannis did not come to the house that day, but, as he had told Lucia he would not be able to See her, she was not perplexed by his absence. Indeed it was rather a relief, for it gave her more time to consider how to treat Nicholas's ultimatum.
After breakfast she went for a walk with the children. They wanted to show her a cave they had discovered during their holiday the previous year. They did not ask their uncle to go with them. Perhaps he had already said he had other matters to occupy him that morning. Cathy was invited, but she preferred to laze on the terrace, and do her nails.
"You and Cathy are not a bit alike, are you?" said Francesca, as they set out.
"No - but we are half-sisters," Lucia explained. "We had the same father, but different mothers."
"Oh, I see," was the girl's only comment. But later, on the return walk, when Stephen and Ariadne were some way ahead and out of earshot, she said suddenly, "Were your parents divorced?"
"No, my mother died," Lucia answered.
Francesca stopped to shake a stone out of her sandal. "How beastly for you - but in a way, not as bad as people divorcing, I should think."
Lucia watched her slip her thin brown foot into the sandal, and fasten the buckle. "Do you know anyone whose parents are divorced?" she asked casually.
"Yes, a girl at school - my best friend. She's a boarder, so she doesn't see much of either of them in term time. But she has to spend alternate holidays with them, and she comes back to school absolutely miserable. They hate each other now, you see. Her mother goes on and on about what a beast her father is, and he keeps saying it was all her mother's fault. They both want Annabel to be on their side, and if she doesn't pretend that she is, they're nasty to her as well."
It was very hot now. Lucia sat down on a rock, and blotted her temples with a handkerchief. What could she say to comfort Francesca?
"I don't think if s always as bad as that," she said, at length. "In fact I'm sure it's not. People who get divorced don't necessarily hate each other, you know. They might not want to go on living together, but that doesn't mean they have to be enemies. Often, they're on quite good terms - particularly if they have children whom they both love very much."
"But why do they stop wanting to be married?" Francesca's lower lip quivered. "I mean if they've been happy for years and years, why does everything suddenly change? Why do they start having rows and things?"
It was a question Lucia could not answer. All she could say - and she felt it was miserably inadequate - was, "Most people have rows from time to time. Often they lose their tempers, and say things they don't really mean-things which sound as if they couldn't stand the sight of each other. Haven't you ever quarrelled with your friend Annabel? Haven't you ever had rows with Stephen and Ariadne?"
"Oh, yes - but that's different. We're not grown up," said Francesca.
"Being grown up doesn't make life simpler," Lucia said, on a wry note. "It tends to make it more complicated. You see—" But, before she could say any more, Ariadne came running back to them.
After what had happened the night before, the last thing Lucia wanted was to have another private talk with Nicholas. But her concern for Francesca outweighed her own feelings and so, after lunch, when the children and Cathy had dispersed to their rooms, she forced herself to follow him on to the terrace, and to say, "I'd like to talk to you - alone. Is there anywhere where we won't be interrupted for a few minutes?"
He lifted an eyebrow. "Won't this do?"
"No - the others may come back and overhear."
"In that case we had better retire to the store room. It's the only place where we can be sure of being undisturbed."
In the narrow, herb-scented store, Nicholas closed the door. "Shall I lock it?" he asked mockingly.
Lucia said briskly, "It's about Francesca."
He leaned his shoulders against the door, and thrust his hands into his pockets. "You disappoint me. When a girl wants to be alone with a man, it isn't usually in order to discuss a third person."
She flushed. "Please be serious."
The glint died out of his eyes. "Very well - what about Francesca?"
She told him what the girl had said to her on the way back from their walk that morning. "She was nearly in tears, poor child. Obviously she does know that her parents are on the brink of a separation, and she's terrified that it's going to result in the same sort of wretched tug-of-war that her friend Annabel is suffering."
"No doubt it would," he said grimly.
"Well, whatever happens, I don't think it's right that she should have to endure any more of this appalling suspense," said Lucia. "I know it's really none of my business, but if I were you, I should contact either your sister or your brother-in-law and tell them that she knows and that they'll have to do something about it."
"Yes, you're right," he agreed immediately. "I'll go into town right away, and try to get a call through to Paris. Perhaps this will bring Sofia to her senses. Thanks, Lucia. It was good of you to let me know at once."
"You asked me to tell you," she said, as he opened the door.
"Yes - but I am well aware that it must have cost you a certain amount of self-abnegation to approach me," he said, with a quizzical look.
Lucia ignored this, and walked past him into the passage. As she did so, Cathy emerged from her room. When she saw Nicholas following her sister out of the store, she looked puzzled and annoyed.
"My errand may take some time - possibly a couple of hours," he murmured to Lucia. Then, with a nod to Cathy, he left the house.
"What were you two doing in there?" Cathy enquired, when he had gone.
Unfortunately, Lucia could not think of any pat explanation.
"Just talking," she said offhandedly.
"About me?" Cathy asked suspiciously.
"No, not about you."
"About what, then?" her sister persisted. "What's going on between you two?"
" 'Going on'? - What do you mean?"
"You know very well what I mean," Cathy said sharply. "Something is going on, and I want to know what it is. What have you been telling him about me?"
"Nothing," said Lucia truthfully. "What we were discussing just now had nothing to do with you."
"Then why
were you skulking in that store place?" Cathy demanded. "And why won't you say what you were talking about?"
"Because it was something private - that's why," Lucia moved past her to go to her room.
Cathy followed. "It was about me - I know it was. What else could you have to say to him in secret? You've been telling him things about me, haven't you? - Trying to turn him against me?"
"Don't be silly, Cathy-of course I haven't." As her sister stepped into the bedroom, Lucia quickly closed the door in case the children should hear the younger girl's high, querulous voice.
"I don't believe you," said Cathy. "You've been up to something - I know it. Ever since we arrived here, Nico's been different towards me."
"Different? In what way?"
Cathy glowered at her in silence. Lucia could see that she longed to snap "Mind your own business", but at the same time, was bursting to pour out her pent-up feelings. She struggled with these conflicting impulses for some moments and then, reluctantly, but unable to govern her need to confide in someone, said, "I - 1 thought at first it was because those wretched kids are always hanging round us - but it isn't. It's Nico himself. Last night, when we were alone for a change-after you had gone to bed- he didn't even kiss me goodnight." She paused, her face flushed and indignant. "No doubt it will please you to know that he hasn't kissed me once since we've been here," she blurted, with unwilling frankness.
For a moment, this did please Lucia. Last night, when the three of them had returned from the hotel, she had gone directly to bed. But it had been some time before Cathy had followed suit. And until she had heard the younger girl's door opening and closing, Lucia's anger at Nicholas's behaviour on the beach had been exacerbated by the thought that, while she paced and fumed in her room, he was doubtlessly making practised love to her sister.
"What I want to know is, why hasn't he?" Cathy went on, with a dark look. "What have you said to make him change? What have you done to come between us?"
Lucia sighed. "Nothing, Cathy."
"You can hardly expect me to believe that! You've been against him from the beginning."
"Only because he's so much older than you are . . . and because I thought he was playing with you." As she said this, Lucia remembered something Nicholas had promised on the night he had persuaded her to come to Greece.