South from Sounion

by Anne Weale

  Our last day... The words chilled Lucia's heart. As his hand locked with hers, and he pulled her to her feet, she felt a panicky sense of time running out... of London and loneliness waiting for her like a prison.

  It had not been her wish to fall in love with him. It had brought her no joy, only wretchedness. Would it be wrong, just for a few short hours, to forget that Cathy existed? To forget everything, past and future, and live only for this one afternoon?

  It was quite a stiff climb up to the ruins. There was no path, and the hillside was rocky and overgrown with low, thorny scrub. By the time they reached the summit, Lucia was panting.

  But now, below them, lay the seaward side of the island and, not far away on a grassy plateau, the two surviving pillars of the temple. When they came to it, Lucia stood for a time gazing at the worn, centuries-old columns, and the vivid blue vista they framed.

  "Whose temple is it? Who built it here?" she asked, in a low voice.

  "Apollo ... Thetis ... who knows? It has no history." Nicholas also spoke quietly. He touched her arm. "It's very hot. Come into the shade and rest, or you'll have a headache."

  There were some cypresses nearby, casting black shadows on the turf. "What about the children? Will they be all right on their own?" she asked, as they sat down under the trees.

  "They're down there-look!" Nicholas indicated the cove at the foot of the hill.

  "Oh, yes, so they are. I didn't see them." She paused. "I do hope everything is going to turn out well."

  "Between Richard and my sister? Well, we'll know that when we see them later on. The fact that they're arriving together seems promising, don't you think? Evidently Richard did what I hoped he would, and went to Paris to collect Sofia en route."

  "Yes, it would seem so." Lucia watched some bees gathering pollen from a clump of bright yellow flowers growing out of a cleft between two rocks. Their intermittent buzzing, as they withdrew from one flower and hovered in the bright air before delving into another, was the only sound to be heard. The cove was too far below for the children's voices to carry up to the plateau.

  Beside her, Nicholas lay down with his hands under his head. He said lazily, "The wind has shifted since this morning. I hope it doesn't mean a change in the weather."

  She looked at the sky. "Surely not? There isn't a cloud in sight."

  He did not reply to this and, after some minutes, she also lay back on the warm grass, and surrendered to the heat and the stillness.

  At first, when, he touched her, she thought it was unintentional. Then his hand closed on hers and she stiffened, wondering what was going to happen next.

  Nothing happened. Minutes passed, but he did not move or speak. Perhaps he was waiting to see what she would do.

  What she should have done - immediately, without thinking - was to free her hand, and open her eyes, and sit up. But, after the first few seconds of startled apprehension, she did not want to do what she ought to do. She knew it was folly, but she wanted him to hold her hand. And if, presently, he meant to kiss her, she wanted that too. For the first time in her life, she did not care what was right or wrong. All that mattered was that she loved him, and that she wanted desperately to have one memory to last her the rest of life; one moment, however illusory, of knowing what it would have been like to be loved by him.

  "Lucia."

  She felt him move, and opened her eyes to find him leaning over her, his dark head blocking out the sky.

  "Yes?" she whispered, her heart pounding wildly.

  And then, at the very last moment, with his lips only inches from hers, she was suddenly filled with shame and disgust at her weakness. Had she gone mad? How could she let him kiss her when he belonged to her sister? How could she bear to be yet another of his many conquests?

  "No!" she burst out, turning her face away. "No- please don't. Let me go!" And thrusting him off, she twisted away and scrambled up.

  She did not get far. She was scarcely on her feet before Nicholas had her by both wrists, holding her fast, gripping her painfully hard.

  It was a moment out of a nightmare, for now, in his eyes, she could see something fierce and frightening. Too late, she knew that she should have accepted that first kiss, seconds ago. He had been only playing with her then. Now he looked angry and ruthless, capable of anything.

  "Nicholas ...please ..." she begged, shrinking.

  But although his bruising grip slackened, he did not release her.

  He said in a harsh, mocking voice, "You should have remembered Pandora, sweetheart. She was warned not to open the box, but she couldn't control her curiosity. She had to know . . . and you had to know too, didn't you?"

  He freed her wrists, and jerked her roughly against him. One hand in her hair, his other arm hard round her waist, he looked down at her flushed, shocked face. Then slowly, taking his time about it, he kissed her.

  When it was over, he said, "Well, now you do know."

  Then he let her go, and went off down the hill towards the cove.

  When, about half an hour later, Lucia started bade the way they had come, she would rather have spent the night alone on the island than have to face Nicholas, after what had happened.

  But, since face him she must, the only thing to do was to muster all her moral courage, and bear the ordeal as best she could. If he chose to make it as humiliating as possible, that too she must bear. She could not blame him. There was no one to blame but herself. She had asked for trouble, and she had got it. It was no use pretending that Nicholas had behaved badly. He had merely acted in character. You could not blame a tiger for being a tiger.

  When she reached the beach, he and the children were already packing up the baskets. He glanced at her, bringing a rush of colour to her cheeks, but he did not say anything.

  By the time they reached their own beach, it was dear that the weather was changing. The breeze had stiffened, and there was a bank of clouds along the horizon.

  Kyria Katina was waiting for them on the terrace. She seemed upset about something, and spoke to Nicholas in a torrent of Greek which Lucia could not follow. He listened, then he patted her shoulder, and said something which sounded like the equivalent of "Don't worry." Then he told the children to go and tidy themselves as it would soon be time to meet the steamer.

  Lucia would have gone with them, but he called her back.

  "It seems that Cathy's headache was not as severe as she made out - or perhaps 'made up' would be more accurate."

  She avoided looking at him. "What do you mean?"

  "Shortly after we left, Cathy also went out. She hasn't come back."

  She was forced to look at him then. "Where could she have gone? What could have happened to her?"

  "I don't think there's any cause for alarm," Nicholas said coolly. "I imagine she decided to walk to town and find some diversion more to her taste than a picnic. Unfortunately, she has caused my aunt a good deal of anxiety. Katina couldn't understand whatever Cathy said to her before she went, and she assumed she was going for a walk, and would be back for lunch. She has spent the afternoon worrying in case Cathy has sprained her ankle, or some such mishap.".

  "Perhaps she has," said Lucia, frowning. "What other explanation can there be? I'm sure she wouldn't walk all the way to town. It's several miles, and she hates walking."

  "She would also hate spending the day alone with Katina," said Nicholas dryly.

  "But what could she do there if she did walk all that way? There are no shops - at least, not her sort of shops."

  He shrugged. "There's the yacht Cassandra with a susceptible American on board."

  She had forgotten about Grant Wallace. "But is the yacht still here? I thought it would have left by now?"

  "That remains to be seen. In the meantime, you had better attend to any last-minute packing you have to do. We shall be leaving in twenty minutes."

  Lucia had packed most of her own and Cathy's belongings the night before. Now she had only to change her beach clothes for a dress, an
d fill her toilet bag, and her case was ready to be locked. Cathy had left various bits and pieces about in her room, but these were soon gathered up. After a final check to see that nothing had been overlooked, she carried both cases into the passage, and went to find Kyria Katina to say goodbye.

  The Greek woman was in the kitchen, and so was Nicholas.

  "Would you please tell your aunt how much I have enjoyed myself, and thank her for all her kindness," Lucia asked him stiffly.

  He gave her a sardonic look, which she pretended not to notice. Then he translated what she had said.

  Kyria Katina responded by embracing her warmly, and kissing her on both cheeks. Then she, in turn, said something for Nicholas to interpret.

  "You are a nice, kind girl, and she looks forward to your next visit," he explained, with a glint in his eyes.

  Lucia flushed, and was glad when the children rushed in, eager to go and meet their parents.

  The steamer had not yet arrived when they reached the waterfront.

  Nicholas gave the children some money to buy caramellos and pistachio nuts, and steered Lucia towards one of the kafenions. The local people were only just coming to life after the siesta hours, and a sleepy-looking waiter was flicking a cloth over the table tops.

  "Oughtn't we to find out if Cathy is on the Cassandra?" she said, looking over her shoulder at the charter yacht which was anchored some way out in the bay.

  "There's someone coming ashore from her now. I'll ask him," said Nicholas, indicating the dinghy which was coming into view round the yacht's bows. He ordered coffee and kataifi, another of the sweet, sticky confections to which Greeks of all ages were so partial, and sat down to wait for the dinghy to reach the quay.

  Lucia marvelled that he could be so relaxed. Although it was more than two hours since the incident near the ruined temple, she could still feel the imprint of his mouth on hers. The memory of that long unsparing kiss made her tremble and turn hot and cold. Surely he could not already have dismissed it from his mind? Surely he must feel some discomfiture? Yet he did not appear to do so.

  When the man in the dinghy climbed on to the quay, Nicholas whistled and beckoned to him. He was evidently one of the yacht stewards, as he was wearing a white drill tunic and black trousers. He had a large basket with him, and had probably come to buy provisions.

  Lucia did not need Nicholas to translate the man's answer to his question. The way the steward rolled his eyes, and his graphic gestures, made it clear that Cathy was aboard.

  It was at this point that the steamer came in sight. Within minutes, the waterfront was as crowded as it had been on the day Lucia and Cathy arrived.

  "There they are! There's Mummy!" Ariadne squeaked excitedly, when the steamer was near enough for those on land to distinguish those on deck.

  Lucia kept in the background while the lively reunion took place, and it was Francesca, not Nicholas, who finally drew her into the family circle.

  "Mummy ... Daddy... this is Lucia."

  "How do you do? I'm afraid you can't have had a very peaceful holiday with these three scallywags running wild," said Sofia, shaking hands.

  As her brother had said, she did not look at all Greek. True, her hair was very dark. But she had blue eyes, and a fair, English complexion. She was very well dressed in an expensive grey jersey suit and silk shirty with a red lizard bag and matching shoes.

  "Where is your sister? There are two of you here, aren't there?" she enquired.

  "You'll meet Cathy later," Nicholas intervened briskly.

  And, as soon as Lucia had shaken hands with his brother- in-law, he marshalled them to the jeep for the drive to the hotel where they were all to have dinner.

  Yannis had not seen Lucia since the night Nicholas had taken the two girls to the hotel to dance. He explained that he had been too busy looking after the visitors to be able to come to the house, and professed himself desolated that her stay was nearing its end. But Lucia was not in the mood to be amused by his melting looks and flattering speeches. Indeed she found his attentions rather tiresome, and was glad when he was called away, and she could be alone for a while. The children and their father had gone down to the beach. Sofia was having a bath and changing. Nicholas too had disappeared.

  It was some time later, while she was sitting in a high- backed cane chair at one end of the terrace, that she overheard part of a conversation which plunged her into an even more profound state of unhappiness.

  "So you have finally met your match. I can hardly believe it," she heard Sofia saying, in the nearby lounge. "Are you sure, Nico? It all seems to have happened very suddenly. Are you sure it will last? Are you positive you want to marry her?"

  There was a pause in which Lucia waited tensely for Nicholas's reply.

  "My dear girl, I was sure the second time I met her - and that was in February," he answered, in a voice quite different from his usual light, dry tone. ''I think two and a half months is ample time for a man of my age to know his own mind."

  "In that case, why aren't you engaged to her? It isn't like you to let the grass grow under your feet once you've definitely decided on something," his sister remarked, with a laugh.

  It was then that Lucia realized she was eavesdropping. But, as it was impossible for her to leave that part of the terrace without passing the lounge doors and being seen, it seemed best to stay where she was, and hope that they would soon move out of earshot.

  "Unfortunately, our relationship hasn't progressed as I hoped it would," Nicholas answered. "Bringing her to Marina was a brainwave which has misfired on me."

  "I'll talk to her. I'll soon be able to tell how she feels about you," Sofia said confidently.

  "You'll mind your own business, my dear. The situation is complex enough without you taking a hand in it."

  "Why is it complex?" - on a puzzled note.

  "Well, the sister is one fly in the ointment. In fact, if it were not for her, there would be no problem. You see..."

  But, to Lucia's mingled relief and frustration, the rest of what he said was muffled by a distant roll of thunder. Without her noticing, the sky had clouded over, and the children and their father were hurrying back to the shelter of the hotel before the first slow drops of rain became a downpour.

  Their return enabled her to slip away to her room. She was there, lying on the bed, when Cathy walked in.

  "Hi," the younger girl said brightly. "Guess where I've been?"

  "I know where you've been."

  "Oh?" Cathy looked surprised. "How do you know?"

  Lucia explained. But she felt too weary and dispirited to reproach her sister for her subterfuge, and for causing Kyria Katina unnecessary anxiety.

  "I've had a marvellous day," Cathy told her. "The yacht is fabulous, and Grant is a sweetie. I told him I was dreading another trip in that horrid, ramshackle steamer - especially if the sea is going to be rough tomorrow - and he's offered to take us back on Cassandra. He has some tablets which should stop me being sea-sick again. But even if I am, at least I can be ill in comfort. We've got to be on board by ten o'clock."

  "Shouldn't you have consulted Nicholas before you made these arrangements?" Lucia said dully.

  "Why should he mind?"

  "We are his guests. We are under some obligation to him."

  "Oh, don't be so stuffy. You can't seriously expect me to travel on that awful steamer again. It's all right for you. You aren't sea-sick, and you don't seem to mind being surrounded by smelly peasants, and their even smellier goats and hens. I'll go and tell Nico now. If he doesn't like it, he can jolly well lump it," Cathy declared.

  About half past eight, when Lucia was tidying herself for dinner, Cathy came back to say that Nicholas had no objection to accepting Grant's offer.

  "What are those marks on your arms?" she asked, noticing the discolorations which had begun to appear on her sister's wrists.

  "Oh... nothing. I - 1 fell down when we were climbing about on the island," Lucia improvised hurriedly. "I didn't r
eally hurt myself. You know how easily I bruise."

  Cathy was not the only one to notice the marks. At dinner, Ariadne also spotted them, and caused Lucia intense mortification by pointing them out to the rest of the company. For the second time, she stammered her explanation about slipping among the rocks, and wished she had had the sense to put on a long-sleeved shirt.

  By the time dinner was over, the rain had stopped. Nicholas thought it would probably start again before long, and suggested it would be as well for them to drive back to the house before the roads became any muddier than they were already.

  When Sofia said goodnight to her, Lucia could not fail to notice a reserve in her manner which had not been there when they met.

  "I suppose now she dislikes me for being 'the fly in the ointment," she thought wryly.

  After the others had gone, Yannis wanted her to stay up and dance with him. But she pleaded tiredness, and escaped to her room.

  During the night there was a violent thunderstorm. Lucia, who had not been to sleep, stood at her window and watched the sea churning round the rocks in the flashes of lightning. She did not mind storms. But Cathy was terrified of them, and soon came scuttling into her room, begging her to draw the curtains and put the light on.

  In the past, Lucia had always comforted her. But tonight she could not bring herself to put her arms round her . She sat in a chair, while Cathy huddled under the bedclothes, quaking each time a crash of thunder reverberated across the sky.

  The storm lasted for nearly an hour. As, at last, it died down, Cathy fell asleep. Lucia opened the curtains, and took off her dressing gown. She had been put in a double room, so it was not necessary to wake Cathy and send her back to her own bed. Before she switched off the lamp, she looked down at her sister for some minutes.

  In sleep, Cathy's face had a sweetness which was often marred during her waking hours by expressions of boredom or petulance. As she lay there, her blonde hair lustrous in the lamp-glow, her lips slightly parted, her flimsy nightdress slipping off one smooth pretty shoulder, she looked extraordinarily appealing.