Beware of the Beast (6 page)

"Why should I go to the trouble of doing that when I
already have you?" He put out a hand and lifted her chin, and she flinched from the touch of those hard impersonal fingers.
"Do not alarm yourself, little one. I shall not trouble you
often.
Only as long as it takes."

"But - what if I don't - what if we can't
- "
Her voice
trailed away as her cheeks blazed with
colour
.

His hand fell away. "It's all arranged. While I am in New-York, you will have certain - tests. I have already had them."

"You mean - you mean to see whether - whether I can?"

"Yes."

Charlotte uttered a gasp of horror. "Well, I hope I
can't !"
She spat the words at him.

His sardonic smile returned. "Don't tempt me to find out.
for
myself, Charlotte. As my wife, you will have certain rights.
As my mistress, you would have none at all."

Charlotte could feel a wave of hopelessness sweeping over
her. "But - but I know nothing about you," she
protested ;
bitterly.

"What do you want to know? I have not refused to answer your questions. I am almost forty years of age, almost senile,
I suppose that seems to you," he added shortly. "My father
was killed by terrorists when I was twenty-four, and my
mother died soon afterwards."

Charlotte hid the shock the news of his father's death had
given her. Until then, the simple precautions he took had seemed rather dramatic and ridiculous. But suddenly they
were not, and she felt a reluctant sense of shame.

"I am of English-Greek extraction," he went on flatly.
"My grandmother on my father's side of the family comes
from Eastern Macedonia. She is still alive and lives with me
on
Lydros
."

Charlotte digested this uneasily. "Will she - continue to do
so?"

"After our marriage, you mean? Oh, yes. Do not be alarm
ed. She does not live in my house. She has her own villa
across the island."

Charlotte shivered, but she couldn't help it. The reality
of it all was gradually getting through to her.

"Is - is it a big island?" she asked, in a low voice, not
wanting to dwell on the thought of meeting his grandmother.

"Not big,
no
.
About five miles long, and two miles across
at its widest point."
He finished his cognac, and as he lowered the glass he looked at her over the rim. "It is a beautiful island.
I was brought up there. As a boy I learned to swim and fish
from its beaches; I explored its caves, and got trapped by the
tide, so that Spiro had to come with his boat and get me out.
My father taught me how to sail. He bought me a dinghy,
and I used to spend hours trying to get back into shore after
the wind had changed." His smile was not sardonic now.
"There are only a few people on the island, the
Yannis
, and
the
Philippis
and the Santos. We are not troubled by tourists, and the rocky coastline makes it impossible for large vessels
to get inshore. It is very hot - very white - very beautiful.
The sea is an unbelievable
colour
, always warm and soft.
At night the only sounds come from the cicadas. Then
occasionally, just occasionally, they are silent, and the stillness
is uncanny."

During those moments, as he looked at her, Charlotte felt
the strength of his love for the island, and the faintest glimmer
of anticipation stirred within her. She had never been to
Greece, never been further than Brittany in the summer, and
Switzerland in the winter. The picture he had painted of his home was very attractive, and she found herself wondering what it would be like to swim in a warm sea.

But then he moved, and all eager sense of anticipation fled.
Her eyes dropped down over the hard muscular length of his
body, and a terrifying numbness gripped her. To see and experience the delights of the island, she was expected to
accept whatever this man chose to do with her. She had never
slept with anyone before, much less a man, and to picture him
sharing her bed was to picture indignities too great to be
borne. And even then, if she could endure the humiliation of
being used, she had nine months more, nine months when her
body would swell out of all proportions with all the agonies
of childbirth before she could make her escape....

CHAPTER THREE

They
flew to Athens in the executive jet owned by the
Faulkner
corporation
. Charlotte had never flown in a private
plane before, and the difference between this high-priced luxury and the tourist accommodation she was used to was quite staggering. The main cabin resembled a comfortable lounge, with a thick carpet on the floor, and deep armchairs for relaxation. Adjoining the lounge was a bathroom, with
bath and shower, while beyond this was a small bedroom
where Alex told her he snatched a few hours' sleep on an
overnight flight. The Santos brothers
travelled
with them,
and another man whom Charlotte had met for the first time
the day before. He was George
Constandis
, Alex's personal
assistant, an older man, about sixty, Charlotte surmised, and
it was obvious that Alex valued his opinion. What any of the men thought of her, she had no way of
knowing.
They were
all extremely polite to her, but their faces revealed little.

Charlotte for her part spent the journey dreading its term
ination. The wide gold band which Alex had slid on to her
finger that morning in the registrar's office at
Caxton
Hall
weighed heavily on her
hand,
and her other fingers constantly
sought the reality of its presence there, twisting it round and round. She felt different somehow, changed in some in
describable way, as though just by becoming his wife she had
submerged her whole identity.

Of course, there were differences, physical differences. Alex
did not like the coppery gold of her hair confined in any way,
so now it fell in a heavy curtain about her shoulders. It was
far too long, she thought, and she had intended to have it
cut now that she had left school and acquired some inde
pendence. But Alex had been very explicit when it came to her
appearance, and what he wanted of her.

Her clothes, too, had been chosen by him. Or at least, on
his instructions she had presented herself at a certain salon in | the West End where a woman who wore the most garish
make-up Charlotte had ever seen produced a wardrobe for
her which must have cost the earth. It seemed an unnecessary
indulgence to acquire so many gowns which, if his plans came
to fruition, within a few months would no longer fit her. But
he was making the decisions, and she was feminine enough
to enjoy possessing so many beautiful things.

Mrs. Laurence, the woman she had worked for at
Bebe's
Boutique, had been astounded to learn that Charlotte was
getting married, and even more astounded when she learned who the bridegroom was. Very few people would actually
recognize Alex Faulkner in the street, but almost everyone had
heard of Faulkner International.

"Lucky
girl !
" had been Mrs. Laurence's comment, and for
lucky
Charlotte had read
clever.
Mrs. Laurence was a widow
who had had a struggle to bring up her two daughters.
She envied anyone to whom money was no longer going to
be an anxiety. Charlotte had wished she could see things so
simply.

Only Laura, of the people she had told, had expressed any
doubts about her good fortune. But then Laura had been
present at that first fateful meeting, and Charlotte could not
convince her that she was doing the right thing. Charlotte
had arranged that Laura should look after the house for her,
but this had only increased Laura's suspicions. She could see
no reason why Charlotte should want to retain such an
expensive dwelling when she would be living thousands of miles away. In addition, as Alex had his own apartment in
London, there would be no future need for the house in
Glebe Square.

Charlotte had made some excuse about keeping it on for sentimental reasons, and Laura eventually had to accept it.
But she had no way of knowing that Charlotte saw the house
as a lifeline, a bolt-hole where, if things became too impossible,
she could snatch a few days' freedom.

They landed in Athens in the late afternoon. A fugitive
sun was escaping with confidence from the clouds, gilding the white-painted buildings of the airport, and lengthening the shadows across the tarmac. The tension of the landing gave Charlotte some excuse for her suddenly pale cheeks,
but still she thought the men with her husband were regarding her rather strangely. Did they know what she was doing here?
she
wondered, rather hysterically. Had they been informed of
her primary function? Did they see nothing unusual in their employer's sudden entry into matrimony? Or was that how
things were done here? She had heard that women did not
have the same standing in Greece as they did in England, but were they all treated so casually?

The plane taxied to a halt, and Alex unfastened his safety
belt. Standing up, he approached Charlotte's seat. She
wondered in dismay whether he was about to tell her that
they were breaking their journey here. Somehow the idea
of spending her first night with him in
an
hotel seemed worse than the prospect of spending it at his home. Hotels were big,
impersonal places, full of strangers. How could she go through
with it there? How could she face anyone after ... after
... ?

Her anxiety showed in her face, and Alex's tone was im
patient as he said: "Stage one completed. Stage two is by helicopter."

Charlotte's lips trembled. "What am I?" she whispered.
"Stage three?"

"I'll let you know," he retorted smoothly, and turned away.

Charlotte
undipped
the safety belt with burning cheeks.
Was this how it was always to be?
A continual battle of
words?
And who was to blame? She seldom spoke civilly to
him, but then how could she?
In the circumstances?
How could she let him think, even for a moment, that she was
getting anything out of this?

Outside the air was warm, increasingly so as they left the
shadow of the plane. Charlotte walked behind her husband
as he strode ahead with George
Constandis
, clutching her shoulder bag and vanity case with nervous fingers.

Airport formalities were kept to a minimum. The author
ities called Alex by his name, and he spoke to them with the ease of long, experience. There was a brief interchange when he introduced his wife and Charlotte was subjected to the
admiring glances from half a dozen pairs of dark eyes. For
the first time she was glad of the elegance of her appearance
in the cream suede slack suit she had worn to travel in, the
wedges at her heels giving her extra height. The wife of a man
like Alex Faulkner could not be seen in shabby jeans and a
cotton tee-shirt even if they were the things she felt most
comfortable in.

A black limousine driven by yet another chauffeur appeared
to take them to the heliport, and Charlotte had her first few
moments alone with her husband in the back of the car.
George
Constandis
accompanied them, but he sat in front
with the chauffeur, and a glass screen separated the compart
ments. The Santos brothers were not around, and Charlotte,
needing something to break the uneasy silence between them,
said: "What - what about the others?"

Alex, who had been staring broodingly through the smoked
glass of the car window, turned his attention to her.
"
Vittorio
and
Dimitrios
?"
He shrugged. "They will follow by sea with
the luggage. It is not too long a trip from Piraeus in a power
launch."