Beware of the Beast (9 page)

"Did you enjoy your bath?" he asked, taking up a position
before an ornamental trellis where jasmine twined. His alien ancestry seemed peculiarly pronounced this evening in these
lamplit
surroundings, his darkness accentuated by the white
walls of this particularly Greek apartment.

Charlotte concentrated on the liquid in her glass as she
replied: "Very much, thank you. I - I used some of the bath essence. I presumed that would be in order."

"Use what you like. This is your home."

"My home!"

She echoed his words bitterly, but Alex chose to ignore it. "You are at liberty to go wherever you choose, to treat this
place as you think fit. If you have been used to going out a lot
- to night clubs and theatres, no doubt you'll find it dull. But I own quite a comprehensive library, and George had orders
to obtain the latest best-sellers from both sides of the Atlantic
so that should you enjoy reading, you would not be short of books." He paused, swallowing half the liquid in his glass.
"Apart from that, during the day there is swimming and
sailing, walking if you feel so inclined, and always the sun."

L
istening to him, Charlotte thought his words spelled a
prescription for the kind of life she would have happily
accepted with the man she loved. But always here, overlaying
everything with its ominous
presence,
was the real reason for her being here, and no amount of reassurance could make her
forget it.

To her relief, Maria appeared a few moments later to announce that dinner was served. They carried their drinks
up to the dining table, and were seated opposite one another,
across that gleaming expanse of polished oak.

It was Charlotte's first taste of Greek cooking and it smelled
so
appetising
that she was able to ignore for a while at least the tortuous turnings of her mental processes. Stuffed tom
atoes, and tiny sardines, proved sufficient hors d'oeuvres to lean meat kebabs, served on a bed of vine leaves filled with
rice. It was rich food, and the meat was oilier than she was
used to, but it tasted delicious. Fresh fruit and cheeses were served as a dessert, and Charlotte decided to choose a peach
to sweeten her mouth. She had had a glass of glowing red wine with the meal, noticing overtly that Alex had drunk
several glasses himself, but she refused the liqueur he suggested
with their coffee. The approach of night caused Charlotte
to spill some of her coffee into the saucer, and she was aware
of Alex watching her with undisguised impatience.

The launch arrived as they were drinking their coffee,
and Alex excused himself to go and speak to the men. Presently
the other young woman she had been introduced to earlier
appeared with her suitcases, but when Charlotte got half out of her seat to take them, she shook her head.

"I have the keys,
kyria
"
she said rather more amicably
than her contemporary had spoken before dinner. "I will at
tend to it," and Charlotte had subsided again rather resignedly.

She was left alone for fully half an hour, and by the time Alex reappeared, she had left the table and returned to the
room they had occupied earlier. She couldn't sit down, however, and wandered about restlessly, her mind filled with a sense of dread.

It was a beautiful room, as were all the rooms she had seen
so far, with its soft goatskin couches covered with attractively
embroidered cushions. A wall cabinet revealed a collection
of wood carvings which seemed strangely alien to this en
vironment, but which nevertheless blended into the scheme
of things. The jasmine-covered trellis cunningly concealed
loudspeakers from another hi-fi system, and remembering
their ubiquitous presence at the London
apartment,
she
couldn't help but wonder what kind of music Alex enjoyed.

When he at last came back he found her standing hesitantly beside the tray of bottles, pondering the advisability of taking
something for her nerves. His suede-booted feet had made little sound, but still she swung round, sensing his presence.

"I
apologise
for taking so long," he said, leaning against
the framework of the doorway, watching her. "Sophia has
unpacked your suitcases now, though, and you can go to bed
when you like." His lips tightened as he took in her wary
alertness. "What are you doing? Thinking of getting drunk to face the ordeal?"

His voice was harsh, and Charlotte quickly put some space
between her and the alcohol. "I - no," she denied abruptly.
Then, rather ludicrously, she realized: "I've noticed you like
music. Who are your
favourite
composers?"

Alex stared at her as if she had suddenly taken leave of
her senses. Then he straightened away from the wall, shaking his head. "Would you believe - Brahms and Liszt?" he de
manded savagely. "Oh - go to bed, Charlotte. Get out of my
sight !
Before I decide to really give you something to stare at me like that
about !"

Charlotte sustained his cold gaze for perhaps thirty seconds, fighting the desire to run from this place. But finally it was too
much for her, and with a muffled sob, she brushed past him
and out of the door, walking jerkily up the steps from the hall
and down the corridor to her room.

Once she was there, the painful humiliating tears would not
be denied, and she sank down on to the bed and sobbed until
her whole body felt drained and aching. Then she dragged
herself up- again and stared about her. Her suitcases had dis
appeared, but inside the huge wardrobe the row of her clothes
almost filled the empty space. A nightgown had been ten
tatively laid across the bed where the silken coverlet had been
folded back to reveal real satin sheets.

Her breathing ragged, Charlotte slowly undressed, alert to
every sound outside the door.
But no one came as she washed
and cleaned her teeth, and then put on the flimsy garment.
Fortunately it was not transparent, but its clinging folds
left little to the imagination. She ran a swift brush through her
hair, and careless of which side she slept, climbed between the sheets of the huge bed.

She
hesitated
a long while over turning out the light, but
eventually decided that she did not want to see him come into
her room. If she closed her eyes very tightly, he might even believe that she was asleep and allow her twenty-four hours'
grace. She thought it was strange that his
pyjamas
had not been laid out on the bed, too. After all, everyone expected
him to sleep with her.

Then she closed her eyes, too tired to think any more, too
weary of her own cowardice and his brutality to care what happened to her. And when she opened her eyes again, sun
light was streaming brightly through the green silk curtains.

CHAPTER FOUR

Charlotte
had bathed, and was dressing in white cotton
pants and a sleeveless yellow shirt, when Tina brought her
breakfast on a tray. The Greek girl greeted her politely as
she had the night before, but her
prohing
eyes sought the
scarcely-tumbled covers of the bed. Charlotte guessed that
within a very short time everyone at the villa would know that the master of the house had not spent the night in his
wife's bed.

She took the tray and dismissed the girl rather abruptly,
irritated by her knowing stare. After she had gone, Charlotte carried the tray to the bedside table, and sitting down exam
ined
its contents. The meal provided was a mixture of English
and continental dishes, there being cereal, and bacon and
eggs, as weir as warm croissants with honey. She chose to sample the croissants, her still-uneasy stomach rejecting the
grilled food, but she was hungry and she enjoyed what she
had.
      

Since awakening, she had firmly refused to consider why Alex had chosen to stay away from her the night before, but
now, with breakfast over and the day stretching emptily
ahead of her, her curiosity could no longer be denied. Getting
up from her bed, she walked across to the windows and thrust
ing them open gazed out with troubled eyes.

It was a beautiful morning, the air still deliciously fresh and
cool. Even so, the distant headland was already shrouded in
mist heralding another hot day. The sky was the palest of
blues, shading to turquoise as sea and sky melted into one
another. The water in the bay looked green and inviting, and even as she watched a small craft with white sails drifted out from the shelter of the cliffs. It was a narrow-hulled racing
vessel, the kind of single-handed craft her father had been
sailing the day he met his death. A lump came into her
throat. She must never forget that tragedy, or her husband's
part in it.

She straightened away from the windows. That was her
husband out there, she was sure of it, and if it was there was
no reason why she should not do a little exploring on her own.
She hesitated a few moments over the tray, but then decided
to leave it where it was. She did not wish to alert Maria and
the others to her movements.

Leaving her bedroom, she walked along to the wide main hall. The double doors at the front of the building stood open
this morning, and beyond the terrace, a path led towards
the cliffs. Feeling rather like a convict who is suddenly
presented with a means of escape and doesn't quite know
what to do with it, she left the villa, and walked across the
grassy cliff top to its edge. Looking down, she realized it
would be possible to climb down to the cove, but not wanting
to indulge in such childish antics, she looked round for the path. Sure enough, it sloped away to her right, winding in
and out of the outcrops of rock that provided a natural
protection against sliding feet.

The sails of the yacht were some distance out in the bay now, nearing the break in the headland, and she wondered
with a reluctant sense of anxiety whether Alex intended
negotiating the channel. Then she determinedly thrust her
misgivings aside. What did it matter to her what he did?
Or whether he was endangering his life? He meant nothing to her, no more than she did to him.

The wedge heels of her sandals sliding a little on the dusty
surface of the path, Charlotte slowly began the descent into the
cove, keeping a wary eye on the yacht. If Alex should decide
to turn back, she should have plenty of time to reach the house before he landed.

Once on the fine sandy beach, she looked about her with
interest. The rocky backcloth of the cliff was honeycombed
with caves, some of which disappeared under the water at
the point where the beach dwindled into a rocky promontory,
A boathouse, set on stilts, was built at the far end of the
beach, and a wooden jetty ran out from it into deeper water. -
From the beach, it was also possible to see another cove
further round the headland, where a cluster of cottages,
gleaming whitely in the sun, signified a small village. A few
boats were drawn up between the rocks, and some children were playing in the water. But there was no means of access
from here. To reach the village on foot, one would have to
climb the cliff again and cross a stretch of headland.

Kicking off her sandals, Charlotte walked to the water's
edge and allowed the tiny waves to curl about her toes. The
water was like silk, soft and warm, and grains of sand tickled
her feet. She bent to roll back the cuffs of her trousers and
almost jumped out of her skin when Alex said: "Good
morning, Charlotte!" from somewhere behind her.

She swung round, startled, jerking upright to find him standing only a few yards away from her on the beach. His only garment was a pair of fraying denim shorts that left the
hairy expanse of his chest and long powerful legs bare. She had not seen him without the civilizing influence of shirt and
trousers before, and as the shorts only reached somewhere
slightly below his navel, there was little of him she could not
see. He looked big and intensely masculine, the night's
growth of beard still darkening his
jawiine
, and Charlotte felt
a peculiar tightening in her stomach.