PAGAN ADVERSARY (13 page)

planned her room along with Nicky's. Could it be his own way of

showing her how little she figured in his plans?

Harriet sighed defeatedly and went back into her room to retrieve her

toilet bag which was still in her case, lying on top of the bed. The only

remaining possession as yet unpacked was a cardboard folder into

which she had placed all the relevant papers and keepsakes that Nicky

might want—his parent's marriage' certificate, his own birth

certificate, some letters Kostas had written to Becca before their

marriage, the huge card he had bought her to celebrate their son's

birth, and some photographs. One of them, an actual wedding

photograph, was in its own leather frame, and with a kind of defiance

she stood it on her chest of drawers.

She didn't bother to change. Keeping the family waiting any longer

for their meal would be just another black mark against her, she

thought resignedly, and failing to change would simply mean they

would think she knew no better. But she washed her face and hands,

brushed her hair, and applied some moisturiser, alongwith a touch of

eye-shadow and a discreet modicum of lipstick before she went

downstairs.

Androula was waiting in the hall, looking boot-faced. As Harriet

came down the stairs, she motioned her towards the same room she

had been conducted to when she first arrived.

Her arrival interrupted a heated conversation in Greek which was

switched off as abruptly as a radio set as soon as she appeared in the

doorway.

Alex was holding a glass containing some pale cloudy liquid.

He said formally, 'Good evening, Harriet. Would you like a drink

before dinner?'

She would have loved a drink. She would have leapt head first into a

bottle if there'd been one handy, she was so desperate for some kind

of courage, but neither of the Marcos ladies appeared to be drinking,

so she refused politely.

She looked at Madame Marcos. 'I'm sorry if I've kept you waiting.'

Madame gave her a remote look, and her sister shrugged as if to say it

was no more than expected.

Harriet didn't anticipate enjoying the meal. One of the girls who

worked with her had warned her that Greek food was usually tepid

and everything tasted of olive oil, but the dinner which followed bore

no relation to anything Janet had described. It began with an iced

avocado soup, and progressed through grilled mullet, to veal cutlets

with a delicate wine sauce, and fresh fruit— peaches and melon—for

dessert.

Harriet ate with a heartier appetite than she could ever. Have

envisaged under the circumstances. Apart from a few remarks which

Alex directed at her, and to which she responded briefly, the meal

was conducted in virtual silence.

The atmosphere did not lighten either when they returned to the other

room for the tiny cups of thick rather bitter coffee. Madame and her

sister produced fine needlework and shared a sofa, sewing and

conversing in low voices. Alex had been called to the telephone once

again, so as soon as Harriet had finished her coffee, she rose, wished

both ladies a polite goodnight which they acknowledged with a frigid

nod apiece, and left the room.

'Where are you going?'

Harriet paused on the stairs and looked down. Alex had appeared in

the hall below and was staring up at her.

'To my room,' she returned rather defensively. 'I'm very tired.'

i see.' He sounded sceptical, and she flushed slightly.

'Perhaps—would it make things easier if from now on I had my meals

with Nicky?'

'No, it would not,' he said coldly. 'However, if you were too tired to

come down this evening and would have preferred a tray in your

room, then you should have said so.'

Harriet was tempted to retort that she doubted if there was enough

room for a tray, but she kept silent; any such comment could be

construed as a complaint, or a plea for better treatment, and she didn't

want that.

She said merely, 'I'll remember that in future. Goodnight, Mr Marcos.'

'Harriet
mou
,' he said softly, 'what do I have to do to get you to call me

by my given name? I must remind you once more that you are my

guest here.'

A strange sort of guest, thought Harriet, shoved into a cupboard, and

virtually ignored by everyone from the housekeeper upwards.

She said unsmilingly, 'I'll try and remember that too.'

He was standing just below her, and before she could move, he took

her hand from where it was resting on the balustrade and pressed it to

his lips. For a fraction of a second she felt his mouth, warm and

sensuous against her palm, her fingertips, then she was released.

He said, 'Goodnight, little one. And pleasant dreams.'

He turned away and went across the hall to the room she had just

quitted. Harriet stood on the stairs and watched the doors close

behind him.

She recommenced her ascent of the stairs wearily, torn between

laughter and tears.

He'd wished her pleasant dreams, she thought with irony, when in the

same breath almost he had guaranteed her a sleepless night. She

paused for a moment, lifting the hand he had kissed and holding it for

a moment, achingly, yearningly against her cheek. Then she ran on up

the stairs to the cramped loneliness of her room.

SHE didn't sleep, but it wasn't simply thoughts of Alex that kept her

awake. By dint of standing on her bed, she had managed to open her

window to its fullest extent, but the little room was still close and

airless. She crept into Nicky's darkened—and blessedly cool—room

and checked that he was deeply and peacefully asleep before using

his bathroom to take a shower, and change into her brief cotton

nightdress.

Back in her own room, she stripped the covers from the bed and

folded them neatly before lying down, but within minutes she was

tossing uncomfortably, hardly able to breathe, her body already damp

with perspiration. She considered lugging her mattress through to

Nicky's room, but reluctantly decided against it. Yannina might take

it into her head to check Nicky during the night, and if she found

Harriet there on the floor it would simply result in embarrassment all

round. In a hotel, you could complain about your room. In a private

house, you had to grin and bear it, Harriet thought bitterly.

For nearly two hours she tried to bear it, although she didn't grin very

much. She even tried the insomniac's remedy—to put the hours of

wakefulness to good use by writing a letter to Manda. But what was

there to say? 'I'm here. No one is friendly, and they've put me to sleep

in a sauna.' She decided it would be best to wait until she had

something more cheerful to report. Such as 'I'll be home on the next

flight', she thought.

She got out one of the paperbacks she had brought and tried to read it.

It was a best-selling thriller and in the 'will the world survive this

threat of nuclear holocaust?' genre, but as it was set in the recent past

and creation was still going about its lawful business instead of lying

around in piles of radioactive ash, Harriet found its gut-wrenching

propensities so glowingly described on the jacket strangely elusive.

She sat up cross-legged on the bed, lifting her face towards the

window and the non-existent breeze, thinking regretfully about the

yoga course she'd once planned to take. It would have been nice to

have been able to summon up some mantra which would raise her

consciousness above such mundane details as being hot and

miserable and unable to sleep despite being bone- weary.

At last she swung her feet to the floor with a faint groan. She had to

get some fresh air or she would choke. She slipped on the simple

peignoir which matched her nightgown, tying the ribbons which

fastened it at throat and waist. She didn't bother with the heelless

sandals she had brought instead of slippers. The chill of the floor

under her bare soles was bliss.

The villa was very quiet. No one besides herself seemed to be stirring,

which was all to the good, Harriet thought, as she slipped silently

downstairs. She opened the doors leading to the big
saloni.
The

drapes had not been drawn over the french windows which comprised

one wall, and moonlight flooded the room. Harriet slid her hands

down the frame, finding the bolts and drawing them quietly. As she

did so, it occurred to her that the house might be covered by a burglar

alarm, and she quailed for a moment waiting for flashing lights and

alarm bells, but there was only silence, and after a while she breathed

again, and opened the window, leaving it slightly ajar.

Except for the lack of colour, the broad terrace and the garden beyond

could have been in daylight. Harriet walked to the edge of the terrace

and stood breathing deeply and gratefully. It was hard to believe that

the cool fragrance surrounding her was the same air which oozed iff

through her little window.

The cicadas were still busy. The night shift must have come on,

Harriet thought, smiling to herself. Just being outside the villa made

her feel happier, more relaxed. She walked slowly down the terrace

steps, and turned right along a broad paved path. She had no idea

where she was going, only that she had no wish to return to the house

just yet.

The path led right round the villa, she soon realised, but other smaller

paths led off it, one of them to a tennis court, she discovered. She

hadn't played tennis since she left school, she thought, viewing the

court wistfully, and wondering if she still remembered how. She

sighed. What a beautiful place this was! If only circumstances had

been different she could have been looking forward to the holiday of

a lifetime.

She wandered back to the main path and paused irresolutely.

Somewhere near at hand she could hear the splash of water. The

swimming pool, she wondered, or another fountain? She followed the

sound down a wide flight of shallow stone steps bordered by

rockeries, and under a stone archway hung with wisteria.

It was the pool, and the arch she had just emerged from was one of a

whole series bordering it, while directly opposite was a single-storey

building with a tiled roof, and shuttered windows. Changing-rooms,

Harriet surmised in the moment before it occurred to her that on such

a still night there was no reason for that slight splashing noise.

Unless, of course, the pool was occupied....

Almost incredulously she registered the lean dark shape cleaving

through the water. Noticed other things as well—the discarded

clothing on one of the padded loungers at the poolside, the bottle and

attendant glass on the table.

Even as an interior voice was warning her that it was time she was on

her way, Alex's hands gripped the side of the pool, pulling himself

lithely out of the water.

Harriet froze, her mouth going dry as she watched him walk across to

the table, refill his glass, then almost casually reach for a towel and

begin to dry himself.

He had a magnificent body, she thought numbly. She hadn't expected

him to be totally naked, but then he probably hadn't expected an

audience either. But that, she knew instantly, was being naive. If Alex

Marcos wished to swim nude, then he would do so no matter how

many people happened to be watching.

But, of course, he still didn't know that she was there. Harriet turned

to creep noiselessly away, only to be halted in her tracks by his cool

voice.

'Won't you join me? The water's wonderful, and the brandy is French.'

Swallowing, she turned back to face him. The towel knotted loosely

round him, he was standing, hands on hips, watching her in some

amusement.

She said lamely, glad that her blush didn't show in the moonlight,

'I—I didn't expect anyone to be down here.'

'Nor I,' he returned levelly. 'For a minute I thought you might be

walking in your sleep. What are you doing down here?'

'I came out for some air—I couldn't sleep. And the gardens look so

fantastic in the moonlight.. . .' Harriet was aware she was beginning to

babble, and stopped.

'Earlier you claimed to be so tired you could not wait to get to your

room,' he said softly. 'What has kept you awake?'

She gave an awkward shrug. 'I'm just not used to the heat—and my

room seemed stuffy.'

He drank some brandy, watching her over the top of the goblet. 'All

the rooms are air-conditioned. Or is it something else that you do not