The Daughter of Night (6 page)

'You're using a pretty potent type yourself,' Hester pointed out.

'Yes,' he grinned, and chuckled. 'I am, aren't I, but when I do something, I do it properly and I don't leave loose ends hanging about. My way, you get your dues but you'll have no opportunity to capitalise on your knowledge.'

'Because I've become one of your family?'

'Because I'll beat you,' he corrected. 'You shall have your retribution, but you're not the daughter of night, to pursue somebody indefinitely.'

'Daughter of night?' Hester was mystified.

'Nemesis,' he gave her a wry smile. 'She was the daughter of Hesiod—Night.'

Hester shrugged, 'Another gem to add to my Bumper Fun Book. I can see I'm going to learn a lot.'

'You accept, then?' and at her nod, 'Then you will,' he said tranquilly as though the battle was won and he had nothing left but a few mopping up operations, 'finish your coffee and we'll go.'

Hester drained her cup, getting a mouthful of bitter grounds for her pains, and at her grimace, Demetrios laughed. 'The dregs are never pleasant. Be content to sip from the top of the cup.'

'Oh, very cryptic!' and she swept past him to the door, her nose in the air and every hair of her mahogany mane bristling with outrage.

By the time he pulled the car up outside the house where she lived, her mouth was dry with fright. Suppose he demanded payment at once—her fingers crisped around her flat little bag—as proof of her good intentions? Her mind balked at even thinking about it in everyday terms. Despite her twenty-four years, nearly twenty-five—she had very little experience of men, she'd never been to bed with one before.

'I like to keep things legal and proper,' he picked up her thought, which wasn't to be wondered at—she was shaking like a leaf. 'It's the accountant in me,' he continued imperturbably. 'You'll have your money tomorrow and I shall make arrangements for our wedding. Don't try to run away, Hester, I wouldn't like our marriage to begin on a wrong note.'

With a fluid movement, he was out of the car and round to hold her door open for her. 'Goodnight,' he murmured, 'and shall we begin as we mean to go on?' There were people walking along the street, but for all the notice he took of them, they might as well have been invisible—he acted as if she and he were alone in the world. His arm was close and firm about her waist while his hand tipped up her chin and he stood for several seconds just looking down at her. 'I think we shall enjoy each other,' he drawled at last before he kissed her.

Hester had been kissed before, but this was different—as though it was a sign of total possession and she was being branded as his mouth teased her lips apart. Fighting—struggling would be no use, she knew that, and after a moment she didn't want to fight. Demetrios had drawn every bit of resistance from her until she had as much will as a doll, a thing! Deep inside her, excitement flickered and grew—a new feeling she had never experienced before. It made her want to run away so that she had to cling to him to stop herself doing it.

Then he raised his head and she heard his soft, triumphant laugh and, filled with shame, she tore herself away from him and fled up the steps to the door, where her fingers shook so much she could hardly get her key into the lock. She stood for a moment in the ill-lit hallway, feeling no satisfaction but only a cold emptiness, a need for his arms about her once more.

The thing she had learned in Demetrios' arms and with his mouth on hers, stayed with Hester, occupying her mind to the exclusion of everything else until three o'clock the following day. She couldn't understand it—she was a sensible girl, practical and not given to nights of fancy, and she couldn't and wouldn't believe she'd fallen in love with a man, not Demetrios and not like that—at the drop of a hat.

Love, surely, was a thing that grew, it didn't spring full-fledged into life like this. She didn't want it anyway, it would be an inconvenience, a weak spot in her armour, and she had a shrewd suspicion she would need as much armour as she could get when she married him or she would end up a soft, malleable thing, depending on Demetrios for any little token of affection. All Flo's strictures and advice hadn't prepared her for this—it even drove Flo's dire need to the back of her mind, made it a secondary consideration.

And then, just after lunch, when she was retrieving her combs and brushes from the tiny autoclave where they had been sterilising during the lunch hour, her boss wandered into her cubicle, frowning and tut-tutting over the appointments book.

'Can you fit another lady in this afternoon, lovey? Before four o'clock?'

'I'm free from three till four, as you very well know, Crispin, so don't wave that book in front of me. You're only doing it for affect.' Hester put every other thought from her mind and smiled gently to rob the words of any hint of brusqueness. Crispin was a dear, he'd always treated her decently and she owed him a lot.

'
Not
a regular,' he grinned back at her, and tossed the pages of the book over, searching for a previous appointment without having any luck. 'But if we can convert her—' he turned back to the current page.

'Ah, here it is, a Greek lady, shampoo and blow dry— she asked for you especially.'

Hester didn't need a crystal ball. 'Mrs Vilma Thalassis,' she murmured. 'But she's not Greek, Cris, only married to one. Yes, I can take her, but frankly, I'd rather not.'

Crispin raised a fair eyebrow. 'An acquaintance, darling?'

Hester made a face. 'We haven't been introduced socially, if that's what you mean but I know her.' She was deliberately vague. Cris was a marvellous hairdresser, a coming top crimper, but he was also a gossip. It was part of his charm and most of the reason for his success.

'Good girl!' he nodded approvingly. 'I'll send her in to you and Deline can do the shampoo,' and with that, he wandered out.

'You'll probably have a complaint about me,' Hester called after his retreating back, but he pretended not to hear and she was alone again with some not very pleasant thoughts.

She wasn't relishing the appointment, it was going to be uncomfortable to say the least and provided she and her mother were completely alone—no junior popping in and out—it was bound to be an unpleasant-hour. Vilma wasn't the forgive and forget type!

But at a quarter past three, when Deline handed over the shampooed client, Hester was outwardly cool and competent. She watched her mother seat herself before the mirror and wished there were doors to the cubicles instead of curtains—then she comforted herself with the thought that Vilma would be discreet and restrained if only because there
were
curtains—she wouldn't want anybody to hear.

Vilma sat silent while Hester brushed out wet blondeness which was mainly skilfully applied highlights, but as she picked up brush and dryer, baby blue eyes met hers in the mirror and there was a venomous glow in the blue so that it looked more like chips of Polar ice.

'Demos has told me the news, and I think you've done very well for yourself.' Her mother's sneer was delicate. 'Twenty thousand of
my
money and Demos as a bonus—you're a fast worker, I'll grant you that!'

'Something I inherited from my mother.' Hester felt unsure of herself and in consequence, rather bitchy. 'But I never asked for the bonus—in fact, you're to blame for that. There wouldn't have been any if you'd paid me what I asked instead of sending round your bully boy.'

'My nephew by marriage,' Vilma corrected haughtily.

'And a great disappointment to you, I suppose,' Hester smiled serenely, and went on with her work, resisting her desire to retaliate in the only way she could—to put the blow dryer on full heat and dry out those highlights to a strawlike texture. 'Were you hoping he'd get you off scot free?'

Her mother was frank. 'I was hoping for a reduction—I can't afford to give away that much money, not out of my paltry allowance. It means I'll have to go into debt again, and Sandros can be very awkward when he's in a temper.'

Hester gazed down at her mother's beringed hands, at the heavy gold chains and bracelets she was wearing, together with what was obviously an Yves St Laurent suit—she sniffed at the fragrance of 'Joy' and crowded down her own feelings of guilt.

'You could forgo next autumn's sables,' she suggested mildly, 'or make do with last winter's wardrobe.'

Vilma ignored such a ridiculous suggestion while she allowed her brow to furrow very slightly in thought. 'I can't think why he tagged on that condition.' She raised her eyes swiftly to the mirror to catch Hester's expression. 'You aren't blackmailing him as well, are you?' There was no doubt about her mystification.

'How could I?' Hester went on brushing and blowing, determined to give nothing away. 'I've only just met him, I wasn't even aware of his existence.'

'Then all I can think of is that he made the condition to put you off.' Vilma's eyes glittered. 'You must be incredibly naive if you think you've made a good deal. You've caused me a lot of trouble, but it's nothing to what you've laid up for yourself. Life's not going to be any bed of roses for you, so don't run away with the idea that you're home and dry without a single thing to worry about. He probably thought you'd turn him down—settle for a smaller sum—and now he'll make you pay for every penny you've extracted from me.'

'I'm shaking in my shoes.' Hester hoped her mother didn't know how true that statement was! 'What is he, some sort of old-fashioned Greek family man?'

'Much worse than that,' her mother drawled, relishing every word. 'Hasn't he told you? He's never lived in Greece, he wasn't even born there and except for his fantastic flair for making money, I don't suppose the family would have anything to do with him at all—in the same way, they never had anything to do with his father. They both rate as outcasts, only Demos is tolerated!'

'I'll bear it.' Hester kept cool. 'Think of the advantages. He seems to control the money side of things—even you have to go to him for your allowance.' She switched off the dryer and began to brush and shape the style while the tongs heated for the side flicks. It was rather a young style for a woman of her mother's age, but on Vilma it looked good. It gave her an air of youth that matched her carefully dieted figure and her cherished complexion. Hester took a spiteful pleasure in noticing that her mother's complexion wasn't a patch on Flo's, who was at least twenty years older and had never used anything but soap and water.

'But why should he be an outcast?' she enquired gravely.

Vilma gave a little tittery laugh. 'You don't think much of me as a mother—well, the family didn't think much of
his
mother. She was Turkish!'

'That's a sin?' Hester raised her eyebrows.

Vilma displayed savage satisfaction. 'It makes him half Turkish, half devil as far as most Greeks are concerned. He hides it well, but now and then the basic cruelty shows through. He'd watch you die in agony and smile while you were doing it.'

Hester brushed it aside while a fleeting thought sped through her mind. She wondered what Demetrios had done or not done to gain Vilma's dislike. It could be because he'd cut her money, but somehow she had the impression that the bad feeling was rooted further back in time. 'I'm half you,' she said quietly, 'but I'm nothing like you, so I don't see that heredity is all that reliable a guide.'