A High Price to Pay (11 page)

collarbones and around her slender pelvis. She no longer felt

self-conscious in her bikinis, which was just as well, because Nick,

groaning with exasperation, had confiscated the one-piece suits she

had brought with her.

'Enjoy the sun while you can,' he had dictated. 'You have a long

English summer to face when we get back!'

Alison replaced the cap on her sun-oil bottle, and rolled on to her

stomach, stretching her arms luxuriously above her head. It was no

wonder she'd put on weight, she thought—all this good food and

lazing about. The
Ariadne
might not be the largest boat in the

Mediterranean, but a lot of money had been spent on ensuring the

comfort of its passengers, and the amiably efficient crew included a

first-class chef.

Not that they always ate on board, by any means. Some of the

happiest times she had spent on this strange honeymoon had been in

local tavernas, eating seafood, drinking the neighbourhood wine, and

even joining hilariously in the inevitable dancing. She was still

inhibited, but she was learning, she thought with a faint smile.

And Nick, she had to admit, had made it easy for her to do so. There

had even been times over the past weeks when she had found herself

wishing that this relaxed wandering from island to island might never

stop—times when she had been conscious of their inevitable return to

England like a cloud no bigger than a man's hand on her horizon.

Because there would be problems. To begin with, there was no

guarantee that her mother would accept her new role as little more

than a lodger in her old home. Alison could foresee some stormy

passages ahead as Mrs Mortimer began to grasp that Ladymead had a

new master.

And the new master's attitude would be important too, she thought

with a little sigh. If Nick could be as he had been with her for the past

month, then everything would be simple. But the fear haunted her that

he might revert to being a sardonic stranger again.

Alison bit her lip. Dealing with problems like this was, she supposed,

all part of the price she had to pay for her family's security. But it

explained why, for the first time in her life, she was almost reluctant

to see Ladymead again.

She heard someone approaching, and looked up to see Nick coming

along the deck towards her. He was wearing a towel knotted round his

lean hips, and above it his skin looked like burnished teak. The sheer

force of his attraction dried her mouth, and made her shake inside,

much as she tried to fight it. She was glad that her sunglasses hid any

possible betrayal in her eyes. She was also thankful that as he

preferred to sunbathe naked, as he slept, he invariably chose a

different section of the deck. His cool announcement of what he

intended to do had provided one of the few awkwardnesses of the

cruise, she recalled, yet in practice, as long as she remembered to

keep to her own part of the deck, there had been no embarrassment at

all. She sometimes wondered what the crew made of such an

ill-assorted pair of newlyweds, but if they had any opinions, they

were too well trained to let them show.

Nick squatted on his haunches beside her, running a measuring hand

along her shoulder. 'Don't you think you've had enough sun for one

day? I was going to suggest we got showered and changed, and went

ashore for a farewell dinner at Yanni's.'

'That sounds fine.' His touch could not have been more casual, yet

already it had had the effect of constricting her breathing, it galled her

to realise. Fortunately, he did not touch her very often. 'But I think I'll

have five minutes more here. According to that paper George brought

on board yesterday, it's been raining all week in Britain.'

His mouth curled slightly. 'That has a certain grim reality about it!' He

paused. 'In fact, it almost makes me sorry we have to break out of this

charmed life we've been enjoying, and face it all.'

It was startling to find that his feelings reflected her own. She made a

performance out of reaching for the paperback she had been

desultorily reading, and finding her place. 'Well,' she said lightly, 'all

good things must come to an end.'

'So they say.' There was a curious note in his voice. 'And has it been

good for you, Alison?'

'Of course,' she said rather stiltedly. 'It's been a revelation. I've never

been to any part of the Mediterranean before. We tended to spend

most of our family holidays in Scotland—my mother doesn't care for

very hot weather.'

Nor, she thought, would Catherine Mortimer have liked the poverty,

and the dust, and the basic facilities offered by the tavernas they'd

visited. Plastic tablecloths and primitive plumbing were not her style

at all. Alison hadn't realised until then that they were hers, either.

She went on carefully, 'I'd like very much to come back some day.'

Nick shrugged, it won't be this year,' he said flatly. 'I'm going to be

too busy to consider another break.'

'Yes, of course.' Alison kept her gaze fixed on the printed page,

vexedly aware that she was blushing again, although her sunwarmed

skin would disguise the fact. The last thing she wanted was for Nick

to think she was hinting for another expensive trip. 'So I'll just make

the most of the time I have left,' she added too brightly.

'My sentiments exactly,' drawled Nick, getting to his feet. 'I'll see you

later, then.'

When he had gone, Alison made no further pretence of reading. She

pushed the book away and lay flat, her head pillowed on her folded

arms, getting herself back under full control again. She was ashamed

of her own reaction, she thought angrily. She was behaving like an

impressionable schoolgirl. She had no illusions about Nick

Bristow—none at all, she told herself vehemently— yet just because

he had exerted himself to be pleasant, to charm her a little, she was

almost eating out of his hand. It might have been safer if Nick had

remained the arrogant self she was accustomed to; she would not

have been so ready to lower her guard.

Because that was all it was, she thought. The enforced proximity, the

isolation, and the undoubtedly romantic surroundings had had their

own insidious effect on her.

She sighed a little. Perhaps, after all, it was just as well they were

going home soon.

Hours later, she was convinced of it. Yanni had welcomed them back

to his taverna with his usual exuberance, and led them ceremoniously

to their special table, the candles already lit, and the ouzo poured.

And tonight, he told them proudly, the speciality of the house was

lobster.

They ate it grilled, with a salad made from tomatoes, cucumber,

peppers and
fetta
cheese, sprinkled with herbs and olive oil. It was a

long, enjoyable, and inherently messy meal, imposing its own kind of

intimacy on the occasion, and to follow there was a dish of glossy

purple grapes, large as^plums, resting on a bed of vine leaves. And

with the meal they drank the light, dry, palatable wine of the locality.

'And so you are leaving us?' Yanni said. He gave Alison the look of

passionate admiration with which Greeks like to gladden the hearts of

women tourists.

'I'm afraid so,' she said ruefully. 'We shall miss coming here.'

'Po, po, po.
' He clapped Nick on the shoulder. 'When you return, my

friend, we shall be here,
ne
! And bring your children to play with

mine,' he added as an afterthought.

Nick returned some smilingly negligent answer, while Alison shrank

back into the shadows, bitterly aware that her face was burning again.

It wasn't the first such reference she'd had to contend with. At the

wedding reception, Nick's mother had made a light-hearted remark

about wanting to be a grandmother which, fortunately, only Alison

seemed to have heard.

Nick was conferring with Yanni over the bill, and merely nodded

when she murmured something about going on ahead.

The street leading away from Yanni's and down towards the harbour

was steep and stony, and Alison picked her way with a certain amount

of care, although there was plenty of illumination from the flanking

houses, interspersed with tavernas, kafeneions and shops. Although it

was still comparatively early in the season, the atmosphere in the

village was busy and alive, and she lingered, looking at some of the

souvenirs. She had bought things to take home, of course. The

exquisite Cretan embroideries were already boxed up for her mother,

and she had got a supple leather holdall for Melanie, and ceramics for

Mrs Horner and the rest of the staff. But nothing for herself.

She looked at some silver ear-rings, then put them down again. She

didn't need anything tangible to remind her of the events of the past

month, she realised suddenly. They were all there—engrained in her

mind for ever. She walked on down the hill, staring in front of her,

seeing it all unrolling in her head, as if she had operated some mental

switch—everything Nick had said. Everything Nick had done.

She stopped dead, with a little gasp, as all the implications of that

came home to roost.

It was ridiculous, she thought frantically. He'd been—kind—friendly,

that was all, and it had got to her a little. There was no more to it than

that. There—couldn't be.

And any moment now he was going to come striding down the hill

and find her standing in the middle of the street as if she'd been turned

to stone.

A few yards away, the door to the little church stood invitingly ajar,

and she made for it like a criminal seeking sanctuary.

It wasn't a wealthy village, but the church was bright with paint and

gilding, the depiction of Christ in Majesty which surmounted the altar

gleaming richly in the light of the many blazing candles. The scent of

burning wax and incense was pungent in her throat, as she looked

round her, instinctively drawing the wrap she wore up to cover-her

half-naked shoulders.

She wasn't alone, she discovered. There were two women, dressed in

the conventional black with headscarves, standing beside the great

bank of votive candles, and lighting others in supplication or

thanksgiving—Alison could not be sure which.

She moved, her heels making a sharp sound on the wooden floor, and

they turned and saw her, smiling at her shyly and gesturing her to

draw closer. As she did so, one of them held out an unlit candle to her.

They thought she was there on the same errand as themselves, she

realised, and how to explain that she was not without causing

offence? It was altogether easier to take the proffered candle and light

it from one of the others as they were doing, and add it to the blazing

mass already assembled.

Swiftly she held it to the flame, watched it flare up, then placed it in

one of the waiting wrought- iron holders. She was aware of approving

nods and smiles. Aware too that they were crossing themselves

constantly, and praying, their lips moving ceaselessly under the

partial concealment of the, scarves they wore.

She needed to say something too—but what? She stood blankly,

watching the dancing flames— and heard a voice in her head, saying

over and over again,
'Make him love me, oh, please, make him love

me!'

For a moment she thought she had spoken the words aloud, but there

was no reaction from her companions, absorbed in their devotions,

and presently she turned away sharply, and almost stumbled to the

door, taking deep breaths of the night air as she regained the street.

Hands gripped her shoulders. Nick's hands. She straightened and tried

to meet his searching gaze with an assumption of her usual

collectedness, but her heart was thudding in her chest as if she had

taken part in some marathon.

'What the hell is it?' he demanded sharply. 'Are you ill?'Alison shook

her head, moving away from him. 'It was—stuffy in there, that's all.'

'Why did you go in there?' he asked. 'Is it famous for

something—icons, or frescoes, perhaps?'

'Nothing like that.' She moved off. 'I was just— curious.'

'I wondered where the devil you'd got to,' he told her. 'I got all the way

down to the harbour, and George was waiting with the boat, but he

said he hadn't laid eyes on you. I realised you'd been sidetracked, but

I confess I would never have guessed the church.' He paused. 'Isn't it a

little early to be renewing your marriage vows?'

The mockery was back in his voice with a vengeance! Alison

stiffened. It seemed as if he was signalling that the honeymoon period