Moon of Aphrodite (14 page)

spectacular. The road they were travel ing on had been carved out of the side of a

mountain, she saw, and on the other side the hil side fel away to the val ey floor

several hundred feet below. The scrub and boulders gave way down there to clumps of

trees, acid cultivated fields. There was a house too, half hidden among the olive and

citrus groves, a sprawling vil a like the one they had just left, but even more palatial

from the glimpse she could catch of it, and the turquoise gleam of a swimming pool

dose beside it.

There was little other traffic on the road, ant! that was just as wel because Kostas'

method of driving was heavy on the accelerator and light on the brakes. Helen found

herself holding her breath as they rounded some of the bends. Prudently she

transferred her attention to the mountain instead, staring up at its shimmering cloud-

crowned .summit. Its upper slopes were bare rock, gleaming in the sun in shades of

grey, pale green and amethyst. Against the blue arc of the sky a solitary bird wheeled

and hovered at the sight of prey moving in the scrub far beneath. Helen closed her

eyes as the bird swooped. She didn't want to know whether its dive of death had

resulted in success or failure. This was raw country, uncivilised and barbaric in spite of

the man-made road, and it made her feel uneasy and alien.

She was almost glad when she saw the red roofs of Kyritha shining below them, and

the sapphire sea beyond. She sent Kostas an encouraging smile, but his expression

remained glum.

'Look,' she said reasonably, 'if you're worried about what Kyrios Michaelis wil say, I'l

explain to him, I'l tel him I made you bring me, that you had no choice. Wil that do?'

He shrugged and muttered something, but he was plainly far from mollified. Clearly her

grandfather's word was law with his employees, and it had been her duty to accept it

without question.

Sonic chance, she thought. Grandfather is a darling in many ways, but he's stil an

autocrat deep down. If he ruled Mother like this, it's no wonder that she ran away.

As Kostas parked on the waterfront, Helen saw delightedly that the little market was in

ful swing. She climbed out of the car, and waiting only for a fat man wearing a beret to

wobble past on his bicycle, ran across the road to the first stal .

It wasn't the most wonderful market. There were several stal s sel ing cheap jewel ery,

and rack on rack of worry
beads. One trestle table was total y covered by pots and pans

and the simpler kind of kitchen gadget, while others were festooned with cushions,

curtains and lace tablecloths in rather garish colours and patterns. Business was far

from brisk, but no one seemed particularly worried, and one stal holder at least was

snoring gently in his folding chair. Helen supposed things would improve when the

morning ferry from the mainland arrived with its quota of tourists. She turned abruptly

and almost cannoned into Kostas who was standing right behind her.

'It's al right,' she assured him patiently, 'go and do your shopping—I'l be fine. I'm just

going to have a look round, and then have a glass of lemonade in one of the tavernas.

We can hardly miss each other.'

She was convinced he knew exactly what she was saying, but he continued to follow

her, his expression mulish.

Oh hel ! Helen thought
in exasperation. The last thing I want is a keeper, dogging my

heels and glowering al the time-She tried again. 'Kostas, please! I'm just going to stroll

round. I'd rather be on my own—alone,'

Kostas shook his head, his mouth set firmly. 'Kyrios Michaelis would not permit,' he

insisted.

'I've never heard such nonsense,' Helen said roundly. 'Kostas, I live in London, and I've

never needed a bodyguard there. Why should I want one here? Surely my grandfather

hasn't got that many enemies?' she added, trying to smile.

Kostas' shrug said it al —that her arguments counted for nothing, it was not for him to

reason why, but he had his instructions and would carry them out. And he had been

dearly instructed not to let her out of his sight. Helen felt like screaming. She gave

Kostas one fulminating look, then turned and stalked away, her chin in the air.

'Excuse me.' A voice, an English voice. 'Is this man bothering you?'

Startled, Helen swung round. He was tal , she saw at once. He towered head and

shoulders above the bristling Kostas at her elbow. Tal , and undeniably good-looking,

and smiling down at her with immense charm.

He said, 'It this man is giving you trouble, I can get rid of him.'

Helen returned his smile. 'Actual y it isn't as bad as it looks. Kostas works for my

grandfather, and he's only doing his duty as he sees it. It's just unfortunate that I see it

rather differently.'

'Your grandfather?' His brows rose. 'My God, then you must be the Korialis girl!'

Helen's smile froze a little. 'No, I'm the Brandon girl.'

He said wryly, 'I'm sorry, that must have sounded terrible. I've been listening to too

much local gossip.'

Helen stared at him. 'You mean—you're not on holiday.'

'Good lord, no. I live here, and have done for several years. I run a taverna on the

harbourside.' His smile widened. 'What's the matter? Don't you believe me?'

Helen said, rather shakily, 'Oh, yes, I believe you. What I can't believe is that no one at

the vil a told me that there was one of my own countrymen living in Kyritha. Apart from

my grandfather himself, there's been no one I can talk to in words of more than one

syl able since I arrived. But then it must be equal y limiting for you.'

'Yes, although I do speak Greek. But now that we've stumbled across each other, may I

buy you a drink?'

'I'd like that,' Helen
agreed. She turned to her companion. 'Kostas, I'm going to have a

drink with Kyrios...' She paused, sending the newcomer an interrogative look.

'Lassiter. Craig Lassiter.'

'With Kyrios Lassiter. I'l meet you at the car later.'

For a moment she thought he was going to protest, and nerved herself wondering how

on earth she was to deal with it. Then, red-faced, and sending Craig Lassiter a look of

uncompromising hostility, Kostas turned and trudged away, muttering as he went.

Helen sighed, 'Honestly!' as she watched him go. She turned to Craig Lassiter, moving

her shoulders rather helplessly. 'I'm sorry about that. It seems he's had orders to watch

me like a hawk.'

'It's a sensible precaution. Your grandfather's a very rich man. If someone snatched

you, they could expect a considerable ransom.'

'You're not serious!'

'Not entirely, no. But I suppose it's always something that has to be considered. At least

that's the view that Mr. Korialis would take.'

In spite of the heat, Helen felt as if someone had laid a cold hand on her shoulder. She

exaggerated her slight shiver, trying to laugh.

'I—I didn't realise I was quite such a marketable commodity. I shal have to bear that in

mind.'

Craig Lassiter gave her a concerned look. He put a hand lightly under her elbow,

guiding her over the few rough rocks which formed the pavement. 'I hope I haven't

worried you.'

'Of course not.' Her denial was instant, but she hastened to change the subject just the

same. 'What made you choose Phoros to settle in?'

He grinned. 'The natives seemed friendly. And the climate, of course. Apart from the

occasional thunderstorm, it's general y as glorious as it is today al summer long. I can

recommend it,' he added with a sidelong look. 'It's even mild here al winter.'

'I shan't be around in the winter.' Helen gave him a quick smile. 'I'm only here for a few

weeks, or hadn't local gossip established that?'

'Oh, I think you've been marked down as a future resident. It's general y reckoned that

you'l be persuaded to stay, one way or another.'

'I'm afraid not.' Helen shook her head decisively. 'It's a beautiful place, of course, but I

have my father and my career waiting in London.'

Craig Lassiter said lightly, 'No one else?'

She flushed a little. 'Not real y. My local dossier would seem to be incomplete.'

'Don't you believe it. Your future husband has already been chosen for you.' He

stopped, his hand tightening on her arm. 'Wel , here we are. "An il -favoured thing, but

mine own.'"

'It's charming,' Helen protested as she looked round. It wasn't the largest establishment

on the waterfront, but it was sparklingly clean, with a mint-fresh green and white

striped awning over the doorway. Inside the taverna, she could see a long gleaming bar

with a glass top, and a few tables covered with green plastic tablecloths. At the hack of

the room, a beaded curtain over an archway led to the kitchen at the rear, she

guessed. There were more tables set just outside on the pavement, and double the

number across the road on the harbourside itself.

'We do quit' wel ,' Craig agreed. 'It gets quite hectic when the ferry comes in, but

because there's so little accommodation for tourists on the island, we have our quiet

periods too. It suits me very wel . Choose your table, and I'l bring you your drink. How

do you like ouzo?'

'Not a great deal.' Helen wrinkled her nose candidly. 'Could I have a glass of wine?’

'Retsina?' There was a trace of chal enge in his voice.

She laughed. 'Yes, why not? I've had it before.' She paused suddenly as the exact

circumstances of that first time came back to her.

'What's the matter? You looked for a moment as if you'd seen a ghost.'

'Just an unpleasant memory,' she said rather defensively. 'I'l wait for you across the

road.'

Nearly al the tavernas, she noticed, had al fresco extensions on the sea wal
,
their gay

overhead awnings supported by a complex of scaffolding poles.

She felt rather conspicuous as she sat down. Sitting in the sunshine in the mid-morning,

enjoying a drink, seemed to be a masculine prerogative, and she was the target of

some unsmiling looks from the occupants of tables at neighbouring establishments. She

was glad when Craig, carrying a tray, crossed the road to join her.

'When in Greece,' he commented as he set down two glasses of iced water in addition

to the retsina. 'You don't have to drink it, if you don't want to. It's Loutraki water,

however, and I can recommend it.'

'I know it already,' Helen smiled. 'My grandfather drinks a great deal of it.'

'Of course,' he said on a faintly satiric note. 'Nothing but the best for the rich men of

Phoros.' He saw her surprised look and gave a half apologetic shrug. 'I'm sorry if I

sound a little jaundiced, but you're part of that set-up, aren't you? You couldn't be

expected to know what life can be like on the island for us lesser mortals.'

Helen's brows wrinkled. 'You mean they give you a hard time? My grandfather

included?'

'Your grandfather in particular,' he corrected her, smiling rather rueful y. 'It hasn't been

easy being English on Phoros. for reasons I'm sure I don't have to go into. I'm hoping

for an improvement in relations from now on.'

'I can't real y say very much to defend him,' said Helen in a low voice. 'Except that he is

an old man, and al his life he's been al owed to believe that every decision, every

judgment has been the correct one.' She made an effort to smile. 'It doesn't induce a

particularly reasonable attitude.'

'But a fairly common one among Greek males, as you must have already discovered for

yourself. Or have you been so bowled over by his charm that you haven't noticed?'

'I'm sorry, you've total y lost me,' Helen said after a pause. 'Are we stil discussing

Grandfather?'

'God, no!' He gave an explosive laugh. 'I meant your prospective bridegroom.'

'I real y don't know what you're talking about.' Helen put down her glass, and stared at

him frowning. 'I have no bridegroom, prospective or otherwise. I'm not engaged, I'm

not even going steady. What is al this?'

He said lightly, 'More of that local gossip, I'm afraid. It seems you're expected to wipe

out your mother's blot on the family escutcheon by marrying a man of your

grandfather's choice in her place. Not the original choice himself, as I understand he

was kil ed in an accident some years ago, but his younger brother, thus providing a

neatly happy ending to what in Greek eyes has always been a messy and rather

shocking story.' Helen sat very stil . Her mind was hard at work, remembering remarks

that had been made, making connections between facts that she had only vaguely

assimilated. She could hear her grandfather's voice: 'Our families have, always been

close,' recal ed his mentioning an older brother who had died, and his anxiety that she

and the surviving member of: the family should be friends—or more than friends.

She said with a calmness she was far front
feeling, 'It's Damon Leandros, isn't it? The

man I'm—intended to marry. How Stupid of me not to have guessed!' 'Look,' Craig

Lassiter reached across the table and touched her fingers with his, 'it may only be a

rumour. How much of it's true, and how much wishful thinking on the part of the