Pagan Lover (18 page)

Did he care for her?
Tara could not imagine his caring for anyone but himself. Love was something about which he knew nothing.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

THE waiting for Nico seemed interminable.
Tara had risen early, which made the day longer and more trying to the nerves.
Leon had been non-committal about how long he would be away, so
Tara had not the faintest idea when to expect him back. He could be back tomorrow, or even tonight— No, not tonight. He could not possibly get through all his business in less than two days.

‘Oh, Nico—why don’t you come!’

She went from room to room in the house, admiring the large, marble-paved rooms with their finely-carved ceilings, and cornices, their lovely antique furniture, their exquisite porcelain-filled cabinets, trying all the while to fix her attention on things other than the idea of getting away from here. Through one huge window she saw the marble fountain and was drawn into the grounds. Here was peace, usually, but today everything in her was unrest, anxiety and uncertainty. She knew that if Nico should let her down she would feel that her life was finished, for she would have to give
Leon the promise or go raving mad! She could not stand this imprisonment much longer. Also, if she should be pregnant, and the child was born here, then she would indeed be unable to gain her freedom—at least, not for years and years, because after one child there would be another, and perhaps another.

She wandered listlessly about the garden, glancing at her watch about every ten minutes or so. ‘Nico,’ she whispered fervently, ‘please come.’

She was working herself up into a state of near hysteria and decided to do something about it. She went inside for a book but, back in the garden, she found she could not concentrate. Even the flowers with their exotic perfumes made no impression on her, nor the gossamer-winged butterflies skimming through a patch of starry white blossoms to settle on the passion flowers. All of these things had fascinated her up till now, but as she walked, the book in her hand, she saw nothing except the wide expanse of sea beyond the busy harbour ... the sea over which she had .expected to travel to freedom.

Davos and Kleanthes were in the orchard, spraying the orange and lemon trees; she saw Davos glance up because of something said by his companion and when
Tara followed the direction of his eyes she saw a man coming up the steep path leading to the gate. Both men stopped and waited, but
Tara turned away, concluding the man had come to see one of the servants. She was on the patio, the book open on her lap, when Kleanthes brought the man to her.

‘I haf a letter for Mrs
Leon,’ the man said, but did not offer it to her. ‘It was forgotten when the post was brought up this morning. It might be important, so I bring it for you.’ The man spoke with a pronounced accent, and he pushed a hand through his hair and gave, a little gasp as he added, ‘It is so hot! I very thirsty for big glass of water!’ His gaze was fixed—wooden almost—as he stared into
Tara’s eyes. With lightning speed she grasped everything and, turning to Kleanthes, she said,

‘Bring a glass of water— Or perhaps you would like a fruit drink?’ she amended, looking at the man.

‘Very nice! Plenty much orange juice!’

Kleanthes inclined his head, but, about to move away, he said curiously,

‘I haven’t seen you before.’

‘I haf come to visit my sister; she is the post—post— lady?’ it was a question, because obviously he did not include ‘post mistress’ in his vocabulary.

‘She has many brothers,’ said Kleanthes with a careless shrug. ‘Welcome to our island!

‘
Efkharisto poli
!’ returned the man with a huge smile which revealed several bright gold filings.

‘I bring the drink for you,’ said Kleanthes, and walked away. The man sat down at
Tara’s invitation and withdrew an envelope from his pocket. She held it for a moment, as a fit of trembling seized her. What did the note contain . . . good news or bad? Either Nico was going to assist her as promised, or he had sent an apology for not being able to do so.

Her fingers moved over the envelope and she realised that there was a pencil inside it. So Nico wanted an answer! With hopes soaring she swiftly slit the top of the envelope and withdrew the folded sheet of paper.

‘I am Savvas,’ said the man. ‘I take answer to Mr Nico.’

Tara nodded absently; she was already reading.

‘Before you read further, write on the envelope the exact location of your bedroom and give it to Savvas.’

This was written in bold capitals at the top of the single sheet of paper.
Tara immediately did as instructed, passing the envelope back to Savvas. Her heart was pounding against her chest. She felt that already she was free.

The man put the envelope into his pocket and sat back. Kleanthes returned, having been gone less than two minutes. Tara could see the reason for those urgent instructions; there might or might not be much time during which
Tara was alone with Savvas, Nico had thought, and in consequence had even provided the pencil.

Kleanthes stood and watched Savvas drink thirstily, then accompanied him back to the gate.
Tara had slipped the letter into her pocket and she rose, casually, and entered the house. In her bedroom, she began to read the letter, her heart still beating overrate.

‘Dear Tara,’ it began, ‘Although I knew, yesterday, that
Leon had caught the early ferry, I felt it best not to come up—and I know that you must feel the same. It is best to maintain total secrecy if possible. So I sailed to Poros yesterday and picked up a man who has, often done casual work for me on the boat. No one on Hydra knows Savvas, so the little ruse I worked out will succeed. The plan is this: I want you to be ready at two o’clock tomorrow morning, when I shall be putting the ladder up to your window. I expect you will want to bring clothes. Wrap them into a bundle and drop them out of the window. I shall provide the suitcase to put them in. The bundle will make no sound, whereas a suitcase might waken someone in the house. Also, have a folded blanket on the sill, so that the ladder will rest on it silently. That is all you have to do. I am sending Savvas back to Poros on the seven o’clock ferry this evening, so he will be well out of the way. My boat is ready and will take you to
Piraeus. I don’t know why I do this. Perhaps it is exciting, or perhaps I like to rescue a maiden in distress. Or it might be that I like you very much.’ It was signed with his name, nothing more.
Tara tore the paper into tiny pieces, and flushed them away in the toilet.

Never had
Tara known time to drag as it did between the reading of Nico’s letter and the moment when, silently opening the window, she laid the folded blanket on the sill. All was ready and she peered down into the inky darkness of the garden, her heart throbbing wildly, every nerve tensed. No sound or sign of movement. Her bundle of clothes was on the sill, ready to be thrown down as soon as the ladder came up. Yes! The shadowy impression of a human form ... the ladder was raised and she held her breath, terrified that it would sway with its own weight and crash into one of the other windows. But Nico was strong and the ladder came into place.
Tara dropped the bundle, and was just about to step through the window on to the ladder when she saw the shadowy figure move, then race away to the black outline of a copse at the end of the lawn. Petrified, she saw another shadowy figure, tall, with a springing step....

Her heart seemed for a moment to stop beating altogether. It wasn’t true!
Leon could not possibly be here at this time of the night! But who else had that tall lithe frame? Sheer terror kept her rooted to the spot as she watched the figure stand and stare, then stoop to pick up the bundle. The next instant the bundle was flung down again and she sensed rather than saw the savage kick it received; the oath that accompanied it she heard plainly, and she felt almost faint with fear.

She was still rooted to the spot when her husband walked into the bedroom, his face twisted into lines so evil that he seemed to her terrified imagination to be Hades himself. What would he do to her? She had seen him in the grip of fury many times, but never had she seen him like this. He would murder her, she thought, a terrified hand going to her throat. Yes; he would strangle her—

‘Who was helping you?’ The very quietness of the voice shot suffocating fear through her whole body; she felt physically sick and could not speak a word even if she had wanted to. ‘I asked you a question!’ The pagan voice was a whiplash now, but still quiet. She swallowed convulsively, tears starting to her eyes.

‘I w-won’t—won’t t-tell—you————’

‘By God, you will—if I have to get it out of you by torture! ‘His leap was silent, the grip on her trembling hand a vice that made her cry out with the excruciating pain of it. ‘Answer me!’ he snarled, the thin lips curled back so that the teeth were bared . . . like those of a tiger ready for the kill! ‘Answer me before I choke the life out of you!’

 
‘I c-can’t.’ She lifted her face and she knew it was drained of every vestige of colour. She wondered how he had had the luck to arrive home at the exact time she was to have escaped from his ruthless clutches. He had the devil’s own luck always—he
was
the devil! ‘Please d-don’t ask me to—to do what I can’t in honour—’

‘Honour!’ he cut in violently. ‘You speak to me of honour?’ The black eyes raked her trembling body with the sort of contempt that made her cringe. Sheer rage caused him to pause before being able to continue. ‘That pose you adopted for my benefit—the stratagem of acting as if you were defeated and would have to make the promise The way you gave me the impression that you were resigned—you even said that as I had won every round I was bound to win this! And all the time you were putting me off, playing for time because this attempt at escape had already been planned, hadn’t it—hadn’t it!’ He jerked her body forward and thrust her head right back with his hand beneath her chin. His hand remained there and she was compelled to look at him, look into the fiery rage of those fierce black eyes. ‘Hadn’t it?’ he repeated again.

She nodded, wondering if she would collapse in a heap when he released her.

‘Yes, it w-was.’

‘With whom? It must be one of the servants that you bribed, because there isn’t anyone else who could possibly have helped you!’

‘It wasn’t one of the servants—’

‘Don’t lie—’ His passion overcame him and he shook her unmercifully. ‘I’ve had enough of your deceit—’

‘I had every right to deceive you!’ How she managed to conjure up the strength and courage to say that she would never know. But for her trouble she was shaken again, and then that hand came to her throat and she felt the threat of long lean fingers curled menacingly around it. The pressure sent the blood pounding in her head; she struggled in the steel hawser of his hold, twisting about, fighting for her very life. ‘Tell me,’ he said in ‘a very soft tone when he had withdrawn his hand. ‘Tell me who you were making your plans with while you were putting me off by your sly, cunning evasion?’

She did not know why the words ‘sly’ and ‘cunning’ should have inflamed her, but they did. With a swift movement that took him unawares she was out of his hold and on the other side of the room, close to the open window.

‘I had every right to make plans!’ she flashed at him defiantly. ‘Every prisoner has the right to attempt escape. How dare you accuse me of being underhand when I was only trying to help myself?’ These were mild words in comparison to what he had used, but they seemed to add to his rage.

‘I’m still waiting to hear the name of your accomplice!’ he snarled, taking a step towards her. ‘Who is he?’

She was right against the window, conscious of the breeze against her back. To jump.... Surely injury that way was preferable to the injury her husband was ready to inflict upon her. She felt the sill with clammy hand behind her back, and gripped it, yet did not know how she was going to get on to it before her husband, guessing at her intent, bounded across the room and dragged her back. He would spare her no punishment for an act like that, she thought, and almost abandoned the idea. But that dark and evil countenance, those terrifying, eyes, that snarling mouth—and above all those hands of unbelievable strength. . .. All these influenced her mind and with a twist of her body and a spring upwards she was sitting on the sill.

‘I’ll jump!’ she cried, a ring of triumph in her voice. ‘Get ready—’

‘Stop! You damned fool—stop!’ He was afraid! For the first time in his life probably—he was actually afraid! He moved and her cry halted him on the instant.

‘Take another step and I’ll fling myself out of this window!’

‘
Tara—don’t be such a fool!’ His voice had lost some of its ferocity but by no means all, and she knew for sure that if he could get her inside the room again her situation would be no different from before. Her refusal to inform against Nico had acted as fuel to the already white-hot conflagration of his wrath, and if she should overcome the advantage she had gained he would show her no mercy. ‘Come down from there!’ he ordered. ‘Do as I say, this minute!’

‘This is no time for giving me orders,’ she flashed, a trifle bewildered that she had been able to win a round at last. ‘For a change, I happen to have the whip hand. I shall injure myself rather than have
you
injure me, Leon.’