Stormy the Way

STORMY THE WAY

Anne Hampson

"Wanted, good-looking young man to per-form simple task. Few hours only. Generous remuneration."

When Ricky had blandly jilted her in order to make a more advantageous marriage and had then had the nerve to invite her to the wedding, Tara Maine was determined, for pride's sake, to go, but equally determined not to be an object of pity. So she had advertised for a bogus "fiance" to accompany her to the wedding -- and in the devastatingly hand-some young Greek, Paul, found exactly what she was looking for.

It was only when Paul's stern older brother Leon Dorkas, domineering and with the worst possible opinion of Englishwomen and their morals, got mixed up in it all that Tara realised what deep waters she was getting into!

'WANTED, good-looking young man to perform simple task. Few hours only. Generous remuneration.' The wording of Tara Maine's advertisement came back to her as the doorbell rang. A look of acute disparity cast in her direction brought a militant light to her soft grey eyes and she spoke with unaccustomed sharpness.

'Will you answer it for me?' Turning, she regarded herself in the mirror over the mantelpiece. She was in the sitting-room of her brother's suburban house and for the past fifteen minutes she had been obliged to listen to Stewart's scathing homily on her childishness. But Tara was determined to attend the wedding of Ricky and Freda ... and she was also determined to have as her escort a handsome fiance. She would convince every one of them that she did not care, would fool Ricky into believing her love for him had gone no deeper than his so-called love for her. She would laugh and be gay as the rest, with this man who had answered her advertisement, confounding all those who had said pityingly,

'Poor Tara, to be jilted like that. And Ricky marrying her best friend -

Tara must be feeling awful.'

Stewart made no move to comply with his sister's request, even though the bell was ringing for the second time.

'You can't do this,' he snapped, using the imperious tone reserved for those occasions when he wished to emphasize the five years'

difference in their ages. Stewart was thirty, and married. Two years previously his father bad been offered a post as adviser to a firm of sugar planters in the West Indies; he and his wife had left England only after receiving Tara's promise that she would move in with her brother and his wife. This she did immediately on her parents'

departure^ and she had been perfectly happy ... until three months ago. ' What about afterwards?' Stewart was inquiring. 'How will you account for the sudden disappearance of this new fiance of yours?'

'To my friends?' Absently she twisted a stray lock of dark hair; it fell in a half-curl on to the blue-veined whiteness of her temple. Her face, possessing an unusual beauty, was pale, and the hand idling against her side was clenched and damp. No one knew just how deep the wound had gone, for Tara had not loved lightly. Ricky had been her all, her life. But this hurt would be the last; from now on men were out as far as Tara was concerned. 'I shan't be called upon to explain.'

Stewart frowned questioningly and would have spoken, but Tara went on, facing him squarely, 'I'm going away, to the north of England. No one will ever learn that this young man is not my real fiance.'

Stewart stared in disbelief.

'You're leaving us? You must be mad! Whom do you know up in the north?'

'No one - that's the whole idea. I'm not willing to remain here and be pitied; and in any case, if I'm to forget I must change both my surroundings and my friends.'

An impatient sigh escaped Stewart before he said,

'What about your promise to Mum and Dad? They'd never have gone abroad had they thought you'd leave Joan and me.'

'I'll write to them. They'll understand.'

'I won't allow you to go away!'

Her brows shot up at that, but she spoke gently and with patience. She and Stewart had always agreed. And Joan, to Tara's great delight, had proved to be the most affectionate of sisters-in-law.

'I'm twenty-five, Stewart, and perfectly capable of taking care of myself.'

'Your job,' he persisted, even though he knew he wasted his time.

When Tara made plans nothing short of a catastrophe would prevent her from carrying them out. 'I saw Mr. Bairstowe a couple of weeks ago and he had nothing but praise for you - said you were the best secretary he's ever had. You can't leave him.'

Tara reflected on that tussle with her boss, but in the end he had been kind and understanding. There would always be a post for her should she ever decide to return, he had said in tones of resignation tinged with regret.

'I've already discussed my plans with Mr. Bairstowe. I've also applied for a post in Liverpool.'

He stared at her.

'And never a word to Joan and me! How could you, Tara?' His voice softened as he continued, 'Don't do this. I know you've been terribly hurt, but you can't allow the damned business to cause a complete upheaval in your life. You mustn't leave us, Tara. We love you, remember.'

Too full to respond, Tara fell to thinking of Richard and the heartlessness of his behaviour. His father owned a dress factory in the town; four months ago there had been a merger with another factory which was owned by Mr. Mayfield, father of Tara's best friend, Freda. Within days of the merger Tara guessed at the pressure being put on Ricky by his father, and less than a month later he broke the engagement. A fortnight ago Tara had actually received an invitation to the wedding of Freda and Ricky.

'The door,' she said at last, glancing at her brother 'He'll think I'm out.'

'You made an appointment; he'll know you're not out— There he goes again. Patience is not one of his virtues, apparently!'

She had to smile despite the weight clawing at her heart.

'He's been waiting ages. I'll let him in myself.' But as she moved Stewart barred her way.

'This stupid idea of yours—' he began, when she interrupted him.

'We've been through it all before, and I've explained. If I don't attend the wedding everyone will assume I'm broken-hearted; if I go alone they'll all stare at me with pity, wondering how I'm taking it. So I'll be there with my fiance - if this young man's willing, that is. And I shall derive the greatest pleasure from ringing Freda up and asking for the extra invitation!'

'You're an idiot!'

Tara shrugged.

'May I pass you, please?'

Stewart glared at her.

'No! I'll let him in! I want to see what sort of a fool would reply to a damned silly advertisement like that!'

Listening, Tara heard him open the door, heard the curt invitation to the man to enter. A Greek. Aware that some Greeks could be devastatingly handsome, Tara had instantly picked out the letter signed 'Paul Dorkas'.

The young man was saying good afternoon imperfect English; a moment later he was in the room and Tara could only blink at him in disbelief. A handsome man she had expected, if only owing to the wording of her advertisement, but this young Adonis fairly took her breath away. He stood before her, flushing and fidgeting nervously, although the height of him, the muscular leanness and firm classical features spelled great strength and poise as yet undeveloped. A few awkward moments of silence inevitably resulted from her surprise, and this was broken only when Stewart snapped,

'The man you were expecting!' and with that he stalked from the room, leaving Tara alone with her visitor.

Inviting him to sit down, she asked if he would care for a drink.

'Brandy - if you have it?'

He looked as if he needed it, she thought, and poured him a stiff dose.

This she placed before him and he took up the glass. As he drank he became more composed and Tara was soon being treated to an all-embracing examination of her body.

'You're Greek,' she commented, looking curiously at his immaculate attire and expensive shoes. His hands, smooth and well-kept, had never been employed in any form of manual work. 'It wasn't difficult to deduce that from your name.'

'Dorkas?' He nodded. 'You like Greek men?' He was still rather unsure of himself and ignoring his question, Tara asked his age.

'Twenty,' he replied, flashing a row of even white teeth in a smile, and at the same time allowing his dark eyes to wander over every entrancing curve of her slender figure.

Twenty. .. He looked more, fortunately, but Tara said with a frown,

'I'd have preferred someone older.'

His face fell.

'You've had many replies? You have others to interview?'

'I'm not really interested in the others,' she admitted after another puzzled look at his clothes. 'You don't appear to be in need of money,'

she couldn't help remarking, and his colour heightened again. 'Can I know the reason why you answered my advertisement?' He bit his lip and suddenly Tara wanted to spare him embarrassment. She asked if he were willing to become her fiancé for one afternoon and evening.

'Your fiancé?' He looked puzzled and Tara explained as briefly as she could. He appeared quite shocked, and Tara recalled that in his country an engagement was as binding as a marriage and in consequence a broken engagement was almost unheard of. When one did occur it brought dire disgrace to both families.

'I can't imagine anyone jilting you,' he said indignantly. 'You're so beautiful, and have the enormous eyes that I like to see in a girl. You also have hair of beautiful brown...He reached out to touch her hair, a natural gesture, as Greeks like touching people. 'It has lights of fire in it!' He smiled and appeared proud of his description, but Tara was not interested. 'No, I can't believe he would jilt you,' added Paul Dorkas, his eyes and voice filled with admiration.

'Nevertheless, he did jilt me,' she returned bitterly. 'Are you willing to do as I ask?'

He moved in his chair and she sensed the question even before it rose to his lips.

'How much are you paying?'

'Ten pounds,' she ventured, naturally having no idea as to what she must pay. 'Is that sufficient?'

A deep sigh and then, flatly,

'It will suffice. Yes, I suppose it's ample for what I shall be doing.'

Tara's puzzlement grew, for it was abundantly plain that this young man came from a cultured - and probably wealthy - family. And yet he was short of money,

'Are you in England on holiday?'

He shook his head.

'I'm at a university.'

'How can you be in need of ten pounds?' The question escaped before Tara could check it and this time the boy became more expansive.

'My allowance went ages ago; I'm absolutely broke, but I daren't ask my brother for more. I did try once—' He broke off, grimacing. 'Never again, though!'

'You've no money of your own?'

'It is my money, but Leon has control of it.' Paul became sulky all at once and Tara could not help feeling sorry for him.

'Your brother holds the purse?' For no reason at all she fell to wondering about this Leon, and whether he were as handsome as his brother. 'How old is he?'

'Thirty-four.'

'Fourteen years older than you? That's a big difference in age.'

'He's my stepbrother. Leon's father died when he was seven. My father thought there was no one like Leon and that's why he left him in charge of our money.' Tara sent him an inquiring glance and hewent on to say he had a sister, Androula, aged twenty- two, who was at Athens University. She's in his good books, of course, not only because she takes her studies so seriously but also because she never does anything to cross him.' Paul smiled wanly at Tara and continued, T on the other hand have been a great trial to Leon -1 sometimes get into scrapes, you see - and so he's very strict. But I've recently decided I must be circumspect and cautious, because without Leon's approval I can't have my inheritance when I'm twenty-one. I might have to wait until I'm twenty-five if he says so.'