The Highest Stakes of All (11 page)

She wandered casually through the gardens, in case her progress was being marked from the house, but all seemed quiet, and she was soon in the welcome concealment of the olive trees.

As their peace closed round her again, it occurred to her that there were times when her life with Vassos assumed a kind of normality. When they actually talked together. Had real conversations. Although these generally occurred over the meals they shared on the terrace.

She recalled he’d spoken one evening of all the miles his work caused him to travel, and how he always waited with impatience to return home.

‘But why here?’ she’d asked, greatly daring.

‘Look around you,’ he said. ‘It is very beautiful, although you, of course, cannot be expected to find it so.’

Yet I could, she thought, if things were different. Then caught herself guiltily, knowing she was straying into forbidden territory.

She’d shrugged. ‘It’s certainly very secluded. Why is that?’

‘It was my grandfather’s decision.’ Vassos played with the stem of his wine glass. ‘He was first a businessman, but also a scholar. His chief study was the ancient mythology of our country, and for that he required privacy. So when he found Pellas and bought it, he made sure it was his alone.’

She almost said, But what about the house in the olive grove? but stopped herself just in time.

‘When the Germans came during the war, they considered it too small to be of strategic importance,’ he went on. ‘So my mother was able to take refuge here when my father joined the partisans. And I was born here.’

‘And you’ve always lived here?’ Once more she thought about his wife.

‘Here,’ he said. ‘Or on the
Persephone.’
His mouth twisted. ‘There have been times in my life when it was safer to keep moving.’

‘I wish,’ she said, ‘that my father had felt the same way.’

‘Do you,
pedhi mou?
‘ He sent her a meditative look across the candles. ‘Well, perhaps you cannot be blamed.’ He paused. ‘You are shivering a little. Let us go into the
saloni
and listen to some music.’

Usually it was classical music, drawn from a range of composers from Mozart to Stravinsky. Sometimes he chose the insistent beat of Greek bouzouki. But that night he’d slotted a very different tape into the deck, and Joanna recognised with astonishment some of the tracks she’d danced to at the last school disco, in an emerald mini-skirt and the platform shoes that Jackie had loaned her because Gail had refused pointblank to let her have a pair, maintaining she’d sprain her ankle or worse.

She gave a swift sigh and Vassos looked at her, brows lifting. ‘You don’t like this tune?’

‘No, I love it.’ She shook her head. ‘It just brought back—a memory, that’s all.’

The tape moved into the soft insidious rhythm of Donna Summers’ ‘Love to Love You, Baby', and Vassos rose and came across to her. ‘And this also?’ he queried.

‘Well—no.’

He switched off the central light, leaving the room lit by a single lamp, before taking her hand and pulling her to her feet. ‘Then let us create a new one.’

For a moment she hesitated, self-conscious, because it was a long time since she’d danced and her male partners had been few anyway.

Then the music took her and she began to move in shy enticement, matching the lithe grace of the man dancing a couple of feet away from her. The man who reached for her and sent her spinning away from him, then brought her back, close to him, his hands clasping her hips, her fingers splayed across the warmth of his shoulders through the fine linen of his shirt. The man she longed to kiss her as the music ended. To kiss her and carry her to his bed as the song seemed to promise.

But he had not done so, Joanna thought as she looked up at the rustling silvery leaves of the olive trees and felt her throat tighten. And, for the first time, that night she had spent entirely alone.

When she arrived at the house, she saw Eleni in the garden, listlessly pushing a little pram with a doll in it up and down the path. This time she was wearing a yellow lace dress which struck Joanna as even less suitable or becoming than the last one.

She walked to the gate, smiling.
‘Kalimera,
Eleni.’

The child paused warily, and her thumb stole to her mouth.

Joanna went down on her haunches, her smile widening in warm encouragement. ‘Do you remember me? From the other day?’ She pointed at herself. ‘Joanna.’

There was a silence, then Eleni made a first hesitant attempt at the name.

‘Well done.’ Joanna laughed and clapped her hands. She was rewarded with a smile from the little girl, fugitive at first, then more confident, lighting up the small face in a way that seemed curiously familiar. And which tugged all too potently at her heartstrings.

‘You again.’ The voice came sharply from behind her, and Joanna rose and turned to confront the child’s mother, who’d apparently emerged from another part of the grove and was standing, hands on hips, her sloe eyes snapping.

She was wearing a blue dress today, its bodice buttoned awry over her full breasts and the skirt creased. Her hair looked dishevelled and she was holding a lighted cigarette.

Looking a mess was one thing, Joanna thought, her mouth tightening. Going off on some errand, leaving Eleni to play alone, was quite another.

She took a deep breath, keeping her smile resolutely in place. ‘
Kalimera, kyria,’
she returned politely.

‘Why you here, Gordanis’ woman?’ The demand was sulky. ‘He send you? Why he not come?’

Joanna bit her lip. ‘Kyrios Gordanis is away—on business in Athens.’

‘Athens,
po, po, po.
Maybe he has woman there. Real woman,’ she added scornfully. ‘No pale—no skinny like you.’

Joanna felt her colour rise. ‘Maybe,’ she agreed evenly. ‘But I came to visit Eleni, not discuss Kyrios Gordanis’ affairs.’

‘Why you visit?’ The woman came nearer, tossing away her cigarette end. ‘You think you make friend of daughter her papa like you better,
ne?’
The full mouth curled. ‘I don’t think so.’

Joanna was very still. ‘Her—papa?’ she repeated slowly.

‘You not know?’ There was real malice now. ‘You make baby with Gordanis, anglitha
,
be sure you give him son, or he build house for you, hide you and girl baby, too. Forget her.’

Joanna wanted to cry out, I don’t believe you. You’re lying.

Instead, she turned and looked at Eleni, and saw the solemn mouth curve once more into that slow, entrancing smile. And knew, with a sinking heart, why it had seemed so familiar.

Realised, too, why she had been warned to keep away. Because she’d been intended to remain in total ignorance about Vassos’ discarded mistress and her forgotten illegitimate child. His unwanted daughter.

She said quietly, ‘I understand. I—I’m sorry I intruded.’

The girl came nearer. Her voice became ingratiating. ‘You tell Gordanis that Soula say come see his girl. Each day I dress her—make fine for her papa. Each day he stay away—see his friends—his women. Not her. Never her. She cry. He not hear. Not care.’ She paused. ‘You come,
thespinis.
Talk—play with Eleni—so you can say to him how good, how pretty. Maybe in bed he listen to you.’

Words of instant negation rose to Joanna’s lips, but when she looked back at Eleni she knew they would never be uttered. That she could not simply walk away and not return—no matter now much hurt this unbearable truth might be causing her.

Because there was a small, vulnerable girl who was being hurt far more. Who needed the companionship and care that neither her father nor her mother seemed prepared to offer.

And for that reason she could not turn her back.

She said abruptly, ‘I’ll come back tomorrow,
kyria.
Teach her to play a game with her ball. But not those clothes, please. Shorts and a tee shirt.’

To the child, watching hopefully through the gate, she said more gently, searching for the Greek words,
‘Avro,
Eleni.
Endaxi?’
Then turned swiftly and went before she could be tormented by another glimpse of that smile.

She walked fast, head bent, staring down at the ground with eyes that saw nothing.

Vassos, she thought, pain twisting inside her. How could you do this—you with your sense of family? Your own child—your little girl—how can you keep her here and ignore her even if you no longer want her mother?

Nothing you’ve done to me is anywhere near as cruel as this.

She thought of Eleni waiting each day. Hoping.

All dressed up and nowhere to go.

She shook herself, forcing back her tears.

Well, that child was not going to end up emotionally damaged if she had anything to do with it.

When Vassos returned she would confront him. Brave his undoubted anger and remind him of his paternal responsibilities. Tell him that, for one thing, his daughter was sometimes left completely alone in that deserted spot.

If her mother’s not prepared to look after her properly, he should employ a nanny, she told herself.

For a moment she was haunted by an image of Vassos and his former mistress together, passionately entwined, and bit her lip hard as she wondered how they had met and become involved.

Soula might have grown blowsy since that time, but she was still good-looking in a blatantly sensual way, and Joanna could see why he would have been attracted.

Although that did not necessarily mean he’d intended their association to result in a child or welcomed the birth when it came.

But it does explain why he’s so careful to use contraceptives when we’re together, she told herself forlornly. It’s not to protect me, but to ensure that he doesn’t repeat his mistake.

‘And does it also follow that you have no wish to bear me a child?’

His words—making it seem as if the decision was hers.

She found herself wondering why this total estrangement from Soula had come about. Had he become ashamed of the liaison, aware that he’d let his body rule his brain? Or had it ended with some tumultuous quarrel which had turned him implacably against his former lover?

Whatever the cause, it’s hardly likely he’ll ever discuss it with me, Joanna thought, sighing. Because Vassos didn’t account for his actions. He just—decided, and that was it. I’m the living proof of that.

She stopped for a moment, leaning against the trunk of an olive tree, aware of the scrape of its gnarled bark through her thin clothing.

But she’ll still know as much about him as I do, she thought wretchedly. Will be aware of every intimate detail. The birthmark like a tiny dark rose on his shoulderblade. The heat, the strength of him as he moves to his climax and the huskiness in his voice when he comes.

Each time I see her I’ll have to remember that, and learn somehow to endure it. But I also have to think of Eleni shut behind that gate on her own. It’s her well-being that has to matter now, not my jealousy of her mother or her resentment of me.

And if I can somehow persuade Vassos that his daughter needs him, and doesn’t deserve to be hidden away like this, then perhaps my time here won’t be such a complete disaster after all.

And if I keep telling myself that, I may even come to believe it.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

‘K
YRIOS VASSOS
sent another radio message this morning,
thespinis.’
There was reproof in Stavros’ voice. ‘He wished to speak to you. Asked that you be fetched.’ He paused. ‘I had to tell him once again that you could not be found.’

‘I went for a walk,’ Joanna returned evenly, replacing her empty coffee cup on its saucer. ‘He can hardly expect me to hang around the house all day in case he makes contact.’

The expression on Stavros’ face indicated that was probably exactly what his employer required.

He said heavily, ‘If you were at the pool or on the beach,
thespinis
, there would not be a problem.’ He paused again. ‘But, as we all know, you are not. And when Kyrios Vassos returns he will ask questions.’

‘Which I shall answer, and then ask a few of my own,’ Joanna said crisply.

Stavros looked anguished. ‘You must not—cannot do such things. You concern yourself in matters you do not understand, and you risk much anger.’

‘On the contrary, I know exactly what I’m doing, and why. Besides, your boss is not the only one with a temper,’ she added recklessly.

And my being in love with him does not make him right all the time, she thought, watching Stavros trudge despondently away.

She poured herself more coffee and sat back, looking out across the moonlit garden.

She’d known from the start, of course, that her prolonged daily absences would be noted and conclusions drawn, and she’d already run the gauntlet of reproachful looks and muttered remarks from Hara and Andonis.

But this was the first time she’d been openly challenged about where she spent her time and its possible consequences.

Although it’s not all unalloyed delight for me, either, she thought with a faint sigh.

She had not anticipated that Soula would make her welcome, but she hadn’t foreseen quite the level of sneering contempt that would greet her every time she appeared at the house. And she knew that, if it hadn’t been for Eleni’s growing delight in her company, she might well have given up.

Soula was no great housekeeper, either, and to judge by the amount of cigarette butts in the saucer on the living room table each day, she smoked like two factory chimneys.

Her cooking was marginally better, however, and there was usually a pot of reasonably palatable stew on the stove, and a batch of fresh bread.

The real bonus, however, was her habit of absenting herself, sometimes for a couple of hours or more, as soon as Joanna and Eleni had settled into their routine. She never offered any explanation for her disappearances and Joanna didn’t ask for one, either, especially as Eleni seemed far more relaxed while her mother was away.

The language barrier was less of a problem than she’d envisaged. Eleni, once she was less shy, proved to be a bright child, with an enquiring mind and a reasonable vocabulary. By using picture books or simply pointing to things Joanna was able to expand her own knowledge of Greek and teach the little girl the English equivalent. Eleni’s physical co-ordination was improving rapidly, too, now that she was allowed to run about without any frilly frocks to dirty or damage.

There was a pile of colouring books and drawing pads and a box of crayons all unused and gathering dust on a shelf in the living room, plus a tub of Play-Doh, and Joanna used those to keep Eleni entertained indoors in the heat of the day. She also made sure that the child had a short rest after her lunch, overcoming her initial resistance by singing her softly to sleep, usually with ‘Ten Green Bottles'.

At other times they were outside, either with the ball, or playing hilarious games of hide and seek and tag among the olive trees. In a large shed at the rear of the house, home to an elderly and disused olive press, Joanna also discovered a small tricycle, still in its original wrappings, and under her guidance Eleni soon learned to master it.

Best of all, the little face peering through the gate each morning was no longer wistful but bright-eyed and eager.

At the same time, the imminence of Vassos’ return from Athens was never far from Joanna’s mind, together with the inevitable row that would follow once he discovered how she’d been using her time. If, of course, he didn’t already know.

The possibility that he might be angry enough to send her away had occurred to her, too. Especially as she’d offered him no incentive to keep her around, she reminded herself wryly.

Sighing, she pushed her chair back and rose. She’d finished yet another book, this time James Clavell’s
Shogun,
and needed something new to read in bed. Something sufficiently absorbing, she reflected, to see her through yet another restless, miserable night.

She walked into the
saloni
and stood for a moment, listening to the silence all around her.

The Villa Kore seemed so terribly empty without Vassos’ vigorous presence. She had become so swiftly accustomed to the sound of his quick stride, his voice calling to someone. The occasional burst of impatience when an order had not been carried out to his satisfaction. All of it so much a part of him.

I miss him so much, she thought. Want him so dearly. And I always shall, no matter what he is or what he has done.

I never dreamed how I would ache for his lips. Hunger for the touch of his hands on my skin. Long for him to caress me as he did that first night when I lay in his arms.

Nor did I ever realise—how could I?—how precious those brief moments of actual possession would become—especially as they are all I may ever have of him. All he will permit.

Oh, God, she thought with a pang of sadness, it was so much easier to hate him. And made so much more sense.

Vassos Gordanis. Absolute ruler of his domain, and the man she had chosen to defy—not just in his bedroom but by openly ignoring his explicit instructions.

But I won’t think about it now, she told herself. There’ll be time enough for that when he returns.

Won’t there?

She chose a book almost at random, and went out to the stairs. She paused at their foot, looking at the statue of Persephone.

Was that why you ate the pomegranate seeds? she asked silently. To give you an excuse to stay with your own Dark Lord—because you, too, had learned to love him? Because you knew your life would always be winter without him?

And she shivered as she went up to her room for yet another night alone.

It was late the following afternoon when Joanna eventually made her way back through the olive grove.

Almost as soon as she’d arrived at the house Soula had disappeared, staying away this time until Joanna had begun to glance uneasily at her watch.

‘Where have you been?’ she’d asked sharply when, at last, the Greek girl came sauntering back through the trees, smoking the inevitable cigarette. ‘I thought you were never coming.’

Soula shrugged, unperturbed. She looked, Joanna thought, relaxed and almost cheerful for once. ‘Is a problem? Then why you not go? Leave Eleni in garden.’

‘Because I would never do that,’ Joanna returned icily. ‘And nor should you.’

‘Is safe,’ the other retorted. ‘What harm to Gordanis’ child on Gordanis’ island?’ She paused, giving Joanna a speculative glance. ‘You come back tomorrow,
anglitha?’

Joanna swallowed her anger at Soula’s cavalier attitude to childcare. ‘Yes,’ she said shortly. ‘I’ll be here. And then I think we need to have a talk,
kyria.’

Eleni’s small fingers caught a fold on her skirt and held it while she whispered something.

‘She asks you promise,’ Soula translated.

Joanna ran a hand over the child’s springing dark hair. ‘Tomorrow,’ she said softly. ‘I promise.’

There was a reception committee consisting of Stavros, Hara and Andonis drawn up on the terrace at the villa, and as soon as Joanna saw them she knew.

She halted. ‘Kyrios Vassos?’ she asked, looking from one grave face to another, aware of the unsteady thud of her heart against her ribcage.

Stavros gave the sideways tilt of his head that signified assent.

‘He is waiting for you,
thespinis.’

He did not add, ‘And has been doing so for some time,’ because he didn’t have to. It was implicit in the way they were all looking at her. In their obvious apprehension.

And Joanna didn’t have to ask where to find him, either. She just walked into the villa and went straight to his study.

Not a job interview this time, she thought, smoothing her damp palms down her skirt as she reached his door, which was standing ajar. Probably dismissal without notice or a reference.

She pushed the door open, and went into the room.

Vassos was standing at the window, his tall figure like a statue carved from obsidian against the deep afternoon sun. He did not move as she entered, and, after a moment, she said his name softly and tentatively.

He turned then, his gaze sweeping her, his mouth a hard line. She could feel the anger in him reaching out across the room to her like a clenched fist.

Fear dried her mouth as it had on the night of the poker game, but it was important not to let him see that. Because in that way he would gain the upper hand, and make it impossible for her to say all the things that she knew must be said.

‘So,’ he said. ‘You have returned.’

‘You—asked for me?’ She kept her tone level.

‘I sent for you,’ he corrected harshly. ‘I am told that you have been meddling,
thespinis.
Interfering in matters that are not your business, and doing so against my expressed wish. But that ends now. You will not go to the house of the olive press again. Let that be clearly understood.’

Joanna lifted her chin. ‘My understanding is rather different. I believe that a child who is lonely and possibly neglected should be everyone’s business, Kyrios Gordanis.’

‘Enough!’ His tone was molten. ‘It is not a subject for discussion. I have given you an order, Joanna. You would be wise to obey it.’

‘In this case I think I prefer compassion to wisdom,’ she flung back at him. ‘You once had some very hard words to say, here in this room, about my father, and how he’d allowed me to be treated. The dangers I’d been subjected to. Well, let me tell you that your own ideas on fatherhood win no prizes either, Kyrios Vassos. In fact, you’re far worse, for you’ve chosen to ignore your child’s existence completely, presumably because you no longer want her mother.’

Vassos came round the desk towards her, his dark eyes blazing, but Joanna stood her ground defiantly.

‘And if Denys was rarely around,’ she went on, ‘I had a mother who loved and took care of me all the time I was growing up. Soula can’t even be bothered to play with your daughter or teach her basic things. What’s more, she vanishes for whole chunks of the day, leaving Eleni alone in the middle of nowhere. You may not think that matters, but I do.’

She swallowed. ‘As parents, the two of you are a total disaster, and it’s that lovely little girl who’s suffering. I’m not going to abandon her to suit some—tyrannical whim of yours.’

Vassos had halted and was staring at her as she reached the end of her breathless tirade, his eyes narrowing in disbelief.

‘Soula?’ he grated. ‘You think that Soula is Eleni’s mother? That she was my mistress? Are you insane?’

Joanna felt as if she’d been winded. ‘Not Soula’s child?’ she managed. ‘Then—whose?’

There was a silence, then Vassos said with cold reluctance, ‘The child was born to my late wife, Ariadne Philipou, several months after our marriage. The identity of the man who fathered her is still unknown to me.’

‘But Soula says it’s you,’ Joanna protested. ‘And that’s what she tells Eleni, too. Lets her think that you’re her papa and one day you’ll come to see her.’

‘Then she lies cruelly—on both counts,’ he returned implacably. ‘She is making a fool of you, Joanna, for some purpose of her own. A situation that will be dealt with,’ he added ominously.

He turned away, walking back to the window. ‘My wife died of a brain haemorrhage shortly after the birth of her daughter,’ he went on, his words staccato. ‘And because I could not bring myself either to acknowledge her lover’s bastard as mine or admit the shameful truth, I let it be thought that the baby, too, had not survived. That I had suffered a double loss.
Theos!’
His brief laugh jarred bitterly. ‘What a joke. What an eternal nightmare of a joke.’

Stricken, Joanna tried to say his name, but her lips could not frame the word.

‘I had the baby brought quietly to Pellas,’ Vassos continued after a pause. ‘And established her at the house belonging to the old olive press, with the woman who had been my wife’s maid and probable accomplice in her affair. So Soula knows the truth, whatever story she may spin now.’

He swung back and looked at Joanna, his face a bronze, unyielding mask.

‘Now do you wonder,
thespinis,
why I do not visit the child? I feed, clothe and provide for her, but that is all. She is too potent a reminder of my life’s worst mistake and the woman who betrayed me.’

‘But that can’t be right.’ Joanna’s voice was barely a whisper. ‘Vassos, Eleni must be your child. She—she’s just like you. She even looks at me with your smile.’

There was a silence. She saw his mouth tighten, then he said quietly, ‘Can you be so sure? The good God knows there have been few enough smiles between us, Joanna
mou.’

She said haltingly, ‘But I think enough for me to remember—and recognise.’

He raised his eyebrows, clicking his tongue in negation. ‘Maybe the resemblance you see is of your own imagining, because you wish it to be so. I know it is not possible.’

‘If you’d just go to the house,’ she begged. ‘See for yourself.’

‘There is no point.’ His tone hardened. ‘My bride taunted me with the news of her pregnancy on our wedding night, just after the consummation of our marriage had revealed that she was by no means the innocent virgin her father had claimed.’

‘She told you—that?’ Chilled with bewilderment, Joanna wrapped her arms round her body. ‘Oh, how could she?’

He shrugged. ‘We were not marrying for love, Joanna
mou,’
he said cynically. ‘It was not a romance. Our union had been arranged as part of a much wider business arrangement with the Philipou organisation. My father told me bluntly it was time my bachelor existence, however enjoyable, came to an end, and I accepted that. Therefore Ariadne and I were acquainted, but no more. However, you must believe that I intended to treat her gently and with the respect her purity deserved once she became my wife. She, on the other hand, made it clear that she wished to punish me because I was not the man she wanted.