The Pleasure Seekers (23 page)

She arrived at the Connaught with no luggage but several smart Bond Street shopping bags. The luggage came later, empty, but was soon filled with goodies from Fortnum’s and Harrod’s Food Hall, Carlucci’s and Camisa’s. A little something for everyone. She did Jermyn Street for shirts from Turnbull and Asser for Manoussos and Elefherakis, and one for Max – she usually bought him a box of cigars. A blank notebook, its cover all flowers, for Rachel. Her housekeeper, gardener,
Katzakis, so many of her Livakian friends, got small mementos that she picked up from all over London, little nonsenses that were practical and which she knew they would like. She was on a happy shopping spree for herself and her friends until the day she returned for more tea and coffee from Fortnum’s. She spotted a large tin of Royal Blend, Arnold’s favourite tea, and plucked it off the shelf, annoyed with herself because she had almost forgotten to buy it for him. It was in her hand and she was handing it over to the tailcoated assistant when she realised why she had forgotten to buy it. Arnold was no more, Arnold was dead, and Melina was no more than a young life wasting away in a Greek prison.

How could she have forgotten that? She came over quite dizzy and could hardly catch her breath. The sales attendant came to her rescue and ushered her to a chair. A glass of water was produced, and she was, after several minutes, quite recovered, but feeling foolish and embarrassed over the incident that had caused such a flurry.

She went to have some lunch and sat alone, quiet and contemplative. This London life and such extravagance were too much for her. She had never been born to it, it had no meaning for her, it was hard work and not at all rewarding. Oh, yes, it was fun to have the things she had bought, and even more fun to know that she could afford to go on such sprees, but it was poor fodder compared to the way she lived and worked in Livakia. She had fought hard to climb out of poverty, and she had fought even harder to retain her understanding of the meaning of life and pleasure instilled in her by Brett. So extravagance
was fun, but in the end all whipped cream with no real cake to bite into. She was ready to go home.

Nevertheless she remained in London several more days for the exhibitions she wanted to see, the theatre, a concert, some ballet, lunch and dinner with several old friends. She had dined at Wilton’s and the River Cafe and Tante Claire and several more first-class London restaurants. The food had been delicious, a far cry from the simple Greek cuisine of the Kavouria, and yet there was a sameness about the dining and the socialising, the rushing about to enjoy the big city life. In Livakia she never sensed that sameness to every waking hour. She never missed her extravagant excursions such as the one she was presently on. But in London she did miss Crete.

On occasion she thought about her days and nights with Brandon, and was amused when she saw a full window display of his latest book in Hatchard’s. She actually stood there for several minutes and said to herself, ‘I’ve been there, done that,’ and walked down the street with a broad smile on her lips.

For her last morning in London she walked the streets and window shopped and bought Brett a birthday present to keep for her next birthday celebrations. And then she took the plane for Athens, and made her connection for Crete. From London in the morning to Livakia and dining at the Kavouria at eleven that same night. Life was indeed rich and wondrous.

Nothing had changed. The pace was the same, and the faces, though some were missing. Max was on a trip to Africa, and all the talk was of that. Everyone knew
that he had African connections. That had been where he had made all his money, selling commodities to poor African countries. He had gone into it broke, struggling for survival in Livakia, and after three years had returned with millions in Swiss bank accounts, vowing never to work like that again. The life of a playboy was all he was after, he claimed, and that was the way he lived now.

He kept the business side of his life, how and where he’d made such vast sums of money in so short a time, pretty much a secret. But what he had not been able to keep secret was his fascination with and the many things he loved about Africa and the African people. Max had the third fax machine in the village, and like D’Arcy was linked to the outside world by computer technology.

The Livakians were fascinated by the secret, mysterious side of Max’s African life that had been, a glimpse of which they would get when, on rare occasions, he would have as house guests some important black Africans or else some stunningly beautiful, tall and slender black woman from Somalia or Ethiopia, as lover and companion for his usual brief period of time.

The talk about this latest trip he had suddenly taken off on was full of the usual speculations: gun running for some under-dog faction trying to take over a small country that could no longer bear its dictator bleeding it dry, or maybe organising mercenaries for the rebel faction of another. And when they weren’t speculating on Max they were talking about Mark, a subject on which everyone had an opinion.

He was still in Athens but continually calling one friend or another, asking about the atmosphere in the village and
for all the news. It was obvious he was under stress and drinking too much, missing his home and his friends. People were candid with him about their distress over his attacks on Arnold after his death. Mark was seeking forgiveness with every phone call, expressing how much he wanted to return but felt that he couldn’t, the time was not yet right. And then, while talking one evening to Elefherakis, he said that he had taken legal advice and that as much as he wanted to he would not appear in court in Melina’s defence. There had been a drunken confession to Elefherakis: he was infatuated with the girl and the dark side of her nature, and had been from the first time he saw her and picked her up and brought her into his house. He was in love with Melina though, before her arrest, he had not been able to accept that. Now he could and could do nothing about it.

D’Arcy was appalled at what she was hearing, thinking Mark’s moral dilemma would haunt him forever. Aloud she said, ‘He loves her but he’s deserting her. I don’t understand that.’

‘I do,’ Elefherakis told her. ‘He’s afraid of incriminating himself. He sees any further involvement on his part as putting himself under suspicion with the Greek authorities and his friends, both Greek and foreign, alienating himself even further from Livakia, his home and his work. He needs to clear his mind of this tragedy and the part he played in it so that he can come home and write.’

The table was quiet while listening to Elefherakis. It remained quiet until Manoussos spoke up. ‘We Greeks are very generous. When he does return we’ll receive him with open arms, even though we might never forget
that he has been very foolish and destructive. Live and let live.’

D’Arcy was seated next to Manoussos. His humanity never ceased to amaze her. Now she reached up and pulled him towards her by his shirt collar, leaning closer and kissing him full on the mouth. Everyone began to clap and hoot and holler, and together, still in their kiss, they rose from their chairs and continued it in an embrace. Someone called for more wine, someone else for a platter of deep fried courgettes, and everyone teased them as they sat down.

Laurence watched D’Arcy and Manoussos from across the table. He tried to quell his yearning for her. He missed her kisses. But the yearning was short-lived as Caroline whispered, ‘Why don’t you kiss me the way that policeman kisses D’Arcy? Are they lovers?’

He lied to Caroline, only because he could not bear to think of Manoussos or any other man having her as he had had her, even though it was he who had really wanted his freedom. ‘Maybe once, when they were children. They grew up together. Who knows about now?’

‘I’ve brought you a new shirt from London,’ D’Arcy told Manoussos.

He smiled at her and squeezed her hand. ‘It’s my day off tomorrow. Max has offered me his boat while he’s away – we’ll sail down the coast for lunch and visit Yannis, OK?’

Elefherakis, D’Arcy and Manoussos left the Kavouria together. They walked along the port and listened to D’Arcy talk about London, where she had been, what she had done. No one mentioned Brandon, though both
men knew that she had been with him. Manoussos left Elefherakis to walk D’Arcy home; he had some reports to write, a fax to send, if they were going off in the morning. D’Arcy and he made arrangements to meet at seven on Max’s boat, he kissed her and they parted.

In her house, D’Arcy offered Elefherakis a brandy. There was an autumnal chill in the air. D’Arcy lit the fire and then excused herself. When she returned she had in her hand the jewel box that Brandon had left in her handbag. She sat down next to Elefherakis and opened it. He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth in admiration of the earrings and said only one word: ‘Magnificent!’

‘It really is too much from a man who knows we will never have a repeat performance of what has been.’

‘Obviously not.’

‘What do you think I should do?’

‘Wear them.’

Then they both looked away from the small treasure she had been presented with and D’Arcy gave Elefherakis a dazzling smile. ‘That’s what I thought,’ she told him.

‘At every opportunity,’ he added as he plucked one from the box and carefully placed it on her ear lobe.

All the way home from her house to his, Elefherakis could not stop thinking about D’Arcy and how she had looked in her earrings. He imagined her naked with nothing on but those earrings and the Byzantine gold bracelets he had given her on her twenty-first birthday. With every year that went by she resembled her mother more and more. When she touched his arm, gave him a smile in a certain way, as she had tonight, there was so
much of Brett in her he could hardly control himself for the desire he felt for her.

When she had kissed Manoussos in front of everyone he had recognised the sexual aura they created as a couple and it had made him dizzy with desire. He found her the most exotic, sensual woman he had ever known after Brett, and he wanted to make love to her, to fuck her until she screamed for him to stop. It had been like that in the past, a long time ago. He would have her now, maybe only once more, but yes, he would have her before the night was out. He was practically at his door when he turned round and walked, very nearly ran, back to her house.

When she answered his knock at the walled entrance to her house, he could see it in her eyes – she had expected him to return. ‘It’s been a very long time, my coming here like this,’ he told her.

‘Years,’ was her answer.

She had changed into a diaphanous nightdress, her body could be seen through its seductively misty sheer silk. Like the finest spider’s web, the silk rippled in the night breeze. She took him by the hand and together they walked along the paths and up the steps to her house.

Leading him through the rooms into her bedroom, she asked, ‘Why now?’

‘Why not now? You’ve come back from London and Brandon with a new sexual edge to you. Exciting, thrilling. I want a taste of this new you with nothing but your Byzantine earrings in your ears and your golden bracelets on your wrists.’

They smiled at each other. It was a knowing smile,
filled with affection and sexual memories of what had been. ‘Wait here,’ she told him, and walked from the bedroom into her bathroom, closing the door.

Elefherakis undressed and laid his things neatly over a chair. He went to her wardrobe and made a search for a dark blue silk damask robe of his that, years ago, when D’Arcy had admired it, he had given to her. He slipped it on but didn’t bother to tie the belt. The bathroom door opened and she stood there with the light behind her. It made her hair, so long and luxuriant, look more tantalisingly red than ever. She wore her earrings and the bracelets on her wrists and had rouged her nipples so that they looked dark and sultry. Her mound, shaved of hair, had been decorated by Su Lee in henna, a pattern of swirls and curlicues. This was how she presented herself to Elefherakis.

He was dazzled by what he saw. She was standing very still, an erotic goddess. He walked up to her, opened his robe and placed a kiss upon her neck. He stepped closer to her, until he was hard against her, and held her with his strong hands cupping her breasts. The touch of his erect phallus against her body thrilled him.

‘Don’t say a word,’ he commanded.

He touched the earrings and then the bracelets and then caressed her mound and told her, ‘It suits you, you’re ravishing.’ Rubbing up against her, the feel of her skin, the scent of her, made him crazy with desire. She had always done that for him, from the very first time he had had her. D’Arcy had something about her sexually that made him take her roughly. She was like the calm before the storm and he wanted
the storm, instantly. Wildly, ruthlessly to take sexual possession of her.

He had been one of her first lovers, seducing her after he had discovered that she had been having sex with Manoussos. She had been fifteen years old, his Lolita, and he had helped to create in her the erotic, very carnal lady that was now standing before him. He took her roughly, again and again, and the more she gave way to his lust, the more control he had over her sexuality. Elefherakis was powerfully strong and when he came he crushed her to him in an embrace which D’Arcy feared would break her bones. He had taken her standing up, pressed against the wall of her bedroom. Elefherakis had tremendous sexual stamina and control and he had been a long time in coming, long enough for D’Arcy herself to have come several times. Now, when he withdrew from her, he had to prop her against the wall with one hand or she would have slipped to the floor.

He was short of breath from his exertions but looking at her, still with her earrings in place, as ravishing as when she had stepped into the doorway, only now with the look of sexual bliss in her eyes and the expression on her face, he was able to calm himself. He was delighted to have had such a gift as D’Arcy had just given him. A woman who created herself as he had wanted her, a carnal goddess, wanting to be riven by him. Only a woman as generous and wise, as stable and secure, as D’Arcy could bestow such gifts as total submission to a man’s lust and yet never lose her essential self; she merely lent it. He placed an arm round her and together they went to her bed.