His Forbidden Bride (25 page)

pleasure. 'It's true what they say about absence, eh?'

She took his hand and led him round the room, introducing him to everyone

in turn, smiling with a radiance that made her facial muscles ache. Not

looking at Andreas as the two men shook hands with the usual polite

murmurs.

'It seems I am to wish you joy,' Andreas said softly.

'Looks like it,' said George. 'You could knock me down with a feather,

actually. I never thought I'd talk her round.'

Andreas smiled charmingly. 'Clearly you know al the right words to say.' He

looked at Zoe, and it was like being seared with a cold flame. 'You must be

sure to invite me to the wedding. When is it to be?'

'Wel , we haven't quite got to that—' George began, but Zoe cut in quickly.

'I thought next Easter,' she said. 'And it's kind of you to take such an

interest,
kyrie
, but I'm sure you'l be far too busy with your own

arrangements to bother with mine.'

'Oh, I think I shal be married long before that.' Andreas still held her gaze

with his.

'Terrific,' she said. 'I've never seen a more perfect couple.' She turned to

George, treating him to another burst of radiance. 'Darling, you need a

drink.' And she whisked him away.

'Arrogant-looking devil,' George muttered in an undertone. 'Don't think I'd

want him as a friend.'

'Wel , don't worry on that score,' Zoe advised him shortly. 'Do you want

ouzo, or white wine?'

'Is ouzo that cloudy stuff that tastes of aniseed.' He pul ed a face. 'I'd better

stick to wine.'

He began a catalogue of smal grumbles about his Greek experiences, from

the smel of the drain he'd encountered by the harbour to his failure to raise

the temperature of his shower above tepid.

'You're not implying the two are connected in some way.' Zoe tried to joke

him out of it.

'God, I hope not.' He sounded horrified. 'Do you think I should mention it to

that Sherry person? She's married to a Greek, you know, although he

seems quite pleasant.'

'Yes,' she said a touch wearily. 'He is. And, no, George, I wouldn't say a

word. After al , you'l soon be safely back in England.'

'That's true,' he said, brightening. He put an awkward arm round her and

squeezed.

Zoe was thankful to her heart when Andoni announced that dinner was

served.

But to her horror she found she had been placed next to Andreas, with a

glowering Christina opposite. George, recalling his company manners,

applied himself to her painstakingly, but either she did not speak English

wel enough to understand him, or considered him not worth her notice,

because he received little response.

Zoe made two comments praising the food, to which Andreas acceded with

cool civility, and then relapsed into silence. It was, she thought, safer that

way.

But she could not escape the reality of his physical presence. She found

herself terrified that his sleeve might brush her bare arm. That their hands

might touch as they both reached for the salt or more bread.

She was trapped in a morass of small but potent fears.

When the leg of lamb that comprised the main course was served,

conversation became general, and she was able to relax a little.

'I must say that it's wonderful to be somewhere with air-conditioning,'

George announced buoyantly. 'My room was like an oven last night. I didn't

bother with the coverlet at all, and I almost found my pyjamas too much.'

There was a silence, eventual y broken by Andreas.

'Indeed,' he said, very gravely, and Zoe did not have to look at him to know

that little devils were dancing in his eyes. 'You did not consider, maybe,

taking them off?'

'Certainly not,' said George. 'Sleeping in pyjamas is much healthier.'

Andreas lounged back in his chair, eyelids drooping, a smile playing about

his mouth. 'But also a little constricting,' he said silkily. 'Don't you find?'

George looked surprised. 'No,' he said. 'Not real y.' And he began to eat his

lamb.

As soon as conversation round the table restarted, and under cover of a

noisy discussion between Steve and Petros Mandrassis, Zoe said quietly

and fiercely, 'Stop it.'

'I did not start it.' Andreas, the picture of courtesy, poured more wine into her

glass. 'Tel me, Zoe
mou
, do you honestly intend to marry that fool?'

'That is none of your business.'

'If so, take some advice,' he went on as if she had not spoken. 'Leave

George folded under the pil ow, and sleep with his pyjamas. You will get

more response that way.'

Her voice shook. 'You bastard.'

He laughed. 'Hardly an appropriate name—under the circumstances.

She gasped. 'I—hate you.'

'You are wise,' he said harshly. 'I am trying very hard to do the same.' He

saw Christina staring at them across the table, her eyes narrow with

suspicion, and raised his glass to her in a smiling toast. She laughed back

at him, apparently mol ified, and he turned back to Zoe, offering her the dish

of potatoes, every inch the attentive host.

He was still smiling, but the look in his eyes pierced her to the bone. He said

very softly and evenly, 'There is not an hour of the day that I do not think of

you,
matia mou
. Not a night that I do not dream you are in my arms, and

wake in torment. I loathe myself for the feelings I stil have for you, but I

cannot drive them from my soul. I am in this—hel , and you are not with me.'

The quiet voice stopped. And in another second Andreas had joined in the

conversation with the two older men.

While Zoe sat rigidly in her chair, pretending to eat, and praying for the

evening to end.

As the plane circled above Heathrow George said, 'Zoe— are you serious

about wanting to marry me?'

It was the question Zoe had been dreading all day. She'd expected him to

ask it during the helicopter flight to Athens; while they were waiting at the

airport for the upgrade to first class that Steve Dragos had arranged for

them, and ever since the plane had taken off.

Maybe the champagne they'd been served had loosened his tongue at last.

She turned and looked at him with compunction. She said gently, 'Darling

George, you know as wel as I do that if I said "Yes" your mother would have talked you out of it within twenty-four hours.'

He sighed. 'I don't know why she's like that.'

Because she's a miserable, selfish witch, who's scared stiff of losing you.

Zoe thought it, but did not say it.

Aloud, she said, 'But there's one thing I'm sure of. One day you're going to

meet someone, love her so much that nothing your mother says wil make

the slightest difference, and you'l walk off into the sunset together.'

'What about a sunset for you, Zoe?' He paused. 'It's him, isn't it? That

arrogant Greek guy I met last night.'

'No,' she said. 'I thought so once—but not any more.'

'But it's hit you hard,' he said. 'I can tel . He was watching you almost all the

time. So, why's he marrying Tina Whatsit?'

'Because she's got a shipping line,' Zoe said. 'And I have a degree in

English. They're hardly comparable.' She paused. 'You didn't seem too

happy when we were taking off at Athens, George. How are you about

landing?'

'I'd rather not,' he said, losing some of his colour.

Zoe took his hand and held it until the plane was safely on the ground.

She thought, It's over. I'm home and safe. And I can teach myself to forget.

When dinner was over, they'd gone to the
saloni
for coffee, and Zoe had

stayed close to Steve, reasoning it was the safest place to be. She'd wanted

no more exchanges with Andreas, she'd told herself, digging her nails into

the palms of her hands. She'd still been able to feel the reverberations along

her nerve-endings from the last one.

She'd been afraid even to glance in his direction. She'd felt her skin warm

with awareness each time she'd heard his voice.

George had left comparatively early, and she'd made a business of

accompanying him to the door, and lifting her mouth for his awkward kiss.

She'd gone to her own room shortly afterwards, pleading a headache, and

encountering a cool y cynical glance from Andreas as she'd done so.

She'd been woken a couple of hours later by the sound of a low-voiced but

furious row being conducted in the garden below her bedroom by Andreas

and his father, and had realised she was thankful she didn't know what they

were saying.

In the morning, Steve had proved unexpectedly amenable when she'd

announced she would be leaving with George to catch the afternoon flight to

London. In fact, he had done everything possible to smooth her departure,

as if he'd recognised it was time for her to go. That it was better—safer that

way.

She had not, however, seen Andreas, even to say goodbye, and didn't know

whether she should feel glad or sorry.

'He has taken my Christina to see the famous Silver Caves,' Petros

Mandrassis informed her, the smal eyes glittering with satisfaction.

But would he cal her name to the echo? Zoe wondered sadly.

The actual moment of leaving the house was unexpectedly emotional. Steve

held her for a long time, then traced a cross upon her forehead.

He said, 'I wil write to you, my child, and we will talk on the telephone,
ne
?

And we shal see each other again, soon.' He paused. 'Not here, perhaps,

but in Paris, maybe, or Rome?'

'Yes,' she said. 'I—I'd like that' She forced a smile. 'Papa.'

And left him smiling.

She was unutterably weary when she final y reached her flat She stepped

over a pile of mail in the hal , most of it junk, tossed her case into a corner,

and went into her tiny kitchen. She made herself some tea, opening a carton

of long-life milk from the refrigerator, and carried it through to her bedroom.

She took off her clothes, dropping them to the floor.

Tomorrow she would pick them up, and open her letters, and throw away

dead flowers, and unpack.

But for now, she just needed to get into bed.

After the heat of Greece, there was a chil to the sheets, and she huddled

them round her. She turned her head slightly, and looked up at her mother's

picture, remembering the rustle of the dead bougainvil ea under her feet as

she'd climbed the steps, the sharp scent of the pelargoniums, and the

ever-present whisper of the sea.

Maybe the picture was too harsh a reminder of all that she'd lost, and she

should take it down. But tomorrow was soon enough to decide that, she

thought, and was asleep before her tea had cooled sufficiently to drink.

She spent three days cleaning and tidying the flat, dealing with

correspondence, doing the laundry, and shopping for food.

On the fourth day she took the pottery vase she'd bought in Livassi and went

to see Adele. The cottage next door was sold, and the new owners were

already in residence, with fresh paintwork on the doors and window frames

to prove it.

'You're back early,' Adele commented, making coffee, after the vase had

been unwrapped and admired.

She set a beaker down in front of Zoe. 'I told you these small islands were

too quiet. You should have tried Corfu.'

'Next time, perhaps,' Zoe said lightly.

'Did you get to see any of the places your mother saw?'