‘Hush, it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters but this. Kiss me-kiss me.’
She proceeded to show him what she meant, sensing the response go through him, delighting in her power over him and his over her. Soon they must reach the moment that had been inevitable since their meeting, and everything in her yearned towards it.
Lysandros felt as if he were awaking from a dream, or sinking into one. He wasn’t sure which. Her plea of ‘Kiss me’ was entrancing, yet something deep inside him was drawing away. He tried to fight it. He wanted her, but so much that it alarmed him.
Impulse had made him call her tonight. Impulse had made him drag her away from their unwanted companions. Impulse-the thing he’d battled for years-was beginning to rule him.
A puppet dancing on the end of her chain. And she knew it.
‘What is it?’ she asked, feeling him draw away.
‘This place is very public. We should get back to the table; I think I left something there.’
‘And then?’ she asked slowly, unwilling to believe the thought that was coming into her head.
‘Then I think we should both-go home.’
She stared at him, trying to believe what he was doing, feeling the anger rise within her. He hadn’t left anything behind and they both knew it. But he was telling her the magic was over. He’d banished it by an act of will, proving that his control was still strong, although he’d brought her to the edge of losing hers.
It was a demonstration of power, and she was going to make him regret it.
‘How dare you?’ she said in a soft, furious voice. ‘Who the hell do you think you are to despise me?’
‘I don’t-’
‘Shut up. I have something to say and you’re going to listen. I am not some desperate female who you can pick up and put down when it suits you. And don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean because you know exactly. They’re all standing in line for you, aren’t they? But not me.’
‘I don’t know who gave you such an idea,’ he grated.
‘Any woman you’ve ever known could have given it to me. Your reputation went before you.’
His own anger rose.
‘I’ll bet Nikator had something to say, but are you mad enough to listen to him? Don’t tell me he fools you with that “little brother” act!’
‘Why shouldn’t I believe he’s concerned about me?’ she demanded.
‘Oh, he’s concerned all right, but not as a brother. The rumours about him are very interesting at the moment. Why do you think Debra Farley left Athens so suddenly? Because he went too far, wouldn’t take no for an answer. Have a look at his face and see what she did to it when she was fighting him off. I gather it took a lot of money to get her to leave quietly.’
‘I don’t believe it,’ she said, ignoring the whispers within her brain.
‘I do not tell lies,’ Lysandros snapped.
‘No, but you can get things wrong. Even the great, infallible Lysandros Demetriou makes mistakes, and you’ve really made one about me. One minute you say you’ll follow “anywhere I want to take you”. The next moment it’s time to go home. Do you really think I’ll tamely accept that sort of behaviour?
‘What am I supposed to do now, Lysandros? Sit by the phone, hoping you’ll get in touch, like one of those Athens wives? When you called tonight I should have told you to go and jump in the lake-’
‘But you didn’t, so perhaps we-’
The words were like petrol on flames.
‘Well, I’m doing it now,’ she seethed. ‘You have your work to do, I have mine, and there’s no need for us to trouble each other further. Goodnight.’
Turning swiftly away before he could reach out, she hurried back through the streets to the little restaurant. George and Angela were still there, beaming at the sight of Petra.
‘We just knew you’d come back,’ Angela said. ‘You will come to the cave, won’t you?’
‘Thank you, I look forward to it,’ Petra said firmly. ‘Why don’t we discuss the details now?’ She smiled at Lysandros with deadly intent. ‘I’ll get a taxi home. Don’t let us keep you. I’m sure you’re busy.’
‘You’re right,’ he said in a forced voice. ‘Goodnight. It’s been a pleasure meeting you all.’
He inclined his head to them all and was gone. Nor did he look back, which Petra thought was just as well, or he would have seen a look of misery on her face that she wouldn’t have admitted for all the world.
Lysandros awoke in a black depression. Now the magical sunshine that had flooded the path ahead had died, replaced by the prosaic everyday light of the city. She wasn’t here, and it shamed him to remember how her presence had made him act.
‘Wherever you want to take me.’ Had he really said that?
He should be glad that she’d hurled the reminder at him, warning him of the danger into which he’d been sleepwalking, saving him in time.
In time?
He rose and went through the process of preparing for the day, moving like an automaton while his brain seethed.
She alarmed him. She mattered too much. Simply by being herself she could lure him out of the armoured cave where he lived, and where he had vowed to stay for the rest of his days.
For years women had come and gone in his life. He’d treated them well in a distant fashion, and seen them depart without regret. But this woman had broken the mould, and he knew that he must cut ties now or risk yielding to weakness, the thing he dreaded most in the world.
He went to his desk, meaning to write a polite letter, accepting her dismissal. That way he wouldn’t have to hear her voice with its soft resonance, its memory of pleasure half experienced, still anticipated. He drew paper towards him and prepared to write.
But the pen seemed to have developed a life of its own, and refused to do his bidding. His brain shut down, denying him the necessary words.
This was her doing. She was like one of the sirens of legend, whose voices had lured sailors onto the rocks. How much had they known, those doomed men? Had they gone unknowingly to their death, or had they recognised the truth about the siren-song, yet still been drawn in, unable to help themselves? And when it had been too late, and they sank beneath the waves, had they cursed themselves for yielding, or had their suffering been worth it for the glimpse of heaven?
He would have given anything to know.
At last he gave up trying to write. It was she who had broken it off, and there was nothing more to be said. More business problems made another journey to the port essential, and for several days he had no time to think of anything else. On the journey back to Athens he was able to relax in the feeling of having regained command of his life.
Petra would have replaced him with another eager suitor, and that was best for both of them. He was even glad of it. So he told himself.
On the last mile home he switched on his car radio to hear the latest news. A commentator was describing a search taking place at sea, where a boat had been found overturned. Those aboard had been exploring a cave on an island in the gulf.
‘One of those missing is known to be Petra Radnor, daughter of film star Estelle Radnor, who recently married-’
He pulled over sharply to the side of the road and sat in frozen stillness, listening.
She’d said she’d go anywhere and do anything for a ‘find’, but had she really wanted to go? Hadn’t she tried to slide out of it, but then fallen back into the clutches of George and Angela only because of him?
If she hadn’t been angry with me she wouldn’t have gone on this trip. If she’s dead, it’s my doing-like last time-like last time-
At last life came back to his limbs. He swung the car round in the direction of the coast, driving as though all the devils in hell were after him.
Night was falling as he reached the sea and headed for the place where the boats were to be found. Outwardly he was calm but he couldn’t stop the words thrumming in his head.
She’s dead-she’s dead-you had your chance and it’s gone-again-
A crowd had gathered in the harbour, gazing out to the water and a boat that was heading towards them. Lysandros parked as close as he could and ran to where he could have a better view of the boat.
‘They’ve rescued most of them,’ said a man nearby. ‘But I heard there was still someone they couldn’t find.’
‘Does anyone know who?’ Lysandros asked sharply.
‘Only that it was a woman. I doubt if they’ll find her now.’
You killed her-you killed her!
He pressed against the rail, straining his eyes to see the boat coming through the darkness. In the bow stood a woman, huddled in a blanket, as though she’d been rescued from the water. Frantically he strained to see more, but her face was a blur. A passing light suggested that her hair might be light. It could be Petra-if only he could be sure.
His heart was thundering and he gripped the railing so hard that his hands hurt. It must be her. She couldn’t be dead, because if she were-
Shudders racked him.
Suddenly a shout went up, followed by a cheer. The boat was closer now and at last he could see the woman. It was Petra.
He stood there, holding the rail for support, taking deep breaths, trying to bring himself under control.
She would be here in a few moments. He must plan, be organised. A cellphone. That was it! She would have lost hers in the water, but she’d need one to call her mother. He could do that to please her.
Her eyes were searching the harbour until at last she began to wave. Full of joyful relief, Lysandros waved back, but then realised that she wasn’t looking at him but at someone closer. Then he saw Nikator dart forward, reaching up to her. She leaned down, smiling and calling to him.
Lysandros stayed deadly still as the boat docked and the passengers streamed off seeking safety. Petra went straight into Nikator’s arms and they hugged each other. Then Nikator took out his cellphone, handing it to her, saying things Lysandros couldn’t hear, but could guess. Petra dialled, put the phone to her ear and cried, ‘Estelle, darling, it’s me, I’m safe.’
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