Neither girl spoke. It was a tense, glacier-cold silence, broken at last by Paul, who flicked a hand and invited them into the sitting-room.

  ‘I happened to be in Athens,’ Dora managed presently, ‘and thought you might be at the flat, so I called.’ She was standing by the high window, staring at Paul across the room. ‘You didn’t say anything about getting married when last I saw you ... and stayed here, in the flat.’ She paused a moment, her eyes flickering to Tina, who was standing close to her husband, her face as white as her blouse, her small hands clenched tightly at her sides. ‘It was about six weeks ago—no, perhaps a little more, wasn’t it? How long have you been married, Paul?’

  ‘Just over six weeks.’ His face was tight; Tina could not have said whether he was angry or merely uncomfortable. For her—she was thinking of the time element just mentioned by Dora. She stayed here, with Paul, just over six weeks ago ...

  ‘I think,’ said Tina in a hollow little voice, ‘I’d better leave you alone. I’m sure you have things to talk about.’ And without giving Paul the chance to speak she brushed past him and was in the street within seconds.

  She walked and walked, in the loneliness of misery, her tangled thoughts one moment telling her that what Paul had done prior to their marriage was none of her business, but the next moment she was hearing him saying that he wanted her—Tina—more than any other woman he had ever known. He had come to her in England and offered her marriage. She had naturally taken it for granted that he had not had any other woman between the time when she had left Greece and the time when he had seen her in England. Yet he had slept with his old flame only a few nights before he decided to ask Tina to marry him.

  Disgusted, she continued to walk, increasing the distance between herself and the flat. Her eyes were filled with tears; she did stop to wonder what she intended to do and although it occurred to her that she could go to her uncle’s hotel, she dismissed the idea at once. She had no wish to upset either her aunt or her uncle. Besides, she had a strong suspicion that they would tell her to mind her own business, that what Paul did before his marriage was his concern, not hers.

  She had no idea how long she had walked, but she suddenly realised she was on totally unfamiliar ground. It was quieter, more residential. She stopped, only to begin hurrying on again as she saw a dark, stockily- built Greek coming purposefully towards her from the other side of the tree-lined road. He followed her and she began to run, her heart throbbing painfully, the tears streaming down her face. She had never felt so depressed in her life, no, not even when she was working for Mrs. France-Cobet. The man’s footsteps were no longer to be heard and she slowed down, glancing behind her. She wanted to turn back, to try to find her way ... to where? Her nerves were drawn to threads of fear and uncertainty. All was bleak, hopeless, dark. She was so sunk in the depths of despair that she convinced herself that there was no going back to her husband. In the end she decided she must go to her uncle’s hotel. It was stupid to wander about like this, feeling sorry for herself, telling herself she had nowhere to go. The man appeared to have gone and she turned back, hurrying along the road towards the more brightly illuminated part of the outskirts of the town. And luckily she saw a roving taxi and hailing it, was relieved to see it slowing down. She got in, giving the name of her uncle’s hotel. Within a quarter of an hour she was there, noticing the surprised look on the face of the receptionist as he saw her alone. It was gone nine o’clock, she realised. She had been walking for three hours.

  She hurried along to her aunt’s private sitting-room, but reaching the door she stopped. What was she going to say? How would her aunt and uncle take it when she said she had left her husband? Well, it had to be done, she decided, resolutely lifting a hand to knock on the door. She opened it and went in, saw the look of surprised enquiry on her aunt’s face and burst into tears.

  ‘What ...?’ Aunt Doris had been reading by the electric fire, but she rose at once and came towards her niece, her round, homely face anxious, her arms outstretched.

  ‘I’ve—left Paul ...’ The lump in her throat choked any further words which Tina might have uttered. She was clasped to her aunt’s bosom and for a few moments she wept unrestrainedly, almost oblivious of the soothing words being spoken, or the gentle pats which her aunt was giving her on the back and on the shoulder.

  ‘Tell me all about it, dear,’ Aunt Doris said gently when at last Tina’s sobs had abated and her tears were dried. ‘You’ve quarrelled?’

  Tina shook her head.

  ‘No, we—we haven’t.’ She felt foolish all at once, and it was a long while before she could bring herself to explain.

  ‘You walked out, just for that?’ Aunt Doris seemed as if she could not believe the evidence of her own ears. ‘You’ve left your husband for a reason like that?’

  Tina said nothing for a while and then,

  ‘Can I stay here, Auntie?’

  ‘Of course—but, Tina, you can’t leave Paul—’ Her voice trailed and her eyes went past Tina to the door.

  Tina spun around, her face blanching.

  ‘Paul—’ Her voice caught on the word and she started to cry again.

  ‘I’ll leave you to sort it out,’ decided Aunt Doris, preparing to depart. ‘Have you seen Frank, Paul?’

  ‘Yes. He’s busy in the restaurant. I asked him if Tina was here and he said no—at least, not that he knew of. He told me to come and see you.’ He sounded impatient, and his eyes were granite-hard as they rested on his wife’s tear-stained face.

  Aunt Doris passed quietly from the room, closing the door behind her. Paul stood some distance from his wife, staring at her through those hard eyes of his. She shivered, seeing in him all that was pagan.

  Paul was the first to break the silence, his voice hard and inflexible as he said,

  ‘What do you mean by running away like that? I’ve been searching everywhere for you. I did think of coming here but felt you’d not bring your relatives into it, so I was reluctant to contact them. I did it as a last resort.’ He paused as if suddenly angry with himself for troubling to explain. ‘Why did you run off?’ he asked again.

  She raised her head, conscious of her hot cheeks, her tear-dimmed eyes.

  ‘I was—disgusted.’

  Silence for a long moment and then,

  ‘Is that all you have to say?’

  It seemed so inadequate now, she realised. Not only inadequate, but nonsensical.

  ‘It was awful, her coming there, and mentioning having slept with you—only a very short time before you came to me, asking me to marry you. I took it for

  granted that you’d been—been faithful—’ She broke

  off, shrugging in an attempt to hide her embarrassment. For she was embarrassed, very. She felt foolish, knowing that she had attached far too much importance to the whole affair.

  His eyes were points of flint as he said,

  ‘I wasn’t aware that Dora had mentioned anything about sleeping with me.’

  Tina gave a slight start.

  ‘I assumed that, having stayed the night at the flat, she had slept with you.’

  Paul’s face became as dark and cold as ironstone. ‘Then you assume too much,’ he said frigidly. ‘Dora did not sleep with me on that occasion—on others, yes, I make no denial of that. But I’ll remind you of this, Tina, even if I had slept with Dora, it had absolutely nothing to do with you.’ He paused, looking directly at her. ‘What I did before my marriage is my own affair, and I’ll thank you to keep out of it.’ So tall and over powering he seemed, and stern to the point of harshness. His voice had been quiet but carrying a magisterial quality which was a dark warning in itself. She said, in a muffled little voice,

  ‘I’m sorry. I took it for granted that you and she had slept together.’

  ‘I’ve just told you,’ he said sharply, ‘that you take too much for granted! I told you also that whatever I did before my marriage has nothing to do with you. And now if you’re ready we’ll go home. Go and find your aunt.’

  She hesitated, looking up at him. His face was a blur through the tears in her eyes, but the sternness seemed still to be there, and not a sign of pity, or of concern for her feelings. But through the tangle of her thoughts she was admitting that she did not deserve pity. She moved to the door, saying with a little access of desolation,

  ‘I’ll tell Auntie that we—er—we’ve made it up.’ ‘You told her we’d quarrelled?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘No, I told her the truth—that I’d walked out because of—of Dora.’ She hung her head beneath the dark censure of his gaze. ‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ she added, and hastily left the room.

  If Paul meant to punish her he succeeded. There were three bedrooms in the flat and he and Tina had hitherto shared the largest on their visits to Athens. Tina went to it, and after showering and putting on a nightgown she waited, by the window, for him to join her. She heard him moving, going into the other bathroom, then the adjoining bedroom. The finality of a closing door was the stab that pierced her heart and caused her to weep again, weep with the abandonment of loss. This was the first time her husband had been really angry with her and it hurt excruciatingly. He had not troubled to tell her what had happened after she left the flat. She would probably never know what transpired between him and his old flame. She told herself that she did not want to know, and yet at the same time she was aware of a sense of curiosity, remembering as she did the girl’s very definite assertion that Paul had married her, Tina, simply to spite Dora.

  She got into bed at last, but spent a restless night, with intervals of wakefulness and fitful dozing. She had looked forward to this trip, just as she had looked forward to the others that had gone before, but through her own folly she had spoiled it all.

  The sun was shining into the room as she awoke from her last troubled sleep; she got up, listening for a sign of movement from the next room, but all was quiet. She bathed and dressed, then went to the breakfast-room. Paul was there, about to make some toast.

  She asked where his manservant was.

  ‘Sometimes, when it’s his day off, he stays the night with his married sister. He did not know we’d be here.’ His voice was abrupt, unfriendly. Tina asked if she could do anything and was told she could make the coffee. She went into the kitchen, her heart heavy within her. There must be some way of getting back to that blissful relationship, but she could not find it. Paul was cool and quiet over breakfast; he bade her a brief good morning afterwards and went out, saying he would not be back until seven o’clock that evening.

  Her mouth trembled as she watched him go. He had not kissed her, but she had not expected him to. His features had retained that hard impassivity that was on his face last night, an expression she was seeing for the very first time.

  She was learning about him—and she supposed he was learning about her ... things he did not like.

  There was nothing to do but go out. She found her steps directed to her uncle’s hotel. Her aunt, eager for news of what had transpired, left her job of supervising the flower arrangements and took her niece to her private room.

  ‘Sit down, child—’ She scanned Tina’s pale face and frowned. ‘What’s happened? Where’s Paul?’

  ‘He has business to attend to. I didn’t expect him to be with me in the daytime.’ Tina sat down, wishing her heart was not so heavy, her mind so full of frightening thoughts. Yes, she was frightened—that her husband might already be regretting his marriage to her.

  ‘What happened?’ enquired her aunt again, ringing the bell to bring one of the staff so that she could order coffee.

  Tina coloured as she said, ‘Paul was still angry when we arrived at the flat. He—decided to sleep in—in the other room.’ Her words caught on a little sob which brought a sigh to her aunt’s lips. ‘I asked for it,’ she added desolately. ‘I assumed he had slept with Dora, but he hadn’t.’

  ‘Why was she there, then?’

  ‘He didn’t say, but it seems feasible that she was in Athens and called to see him, and stayed the night—in one of the other bedrooms, that is.’

  ‘Yes, that is feasible, as you say.’ There was a definite edge of scepticism in Aunt Doris’s voice which did not escape her niece. Tina tried not to allow doubts to enter her mind, but realised that they were doing so. Until her aunt spoke she had taken her husband’s word as the truth, but now—Men were all liars, her aunt had once said. Could Paul be lying? If he was then what right had he to adopt that attitude of the injured party, treating his wife with cold disdain?

  ‘I think I’ll go and do some shopping, Auntie,’ she said, feeling she must get out of here, away by herself, to think.

  If she stayed here she would be expected to talk, and the tumult of her thoughts at the present time was not for putting into words.

  ‘Do you have some shopping to do, Tina, or are you just saying that?’

  ‘I want to be on my own, Auntie.’

  But the older woman was shaking her head.

  ‘It wouldn’t be good for you at this time, love. Stay here; let Paul come here for you—You can phone him when you know he’ll be at the flat. I shall speak to him—’

  ‘No,’ broke in Tina. ‘I wouldn’t like that—nor would Paul. He was angry enough when he learned that I’d told you everything.’

  Her aunt gave a small sigh.

  ‘He’s a strange man, Tina, coming from a strange part of Greece. There’s no knowing what his characteristics are, not with his ancestry being what it is.’

  ‘He doesn’t go there,’ returned Tina, suddenly urged to defend him. ‘He’s very cultured, as you know —Westernised, to a great extent.’

  ‘I concede a point there, but it’s a case of heredity. He is what he is, and although environment plays a great part in the forming of a man’s character it’s been proved that heredity’s stronger. You could keep a tiger in captivity for ever, but you’d never tame it.’

  Tina had to smile.

  ‘That’s an extreme case, Auntie,’ she said.

  ‘The Greeks were pagans, my dear.’

  ‘Weren’t we all, at one time?’

  ‘Well, that’s another point I’m willing to concede ’ She stopped on hearing a knock on the door.

  ‘Come in,’ she called, and gave the order to the dark Greek who entered.

  ‘Just coffee, Mrs. Frank?’

  ‘And a few biscuits, Georgios, please.’

  He was back within five minutes and the coffee was served to them.

  ‘Are you going to stay here?’ her aunt was saying a moment or two later, when the man had departed.

  ‘I feel so restless, Auntie. I’d get on your nerves.’

  ‘It would have been better,’ remarked Aunt Doris wisely, ‘if you hadn’t come with him this time.’

  Tina thought so too, yet on the other hand she would rather know that Dora was in the habit of calling on Paul when she was in Athens. Not that she would always find him in residence at the flat, of course, but on those occasions when he was she would obviously be welcome, or otherwise she would not be calling. Of course, mused Tina, the girl had not known that Paul was married, and it could very well be that she would never call again. Certainly she would be shy of calling if she knew that Paul’s wife would be there.

  ‘He wants me to meet his mother,’ said Tina, changing the subject. ‘We’ll be going on the yacht.’

  Her aunt looked surprised.

  ‘I didn’t know he had a mother. Where does she live?’

  ‘On the island of Patmos.’

  ‘The smallest of the Dodecanese islands—a beautiful island, Tina, you’ll adore it!’

  ‘You’ve been there, then?’

  She nodded her head.

  ‘Your uncle and I went there last year—Didn’t I mention it in any of my letters?’

  ‘No, I’m sure you didn’t. Is it as nice as Crete?’

  ‘It’s vastly different. There’s a famous monastery there with some very beautiful frescoes. The village of Chora’s interesting too. You’ll see Byzantine-style houses, and you’ll be able to buy the most exquisite hand embroidery.’

  ‘Paul’s mother lives in Chora,’ said Tina meditatively, ‘with her sister.’

  ‘I hope she likes you, dear.’

  Tina’s mouth curved with a hint of doubt.

  ‘Paul says she doesn’t care much for the English.’ Her aunt grimaced.

  ‘To the devil with her, then. Doesn’t she speak the language?’

  ‘I don’t know; Paul didn’t say.’ Tina drained her cup and placed it on the saucer. ‘I’m going out. Auntie,’ she stated firmly, rising as she spoke.

  ‘Very well, love. Will you come back and have lunch with us?’

  ‘Yes, I’d like that. In the restaurant?’

  Aunt Doris shook her head.

  ‘No, in here. Your uncle and I like a little privacy. It makes a nice break in the middle of the day.’ She paused, looking anxiously at her niece. ‘Don’t brood, child, promise me?’

  Tina managed a smile as she said,

  ‘I promise, Auntie. I’ll try to find something interesting to do.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17