The Passionate Greek (16 page)

Melanie took a sip of the fiery liquid.
Opposite her Nicos watched, his own drink untouched. His eyes were
fixed on her. She shifted slightly under his gaze pulling her skirt
further over her knees where the silk had slid upwards.

‘Don’t,’ he said.

‘Don’t what?' she said uncertainly.

‘I want to see. Pull your skirt higher.’ His
voice was on the edge of insistence. Mesmerized she did as he
wanted, sliding the skirt further up above her knees.

Their eyes were locked together. ‘More,’ he
urged. Melanie moved her skirt higher, revealing her thighs.

His gaze shifted to the shadowy line
dividing her breasts. ‘Let down the straps of your dress’ he said.
She slipped them from her shoulders as if in a dream.

‘Now let down the top. I want to see your
breasts. His voice was husky with desire. The tip of her tongue
found her lips Sexual excitement throbbed through her matching his
own. She moved her hand to the boned corset top. As she did so her
fingers snagged on the sapphire drop around her throat. The touch
of the cold jewel took her senses reeling away from him.

‘Stop it,’ she said sharply... In a quick
stride he was in front of her pulling her to her feet. He jerked
the dress down releasing her breasts and pulling her towards him
crushed his mouth down on hers forcing his tongue into her mouth.
She struggled in his embrace but he didn’t release her. He pushed
her back down on to the sofa and pinned her there beneath his
weight. She lay quiet then, all the fight gone out of her. He began
kissing her softly, running his lips over her neck down to her
throat and nuzzling her gently. Gradually, unwillingly she felt
herself responding. But he pulled away from her and got to his
feet, running one hand through his hair.

‘I shouldn’t have done that.’ He looked
distraught. ‘Sometimes I just want you so much it hurts. I can’t
bear for you to be with anyone else. Just the thought of it
crucifies me.

Melanie sat up awkwardly pulled her dress as
best she could over her, wrenching the straps into place. She had
encouraged him, played his game, undressing to his command. How
could she blame him?

‘It wasn’t your fault,’ she said, not
looking at him. He came and sat beside her on the sofa and took her
hand. ‘What am I going to do about you?’ he said. ‘When we’re
together I can forgot everything but the pleasure of being with
you. Then it’s like a shutter comes down and I keep
remembering.’

‘You remember all the wrong things,’ she
said ‘And the wrong things you do remember you really haven’t got
right.’

‘Is that my riddle for tonight?’ he said,
with a small smile at her. He got up and walked to the mantelshelf,
his back to her. He was silent for some time. Then he turned and
said, ‘Let’s make a pact. For the week we are here in London let’s
pretend that everything is like it used to be.’

‘You were happy with me then, weren’t you?’
she said.

He walked over and knelt in front of her
looking up into her face. ‘I have never been happier,’ he said.
‘But I based my happiness on a false premise.’

‘I could prove to you here in London why you
are so wrong, but I’m not going to,’ she said. ‘I could come to you
and say, ‘look, this is why you are wrong’ and I think that now you
might be prepared to listen. But I’m not going to do that. I’m not
going to do it because you have told me several times what you
expect from the woman you love and want to share your life
with.

‘Did it ever occur to you that I had
expectations, too? I had certain standards that I expected from the
man I was going to share
my
life with. If I didn’t come up
to your expectations, but then you didn’t come up to mine, either.’
He looked stunned.

‘The man I love should know me enough to
trust me, love me enough to have faith in me. You did neither of
those things. So, yes, let’s by all means make a pact. No more
raking over old ground. Let’s just enjoy this week together. It
will be the last one. When we got back to the island I will have
only one more week with Electra... After I leave the island we will
probably never see each other again.’

‘Never see each other again.’ He repeated
her words back to her. ‘Is that what you want?’

‘No, it’s what you want,’ she said.

‘I’ve never seen you like this before,’ he
said. ‘You sound so….’ He paused ‘resolute,’ he finished.

‘Maybe it’s because I am. Inside me there
was always a small nugget of belief that you would come round, that
you would let me play a part in Electra’s life. There was even a
tiny part of me that hoped you and I might be together one day.

He released her hand and stood up, walking
away to stand in front of the mantel once again, his head lowered.
She had to strain to catch his words. ‘What if the shoe had been on
the other foot? What if I had been involved with another
woman?’

‘But… she began.

He swung round. ‘Tell me. What would you
have done? he challenged.

‘I would have walked away from you,’ she
acknowledged, ‘but…

He interrupted finality in his voice.
‘Exactly.’

She felt beaten. She remained on the sofa
long after he’d gone, her thoughts melancholy. How could she have
thought they had a future when Nicos couldn’t let go of the
past?

She climbed the curving staircase and looked
in on her sleeping daughter. Tomorrow perhaps Nicos would remain
true to his proposed pact. They could enjoy the week, take Electra
to the park together, maybe even dine out again the way they had
tonight. It had been such a promising evening. Why did everything
always go so wrong between them?

She slept surprisingly soundly, waking to
the birds in the trees outside her window. The events of the night
before crowded into her conscious mind, but she determined to shrug
them off. Hurrying along to the nursery she found Electra awake,
clinging to the bars of her cot. She lifted her into her arms,
covering her with kisses and carried her down the corridor to the
tiny kitchen. A highchair had been thoughtfully placed there and
she strapped Electra into it and began to prepare her breakfast,
singing softly to them both.

This is what happiness is about, she told
herself. Men just got in the way. Mischievously, she began to
improvise to the old nursery rhyme.

‘Men are black sheep, they take you for a
fool, yes, sir, yes, sir, three bags full,’

A shadow fell across the open door. ‘So
that’s how you’re bringing up our daughter, came Nicos’s amused
voice. Melanie, caught out, dropped the spoon she holding with a
clatter.

‘Don’t creep up on me like that,’ she
stuttered. ‘How else would I learn your amusing repertoire of
nursery rhymes,’ he countered.

He was dressed for his business meeting,
elegantly suited, white shirt, sober tie and the inevitable
briefcase. Melanie was struck again how handsome he was. Suddenly
aware of her own dishevelled appearance she pulled her bathrobe
closer round her.

Nicos lifted Electra out of her high chair
and oblivious of dribble deposits on his dark business suit cradled
her close. ‘Here’s a rhyme for you,’ he said. ‘Melanie had a little
lamb, its fleece was white as snow and every time that Melanie left
he was full of woe.’

His eyes, glimmering with amusement over the top of
Electra’s head, met Melanie’s. ‘Here’s another one,’ he said,
crooning to the baby in a singsong voice:

‘Polly’s putting the kettle on in the park at half
past three, if you and your mummy want to come and have tea in the
park with me.’

Melanie couldn’t help smiling. The Nicos of
last night and this Nicos were like two different people. He
deposited his daughter back in the highchair and as he straightened
up Melanie saw that Electra had inevitably left her mark on his
immaculate lapel.

‘Here. Let me sponge that off,’ she
exclaimed, hurrying to dampen a clean cloth under the tap. He stood
there while she rubbed diligently and suddenly realised as she
worked away that he was blowing softly on the top of her head.

‘Stop that,’ she said crossly. ‘’Why? Don’t
you like it,’ he said. She looked up at him. ‘Are you annoying me
on purpose?’ ‘No. By accident,’ he said impishly.

She turned back to the sink and plonked the
damp cloth down noisily. ‘Oo, Mummy’s cross with me,’ he said to
Electra. ‘Maybe Mummy won’t bring you tea in the park. But if Mummy
does want to bring you to tea in the park perhaps she’ll be at the
front door at 3.30 this afternoon?’

Electra, enjoying the attention, banged her
spoon happily. ‘Well, that’s a clear “yes”,’ announced Nicos to
Melanie’s turned back. He came behind her and put both his arms
round her waist. ‘See you this afternoon,’ he whispered into her
ear.

‘You’re Daddy can be very persuasive,’ she
told Electra as she spooned cereal into her daughter’s open mouth.
‘Shall we have tea with him? What do you think?’ Electra burbled
something through a mouthful of cereal that sounded suspiciously
like ‘Dada’.

‘I can see whose side you’re on,’ she
scolded, but she couldn’t deny a bubble of happiness. Perhaps the
non-aggression pact of the night before was on after all.

She was downstairs waiting in the hallway,
Electra snug in her buggy, at the appointed time. ‘I’m going to
feel an idiot if he doesn’t come,’ she thought to herself. But he
did, leaping out of the Bentley, and taking the steps two at a
time. He paused only to fling off his jacket and tie and throw them
on the hallstand before hefting the buggy down to the pavement and
setting off across the road to the park.

He led the way through shaded paths, into
the rose garden and on to the outdoor café beyond. It was a perfect
summer afternoon. Electra pointed excitedly to the trees where
squirrels scampered up and down and reached out her chubby little
hands to the colorful blooms. Nicos gazed at her with paternal
pride, only taking his eyes off her to smile at Melanie.

‘A perfect family afternoon,’ Melanie
thought ruefully. ‘If only we were the perfect family. But Nicos
was acting if nothing was wrong between them. At the café he
settled them at a table and ordered tea. He looked around him
contentedly. ‘If this weather holds we should have a wonderful
week,’ he said. ‘I’ve finished the business I came here for, except
for some loose ends to tie up at the end of the week, so the rest
of the time is for us.’

Melanie looked questioningly at him. He was
buttering a scone assiduously as if it deserved all his
concentration. He reached for jam and spooned it on to his plate
humming softly to himself. Without looking up he said, ‘It will be
a sort of competition.’

‘What will?’ asked Melanie, perplexed.

‘Who will be the first to break the
non-aggression pact? Who will start a fight first? Who will last
the week without alluding to the past?

Melanie bridled. ‘It won’t be me,’ she
protested.

‘In which case you will win the prize.’

‘What’s the prize?’ asked Melanie
suspiciously.

‘If I win I take you to my bed. If you win
you get to come to bed with me.’

Melanie did her best to look exasperated
‘You are the world’s most exasperating man,’

‘That’s me,’ he agreed. ‘World Class.’ He
leaned across the table and deposited a blob of cream on her
nose... ‘You’re teaching the baby bad habits,’ she complained, but
he was winning her round. He always could.

The week was glorious. The weather was mild,
the sun shone and every day Nicos arranged some fresh delight for
Electra, from a simple seaside outing to a visit to the zoo. He
spent every evening with Melanie. They dined out, a small French
bistro in Soho becoming their firm favorite. One evening Nicos took
her to the open-air theatre in the park, where they enjoyed the pre
theatre buffet and snuggled together on a bench seat for the
performance. As the night sky darkened and the evening grew chill,
he put his jacket round her shoulders and held her close to his
side. Melanie was so aware of his closeness, the scent of his skin
that was all his own, she was hardly aware of what she was
watching.

But Nicos never so much as kissed her. The
sexual tension between them was as strong as ever but it was as if
they had a tacit understand. By holding back they could keep the
past at bay. Once, on an evening when they hadn’t gone out but were
eating together in the opulent dining room, Melanie felt Nicos
looking at her in that old familiar way. His fingers had tightened
so hard on the stem of the crystal wine glass in his hand that
Melanie was sure it would break.

That evening he didn’t suggest they move
through to the drawing room for coffee as he usually did, but
announced quite formally that he was tired and if she would excuse
him he would go straight upstairs. Melanie wasn’t fooled. All her
instincts told her that if she had made one move towards him they
would have been in each other’s arms.

They didn’t kiss; but they didn’t quarrel,
either. It seemed neither wanted to be the one that broke the
truce. Now and then some small shaft of dissension evidenced
itself, but was quickly overridden by one or other of them.

Once, driving to the country, they passed
the Old Bailey, London's famous ancient court house, and Nicos
commented on the crowd outside. ‘Ah, the Central Criminal Court
doing good business as usual.’ Melanie smothered a sharp retort.
Nicos quickly changed the subject, complimenting her on how well
she organised Electra’s needs on their days out. She for her part
bit her tongue when Nicos cast doubt on some trivial point they
were discussing before she could utter an inflammatory ‘You don’t
believe anything anybody says’.

On their last evening before returning to
Skiapolos they were going to their usual French bistro. Nicos had
asked Melanie if she would like to go to any of the celebrity
restaurants he reeled off, but she chose what she liked to think of
as ‘their place’. As she dressed she couldn’t keep the thought out
of her mind that so far neither of them had broken the pact. They
had gone the whole week without a cross word. It looked like the
competition was going to end in a draw. So what about the promised
prize? A tremor of sexual anticipation invaded her. ‘Don’t even
think about it,’ she scolded herself, but her body refused to
obey.