The Legend of Lexandros Read online

  Jane rubbed her nose and looked at Dallas. ‘Oh, really? I’m sorry, Dallas. You know how time flies when you’re having a good time!’

  Charles grunted, and Dallas said: ‘Charles!’ warningly, but he went on: ‘No, we don’t. We’ve been waiting for your arrival since ten-thirty. I presume that’s a reasonable time to expect a seventeen-year-old home.’

  Jane shrugged, her face flushed. ‘Can’t Dallas catechise me herself?’ she asked cheekily, resenting his tone.

  Charles stiffened. ‘Now you listen to me, young woman,’ he began, but Dallas shook her head.

  ‘Now, Charles, please. I can handle this.’

  ‘Obviously you can’t, or she wouldn’t talk to you like that,’ said Charles angrily. ‘You’d better change your ways, Jane, before Dallas and I are married, or you may find yourself without a roof over your head!’

  Jane stared at him angrily. ‘All right. I’m quite capable of taking care of myself. I’ll keep the flat on. Get someone to share it with me.’

  Dallas inwardly groaned at the worsening situation, breaking up the argument before it came to blows.

  ‘Go on, Charles,’ she said. ‘I’ve told you, I can handle this.’ Charles turned and marched out of the room, followed rather more slowly by Dallas. She hardly noticed the kiss he gave her, so intent was she upon returning to the lounge to have it out again with Jane.

  But when she returned, Jane was in the bedroom undressing, and she said, before Dallas could speak:

  ‘Oh, don’t start again. I know, I know what you’re going to say. But it’s no good. I won’t give him up.’

  Dallas shrugged. ‘All right.’

  Jane looked strangely at her. ‘What am I supposed to glean from that remark?’

  ‘Exactly what you like.’ Dallas stretched wearily. ‘I’m sick of this whole business. Where did you go this evening, just out of interest?’

  ‘To a club run by a friend of Paris’s—a Greek. We danced a lot, and had a few cokes. It was a good evening.’

  ‘Do you drink alcohol?’ Dallas’s question was soft and undemanding, despite its pointedness.

  Jane flushed. ‘No, of course not. I’m under age.’

  ‘Would that stop you?’

  ‘Oh, Dallas, stop it! I’m tired.’

  ‘You have a nerve!’ Dallas turned away. ‘Anyway, why don’t you bring him here sometimes? If I met him myself, maybe I wouldn’t feel so concerned.’

  ‘Paris, here?’ Jane laughed. ‘I couldn’t do that.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Well ... I mean ... his apartment is huge, with gorgeous furniture... ’

  ‘You’ve been to his apartment? When? I thought you always went to clubs?’

  Jane grimaced. ‘Heavens, what have I said! Why shouldn’t I go to his apartment?’

  Dallas unloosened her hair from its knot and it fell in a cascade of colour about her shoulders. Caught off guard, Jane said:

  ‘Why don’t you always wear your hair loose? You look so much younger! You make me feel so mean, Dallas, because I know you’re only a little older than I am, and you’re having a hell of a time with me, aren’t you?’ She half smiled. ‘It’s only when you look so schoolmarmish, and Charles is there beside you like a bloodhound, that I forget who you really are. Dallas, please try and understand. ’

  ‘It’s no good, Jane,’ said Dallas wearily ‘We stand at opposite sides of the line. You can’t see what’s under your nose, and I can’t believe he’s sincere!’

  Jane hunched her shoulders. ‘Well, there’s nothing you, or Charles, can do. I love Paris, and I intend to go on seeing him.’ She tugged angrily at her hair with a comb. ‘Whatever you say!’

  A week later Dallas had made a decision, brought about mainly by the fact that Jane was no longer telling her the truth. Her breath had smelled strongly of alcohol two evenings when

  she came home, and Dallas, who had been in bed pretending to be asleep, had lain awake for hours after Jane’s breathing had become smooth and regular. Jane was also beginning to look drawn and tired, for late nights combined with early mornings were making their presence felt. Dallas seemed continually in a state of anxiety, and she wished wholeheartedly that Paris Stavros would find himself another girl-friend soon.

  Unable to expect any useful assistance or advice from Charles, Dallas decided her only course of action was to try and contact Alexander Stavros, the boy’s father. It seemed a vain hope; Alexander Stavros lived in Greece, and she had no earthly idea how she could reach him there.

  Besides, even if she could contact him, why should he care what happened to her sister, so long as Paris was happy? Unless the threat of a scandal might deter him. Maybe he was a man with a heart; maybe she could appeal to his better judgment.

  Dallas felt desperate. She was clutching at straws and she knew it. And then, as though fate was lending her a helping hand, she read one morning, in her newspaper going to work, that Alexander Stavros had arrived in England the previous day to visit his son, and to have trade talks with British businessmen. A casual word about it to Jane that evening brought forth a veritable stream of information about him, gleaned no doubt from Paris himself, and within a short time Dallas knew that he was staying at the Dorchester, and would be there for approximately a fortnight.

  Deciding not to mention her decision to Charles, Dallas telephoned the Dorchester the following morning and asked to speak to Mr. Stavros. A polite receptionist advised her that Mr. Stavros was not in the hotel, but if she wished she might speak to one of his secretaries.

  ‘One of his secretaries!’ exclaimed Dallas, in astonishment, and then, swallowing hard, she said: ‘When will Mr. Stavros be back?’

  ‘I really couldn't say,’ replied the receptionist smoothly.

  ‘Excuse me, but who shall I say has called?’

  ‘I... I... he won’t know me,’ began Dallas awkwardly, and would have said more, but the receptionist interrupted her.

  ‘I would suggest you speak to one of the secretaries,’ she said, in a cool tone. ‘Mr. Stavros doesn’t take calls in the normal way. I’m sure Mr. Saravanos would be able to help you.’

  Dallas hesitated for a moment. ‘But this is a personal matter,’ she said, running her tongue over suddenly dry lips. ‘Is there no way I can contact Mr. Stavros direct?’

  ‘Excuse me, but I have other calls to attend to,’ said the receptionist, avoiding a direct answer.

  ‘Very well.’ Dallas was forced to ring off. She came out of the telephone kiosk dejectedly. It was mid-morning break at the school, and she had slipped across the road to make her call. There seemed no alternative but to ring again tomorrow and speak to one of the secretaries.

  The next day she could not concentrate on her work. She put off making the call to the Dorchester all day, hating the way she was having to put herself into such an awkward position. What would Alexander Stavros think of her when she did get to see him, or should she say ‘if?’ It was doubtful indeed whether a man in his position would bother about a nobody like herself.

  She went home after work, made the evening meal for Jane and herself, and then waited until Jane had dressed for a date with Paris and gone out before thinking seriously about ringing the hotel again. To humble herself in this way was alien to her nature and the thought of asking him now to stop his son from meeting Jane seemed stupid and childish.

  She felt sure she would never have the nerve to go through with it, no matter what the consequences to Jane might be. It could only look bad. She would seem like the ugly sister trying to keep Cinderella from the ball.

  She smiled at her thoughts, and then hunched her shoulders. It was all very well deciding in the heat of the moment to see Alexander Stavros, but now, in cold blood, it was fast becoming untenable.

  She washed the dishes, wiped down the draining board, and eventually put the dishes back into the cupboard. Then she walked into the lounge.

  The television was playing away to itself, so she switched it off and walk
ed into the bedroom. She sat in front of the dressing-table mirror studying her reflection for a few minutes, trying not to think of the task ahead of her.

  Then she pulled open the dressing-table drawer to take out a handkerchief when something else, caught on the lace of the handkerchief, fell with a thud on the carpet. Bending, she picked it up. It was a bracelet, but such a bracelet as Dallas had never seen before. It was, or looked like, solid gold, with inlaid stones of red and blue which looked like rubies and sapphires. Dallas dropped it hastily back in the drawer, as though it burned her. She had no doubts as to its origin; Paris must have given it to Jane, but why?

  Any doubts left in her mind as to the advisability of her task fled away. She had no choice but to try and do something before it was too late.

  She changed into navy blue stretch pants and a scarlet anorak of Jane’s. It was a cold evening and such attire was more suitable than the short skirts she usually wore. But she smiled to herself when she thought of Charles’s displeasure if he could see her now. He hated casual clothes, and preferred Dallas to wear tailored suits and dresses, with little adornment. Her hair had come loose from its immaculate pleat, so instead of putting it up again, she combed it out, leaving it loose about her shoulders. She touched a coral lipstick to her mouth, and then ran down the steps out of the block of flats. The telephone kiosk was a couple of blocks away and Jane was often saying they should have one of their own, but Dallas could see no point when in a little over four months they would be living in Charles’s semi-detached house at Maidenhead which already had a phone.

  Charles was not coming up to town this evening and Dallas felt a carefree liveliness assail her as she walked to the telephone. Sometimes Charles was a little too overbearing.

  The kiosk was already occupied, so she stood around stamping her feet to stop the chilling wind from piercing the warm quilted lining of the anorak, and then when the man emerged, she slid inside thankfully. It was March, but so cold it could have been January, and spring seemed a long way away.

  Dallas rang the Dorchester, and inserted her money, and when the receptionist answered, a man this time, she felt relieved. At least she would not have the ignominy of asking the same questions to the same girl.

  But when she asked for Mr. Stavros, the man’s answers were practically the same as the girl’s had been. So deciding she might as well speak to the secretary, a Mr. Karantinos, she was put through to the suite.

  A maid answered at first, and then she heard the accented tones of Stephanos Karantinos.

  ‘Oh ... er ... good evening,’ said Dallas, biting hard on her lip. ‘Would it be possible for me to speak to Mr. Stavros? It’s a personal matter. ’

  ‘Mr. Stavros is changing for an evening engagement,’ replied Stephanos Karantinos. ‘Surely I can be of assistance. You say it is of a personal nature. In what way is this so?’ He was polite, but unyielding.

  Dallas sighed. ‘It’s to do with Paris, Mr. Stavros’s son. He is at present going around with my sister Jane.’

  ‘Yes?’ The voice was clipped. ‘This is what you wish to speak to Mr. Stavros about?’

  ‘Yes. I... I... want it stopped!’

  She was aware she had shocked the man, but in an amused way, for he burst out laughing, and she felt unreasonably angry.

  ‘It’s no laughing matter,’ she exclaimed hotly, and then heard the sound of voices as though someone else had joined him and was asking what the joke might be. There was more laughter, and then another voice readied her ears, a deep attractive voice, with barely a trace of accent.

  ‘Alexander Stavros speaking. To whom do I address myself?’ His tone was mocking, but Dallas was too relieved to be actually

  speaking to Stavros himself to care.

  ‘My name is Dallas Collins, Mr. Stavros,’ she answered shakily. ‘This ... this is rather difficult for me, but my sister Jane works for your company in the London office, and she is at present infatuated with your son Paris. I want you, if you will, to use your influence to stop this affair before anything unfortunate happens.’

  ‘Unfortunate? For whom?’

  ‘For Jane, of course.’

  ‘Indeed?’ There was silence for a moment, and then he continued: ‘It seems to me, Miss Collins, that you are interfering in something which is actually no concern of yours.’

  ‘No concern? Jane is only seventeen. Our parents are dead, and I am legally her guardian!’

  ‘Paris is only eighteen, Miss Collins.’

  Dallas sighed heavily. ‘I know that. Look, Mr. Stavros, I can quite see that this might sound rather ridiculous, but if you knew the circumstances ...’ Her voice trailed away.

  ‘Calm yourself. Miss Collins. Things are never as bad as they seem.’ She could tell from his tone that he was not so amused now. ‘I am not satisfied that Paris could do your sister any harm, Miss Collins. He is an intelligent boy, not a moron! ’ He seemed to be thinking for a few moments, and then he said: ‘I do not care to discuss my private affairs over the telephone. I have a dinner engagement, but I will cancel it. I suggest you come here to see me, Miss Collins, so that we may discuss this matter more fully. ’

  ‘Oh, but...’Dallas swallowed hard. ‘I... I couldn’t do that!’

  ‘Why not? This is not a clandestine meeting, Miss Collins. My secretary, Stephanos, will be present. No matter what you may think of my son, I can assure you I have no interest in you personally.’

  His tone was arrogant and assured, and Dallas felt like banging the phone down and forgetting she had ever rung him. But she couldn’t do that so she said with ill grace: ‘All right, Mr.

  Stavros. But I can’t think of anything more to say.’

  Alexander Stavros merely said: ‘I’ll expect you in fifteen minutes, yes? Or is that not long enough?’

  ‘I ... I’ll do my best.’ Dallas rang off, and came out of the kiosk frowning deeply. Now what had she let herself in for?

  A bus deposited her near the Dorchester hotel, and she approached its entrance with some trepidation. She wished she had had time to go home and change before this meeting, but Stavros’s arrogant command to be at the hotel in fifteen minutes had left no room for anything, although she was supremely conscious of the shortcomings of pants and an anorak as attire for an evening in the West End of London. Still, she argued with herself, she had no desire to impress the man. If he took a dislike to her, he might wish more readily to resolve the relationship between his son and her sister.

  She approached the reception desk cautiously, aware of the curious eyes turned in her direction, and expecting every moment to be brought up short by the sound of an arresting voice. But nothing happened, and the receptionist himself had obviously been forewarned of her arrival because he treated her with respect, and asked her politely to wait while he rang the Stavros suite.

  In a few minutes which actually seemed like aeons to Dallas, she was approached by a small, slim dark man with greying hair, and a kind and good-natured appearance. Dallas rose hastily to her feet. Was this Alexander Stavros, then? Heavens, she thought, at least he looks understanding, even though his appearance did not quite line up with her picture of him after hearing that arrogant voice over the phone.

  But her expectations were doomed from the start. ‘Good evening. Miss Collins,’ he said, smiling, ‘My name is Stephanos Karantinos. I am secretary to Mr. Stavros.’

  His secretary! Dallas sighed, and said: ‘I’m Dallas Collins, how do you do?’

  ‘Come,’ he said, taking her arm. ‘Mr. Stavros is waiting to see you. ’

  A lift transported them to the upper regions of the hotel, and Stephanos Karantinos looked rather strangely at Dallas.

  ‘Tell me, Miss Collins,’ he said, leaning against the wall of the lift as it glided silently upwards, ‘is your sister like you?’ Dallas shrugged. ‘I... I... well... in some ways. ’

  Stephanos Karantinos slid his hands into the pockets of his trousers. ‘Paris has good taste,’ he remarked, as casually as though the
y were discussing the weather, and Dallas turned bright red with embarrassment.

  She was relieved when the lift halted and Stephanos straightened, and indicated she should precede him along the pile-carpeted corridor that confronted them. She was a mass of nerves and she hardly knew what to expect.

  Double white doors admitted them to the suite of rooms taken over by the Stavros company, and Dallas paused on the cream-coloured pile carpet just inside the suite doors feeling hopelessly out of her depth. Stephanos Karantinos closed the doors, and crossed the short space which gave on to two shallow steps which separated the rest of this huge lounge from the entrance.

  Dallas stared about her in astonishment. She had never, not even with her father, experienced such luxury—white leather chairs and scarlet drapes, Swedish wood and lots of low divans covered in rugs. She stood there in her pants and anorak feeling like the cat who went to look at the queen.

  And as though to deepen this image a woman rose lazily from one of the divans at their entrance and stared across at Dallas mockingly, scarlet-tipped nails vivid against the black cigarette holder she was using.

  Dallas’s eyes were drawn to her as she was the only other occupant of the room, and she wondered who the woman was. Her hair, very dark and sleek, was swept into a high knot on top of her head, and the pure white silk sheath she was wearing clung lovingly to every line of her body, leaving little to the imagination. Dallas supposed she was beautiful, but there was something repulsive about the slanted eyes, and small, yet perfect, mouth.

  Stephanos Karantinos turned at the foot of the steps, and said: ‘Come in, Miss Collins, and sit down.’ He indicated a low chair, and Dallas walked slowly forward and did as he asked.

  ‘ Mr. Stavros will not be long. Will you have a drink? A cocktail, perhaps?’

  Dallas shook her head. ‘I don’t think so, thank you. ’

  ‘Oh, come on. Something, at least.’ Stephanos grinned. ‘I will mix you a long light drink myself. Something you will enjoy, I can assure you.’