Innocent Obsession Page 6

  Andreas hesitated, glancing at his watch. ‘Madame Kuriakis will be here in—five minutes. Perhaps I will wait for her.’

  Sylvie folded her arms, unaware that by doing so she was shortening the shirt to thigh length only. ‘Don’t you think I can make tea?’ she asked, with mild sarcasm, and then noticed that his hair was damp. ‘Oh, is it raining? I thought it was a beautiful morning!’

  ‘It is.’ Andreas’s tone was curiously harsh, and his eyes when they met hers were not entirely steady. ‘I have been to my club. It is a sporting club, only a short way from here. I have been swimming.’

  ‘How nice!’ Sylvie meant it. She could think of nothing she would like better at the moment than to swim in a cool pool. ‘I thought you’d still be sleeping. As it was so late when you got home last night.’

  Andreas did not ask the obvious question, but shrugged and turned away, unzipping the jerkin of his track-suit as he did so, and exposing a brown expanse of chest. The sight of his muscled body, only lightly spread with damp whorls of hair, that funnelled down towards his navel, did strange things to Sylvie. Strange, because although she was used to seeing boys and men of her acquaintance in shorts and swimming gear, she had never before felt such a disturbing sensation in the pit of her stomach. It seemed to uncoil about her abdomen, spreading uncontrollably into her legs, and making her overwhelmingly aware of her own femininity. Her lips parted, to allow more air into her suddenly straining lungs, and an involuntary shiver spread over her skin. What was wrong with her? He wasn’t even looking at her. Yet she was aware of him with every nerve in her being.

  With deliberate effort she turned back to the teapot, lifting down two teacups and saucers from the cupboard, and saying casually: ‘Are you sure you won’t have some tea? There’s plenty. If—Madame Kuriakis won’t object, of course.’

  Andreas expelled his breath heavily, and she turned to look at him with raised eyebrows. ‘Very well,’ he said, and her heart thumped heavily as she met that half aggressive stare. ‘Will you bring it into the living room? I need to get my robe.’

  ‘All right,’ Sylvie nodded, clattering the cups into their saucers as the draught of his passing set the doors swinging again. Goodness, she thought, rubbing her moist palms together, she had actually persuaded him to change his mind, and in spite of her previous resentment towards him, she felt a trembling sense of anticipation at this unexpected interlude.

  By the time she carried the tray into the living room, Andreas had shed the jerkin of his track-suit and replaced it with a wine-coloured terrycloth bathrobe. The robe was belted securely around his waist, and it was only as she handed him his tea that she defined that his purpose had been to suggest a similar course to her. But it was too hot to wear a dressing gown, she thought crossly, picturing herself wrapped in the woolly pink candlewick which was all she possessed, and she resigned herself to his censure as she curled up on a squashy cream sofa.

  ‘Do you usually swim every morning?’ she asked; endeavouring to keep the conversation going, as Andreas stood to drink his tea, staring broodingly out of the window.

  ‘Not every morning,’ he conceded, after a moment’s hesitation, and Sylvie sighed, as the minutes stretched.

  ‘Can’t you sit down?’ she demanded at last, stung by his detachment. ‘I—I’d like to talk about Nikos. And—and about Dora.’

  ‘Dora?’ Andreas frowned as he walked back to the sofa, and bent to replace his cup on the tray. ‘Oh, yes, Dora. It is a pity she had to leave so suddenly. Nikos was fond of her.’

  Sylvie breathed a little more easily. For a moment she had wondered if Margot had lied about Dora, too, but apparently she had been telling the truth.

  ‘I understand her mother has been taken ill,’ she added, eager to retain his attention, but now Andreas’s frown returned again.

  ‘I did not know that,’ he remarked, disturbing Sylvie anew. ‘I understood she left because she was getting married. But perhaps her mother’s illness was a contributing factor.’

  Sylvie pursed her lips. Perhaps, she thought bitterly, or perhaps not. It seemed there was no end to Margot’s duplicity. So how many weeks did she expect her sister to stay in Greece? Indefinitely!

  ‘Is something wrong?’ To her consternation, Andreas had now taken her advice and seated himself on the chair immediately opposite. He sat with his legs apart, his hands hanging loosely between, and his intent dark face was infinitely disturbing in her agitated state.

  ‘It’s nothing,’ she muttered now, loath to provoke any further hostility between them. ‘I—tell me about Nikos. Is he like Leon? It’s so long since I saw him.’

  ‘You should have visited,’ remarked Andreas quietly, and Sylvie’s smile was unknowingly wistful as she acknowledged his statement. ‘Were you invited?’ he probed, and faint colour invaded her cheeks.

  ‘Does it matter?’ She moved her shoulders defensively, running the fingers of one hand up and down the curve of her leg between the ankle and the knee. ‘I’m here now, and I’m really looking forward to spending some time with my nephew.’

  ‘Yes.’ Andreas studied her averted profile thoughtfully. ‘Well, I am sure Nikos will be pleased to see you. He is a friendly boy, a little over-sensitive at times, but lovable for all that.’ He paused. ‘We must see that you enjoy yourself, too. After all, you have given up your holiday.’

  Sylvie, meeting his unexpectedly sympathetic gaze, knew a moment’s impatience. ‘You don’t have to feel sorry for me, you know,’ she declared, tossing her head, and he suddenly smiled.

  ‘I do not,’ he said, and as he looked at her, her own lips parted in acceptance of her own defiance.

  ‘What do you do?’ she asked, wanting to know him. ‘Do you work in Athens? Do you live here all the time?’

  Andreas looked down at his hands. ‘I work in Athens, yes,’ he agreed evenly. ‘I work for my father. But I travel, too, mostly to Japan, or the United States.’

  ‘It sounds exciting.’ Sylvie meant it. ‘I’d like to travel. So far I’ve only been to Austria—oh, and here, of course.’

  ‘Austria?’ Andreas looked questioningly at her.

  ‘For the skiing,’ Sylvie explained. ‘With the school.’ She grimaced. ‘Last year I sprained my ankle.’

  Andreas’s eyes grew a little guarded. ‘I am sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be.’ Sylvie laughed a little ruefully. ‘There was an awfully nice ski instructor, who picked me up and carried me back to the hotel. All the other girls were green with envy. He was quite a dish!’

  Andreas’s mouth was drawn into a compressed line now as he inclined his head in acknowledgement of her story, before rising abruptly to his feet. Sylvie suspected she had said too much, and that her conversation had begun to bore him, and impulsively she stood up, too, wishing she could think of something terribly clever and sophisticated to say. But of course she couldn’t. She had simply dried up, and her thoughts were so chaotic that when he went to step past her she moved into his path instead of out of it. In consequence, the ribbed sole of his track shoe came down heavily on her bare toes, and she cried out instinctively as the pain increased.

  Andreas realised what he had done at once and stepped back immediately, uttering a savage oath in his own language. ‘Theos, have I hurt you?’ he muttered, grasping her by the shoulders, then shook his head self-derisively as she blinked back the betraying tears.

  ‘It—it was my fault,’ she got out, giving him a watery smile, but Andreas made a sound of denial.

  ‘It was my fault,’ he corrected her harshly, his hands on her shoulders clenching convulsively. He looked down at her half impatiently. ‘Are you sure there are no bones broken?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Sylvie lifted the injured foot and rubbed it experimentally against her other leg. ‘No, honestly, it seems all right. I’m sorry I made such a fuss about it.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ Andreas’s dark face still showed concern, and Sylvie, looking up at him, felt her senses suddenly quicken. For the f
irst time he was looking at her as if he was really seeing her, and the awareness of the effect he had had on her earlier brought a becoming surge of colour to her face.

  As if he had become aware of their proximity, too, Andreas’s hands on her shoulders slackened. His touch through the thin cotton was no longer so aggressive, but she could still feel the steel in those long fingers.

  ‘You are all right, then?’ he demanded, his tone deepening unmistakably, and Sylvie nodded her head with a swift jerky motion.

  ‘Thank you,’ she breathed huskily, as that sensation that was neither a pleasure nor a pain flowered inside her again, and the moist scent of his body was suddenly strong in her nostrils.

  ‘Sylvie—–’ he said unsteadily, and she thought he drew her slightly towards him, but then there was the sound of a key turning in the lock, and the outer door opened, and by the time Madame Kuriakis had entered the apartment, Andreas had put the width of the sofa between them.

  Of course, nothing could alter the fact of Sylvie’s state of undress, and the housekeeper looked slightly scan-dalised at the sight of her employer, evidently in conversation with his young guest. Perhaps she thought they had slept together, thought Sylvie wildly, still bemused by the events of the past few minutes, but when she turned to look at Andreas his face was withdrawn, the expression in his dark eyes as detached as ever. Had she imagined his sudden awareness? she wondered, her brow furrowing with the effort to gauge his thoughts. What had he really been thinking when he held her imprisoned within his hands? And what might have happened if Madame Kuriakis had not interrupted them, and destroyed so conclusively any intimacy between them?

  The housekeeper spoke to Andreas in their own language, but Sylvie could sense no note of reproof in her words. It was only when Madame Kuriakis looked at her that she sensed the woman’s hostility, and knew without a shadow of a doubt that the housekeeper blamed her for any impropriety that had occurred.

  ‘I will go to shower and dress,’ said Andreas in English, while the housekeeper started gathering the dirty teacups on to the tray. ‘I shall be leaving in a little over an hour. If you would like me to give you a lift to my father’s house, then I suggest you do the same.’

  ‘All right.’ Biting her lower lip rather anxiously, Sylvie followed him across the room, glancing over her shoulder at the stooped figure of the housekeeper. ‘But oughtn’t I to—–’

  ‘It is not your concern,’ interrupted Andreas harshly, and as she passed him she encountered only a chilly politeness in his eyes, that bore no resemblance whatsoever to what she thought she had seen earlier.

  Although it was barely nine o’clock, Leon was waiting for her when she arrived at the Petronides’ mansion. He was seated in his wheelchair, in the wide entrance hall, and Sylvie’s heart lightened at the sight of his welcoming face. It was good to know that at least one person wanted her here, she thought, and dismissed the contention that Leon could easily become too dependent on her. He was just a nice person, she told herself firmly, and kissed his pale cheek without further self-analysis.

  Andreas had left her at the gates, saying he did not have the time to come in himself. He had hardly spoken during the fifteen-minute drive from the apartment to his parents’ house, and although he had driven himself, in a sleek black sports saloon that Sylvie admired very much, his attitude had not encouraged any overtures from her. Since Madame Kuriakis’s intervention he had become taciturn and almost morose, dismissing Sylvie’s suggestion of telling Marina they were leaving with the curt rejoinder that she could call for transport when she was ready. It was true Marina was not up, and Sylvie’s tentative opening of her door had promoted nothing more dramatic than a sleepy groan from the bed, but Andreas’s behaviour had bordered on the boorish, and Sylvie didn’t know why. Surely he was not afraid of what Madame Kuriakis might say? Surely the opinions of his staff did not influence his actions? And besides, what was there to talk about? Nothing, so far as Sylvie was concerned.

  But now Leon was smiling at her and asking if she had slept well, and banishing Andreas’s image from her mind, Sylvie replied honestly that she had had a good night’s rest. ‘The bed was so comfortable,’ she confided, taking charge of the wheelchair. ‘Now, where is Nikos? I’m dying to see him.’

  Nikos was waiting for them in the nursery. He was still sitting over his breakfast, one elbow propped on the table, supporting his head with one knuckled fist. He looked totally dejected, totally despondent, and Sylvie wondered again how Margot could neglect her son so.

  A maid was standing to one side of him, urging him to eat some of the milky cereal set in front of him, but Nikos was not interested in it, or in the warm rolls in their dish. There was fresh fruit juice, too, and oranges and peaches, but the little boy was uninterested, and observing his thin arms and legs, Sylvie decided it was high time someone took him in hand.

  ‘Ghia, Nikos!’ his father greeted him cheerfully, as Sylvie pushed the wheelchair into the sunlit playroom. ‘Here is Aunt Sylvie come to see you. And you still drooping over your breakfast!’

  The little boy’s head lifted, and he gazed across the room at his father and the girl behind him with some consternation. Dark curly hair framed a face that was an amalgam of both his father’s and his uncle’s, but softer, and gentler, and infinitely more poignant, with its haunted dark eyes and vulnerable mouth. He looked as if he had been crying, and Sylvie guessed Leon had spoken to him earlier, and told him his mother would not be coming. Poor Nikos, she thought; he would not understand why his mother had deserted him. No wonder Marina had hinted at his instability. He was obviously fretting over Margot’s continued neglect.

  ‘Until I was ill, he seemed quite content to accept his mother’s absence,’ Leon remarked to her now, in an undertone, echoing Sylvie’s own sentiments. ‘I had hoped that with the attention of both parents, he would learn to trust us again. I fear he is suffering the effects of in-security, and even my parents cannot compensate for that.’

  Sylvie nodded sympathetically, and then, leaving Leon to handle his own chair, she crossed the room to where Nikos and the maid were locked in silent combat. The maid stepped back politely as Sylvie bent down to her nephew, but Nikos still looked doubtful when she lightly touched his soft cheek.

  ‘Do you remember me, Nikos?’ she asked gently, pushing the unwanted dish of cereal aside. ‘Do you remember coming to our house in Wimbledon, and me showing you all my dolls?’

  Nikos hesitated a moment, then shook his head, but Sylvie refused to be daunted.

  ‘Surely you do,’ she persisted firmly. ‘You played with my dolls. Don’t you remember—one of them had hair that grew when you combed it? You liked that one. And the one that used to take its bottle and then wet its nappy.

  Nikos frowned. ‘A doll that wet its nappy!’ he echoed, in evident astonishment, and Sylvie giggled.

  ‘That’s right. Naughty, wasn’t it?’ she chuckled. ‘So you do remember!’

  ‘Not properly,’ said Nikos solemnly. ‘Was Mummy there?’

  Sylvie sighed, glancing over her shoulder at Leon. ‘Well, Mummy came with you,’ she conceded at last. ‘But you and I used to have lots of fun together.’

  ‘Did we?’ Nikos was unconvinced, and Sylvie took one of his hands in both of hers and squeezed tightly.

  ‘Yes, we did,’ she averred firmly. ‘And what’s more, we’re going to have lots of fun now. Did Daddy tell you, we’re going to spend a few weeks at the seaside? On an island called Monastiros. Do you know it?’

  Nikos shook his head. ‘Are you coming, too?’

  ‘Try and stop me!’ Sylvie smiled. ‘I’m looking forward to it. We can swim—and make sand pies—–’

  ‘What are sand pies?’ Nikos frowned again, and Sylvie looked appalled.

  ‘Don’t you know what sand pies are?’ she exclaimed, and he shook his head. ‘Well, you dig with your spade, and fill your bucket with damp sand, and when it’s full, you turn it over.’ She stared at him. ‘Do you mean to tell me
you’ve never made sand pies before?’

  ‘Nikos is a little young to play alone on the beach,’ Leon interposed, propelling himself towards them, and Sylvie straightened. ‘And Dora was more concerned with health and hygiene than squatting on a beach playing childish games.’

  ‘But you lived at the beach,’ protested Sylvie, letting go of Nikos’s hand to perch incredulously on the edge of the table.

  ‘Alasyia is by the sea,’ admitted Leon, ‘but the ocean current is strong, and we have a swimming pool.’

  ‘So you use that,’ defined Sylvie flatly. ‘Yes, I see.’

  ‘There is no swimming pool on Monastiros,’ Leon added, with a wry smile. ‘But you do not have to worry. The sea there is quite safe for swimming.’

  ‘Good,’ Sylvie grinned. ‘A swimming pool is fun, but it’s not half as much fun as the beach.’

  Nikos slid off his seat and faced her, thin and a little pathetic, in his embroidered shirt and brace shorts. ‘Do you mean that?’ he asked. ‘We really can play in the sand? I—I have never played on the beach before.’

  ‘I promise,’ said Sylvie firmly, bending to cup his pale little face between her hands. ‘Now, have you got a kiss for Sylvie? You can call me that, if you like. Aunt Sylvie’s much too formal for us.’

  Nikos nodded shyly, offering his lips to hers, and Sylvie obliged, following the sweet salutation with a warm hug that, after a moment’s hesitation, Nikos returned, with heart-warming eagerness. All he needed was love and attention, she thought, feeling a slight lump in her throat as she stepped back. Love and attention, from someone who cared.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  IT had been arranged that they should leave for Monastiros on Friday. A car would take them to the airport, and a helicopter would be waiting to transport them the hundred or so miles to their destination, one of the smaller islands in the group known as the Cyclades. Leon’s valet, and the male nurse who had been looking after him, would accompany them, and his aunt Ariadne, would be waiting for them there. Apparently Leon’s aunt lived on one of the adjacent islands, and would make the journey from her home to Monastiros by boat.