Beware the Beast Read online

  She straightened away from the windows. That was her husband out there, she was sure of it, and if it was there was no reason why she should not do a little exploring on her own. She hesitated a few moments over the tray, but then decided to leave it where it was. She did not wish to alert Maria and the others to her movements.

  Leaving her bedroom, she walked along to the wide main hall. The double doors at the front of the building stood open this morning, and beyond the terrace, a path led towards the cliffs. Feeling rather like a convict who is suddenly presented with a means of escape and doesn't quite know what to do with it, she left the villa, and walked across the grassy cliff top to its edge. Looking down, she realized it would be possible to climb down to the cove, but not wanting to indulge in such childish antics, she looked round for the path. Sure enough, it sloped away to her right, winding in and out of the outcrops of rock that provided a natural protection against sliding feet.

  The sails of the yacht were some distance out in the bay now, nearing the break in the headland, and she wondered with a reluctant sense of anxiety whether Alex intended negotiating the channel. Then she determinedly thrust her misgivings aside. What did it matter to her what he did? Or whether he was endangering his life? He meant nothing to her, no more than she did to him.

  The wedge heels of her sandals sliding a little on the dusty surface of the path, Charlotte slowly began the descent into the cove, keeping a wary eye on the yacht. If Alex should decide to turn back, she should have plenty of time to reach the house before he landed.

  Once on the fine sandy beach, she looked about her with interest. The rocky backcloth of the cliff was honeycombed with caves, some of which disappeared under the water at the point where the beach dwindled into a rocky promontory, A boathouse, set on stilts, was built at the far end of the beach, and a wooden jetty ran out from it into deeper water. -From the beach, it was also possible to see another cove further round the headland, where a cluster of cottages, gleaming whitely in the sun, signified a small village. A few boats were drawn up between the rocks, and some children were playing in the water. But there was no means of access from here. To reach the village on foot, one would have to climb the cliff again and cross a stretch of headland.

  Kicking off her sandals, Charlotte walked to the water's edge and allowed the tiny waves to curl about her toes. The water was like silk, soft and warm, and grains of sand tickled her feet. She bent to roll back the cuffs of her trousers and almost jumped out of her skin when Alex said: "Good morning, Charlotte!" from somewhere behind her.

  She swung round, startled, jerking upright to find him standing only a few yards away from her on the beach. His only garment was a pair of fraying denim shorts that left the hairy expanse of his chest and long powerful legs bare. She had not seen him without the civilizing influence of shirt and trousers before, and as the shorts only reached somewhere slightly below his navel, there was little of him she could not see. He looked big and intensely masculine, the night's growth of beard still darkening his jawiine, and Charlotte felt a peculiar tightening in her stomach.

  Then her eyes darted revealingly to the yacht, still out in the bay, and following her gaze, he said: "I'm sorry to dis­appoint you, but that's Dimitrios. He enjoys sailing, too."

  Charlotte looked round for her sandals, more for something to do than actually needing them. "There was no need to come creeping up on me," she retorted. "I -! was just taking a walk, that's all."

  Alex hooked his thumbs into the low waistband of his shorts. "And I was just cleaning the launch's carburettorl" he returned, and when she still looked sceptical extended a hand for her to see the oil on his fingers. Charlotte felt somewhat chastened, and he went on: "Did you sleep well?"

  Her cheeks burned. "I - yes. Very well, thank you."

  "Good. You look less - strained this morning."

  Charlotte brushed sand off her toes. "You - that is - you didn't-"

  " - come to bed?" he finished for her. "No. Not to your bed, at least."

  Charlotte's eyes were troubled as she glanced up at him. "I - why not?" Perhaps he had changed his mind after all. Her heart lifted.

  But Alex was looking cynically at her. "Why do you think?" he asked mockingly. Then, more soberly: "I've told you, Charlotte, I'm not a monster. I realize this has been a tremendous upheaval for you, that you need time to get used to the situation - to me!"

  Charlotte licked her lips. "How - much time?"

  "As long as it takes," he returned flatly. "Now, will you stop behaving as if I'm about to leap on you, strip off your clothes, and take you, here - on the sand."

  Charlotte quivered. "If- if this is supposed to be some kind of an apology - "

  "Apology?" he echoed impatiently. "Like hell, it's an apology ! It's a stay of execution, that's all!" And with that he turned and stalked away towards the boathouse.

  Charlotte felt no further desire to remain on the beach, and she scrambled up the cliff path, arriving hot and dis­hevelled at the villa. She encountered Maria in the hall, and the old housekeeper looked with dismay at her dust-smudged pants and flushed cheeks.

  "Is something wrong?" she exclaimed, but Charlotte shook her head.

  "No, nothing. I went down to the beach, that's all."

  "Ah." Maria folded her hands together. "You were looking for Kyrios Alexandros."

  "No, I was not," Charlotte contradicted her sharply. "And now, if you'll excuse me, I need a wash...."

  Charlotte spent the rest of the morning in her room, refusing to admit what a futile exercise that was. After all, Alex was not in the villa. She could quite easily have sun­bathed on the patio, or walked in the gardens among cool olive trees, but instead she chose to hold herself apart from the rest of the household.

  The bed had been made in her absence, and kicking off her sandals, she stretched her length upon it, staring up mutin­ously at the softly moulded ceiling above her head. Her thoughts were confused after the things Alex had said to her. While there was a certain relief in his so-called stay of execu­tion, there was also a bitter sense of insecurity. How long was she expected to live in this state of almost suspended animation, constantly aware of that impending approach of disaster?

  In spite of the turmoil of her thoughts, towards midday she must have slept, because she awakened with a start, sure that someone else was in the room with her. She blinked her eyes, looking towards the door, but could see no one. Then the shadow by the window attracted her gaze and she saw Alex standing there, looking broodingly towards the horizon. His back was partially turned to her, but in denim trousers and a cotton sweat shirt he was less aggressively masculine.

  Charlotte levered herself up on her elbows, resenting the way he had walked uninvited into her room, had watched her as she was sleeping. Had she really no privacy here?

  "What do you want?" she demanded, and he turned slowly to look at her.

  "So - you're awake." His appraisal was without feeling. "It's lunchtime. I came to tell you."

  Charlotte sat upright, crossing her legs lotus fashion. "So­phia could have told me," she said shortly. "Or is this little exercise intended to show me that you're not waiving all your rights as a husband?"

  Alex's lips tightened. "Don't fence words with me, Charlotte. You haven't enough weapons." He paused, moving away from the window. "And in future, I do not expect to find you sulking in this room all day."

  "What am I supposed to do ? Twiddle my thumbs on the patio?"

  "You know perfectly well that there are advantages to living here," he told her quietly.

  "What advantages? I must have missed them!"

  Charlotte refused to be quelled even though her heart was hammering at her temerity. But Alex was no feeble adversary.

  "Charlotte, you do realize what you are inviting, don't you?" he suggested dryly, and all desire for provocation left her.

  Swinging her legs to the floor, she got off the bed, smooth­ing the creases out of her pants. "If - if you'll leave the room, I'l
l not be long," she said, holding up her head, and to her relief he moved towards the door.

  "Very well, if you insist." He opened the door. "Wear something green. It suits you."

  Charlotte's jaws clamped together as he closed the door. His meaning had been unmistakable, and she was greatly tempted to throw something at him. But he had gone, and for that she should be thankful.

  By the time Charlotte appeared at the dining table, she had showered and changed into a full-skirted dress of pale blue silk which swirled about her slender legs as she walked. The style was more adult than anything she had worn before, and ignoring Alex's instructions she had piled her hair up on top of her head.

  Alex was already seated at the dining table, studying the contents of the glass he was holding, but he rose at her ap­proach and politely held the chair until she had sat down. When they were both seated he picked up the small bell beside him and rang it.

  Tina served them with fresh melon, and when they were alone again, he said: "This afternoon, I'll show you the island. Then you'll have no excuse for feeling bored."

  Charlotte pressed her lips together, staring down rather uncomfortably at her plate. It wasn't true that she had been bored. Indeed, it had been a great temptation to remain out in the sunshine, but indignation and resentment had driven her indoors. She had no reason to tell him this, of course, even if her conscience did trouble her somewhat. Though why it should when his did not appear to trouble him, she could not comprehend.

  "You do swim, I suppose?" he questioned, when she made no comment, and Charlotte nodded her head. "Good. Bring a swimsuit. There's a cove I know where the water is more than twenty feet deep."

  Charlotte swallowed a mouthful of melon, and then said: "You don't have to entertain me, you know. I - I'm quite capable of entertaining myself."

  Alex regarded her resignedly. "Charlotte, I know I don't have to entertain you. But as I have some free time and you are a stranger here ..." He pushed his half empty plate aside, and she glimpsed the impatience in his eyes. "For God's sake, girl, can't you even stand the sight of me?"

  "Would you expect me to do so ?" Charlotte defended her­self. "I didn't create this situation, you did! Why should I-"

  "Your father created this situation," Alex retorted coldly. "Never forget that !"

  "Do you think I could?"

  Charlotte would have left him then, she was on the point of thrusting back her chair and rushing back to the bedroom, when his hand descended on her wrist, holding her in her seat with sheer strength. --

  "Don't go," he said, and his tone was quietly commanding. "All right. If you'd rather not spend the rest of the afternoon with me ..." He shrugged. "I won't force you."

  Charlotte stared at him with a mixture of pain and com­passion. She was reprieved - but was that what she wanted?

  She didn't understand the chaotic turmoil of her emotions. When he released her wrist, she rubbed the bruised flesh almost absently, and she was still there when Tina came to clear the plates away.

  Curried eggs and salad comprised the main course, and Charlotte pushed hers round her plate with a feeling of im­patience towards her own indecisiveness. What was wrong with her now? Did she actually gain some enjoyment from these periodic skirmishes with the man who was now her husband? Was she actually sorry that he had withdrawn from the battle?

  When the meal was over, Alex rose to his feet. "If you'll excuse me," he said. "Dinner is at eight. No doubt I'll see you then."

  Charlotte looked up at him. "Yes," she said, in a small voice, and with a brief nod he left her.

  For three days, Charlotte only saw her husband at mealtimes. They were long days, lonely days, when she seldom ventured far from the villa. She ate breakfast in her room, and after­wards either sunbathed on the patio, or went down to the beach to paddle in the sea. She had not swum yet, nor had she encountered her husband again as she had that first morning.

  Lunch was invariably at two, and afterwards she rested on the bed with one of the books taken from the library which Maria had taken much delight in showing her. Then afternoon tea was at five, served on the patio, for which Alex did join her, and dinner was at eight. This meal was over by about nine or half past, and although she knew that Alex went into the lounge and listened to music at this time, he never invited her to join him. Consequently, she was in bed by ten most nights, although not always to sleep.

  Occasionally she saw Vittorio and Dimitrios about the villa. She had learned from Maria that the Santos brothers lived in the village over the headland, but as Alex was supposed to be taking a holiday, their presence was not often required.

  It was, for Charlotte, an almost solitary existence. The words she and Alex exchanged over lunch and dinner could scarcely be termed conversation, and her only speech was with the servants.

  Then, on the morning of the fourth day, she had an un­expected visitor. Casually dressed in cotton pants and a halter top, she was sitting on the patio reading when Sophia came to announce that Kyria Eleni Faulkner had arrived and was awaiting her in the saloni.

  "Kyria Eleni?" Charlotte echoed in confusion, getting up hastily from the padded lounger she had been occupying, dropping the aerosol container of lotion she had been using to prevent her skin from becoming burned. "Who —who is that?"

  Sophia's dark eyes were faintly hostile, as usual. "Kyria Eleni? Ine yaya," she exclaimed, as if Charlotte should have known this without asking. "The - grandmother, ne?"

  "Alex's grandmother," breathed Charlotte, under her breath. Of course. Alex had told her his grandmother lived on the island. But what was she doing here? Now? And where was Alex?

  Stopping Sophia as she was turning away, Charlotte asked: "Do you - do you know where - where my husband is ?"

  "Ochi, kyria."

  Charlotte, even with her small knowledge of the language, did not need Sophia's shaken head to tell her that she did not.

  "Oh, very well," she said shortly, dismissing the girlIand taking a deep breath, walked into the villa.

  Eleni Faulkner was an intimidating figure. Tall, taller even than Charlotte, she was not a slim woman, and her ample curves were concealed beneath a long black dress which reached almost to her ankles. It was a curious thing to Charlotte that many Greek women seemed to favour such dark colours in a climate where lighter shades would have deflected the heat. Dark-skinned, like her grandson, Eleni had the distinction of almost white hair, which contrasted sharply with her colouring. Despite the fact that Charlotte estimated her age to somewhere between seventy and eighty, she was not stooped, and there was no trace of weakness in that straight, uncompromising back. Coming into the room out of the brightness outside, Charlotte was put at an im­mediate disadvantage in that the older woman had plenty of time to appraise her before her eyes adjusted themselves to the light.

  "Ah, so you are Charlotte." Eleni Faulkner spoke first, her voice strong and firm. "Why has my grandson not brought you to meet me?"

  Charlotte's lips parted. "Er — won't you sit down, Kyria

  Faulkner?" she invited awkwardly. "I - er - Alex isn't here at the moment." _

  Eleni regarded her suspiciously for a few moments and then with an indifferent tilt of her head allowed herself to be seated on one of the straight-backed armchairs. "Well?" she said, when she was seated. "You haven't answered my question." • Charlotte glanced round and saw with relief that Maria had come to hover near the doorway. Turning back to her visitor, she said: "Can I offer you some coffee?"

  Eleni made an impatient sound with her tongue against the roof of her mouth. "I don't drink coffee," she replied. "Chocolate, yes."

  Charlotte shrugged and looked at Maria. "Can we offer Kyria Faulkner chocolate?" she inquired, and at Maria's nod: "For - two, please."

  Maria gave her a slightly sympathetic smile and went away, and Charlotte subsided into the chair opposite her visitor. "I don't know where Alex is," she said conversationally, almost as though he had just disappeared within the last few minutes. "I'm
sorry he's not here to see you. I'm sure he'll be sorry if he misses you. Perhaps you could come to lunch one day. Or dinner — "

  "Do stop blabbering, girl." Clearly, Eleni was not above using her age as an excuse for rudeness. "I didn't ask where my grandson was. Knowing him, he's probably messing about

  in a boat somewhere. I asked why he had not brought you to

  see me." f

  Charlotte made a helpless gesture. "I — we've only been here four days. There really hasn't been time - "

  "Nonsense. Alex knows me. He knows I was expecting to ir-eet you. Akooste, after I have waited almost twenty years for him to take a wife, is it so unreasonable that I should wish to meet her?"

  "Of course not." Charlotte linked her hands between her knees. "It's just that - well, you know how it is."

  "No, I do not know how it is. That is why I am asking you."

  Eleni wasn't letting her get away with that, and reluctantly Charlotte remembered that Alex had intended to show her the island. No doubt that would have included meeting his grandmother, but she had refused to go with him.

  Realizing excuses were getting her precisely nowhere, she said: "I'm sorry. I did not imagine you would be so - interest­ed in me."

  Ekni's dark eyes narrowed. "And why not? Why should I not be interested in my new granddaughter?"

  "What Charlotte means is that back in England grand­parents do not perhaps take such an interest in their grand­children's affairs."

  Alex's unmistakable tones had never been so welcome, and Charlotte glanced round with a deeply drawn sigh to find her husband leaning negligently against the door frame. The fact that he was dressed much as she had seen him that first morn­ing - in shabby shorts, only this time with the doubtful distinction of a short-sleeved shirt hanging loosely from his shoulders - meant less than her intense relief at his appearance. Her eyes encountered his, read their unmistakable censure, and quickly looked away.

  Alex came into the room and took his grandmother's hand, raising it to his lips, and Eleni said: "Alexandro!" in gently reproving tones. Then she stared at him searchingly, shaking her head at his lack of attire, and went on: "Alexandro, why have you been keeping yourself aloof from me?"