there for her.
He had told her about her father, which Estelle hadn’t been able to do very fully. And he’d shown her pictures, revealing her own facial likeness to the young man whose life had been cut short.
But there had been another likeness.
‘He had a hasty temper,’ Grandpa had said sadly. ‘He didn’t mean to be unkind, but he spoke first and thought afterwards.’ He’d looked at her tenderly. ‘And you’re just the same.’
It was true. She was naturally easy-going, but without warning a flash of temper would come streaking out of the darkness, making her say things she afterwards regretted. She’d fought to overcome it and had succeeded in dampening it down to the point when few people ever detected its existence. But it was still there, ready to undermine her without warning.
In the final months of her marriage it had made her say things that would have made a reconciliation impossible, even if she’d wanted one. Right now it was probably a good thing that Lysandros wasn’t there to hear the thoughts that were bouncing around like Furies in her brain, demanding expression.
One evening Nikator returned home suddenly and locked himself in his room, refusing to open to anyone, even Petra.
‘Perhaps Debra will come to see him,’ she suggested to Aminta, the housekeeper.
‘No, she’s gone back to America,’ Aminta said hurriedly.
‘I thought she was here until next week.’
‘She had to leave suddenly. I should be getting on with my work.’
She scuttled away.
It might mean anything or nothing, Petra thought, and she would probably never know. But for a while Aminta avoided her.
Nikator finally emerged, with a slight swelling on his lips which he refused to discuss beyond saying he’d had a fall. Petra didn’t feel like pursuing the subject, but she made a mental note to spend as much time out of the house as possible.
Since the evening of the wedding she’d seen Lysandros only once and that was by chance at a grand banquet given by the city authorities. He’d made his way over to her and said courteously that he hoped she was enjoying Athens. He’d mentioned contacting her again in the next few days, but made no specific plans.
He seemed to be alone. No lady had been invited to accompany him to this occasion, just as her own invitation had made no mention of a guest. She was left wondering at whose behest she had been invited.
After their evening together she had been in turmoil. Behind Lysandros’s civilised veneer she sensed a man who was frighteningly alone, locked in a prison of isolation, seeking a way out, yet reluctant to take it. It didn’t matter that their first meeting had been so long ago. It had left them both with the sense that they knew each other, and under its influence he’d begun the first tentative movements of reaching out to her. Yet he’d been able only to go so far, then no further. Try as he might, the prison bars had always slammed shut at the last moment.
Her heart ached for him. The pain he couldn’t fight had affected her, and she would have rescued him if she could. But in the end it was his own nature that stood in the way, and she knew she could never get past that unless he allowed her.
At night she would relive the brief kiss that he’d given her. Any other man would have seized her in his arms and kissed her breathless, which, truth to tell, she’d half hoped he would do. Instead, he’d behaved with an almost Victorian propriety, caressing her lips in a way that called back that other time when he’d thought only of protecting her. And in doing so he’d touched her heart more than passion would ever do.
But there was passion, she knew that. She couldn’t be so close to him without reading the promise of his tall, hard body, the easy movements, the power held in check, ready to be unleashed. Nor could she misunderstand the look in his eyes when they rested on her, thinking her unaware. Some day-and that day must come soon-she would break his control and tempt him beyond endurance.
But gradually her despondency gave way to annoyance. Now she could hear the strange woman at the wedding again, warning her that she was one of many and would yield as easily as the others.
‘No way,’ she muttered. ‘If you think that, boy, have you got a shock coming!’
Briskly she informed the household that she would be away for few days, and was in her room packing a light bag when her phone rang and Lysandros’s voice said, ‘I’d like to see you this evening.’
She took a moment to stop herself exploding at his sheer cheek, and managed to say calmly, ‘I’m about to leave for a few days.’
‘Can it wait until tomorrow?’
‘I’m afraid not. I’m really very busy. It’s been a pleasure knowing you. Goodbye.’ She hung up.
‘Good for you,’ Nikator said from the doorway. ‘It’s about time somebody told him.’
‘It’s kind of you to worry about me, Nikki, but I promise you there’s no need. I’m in charge. I always have been. I always will be.’
The phone rang again.
‘I know you’re angry,’ Lysandros said. ‘But am I beyond forgiveness?’
‘You misunderstand,’ she said coolly. ‘I’m not angry, merely busy. I’m a professional with work to do.’
‘You mean I really am beyond forgiveness?’
‘No, I-there’s nothing to forgive.’
‘I wish you’d tell me that to my face. I’ve been inconsiderate, but I didn’t…that is…help me, Petra-please.’
It was as though he’d thrown a magic switch. His arrogance she could fight, but his plea for help reached out to touch her own need.
‘I suppose I could rearrange my plans,’ she said slowly.
‘I’m waiting by the gate. Come as you are; that’s all I ask.’
‘I’m on my way.’
‘You’re mad,’ Nikator said. ‘You know that, don’t you?’
She sighed. ‘Yes, I guess so. But it can’t be helped.’
She escaped his furious eyes as soon as she could. Now she could think of nothing but that Lysandros wanted her. The thought of seeing him again made her heart leap.
He was where he’d said he would be. He didn’t kiss her or make any public show of affection, but his hand held hers tightly for a moment and he whispered, ‘Thank you,’ in a fervent voice that wiped out the days of frustrated waiting.
Darkness was falling as Lysandros took her into the heart of town, finally stopping at a small restaurant that spilled out onto the pavement. From here they could look up at the floodlit Parthenon, high on the Acropolis, dominating all of Athens.
The waiter appeared, politely enquiring if they were ready to visit the kitchen. Petra was familiar with this habit of allowing customers to see the food being prepared, and happily followed him in. Delicious aromas assailed them at once, and it took time to go around trying to make a choice. At last they settled on fried calamari followed by lamb fricassee and returned to the table.
For a while the food and wine occupied her. Sometimes she glanced up to find him watching her with an intense expression that told her all she wanted to know about the feelings he couldn’t put into words. For her it was enough to know that he had those feelings. The words could wait.
At last he said politely, ‘Have you been busy?’
‘I’ve been doing a lot of reading in Homer’s library. I’ve had some invitations to go on expeditions.’
‘And you’ve accepted them?’
‘Not all. How has your work been?’
‘No different from usual. Problems to be overcome. I tried to keep busy because…because…’ his voice changed abruptly ‘…when I was alone I thought of you.’
‘You hid it very well,’ she pointed out.
‘You mean I didn’t call you. I meant to a thousand times, but I always drew back. I think you know why.’
‘I’m not sure I do.’
‘You’re not like other women. Not to me. With you it has to be all or nothing, and I-’
‘You’re not ready for “all”,’ she finished for him. Without warning her temper gave a sudden, disconcerting flare. ‘That’s fine, because neither am I. Are you suggesting that I was chasing you?’
‘No, I didn’t mean that,’ he said hastily. ‘I was just trying to apologise.’
