Flame of Fate

FLAME OF FATE Anne Hampson

It was years since Alana had seen Conon Mavilis, although she knew he still hated her for having turned down his proposal of marriage. Her reason then had been humiliated as well as angry when, shortly afterwards, Alana had married someone else. She had had the best of reasons for her action - but Conon had never known of them. Now, in Greece, they had met again, and Conon, smouldering and embittered, was insisting that this time she become his wife. And now he had the power to force her to agree.

CHAPTER ONE 'WILL you marry me?' Max had just asked, and for no apparent reason there appeared before Alana's mental gaze the tall lithe figure of the Greek, It was over eight years since she had turned him down, and he had gone out of her life for ever. And yet she recalled his face so clearly just whenever the thought of him happened to drift into her consciousness. A dark and handsome face it was, formidable in its strength, it was. true, yet unlined by care, or the various frustrations that the world could inflict. She saw the full lips, sensuous yet kind, compassionate, human. The eyes, of a grey so deep that they could be taken for black, were hard and piercing, yet true in their depth, steady in the gaze. The jaw was taut and strong, but quite often it relaxed in laughter, just as his face had always softened when he smiled. And there was the way he carried himself - with that air of superiority and nobility that never failed to attract attention, attention to which Conon himself appeared to be totally oblivious. Yes, Conon Mavilis had been the most handsome man Alana had ever met, and he was desirable, no denying that. She had refused him solely because of the disastrous marriages of her sisters. Beautiful girls, each had married well - or so it had appeared at the time, Sally having landed herself no less than an earl whose stately homes numbered three. Maggie's husband had made a name for himself as a film director. He too was wealthy, taking Maggie to a beautiful mansion in the Cotswolds. 'We only want you to make as good a marriage,' Mrs- Wentworth would say to Alana. 'And then I shall be the proudest mum in the whole world!' Maggie's marriage was the first to go. Her husband found someone he liked better and, convinced that money could amply compensate

for his infidelity, he gave his wife a house and an income for life. But it so happened that Maggie had loved him dearly, and the agony of knowing he preferred another girl to her had brought on a complete breakdown which lasted over two years. At least, that was the length of time which elapsed before Maggie could laugh again. A mere five months after their fashionable wedding Sally and her husband parted, this time by mutual agreement, as they had discovered so many flaws in each other's characters that they decided they could never make a success of their lives together. 'I'm staying single,' declared Alana emphatically on hearing of the break-up of Sally's marriage. 'What sense is there in entering into a relationship, that has so little chance of being anything but temporary? Not for me! I know when I'm well off.' 'They've both done rather well financially,' submitted Mrs. Wentworth. 'Neither will ever have to work again.' Alana had made no comment on this. But not for her the idea of marriage as a bread ticket only. She had a good position as secretary to Max Newland, International Property Consultant of Forgate Square. His work took him abroad, mainly to Europe or the Middle East, and Alana nearly always accompanied him. As she had once told him when he had mentioned the possibility of her marrying and leaving his employ, she was perfectly satisfied with her life. At this time Max was leading a rather lively existence, having affair after affair with glamorous girls whom he happened to meet in the course of his travels or his work at home. Alana as his secretary often had the task of telling the fib that would release her boss from some date which he regretted having made. Alana was used to him and his ways; she and he understood one another extraordinarily well and although Alana herself came in for entertainment in plenty, Max never once made any suggestion when, on having taken her out

to some luxury hotel for dinner and dancing, he would take her home to the flat she rented in London. 'If I fail to keep it on a business footing,' he once told a friend, 'Alana will leave me - and I can't do without her. Believe me, no secretary could come up to her either for tact or efficiency.' It was when Max was over in Greece buying property that Alana, at that time a mere eighteen years of age, met the young and handsome Conon Mavilis, son and heir of the millionaire exporter of tobacco, fruits and olive oil. Conon at twenty-five knew his own mind right away, and he proposed to Alana without hesitation. She was attracted to him - no doubt of this - and had it not been for the fact of her sisters being at that time unhappy and disillusioned, she might have accepted Conon's offer of marriage. As it was, she turned him down with the same degree of promptitude which he himself had shown in proposing to her. Her excuse, received with wrathful incredulity, was that she was unwilling to take the risk, seeing that her sisters' marriages had gone on the rocks so swiftly after their most romantic weddings. 'You mean,' he exploded, glaring at her with an expression she scarcely recognized, 'that you're refusing to marry me solely because your sisters have made a mess of their own marriages?' 'Yes, Conon, that's exactly what I mean.' 'What utter nonsense!' Conon had then tried to convince Alana that their marriage would without doubt be a success. 'I love you, Alana, and I feel that you could love me very soon. Say you'll correspond. I'll come over and court you, as English girls like to be courted. Then we'll get married and I'll take you to my island. It's a beautiful island, Alana, not a bit like mainland Greece, not crowded like it is here, in Athens. My island's a perfect paradise, and there are palms and flowers, mountains and the smooth blue sea. I have my own

house, an impressive villa,' he added with an encouraging smile. 'Let me make you the mistress of my villa, Alana - please, I beg of you, marry' me.' Alana remained adamant, and she never did discover the name of his island, as he termed it. She often wondered if he had meant that quite literally, or whether his island was merely one of the numerous islands lying like jewels floating on the blue waters of the Aegean Sea. She often wondered, too, what Conon was like now, what the years had done to him; she wondered if he were married with a growing family. She supposed that he was, seeing that he was so eligible. Max, who knew of the affair, had once mentioned that Conon's father had died and that Conon was now one of the most wealthy men in Greece. 'Alana. ...' Max's low clear voice broke into her reflections and she glanced up at him with a smile. 'I've asked you a most important question. Will you marry me?' Her smile spread. 'Marry a philanderer like you?' She shook her head. 'You ought not to consider marriage. You'd never be faithful.' 'I've had my fling, as you very well know. I'm thirty- seven and ready to settle down and rear a few kids. You're twenty-six and it's time you settled down too, and raised a family.' 'You know my attitude towards marriage.' 'That...? Lord, girl, you're not still troubling yourself about the break-up of your sisters' marriages?' 'Maggie's never found anyone she can love. Her life is ruined—'

'Rubbish! She's having a damned good time, on her ex- husband's money.' 'She's trying to forget,' began Alana, when Max interrupted her again. 'Let's not discuss your sisters. We are us, and other people's mistakes cannot in any way affect our own lives.' 'I can't marry you, Max. Please forget that you asked - me. We've a unique relationship which has lasted for almost nine years. Let's keep it that way.' He hesitated. 'I hate to remind you of it,' he said with deliberation, 'but there was an interruption in our unique relationship, as you term it. And that interruption was for the period of your marriage—' 'Stop!' cried Alana, flushing painfully. 'It's hateful of you to remind me of that!' She shuddered visibly as for a few seconds darts of memory brought back visions of her life with the detestable Howard Beaumont. 'It was a mere interlude, and one from which fate in its mercy saw fit to release me.' 'A lucky and speedy release.' Max paused in thought, his blue eyes intently regarding her. He noted the heightened colour, colour which served, strangely enough, to enhance the peerlessly-moulded features - the high cheekbones and pointed chin, the tender curve of the neck. The blue-green eyes, widely-spaced and incredibly large, held an expression of appeal, but Max was not in the mood to drop the subject just yet. Tour months. Yes, you were lucky, Alana.' She stared up at him; they were in the lounge of the Savoy, waiting for a client to whom Max hoped to sell a hillside villa he had for sale in Malta.

'You think so?' bitterly and with a brooding expression marring the beauty of her eyes. 'You appear to forget the reason for my marriage, forget that I was forced into it by an unscrupulous man who, having seen me, desired me for his wife.' 'I suppose,' admitted Max with a sudden frown, 'I'm every kind of a cad to bring this up just now - or at any time, for that matter. I was merely reminding you that you had been married—' 'Do you think I need reminding of it?' she broke in angrily. 'Do you suppose that I want to be reminded of it?' For a moment she was back in time, reflecting that even as she was turning down Conon Mavilis's ardent proposal of marriage, the fates were working against her being able to maintain her chosen way, which was to remain single. She had often wondered, in the beginning, whether or not Conon had ever learned that she had, after all, entered into marriage. How furious he would have been, she mused, for his anger had not been pleasant and she had at one moment had the rather terrifying conviction that he would strangle her, so threatening was the fire and fury in those deep-set grey eyes. Marriage ... A mockery from start to finish. It had been a marriage of necessity, dire necessity, for her brother, the twin to whom she was naturally devoted, had on his vacation from university gone to work for Howard Beaumont, a shady financier whom he had robbed of a large amount of money. The penalty was to be prosecution and Darrell had come to his sister in tears. Alana immediately took it upon herself to see this Howard Beaumont, an obese mountain of a man whose reputation with women was very soon to become known to Alana who, now and then, would recall with a shudder his flabby features and bulbous nose, his thick lips and evil, close-set eyes. As repulsive as any creature on earth could be, he had instantly offered Alana an ultimatum.

She frowned now and saw Max's questioning gaze. This she ignored, remembering that first interview with Howard Beaumont. Behind those detestable shifty eyes had been the lascivious desire to handle the lovely but as yet immature curves of the eighteen-yearold girl before him. Many hesitations, heartburnings and fears had preceded Alana's final acceptance of his offer. It was in the end her mother's health that had hastened her decision, for she was suffering from a heart disease that could kill if she received a shock. Somehow Howard Beaumont had gained knowledge of this and his threat of going to see Mrs. Wentworth had tipped the scales in his favour. 'The prison sentence he'll receive will be at least five years,' Howard Beaumont had told Alana. 'He's forged no less than nine cheques, and in addition he's taken thousands from my safe. He's in with a crowd of gamblers and all the money's gone. The shock will kill your mother.' Alana would always have doubts about the 'thousands' being taken from the safe. Her brother admitted taking some money, but he did not know how much. However, it mattered little; Alana agreed to the marriage and her mother was delighted that her third daughter had married a wealthy man. The wedding night had come all too swiftly and with a feeling of abhorrence that was to Alana worse than a sentence of death, she had gone up to the bedroom to which the maid had first directed her. Here she waited, fully dressed, for what seemed an eternity of time. Howard had been drinking heavily at the reception and after ordering Alana to go to their room he had remained downstairs in the sitting-room - with a bottle in one hand and a glass in the other. It had been after midnight when she had heard his heavy, uneven tread on the stairs; her heart had stood still, cold as ice and with as

little feeling. She was dazed with fear and the horror of what awaited her. And then she heard the stumble, and the drunken scream before, losing his balance, Howard had gone hurtling to the foot of the stairs, his bulky frame making sickening thuds that seemed to echo like distant thunder throughout the whole vast edifice that was his home. When a fortnight later he was discharged from hospital he was to all outward appearances a slightly thinner version of his old self. But the injury he had sustained had in fact put an end to his amorous life once and for all. . Alana would not have been human had she not felt like falling on her knees and thanking God for her deliverance. That she was selfish, heartless, troubled her not at all. Her husband had forced this marriage upon her and she found it impossible to afford him even the smallest degree of compassion. 'Don't think you can leave me,' he had warned darkly. 'Because if you do then your brother is right back to square one!' Alana had looked contemptuously at him, her lovely face pale but resigned. 'I shan't leave you,' she had returned coldly. 'Don't worry, you'll suffer no humiliation over a broken marriage.' His wealth had been such that his associates had been awed by the thought of it, but when, only four months after the wedding day, Howard Beaumont died, he left the whole of his fortune to charity. And while Alana could quite successfully have contested the will she had not the least desire to do so. Fate had released her, and so great was her relief and thankfulness that all she desired was to cut from her life this interlude and take up where she had left off. Max was only too happy to have her back, although he naturally inquired about the fortune that should have been hers.

'He left me nothing, Max. I don't want anything. Just give me back my job and I'll be happy.' At that time she and Max were no more than employer and employee, Alana having been with him less than a year when her marriage took place. Nevertheless, the relationship was such that it proved to be a strong basis for the friendship that followed, and which had endured successfully until the present day. That Max had been tiring of his gay life had been apparent to Alana for some time, but that he should offer her marriage had come as a surprise. He knew how she felt about it, and that her objection to it had nothing at all to do with her own marriage, for this had not been of her choosing, had not been entered into with love on either side. No, her determination to remain single was still fixed by what had happened to her sisters, and there would be no man who could ever sway her from the path she had chosen to follow. Max was speaking now, apologizing for introducing the subject of her marriage. 'I should have shown a little more tact,' he added contritely. 'Forgive me, Alana?' She smiled then and the unhappy interlude dropped from her consciousness. 'Of course, Max.' He paused a moment to regard her in a curious kind of way. T)o you remember, after the funeral—' He stopped, frowned darkly and said, 'I'm at it again! Tell me to shut up.' But instead she asked,

'What about the funeral?' Again he paused. But her tones this time had been unemotional and he was impelled to answer her. 'It was after the funeral. I said I wasn't going to smother you with sympathetic murmurings, as everyone else was doing - and sickening you in the process. I reminded you that I was a man of the world, that little escaped me and that I had guessed at something gravely amiss when you came to tell me of your intention of marrying a man like Howard Beaumont. I suggested that his death was a relief.' She nodded her head reflectively, recalling that Max had at that particular time also asked her why she had married the man. Max had looked her over in that particular way he had of looking women over and she guessed that he was summing up her attractions as his eyes moved over what he had once described as her delectable curves. He had gone on to say that she could have had her pick and that it had puzzled many people that she should have married the financier. 'I remember,' she said on realizing that Max was awaiting her response. 'You also suggested something else.' No flush of embarrassment, and Max came right in with, 'I suggested that there had been nothing between you and that great fat bear.' Again she nodded, her thoughts travelling for some strange reason to Conon Mavilis, the tall bronzed Greek whose ardour and love had so swiftly prompted a proposal of marriage. It occurred to Alana that he must have been confident of an acceptance, since he was so distinguished and good-looking that he attracted the feminine eyes wherever he went. Undoubtedly he was the type of man whom most

girls set up as their ideal, the type whom any girl would be proud to be seen with - and even prouder to have as a husband. What was he like now? Alana asked herself again, and she also questioned the reason for his coming into her mind like this. Perhaps, she mused, it was owing to Max's recent declaration that he and she would soon be going to Greece, where he hoped to pull off a big land deal with a wealthy businessman there. Yes, that was the explanation; Greece and Conon were bound to connect. 'You were right, Max,' she replied at last. He had moved impatiently after a moment or two of silence following his own words, and once again Alana realized she was leaving him high and dry, as it were, as she herself became lost in these various reflections. 'There never was anything between Howard and me.' Max's eyes kindled perceptively, 'His fall?' And, before she could answer, 'It must have been the fall, because he was obviously all right when he married you.' A pause before Max added, 'It was lust and lust alone that induced the demand that you marry him.' 'It was,' came Alana's grim and bitter reply. 'I've asked you why you married him?' Alana frowned in concentration. 'I thought I gave you a hint,' she said. 'The merest hint,' he responded suavely. 'I grabbed at the fact that you'd been forced into the marriage, but by what means I still don't know.' 'I see ...' Alana detected a hint of pique in his tone and recalled her adamant refusal to talk about her marriage - this after the handing in

of her notice to Max, and again after the death of her husband. Max had probed, gently and subtly; Alana had believed she had given him a hint sufficiently strong to make possible a correct conclusion on his part. It would seem, however, that Alana's hint had not been as easily read as she had believed, and so she could now understand why he had endeavoured to bring her out. At last he had given up and the marriage had never been mentioned again until now. 'It was my brother,' she continued, having made up her mind to tell him all, seeing that her brother was now in America, having obtained a post as adviser to a large investing concern. In any case, Alana would have trusted Max with any secret, knowing him as she did, and having had endless proof of his integrity.'He had gone to work for Howard during the vacation. He stole from him, and worse still, he forged a number of cheques.' 'Good lord! I never guessed at anything like that. I ought to have, though,' he frowned, clearly angry with himself. 'If only I had I could have helped. Alana,' he admonished, 'why didn't you come to me?' 'I would if it were now, but at that time, Max, I was a comparatively new employee of yours.' He had to agree, but his angry frown remained. 'Why in heaven's name didn't I insist on knowing more about it?' Alana shrugged her shoulders. 'It isn't important, Max.' 'Not now, but it was at the time. Just think, if he hadn't had that accident—' 'Don't!' she shuddered.

'Or died,' went on Max relentlessly. 'Just think what you'd have suffered, and I could have prevented it!' 'Really, Max, what is this all about? The story's history by now, so what good will self-recrimination do you?' He had to laugh. 'None, I grant you.' He paused, lifting a finger for the waiter. 'The same again,' he said when the man arrived at the table. 'You haven't answered my question,' he then reminded Alana. 'We digressed, and that was my fault. Alana, say you'll marry me. We both know each other well enough to be sure we'll get alone.' 'Is that enough?' she asked curiously. 'Don't you want love in your life?' 'I think I love you—' 'Think?' She herself had to laugh. 'I wonder how many proposals of this kind have met with success.' 'I'm honest at least.' His face was creased in a smile. She examined it and thought as always that it was a pleasant face, though not over strong of feature. The forehead was very wide, the fair hair above it thinning already. The mouth was firm but the chin receded a little. Nevertheless, there was an attractiveness about the face that obviously found a response in women, since Max had only to beckon and whomever he beckoned came running. His clothes were of the finest cut and quality, his car was a Silver Shadow, his house boasted a swimming- pool and over two acres of immaculately-kept gardens. He had a flat in Park Lane and a chalet in Switzerland. 'What of your feelings for me?' he persevered. 'You like me, that's for sure. Do you think that, with a little effort, you might come to regard me with affection?' The smile still hovered; Alana knew that her refusal would annoy rather than hurt.

'I'm not marrying anyone.' With her customary quietness of tone she added that he was just wasting his time, that if he really wanted to be married, then there were a dozen or so women that she could mention who would be delighted to consider a proposal from him. 'You're quite serious about not wanting to marry me?' 'Dear Max,' with some exasperation, 'surely you can see that I am.' The drinks arrived; Max drank deeply, then flinched as the potent liquid caught at his throat. 'If I marry someone else,' he remarked, gazing into his glass so as to avoid the directness of Alana's eyes, 'they will object to my having so attractive a secretary.' She looked suspiciously at him. 'You have someone in mind,' she asserted. 'And I have an idea who it is.' 'At the moment, you are the one I have in mind.' 'But there is another who is - well, second in the running, as it were?' Max gave a small sigh and took another drink. 'Where's that client of mine?' he said irritably, glancing at his watch. 'Why are women always late for appointments?' 'Because, taking more care over their appearance, they take a longer time than men to get ready.' 'In that case they should make an earlier start,' was the logical suggestion. 'However, to get back to the important question of my

marriage: as I was saying, if I marry some woman other than you then I shall be in trouble if I keep you.' 'Then you'll have to give me the sack, won't you?' She spoke lightly enough, but the idea of leaving Max was more than a little disturbing. She had never had any other job; she knew nothing about office work other than that of property dealing. She had travelled widely with her boss and this had provided her with a knowledge of other countries. It had been interesting and pleasurable. Max had never once found fault with anything she did; he asked her advice, relied on her in so many ways that she could not see any other secretary being able to fill her post successfully. 'I wouldn't like to think you had a wife who was jealous of me.' 'Then marry me, Alana, and let's continue like this for ever.' 'Ever?' She lifted one delicately-curved eyebrow. 'I thought you wanted a family?' 'We'll have a nanny - a couple of nannies if necessary.' 'Sorry, Max, I'm not tempted.' He frowned and sighed, then took another drink, this time draining his glass. 'I suppose I could give up the idea of marriage,' he said at length. 'Yes, I suppose that is the most sensible thing to do.' He looked at her, taking in the long honey-brown hair, the little retrousse nose, the well-kept hands with their long tapering fingers and almondshaped nails, shining but unvarnished. 'I just had the idea that a son would be nice to have - an heir, you understand, because I'm making so much money and have no one to leave it to.'

'A son would be nice/ she agreed, having thought so on other occasions when she had seen Max with other people's children. 'As you say, you've no one to leave your money to.' 'And the business. I've built it up myself until it's just about the most respected firm of its kind in London. It would be a shame to have it collapse after I'm gone.' 'You do have plenty of time,' she reminded him tentatively. 'After all, you could leave it another ten years and still be young.' His lips twisted a fraction. 'Not so young. Forty-seven, my dear.' That's not old for a man. These days it isn't even looked upon as middle aged.' 'Certainly it is,' contradicted Max. 'At forty-seven you're only three years off fifty. I might find myself left on the shelf.' 'I can't see any possibility of that,' she laughed. 'Not knowing you as I do.' 'Thanks. That sounds rather like a doubtful compliment.' Alana said nothing and after a while Max confessed that he had in mind someone he would marry, if Alana herself persisted in refusing him, that was. 'But you could just change your mind,' he added hopefully, though the light died out of his eyes once and for all as she shook her head. 'Marriage is definitely not for me, Max,' she assured him. 'I'm a bachelor girl and I mean it to stay that way - always,'

And now it was Max's turn to shake his head. It seemed as if it was a compulsive gesture, just as the words that followed seemed to be forced from him. 'You'll meet your match one of these days, my girl,' he predicted. 'Yes, you're too darned desirable for the net not to close in some time or other. And, as I'm so convinced of this, I suppose I ought to plan for the day when you'll leave me—'' 'Max, for goodness' sake be practical! You know very well that not likely to leave you. If I go then it will be because you've given me the sack. This you'll have to do if you marry Marlene Chandler—' 'How do you know it's her—?' 'Because she's been hanging around longer than all the rest. And because she's the only one who's shown any sign of jealousy towards me. The others have accepted me from the start; they're resigned to my being here and they're friendly in consequence. I don't intend to say anything derogatory about Marlene, but I will say that her jealousy has always been apparent,' 'I suppose you don't consider her a suitable runner-up, then?' Alana smiled to herself, thinking of the glamorous Marlene and wondering just how she would react to this conversation were it possible for her to overhear it. 'Max, it's your affair. You know whether or not Marlene will make you a good wife. Women with women are vastly different from what they are with men. Marlene doesn't like me, but that doesn't mean that she's catty or anything like that. I might be the same myself if I were in her position.' Alana paused a moment, but when he made no comment she went on to add, 'Yes, you and I must part if you marry her. Must I begin looking for another post?'

A dark frown settled on his forehead. Another sigh escaped him. 'I'll have to marry some day,' he said a trifle peevishly. 'You haven't answered my question,' she reminded him gently. 'Must I begin looking for another post?' A long pause followed and then, with a shrug of resignation, ' 'If one comes along I'll not stand in your way. But I'd like you to stay for as long as it's possible.' 'So you are going to marry Marlene?' 'I think so, yes.' 'In that case, I'd better begin looking right away, because once that ring's on her finger Marlene's going to ask you to get rid of me.' As Max made no immediate protest to this it was clear to Alana that she had made no error of judgment as regards to Marlene's resentment of her position and her relationship with Max. 'Not right away, Alana,' he said after a while. 'I shan't be marrying her for some time. We'll get engaged, of course. I want to settle a few deals before I let you go - and especially I want to get this land I'm after, the land I was telling you about.' 'In Greece?' 'That's right.' Max paused, hesitant, and Alana gave him a puzzled glance. 'The businessman from whom I'm hoping to buy the land lives on the island of Kalymnos, although his factories and vineyards and land and the rest are on the mainland.' 'I see. Shall we be going to Kalymnos?'

Max nodded, once again uncertain in his manner, a hesitancy about him that was most unusual since he was never lost for words. 'Yes, we shall be going to Kalymnos. Er...' 'Yes, Max?' 'You were once acquainted with the man with whom I'm expecting to do business.' She went a trifle pale. 'Conon Mavilis.' It was a statement, her guess having been easy since Gonon was the only Greek with whom she had ever been acquainted. 'That's right - the man who wanted to marry you, remember?' 'I remember ...' It seemed impossible that she could ever forget. His magnetic personality was with her at this moment; it seemed to pervade the lounge of the hotel, to dominate the very atmosphere. 'Yes, of course I remember.' She looked at Max, 'Have you seen him lately?' 'Not since you yourself did, but we've corresponded regularly over the past few weeks—' 'You've corresponded?' she broke in. 'But I've never seen any letters from him.' Max looked away for a space, and then, apologetically, 'He said he wanted the business conducted privately, and so I answered his letters myself.'

She looked at him with a puzzled expression. As his secretary it was her task to deal with all correspondence. However, she supposed he was free to deal with his own mail if he so chose. 'You offered for some land of his, I take it?' 'He offered it to me. He knew I would always be interested in buying land in Greece.' Alana frowned, aware of an inexplicable tingling of her nerves. There was something savouring of the mystery about this business. For one thing, she could not for a moment imagine Conon's offering land. It would somehow be beneath his dignity. If someone approached him he might then consider entering into a deal, but even that was difficult for Alana to accept, since Conon had no need to sell his land. 'It all seems most strange to me,' she said, speaking her thoughts aloud. 'He asked you to go over there in order to view the land?' 'I know what the land is like. I saw it many years ago. I'm going over to buy it - if we can agree on a price, that is.' Alana said nothing; the mystery appeared to be deepening and, to her astonishment, she was conscious of her heart beating rather too quickly for comfort. 'He asked about you,' continued Max. 'He seemed most interested—' 'He asked about me? How did he know that I was still with you?' 'His first letter contained an inquiry about you; he asked if you were still with me, and if so, did you still accompany me when I travelled abroad on business. I told him that you still worked for me and that you would be travelling with me if I went out to see him.' Some inner warning made Alana say impulsively,

'Do you mind if I don't accompany you, Max? I'd rather not meet Conon Mavilis again ...' But then she stopped, aware of the absurdity of her request. She would be needed on a deal of this nature. And in any case, what had she to be afraid of in meeting Conon again? 'I'm sorry. I don't know what made me say that. Of course I must accompany you.' He stared curiously at her. 'I shall need you, naturally.' He paused then before adding, 'He was an excellent catch, you know. Not many women would have turned him down.' 'I was against marriage at that time.' 'At that time?' he repeated, a glimmer of hope in his voice. 'Just as I'm against it now,' she rejoined, and saw his shrug of resignation as he turned his gaze to the wide archway through which his client would eventually come. He appeared more interested in the projected business deal he was about to conduct with the lady who was keeping him waiting so long than with his secretary, and Alana's thoughts reverted to Conon. 'Is he married?' she asked, the question out before she could stop to think. 'I never thought to inquire,' answered her companion dryly. 'However, you'll find out when you get there, won't you?' She flushed and remained silent, and to her relief Max's client swept through the archway at that very moment. 'I'm so sorry,' she gushed as Max rose to his feet. 'I'm afraid I'm a little late - er - just a couple of minutes or so?' She glanced at her watch. 'No more than that, is it?'

'No more than that,' he agreed with his customary charming way of putting potential customers at their ease. 'In any case, it was my pleasure to wait.' His eye catching that of Alana, he winked, and then, lifting a hand to call the waiter, he inquired of the newcomer what she was having to drink.

CHAPTER TWO THE sky was overcast as the plane began to descend, towards the airport at Rhodes. Max and Alana had been forced to accept seats on the early morning plane, as there were none available on the flight which Max had originally meant to take. So they would have to spend an . afternoon and night in Rhodes. This slight change of plan troubled them not at all; a look around this most beautiful island would not come amiss. They wandered along the waterfront - the harbour of Mandraki - enjoying the sea breeze and the flowers, and hoping that the rain would keep off. They dined at the hotel where they intended staying the night and the following morning at ten o'clock they boarded the Lindos and sailed for the islands of Kos and Kalymnos. The sun shone from a brilliant sky and while Max passed the time in conversation with a man he had met in the bar, Alana settled down on the deck and tried to read. But concentration became more and more difficult as the face of Conon Mavilis intruded repeatedly between her eyes and the printed page. It was a coincidence that he and she were to meet again; she knew instinctively that they would feel awkward with one another. Or perhaps it would be she only who would feel uncomfortable; Conon even at twenty-five had possessed an air of confidence and poise which had made Alana, at eighteen, feel rather inferior - and certainly very young indeed. She recalled with startling clarity her shyness when first they met, at a luncheon given by Conon's father for some business associates. Max had somehow been invited, and he took with him his secretary. Conon's very dark eyes had on the instant settled on Alana's face; she saw his expression change from the stern and cold gaze with which he had been examining others in the room, to one of surprise and deep admiration. She had flushed, she recalled, and as he came towards her, with long and purposeful strides, she had made a swift shy movement as if to escape. But he was with her before she could act and his smile and faint bow of the head kept her where she was.

His father had come at once and so had Max; the introductions were made and then, somehow, Conon and Alana were quite alone, sitting in a corner of the hotel lounge where drinks were being served before lunch. Corion had conversed with her in a friendly and even intimate way and after lunch he had suggested they take a stroll in the grounds of the hotel. 'Isn't there something for you to do here?' she had asked, flicking a hand to embrace the entire company of businessmen around her. Conon shook his head, saying that he had come only to please his father and that he was now free to do as he wished. Feeling rather helpless under the determined attitude of her companion, Alana found herself doing as she was requested. The gardens were a blaze of exotic colour, she remembered, and everything was so quiet despite the fact that the main city roar of Athens was not very far away. Trees swayed silently - palms and tulip trees and white poinsettias. It had been a most romantic setting, and Alana had been deeply affected emotionally - she would never attempt to deny that. And even at this early stage in their relationship she learned that Conon was a man of lightning decision; she suspected that he would ask her to marry him. The idea stunned her, and she successfully evaded him on the following day when, accepting another invitation to a business meeting, Max would have taken Alana along with him. She wasn't feeling very well, she had lied, knowing that he could manage very well without her. Max had agreed without hesitation to leave her, but on his return he brought the information that Conon Mavilis had asked where she was and on hearing that she wasn't too well he had appeared to become exceedingly anxious. 'I do believe you've made a hit,' laughed Max, then went on to inform her that Conon was the son of one of the wealthiest industrialists in the whole of Greece. She remained unaffected by this news and hoped that Max would be returning to England before she and Conon could again meet. It wasn't to be so; Conon called at the hotel where she and Max were staying and, as Max was out with

a glamorous Greek girl he had met, Conon asked Alana to dine and dance with him. She accepted even while some inner force tried to put a firm refusal on her lips. Conon's personality was far too strong for her, his charm was irresistible. She had thoroughly enjoyed herself, for he took her to a taverna by the sea where they ate under the moonlit sky and danced on a wide verandah hung with perfumed flowers. The following day he appeared again, asked Max if he could take her out and, receiving an affirmative reply, turned to Alana with the most proprietorial air and said with confidence, 'Off you go, then, and get ready. I'll wait for you here.' Even Max had raised an eyebrow at that; as for Alana, she had stood there staring at Conon in disbelief. Anyone would have thought, by this manner of his, that he held complete control and authority over her. Her chin had lifted, she recalled, but instead of voicing the rather haughty rejection which leapt to her tongue, she somehow found herself accepting his invitation, and staring at him with a dazed sort of wonderment as the words fell from her lips. She had worn a white georgette dress trimmed with lace and tiny pearl beads; nothing other than a little lip rouge had been used on her face; her hair, tenderly clothing her shoulders, shone in the moonlight, its silky softness proving too much for the ardent Conon who without hesitation took it in his hands and brought it caressingly to his face. 'I love you,' he had murmured vibrantly when after a meal of roast millet washed down by heady wine he had her in his arms as they danced to the haunting strains of the bouzouki band. 'Alana ... my little English rose ... will you marry me?'

'Alana! For heaven's sake where are you?' Max was standing on the deck beside her and his voice brought her back from her reflections with a start. 'The luncheon bell's gone ages ago; I've been waiting in the dining-room for you.' He stared down at her in some amusement. 'You were in a dream just now.' 'I'm so sorry.' A deprecating laugh followed the brief apology. 'I was miles away, as you imply.' She rose, and tucked the book under her arm, aware of the curious expression on her companion's face. 'Thinking about Conon Mavilis,' he murmured perceptively, and to her annoyance Alana found herself going slightly red. 'I - I —' 'So you were thinking of him? Oh, well, it's only to be expected, I suppose. It'll be interesting to see what happens when you two meet again.' 'I expect he's married.' Alana made a move and Max fell into step beside her as she approached the stairs leading down to her cabin. She again apologized for being late and promised to spend the minimum of time in washing her face and hands and brushing her hair. £Do start, though,' she begged. 'Your lunch is going to spoil otherwise.' 'I didn't have it served.' His gaze was still curious; she managed a smile and said, 'Don't worry about me, Max. I shan't feel in any way embarrassed when this meeting takes place between Conon and me.' This was by no means true, but she somehow wanted to reassure Max, to make him believe that she felt no emotion whatsoever at the thought of the forthcoming encounter with the man whose anger when she refused his offer of marriage was, to say the very least, more than a little frightening.

Max rejoined, after a moment that was strangely tensed, 'It's not you I'm worrying about, it's myself.' 'Yourself?' she frowned. 'What do you mean?' Max flicked an imaginary speck of dust from one immaculate sleeve. 'I'm beginning to think that I shouldn't have brought you with me this time—' 'Max - what are you trying to say?' she broke in, her frown deepening. 'I could lose you,' he replied. 'Oh, I know that he might now be married, but—' Another pause and then, 'I'd stake all I have that he is not.' eyes widened. 'You're not suggesting that he's stayed single because of me?' she ejaculated. 'Really, Max, you do say the most ridiculous things at times!' 'I believe,' he returned slowly and deliberately, 'that had he had a little more time, he'd have succeeded in persuading you to marry him.' 'He could no more have persuaded me than you yourself could the other day. You don't appear to accept my most firm resolve never to marry anyone.' His blue eyes were vacant; he was deep in thought. 'You're very confident, Alana, very sure of your armour protecting you, but as I said the other day, you'll eventually meet your match— ' He broke off, and turned away, murmuring as he did so that he

would await her in the restaurant. She stood still for a long moment, staring at his receding back. .What had he been about to add? Alana had the answer even before she reached the door of her cabin. He had been going to say that Conon Mavilis could be her 'match'.

The island of Kalymnos, lying between Kos and Leros, came slowly into view through a sea-haze that had persisted throughout the voyage from Kos. Alana stood alone by the rail and stared at what appeared the most depressing spectacle she had ever seen. A little island in the middle of a mist-laden sea, with blurred heights that seemed like something one would imagine finding on the moon. The irregular coastline was to Alana's critical eyes devoid of sandy beaches; the vegetation was a series of dark shadows interspersed with black voids that loomed mysteriously up from nowhere in particular. Why, she asked herself, did Conon choose to live on an island so unattractive when he could have had his choice of over a hundred inhabited Greek islands? 'Looks a bit grim, doesn't it?' Max's voice at her side brought her head round, and she nodded her agreement. 'I wonder why he lives here?' 'Everyone to his or her own choice,' he shrugged. 'I expect he finds something attractive about the place. For myself - I'd just as soon live in a desert!' The ship's siren was sounding and through the mist Alana discerned figures on the quayside - people waiting to board the ship? No, they would be friends and relatives meeting the passengers, she decided. Conon would not be here, Max had told her, for the arrangement

was that the business would be discussed at Conon's home. Alana would naturally have preferred the meeting between her and Conon to have taken place in the atmosphere of an hotel, but as it was not to be she had become resigned. On disembarking Max hired a taxi and soon they were being taken along the harbour front before the taxi began to climb into the hills, careering rather madly through narrow streets where the pretty cubic houses were festooned with exotic flowers. 'Well, at least the sun is trying to come through,' remarked Max, gazing appreciatively at a sprawling white house on the hillside through which they were winding their way. 'If this damned driver would only be a little more careful I'd be enjoying the ride.' She nodded, her head hitting the upholstery in the corner as the cab jerked protestingly round an acute bend in the dusty road. 'So would I. It appears to be a pretty island, after all.' Even as she spoke a burst of sunshine illuminated the mountains high above them; the clouds were scudding quickly across the sky, leaving a trail of brilliant blue behind them. 'Pretty? Just take a look at that!' Alana turned her head to stare in wonderment at the scene before her. The wide expanse of sea was swiftly taking in the sunshine, transforming it to a quiet cerulean blue; the mountains had softened in the gentle golden rays, the gardens had become spangled with a riot of glorious colour. 'What a transformation, and within a matter of minutes. I wonder if the weather is as changeable as this all the time. If so, then it's comparable to ours.' 'Except it's warmer,' she submitted, her eyes travelling from the mountains to the dry river bed that could from this vantage point be seen winding its way to the golden bay far down below, its banks

graced by masses of pink and white oleanders growing beneath the orange and lemon trees that formed the orchards - or perivolis - of the Greek peasants whose neat white houses were scattered all around. Hibiscus bushes blazed their crimson trumpets in almost every garden; jacarandas spread a blue veil upon the hillsides and the ubiquitous olive trees of ancient origin brought colour of a lesser flamboyance, though still attractive, their silver-grey leaves catching the sunlight as they fluttered in the breeze. Alana's opinion of the island was fast changing as one impression swiftly gave way to one even more lovely. The climb into the mountains brought even yet another change of scenery, with the landscape becoming less thickly wooded and the summits of the massif taking on a rather forbidding aspect. The jagged peaks were naked, and tortured by volcanic activity in times long past. They were a little frightening in their austerity, awe-inspiring in their size. It was a relief when at length the driver began to descend, mainly because his handling of the vehicle was so bad that Alana had for the most part been holding her breath each time he took one of the treacherous hairpin bends. Below the tree-line the landscape once more became soft and gentle, with colour flaring in the hedgerows - roses and pomegranates, oleanders and asphodels, while over them towered the beautiful cypress trees for which Greece is so famous. They grow in profusion wherever the soil and climate suits them and along the waterfront their shadows had lent atmosphere as they mingled with the tiny, gaily-coloured fishing boats which were anchored there. Below the hills through which the taxi-driver was travelling, the blue-green waters of the Aegean sparkled like priceless jewels, polished by sunlight and spreading away towards the distant horizon. 'That is the house.' The driver spoke at last, pointing to a dazzling white villa of enormous proportions; it stood majestically on the plateau just above, a plateau studded with trees and across which a tiny stream wound its way before dropping in a sparkling cascade to

the river below. The house itself became more picturesque as they drew closer to it; it was obviously unique on the whole island, a villa designed as no other had been, the showpiece, undoubtedly. But seawards was a castle, majestic and yet having the atmosphere of a home. There, said the driver, lived a wealthy Greek and his English wife. Alana's attention returned to the villa, and it was natural that the thought which passed through her mind was that she could have been living in it, the wife of the owner - the beloved wife of the owner, for undoubtedly Conon had been deeply and sincerely in love with her. Max was subjecting her to a sideways glance; she flushed and turned away, wishing the business deal had already been pulled off and that she and Max were on their way home. 'Here!' The driver had gone slowly along the drive; he now stopped, jumped out and opened the door for Alaaa to alight. 'It is beautiful house, no?' 'Yes,' smiled Alana. It's very beautiful indeed.' 'It cost Mr. Conon many monies. He rich man - all his peoples were rich mans, you see.' Max was feeling in his pocket; money changed hands and Alana .smiled again on noting the man's eyes light up. 'Thank you, sir! Efharisto para poll! My telephone number, and I take you back when you want to go, no?' 'Yes,' agreed Max, taking the rather grubby piece of pasteboard which the driver handed to him. Til see that you and only you shall take us back to town.'

'

Efharisto poli! Good day, sir - madam!'

'Good day, and thank you very much.' Alana gave him a glance and then turned to look even yet again at the villa. White and shining, it nestled amid gardens of breathtaking splendour and colour. A swimming-pool could be seen, surrounded by shrubs and flowers and backed by tall cypresses swaying gently in the breeze from the sea. Bright blue shutters lent more colour to the house itself, whose windows were canopied by gay sunblinds on the outside and draped with slightly more subdued colour on the insides. The car drew away in a flurry of noise and bad driving:; the door of the villa opened even before Alana and Max had mounted the white marble steps that led up to the door and then, turning, led to the wide flower-strewn patio which extended along the whole length of the front of the villa. Flanking the steps at the foot were high white limestone pillars and around them trailed the incredibly showy bougainvillaea vine - one a deep salmon, the other a delicate shade of violet-pink. The man who opened the door was obviously a servant; he smiled, opened the door wider and said in excellent English, 'Come in, please. My master is expecting you.' His gold fillings flashing in the sunlight, he gestured, silently inviting Max to enter before his secretary. With a hand touching her shoulder Max propelled her before him, bringing from the Greek servant the swift apology, 'I am sorry, madam. I should have asked you in first. Pardon! Now, I take you to my master.' The entrance hall was furnished in the most tasteful and expensive way, with antiques everywhere and flowers growing in white marble pots. A huge silver urn stood on a silver pedestal and was filled with long-stemmed red and yellow roses.

A man rose on their entry, and came forward. Alana just stood and stared, scarcely able to believe her ears as he introduced himself to Max. Conon! It couldn't be! - not this gaunt and angular man with the merciless eyes and ruthless lines to his face. The mouth was still sensuous, but less full than it had been. Gone were the signs of compassion, gone the crinkly webs at the sides of his eyes that fanned so attractively when he laughed. Alana gave a gasp and shook her head mechanically as if in her subconscious a fight was taking place, with one part of her mind refusing to own that this was the same man she had once known, and the other part of her mind accepting what was being transferred to it. She swallowed hard as the dark piercing eyes settled on her. Conon held out a hand and she put hers into it, her dazed eyes dropping under his scrutiny. His grip hurt and she flinched; a half- sneer touched his lips and she knew without a doubt that it had been his intention to let her feel the merciless cruelty of his strength. She shuddered and would have stepped back, away from him, but his hand retained hers in a forceful and masterful hold. 'So we meet again, Alana.' The voice was also changed; gone was the gentleness, the hint of amusement, the tender note that had told her of his love. 'It's been a very long-time.' The dark eyes moved, roving her body in the most insulting way. She flushed hotly, aware of her employer's eyes fixed upon her and of the sudden tightening of his lips as Conon continued to insult by his examination of Alana's body. 'We must have a talk together - er - exchange confidences, eh?' The way he said that was in itself an insult and Alana knew at once that he was aware of her marriage, and he also knew whom she had married, that she had chosen - or so he believed - an obese and thoroughly detestable man, chosen him in preference to Conon himself. Yes, he knew, and this was the reason for his manner with her. But it was not the reason for the change in his appearance, she thought, puzzled. Had something dreadful happened in his life, something which had embittered him and brought out the

latent cruelty that he as a Greek had in all probability inherited from his pagan ancestors? His manner changed as he turned once again to Max. He was reserved, aristocratic, superior. Undoubtedly superior, she realized on comparing the two as they stood there, one seeming to tower over the other even though Max was not by any means a small man. There was a great gulf between the two; Alana sensed it and for the moment was puzzled by it. And then she saw that superiority puts a man at a distance from others; he was at a distance from her, he was as a Greek god looking down with a certain contempt and disdain at the two mortals who had come into his august presence. 'I am sorry that I couldn't get to Athens to conduct this business,' he said suavely. 'But my mother was ill in hospital here and I could not leave her.' He paused before adding, with what seemed to Alana not a sign of emotion or regret, 'She died three days ago and I was then busy with the funeral.' Alana was suddenly impelled to say, 'I'm so sorry, Conon—' She stopped, a raised hand stemming the rest. 'It is of no matter. She was in great pain.' The brief explanation spoke volumes. Alana then recalled his telling her of his belief that anyone in pain should be allowed to choose whether or not they should live. It was a controversial subject and one which Alana at eighteen had not even considered. But there had been no doubt in her mind that Conon felt very strongly about it and she now realized, on looking into his face as he talked to Max, that, as his mother was in great pain, he had accepted her death philosophically, no matter how he himself might be hurt by it as, for his mother, it had come as a relief, a blessing in fact. Hurt... The one word stood out as she continued to stare at him; automatically she shook her

heard as she noted again the harshness of the features, the cold unemotional eyes, the half-twist that touched his mouth as Max said something he obviously did not like. It was a sneer, a gesture of disdain, an indication of his superiority; it was arrogance, it was contempt. Alana, had she wished, could have found several other names to put upon it. She leant back in the chair and gazed up into his face, thinking of the cold stone statues she had seen, statues of the ancient Greeks, their pagan faces devoid of emotion, their lines and contours portraying all that was merciless and cruel in man. Max and Conon were also seated now and the servant was hovering by the door, having answered the arrogant clapping of Conon's hands which, it would seem to Alana, was a substitute for the ringing of a bell. The man, subservience written all over him, waited v uncertainly by the door, plainly afraid to interrupt the conversation. Conon kept him there, and continued to talk to Max. Alana found her temper rising. It had nothing at all to do with her, she knew, and yet Conon's treatment of the man made her blood boil. What right had he to assume this manner of a god? At last he glanced towards the man, and his eyes swept him, just as if such behaviour were automatic. 'Tell Katina to come here,' he ordered curtly. 'Yes, Mr. Conon, I-' 'And dinner will be served in one hour.' 'Yes, Mr. Conon.' The man was turning, about to leave the room, when Conon spoke again. 'You saw that the rooms were made ready for my guests?' 'Yes, Mr. Conon.'

Alana swallowed the little ball of anger that had settled in her throat. The repeated 'Yes, Mr. Conon,' sickened her beyond all reason. She had, though, transferred her gaze to Max, questioning him silently. He shrugged and spread his hands resignedly. 'Are we staying here?' Alana was compelled to say. 'I thought it was arranged that we should return to town and put up at an hotel.' The dark eyes of the Greek turned upon her. 'It was so,' he told her in his quiet, faintly accented tones, 'but I prefer that you be my guests here.' He made a swift appraisal of the room, a room of luxury and exquisite taste in its furnishings. Alana was later to learn that Conon had toured the capitals of Europe when collecting the items which went into the furnishing of his home. The silver standard lamp with its matching wall lights and centre fitting had been hand-made in Germany; the carpet was Persian but had been purchased at Sothebys, as had the fine Chelsea and Bow groups and several other porcelain figures whose craftsmen had executed the work over two centuries ago. 'Katina will be here directly to show you to your room.' His eyes returned to her; she knew she was colouring, slowly and painfully, knew by the sudden satisfied narrowing of his eyes, by the twist of those sensuous lips that was, she suspected, to become familiar to her during her stay here. She hoped the business would be conducted in time for her and Max to catch the Lindos when it sailed at two o'clock on the following day. One night under Conon's roof would be more than enough for her, she felt sure. The room to which she was shown was the last word in comfort and design, the carpet almost enclosing her feet as she walked upon it, the furniture of bird's-eye maple, the hand-embroidered drapes to a high wide window along the outside of which ran a verandah facing

the sea. Alana stepped on to it and stared out over the blue-green waters of the Aegean. To the north was the island of Leros, while other tiny islands, some of which were no more than jutting rocks, lay dotted about like monsters lifting their heads for air. To the right rose the mountains, majestic even in their nakedness, while the lower slopes flaunted their garb of trees and bushes and a myriad exotic flowers. The gardens themselves possessed an idyllic beauty, set as they were on the high plateau with breathtaking views all around them. Shady nooks could be seen here and there, enclosed on three sides by flowering bushes. A lemon orchard filled the area along the eastern side of the villa while on the other side a sunken rose-garden housed an ornamental pool and fountain, and several beautifully carved white marble cupids. Behind this rose-garden slender cypresses formed a windbreak against the breeze from the sea. Borders of poinsettias and anthuriums and morning glory were interspersed with grassy plots and beds of allamandas and v passion flowers. Behind the villa a massive lawn spread away like smooth green velvet towards the hedge of giant cactus which formed the boundary of the gardens. Beyond this stretched the wild rugged landscape of the northern part of the island, with the lovely castle which Alana had already seen and admired, standing like a sentinel high on the edge of the cliff. It certainly was beautiful, she thought, and yet the owner did not fit in with the beauty, not in any way at all. What had happened to him? she mused again. So great a change seemed impossible in a man who had been so kind and so happy, and whose looks were nothing less than perfect. For no reason that she could understand Alana experienced a pang of regret at the change, for assuredly it had been born of unhappiness or disillusionment - or both. Shrugging impatiently, she went into the ivory and gold bathroom; as there was nothing to be gained by brooding on her host's probable misfortunes over the years, it was more sensible to put them completely out of her mind.

Having taken a shower and changed her clothes, she brushed her hair till it shone, put on a crisp cotton dress of palest green trimmed with darker bands of narrow ribbon on the collar and hem, and then returned to the sitting-room, just in time to see Max leaving, the manservant having been called to show him to, his room. 'Sit down, Alana.' Soft the voice of the Greek as he gestured imperiously with a brown and muscular hand. 'So we have a few moments alone in which to talk.' As he spoke the door was closing behind Max. 'You are older,' he mused, the hard eyes boring into hers. 'Yes ... but not much older.' Alana was twisting away, intending to sit down, but before she could do so Conon had grasped her wrist with one hand and taken her chin in the other. She shivered without knowing why. And then she flinched as both grips were tightened unmercifully. 'Marriage,' he said slowly and with a terrifying depth of harshness in his voice, 'has obviously not used you as it has me!' And roughly he flung her from him, once again gesturing imperiously towards the armchair. 'Sit down, I said!' Tremblingly she obeyed, glancing towards the closed door as though willing Max to return. 'Tell me about your marriage,' Conon commanded, standing over her like a judge. 'This - this beast of the field whom you preferred to me! Tell me about him, I say!' The expression on Conon's face was one of sheer contorted evil, the eyes burning in their sockets and the facial muscles twisted into brutal lines; the mouth had thinned to a mere slit in the dark face of the man whom Alana had once described as the most handsome man she had ever seen - or ever would see. Undoubtedly it was marriage that had done this to him, which had brought about a total transformation both in his nature and his appearance. Again Alana shivered, yet there was within her a depth of regret which she knew would remain with her for some considerable time to come. She said quiveringly, 'Your wife? Wh-where is she n-now—?'

'Dead! Killed along with her lover!' The thin lips sneered and the critical, accusing eyes raked Alana unmercifully. 'Justice was done! But never mind me. I've asked you a question. Answer me!' His power was magnetic; it moved her to say, 'He was a wealthy man whom my br—' 'I am fully aware that he was wealthy.' Conon's glance raked her again. 'He flaunted his riches and so you assumed he was wealthier than I. Is that the reason you married him - only a matter of weeks after you had turned me down? Only a few weeks after you had sworn that you would never marry anyone?' 'There was a totally different reason,' she began, when he interrupted her again. 'I've frightened you, have I? And now you're intending to lie to me—' 'I've no need to lie,' she broke in, angry colour rising as it was borne in upon her that he was, without the least effort, overwhelming her with his dominance. What right had he to question her at all? She recalled the proprietorial manner he had adopted with her before, all those years ago ; he had acted as if he owned her, body and soul ... and he was doing the same now. 'My marriage was my own business and I resent your questions regarding it.' The dark eyes narrowed; Alana's own eyes fell to his hands, tightly shut and pressed to his sides. 'I suggest that it is not resentment you feel, but shame!' Her colour heightened. 'Mr. Mavilis,' she said, adopting a pose of quiet dignity, 'do you mind dropping the subject? My employer and I are here on business

and it is best that you keep that fact in mind. And now, if you will excuse me,' she added, rising and moving away from his towering and powerful form, 'I would like to return to my room until dinner is ready.' Silence. She moved again, but the strength seemed to be fast leaving her legs. The man was a devil, she thought, watching him as some hypnotized prey might watch its attacker while weighing up its chances of escape. 'Come here, Alana,' he ordered as she reached the door and put out her hand to turn the knob. 'Come to me ...' She felt the colour leaving her face. 'I - I w-want to go to my r-room—' The stammered words were cut as with a movement swift as a tiger's leap he had caught at her wrist and, bringing her to him, crushed her in an embrace that was as pagan as it was ardent. . 'I ordered you to come to me!' His face was close to hers and she felt the hot breath on her cheek. 'You are more desirable by far than you were even then.' Vibrant the voice and fired by ardour. Alana, locked inescapably in his arms, opened her mouth to cry out, but Gonon's lips came down upon hers, hard cruel lips that left her bruised and gasping for breath. 'Yes, my Alana,' he whispered hoarsely as for a moment he drew his face from hers, 'you are more desirable to me now than ever before.' His eyes burned like embers fanned and ready to burst into flame. 'You shall be mine! Do you hear me? You shall be my wife!'

CHAPTER THREE How Alana managed to assume an air of calm she would never know. But she did manage it, for when Max entered the room twenty minutes later, looking most attractive in a dark grey lounge suit and white shirt, he glanced from Alana to Conon without any change of expression. Watching him as he began to speak to Conon, Alana wondered at her success, seeing that her heart was pounding fit to burst and that her mouth was red and swollen. Her eyes too must be far too bright, she thought, for at Conon's brutal handling of her she could not withhold the tears. Conon was looking at her now, triumph and amusement written into his expression. He knew of her fears that Max would notice something, knew of her efforts to conceal her discomposure from him, and he was deriving both satisfaction and amusement from this knowledge. 'Dinner is served, Mr. Conon.' The manservant was by the door, having knocked and opened it silently. 'We will be there directly.' 'Yes, Mr. Conon.' Meekly the man withdrew; Alana, meeting Conon's eyes, saw the contempt in their depths, and recalled how he had once treated his servants. It had always been with consideration and friendliness; he had always had a 'thank you' ready, and a smile. Not now; bitterness and disillusionment had redesigned his whole character. He was no longer human. During the meal, with Conon and Max talking business, Alana was left to her own reflections. She found herself going over that time in her life when Conon had been the centre of it. Yes, if she were honest she would have to own that he had been the star around which she turned. He had taken her out, had shown an eagerness

which she now admitted had been gratifying; she had looked forward to his appearances, had been proud to have him as her escort, for many were the envious eyes that had gazed upon her. Yet all the time there had existed not one small idea of marriage to him. Her mind was made up and nothing could veer her from her course. Max had suggested that, had he been afforded more time in which to press his suit, Conon would have won her over. But if this were so then Conon himself would have been aware of it, and in consequence would surely have followed her to England. Was there some reason why he had not done so? Her marriage had come swiftly, of course, but there had been time for Conon to act. At this point Alana pulled herself up sharply. Could it be that, subsconsciously, she had desired that he come after her? The idea took her breath away and she frowned automatically. Happening to glance her way at this particular moment, Conon raised his brows in a question. She flushed painfully, more at the recollection of the dramatic scene that had taken place so short a time before than at what his glance displayed now. She swallowed convulsively and lowered her eyes to the food on her plate. Conon actually gave a low short laugh before turning to continue his conversation with Max. Alana tried to listen, and in so doing to put from her anything personal between Conon and herself. She heard snatches of talk the land was in good heart and producing grapes of the finest quality, so why should Conon sell it cheaply? Max, in his persuasive tones kept for situations such as this, pointed out that the price offered represented many years of grape cultivation. And the capital would be invested, he thought to mention as an added inducement At this Conon's lips curled. 'You forget,' he said suavely, 'that I am not in need of ready money to invest.' 'You did say in your letters that you were interested in selling. Otherwise I would not be here, would I?' As Max spoke Conon's

eyes flickered almost imperceptibly to Alana. She opened her own eyes wide and he smiled and glanced away. Was it possible that he had brought Max over on a wild goose chase? Had the offer of the land been a ruse - a ruse to get her, Alana, over here? If so, then for what purpose? There was about this satan-like man something more deep than anyone would imagine; to Alana he was un-' fathomable ... and treacherously so. Her aversion for him increased; she wanted only to get away from his presence, for she knew instinctively that his power was something to be feared. That she should feel some fear was understandable; that she should consider herself to be in some grave danger was a circumstance which puzzled her greatly - and yet she did have this impression. It was as if she were being forewarned, and that unless she heeded this warning she would spend the rest of her life in regret. 'I expect,' said Conon blandly, 'that in your line of business you often make journeys that ultimately turn out to be unprofitable.' 'Max's mouth compressed, but he contrived to hide his annoyance. 'I hope that this particular journey won't prove to be unprofitable.' Faintly the Greek smiled. 'For you,' he inquired, 'or for me?' Alana glanced sharply at him; his eyes were shaded by the lowering lids and she was unable to read his expression. 'It could be profitable for both of us,' rejoined Max, having missed whatever significant point that had lain beneath his host's inquiry. 'I'm willing to purchase every parcel of land you have to offer me.' Another smile, this time of derision.

'I think not, Mr. Newland. I am inclined to suspect that you would hesitate to buy half a mountain - and a bare bleak mountain at that.' A touch of colour denoted Max's sudden discomfiture. 'I have to agree, Mr. Mavilis; I am not interested in mountains.' 'But merely in land on which you - or possibly your clients - can build hotels?' 'Hotels and holiday chalets - or villas as you call them in Greece.' 'You would have our entire country overrun by tourists?' Alana heard no more for the present, for her mind refused to be disciplined like this; it wandered off and she was once again in the past, reflecting on Conon's tenderness, his concern for her wellbeing, his generosity ... his love ... But now he was a man for whom the flame of fate had lighted the wrong highway and, following it, he had become the victim of his own mistake. He had made a disastrous marriage, a marriage that had left scars so ugly that the wounds which caused them could never be for- gotten. And he blamed her, Alana, for his mistake... Max's voice brought her back once more and she listened to him say with a touch of anxiety, 'I hope we can do some business at least, Mr. Mavilis.' 'There is every possibility, Mr. Newland.' Conon was the-perfect host all at once, his manner courteous, urbane, attentive. 'We shall talk later this evening ... when the lady has retired, I think.'

Alana flushed but said nothing. 'My secretary usually stays with me when I'm doing business,' returned Max curtly. 'I prefer that she remains, if you don't mind.' A curious glitter shone in Conon's eyes. 'And I prefer that our talk shall be - er - for men only. I put it that way, although it has no meaning other than that the business I have to discuss with you is for your ears alone.' He paused, looking at Alana, at her lowered head, her hair falling in rapturous glory on to her face. She glanced up as if compelled by his mastery. Her face was pale now and her mouth felt dry. She suddenly knew a total loss of appetite but, unwilling that her host should suspect this, she forced herself to lift her fork to her lips and eat what it held. 'You will retire when dinner is over.' It was an order, given softly yet one she dared not disobey. What would be the consequences of disobedience she knew not - nor did she wish to know. In any case, it would be a relief to escape from his presence, for it seemed to smother her, to encase her in a cloak of immobility and helplessness, an attitude of mind which was wholly foreign to her since in this particular occupation self-confidence and the ability to act on her own initiative were essential. Max was wrathful but submissive; he was out to do business and it was certainly not to his advantage to antagonize the man with whom he was hoping to do that business. And so he made no demur when, later, Alana said good night and left him alone with Conon. They had gone out to the patio for coffee and liqueurs; Alana had drunk hers more quickly than she should for maximum enjoyment, but she was as eager to leave as was Conon to have her go. Twilight had long since given way to the purple mist of night and after spending about an hour in her room, thinking, and walking about restlessly, she decided that a stroll in the fresh air would do

her good. It would perhaps serve to take away this wide-awake feeling and help her to sleep. Immediately she set foot on the pathway leading away from the villa into the rose garden an elusive drifting perfume assailed her nostrils and she inhaled deeply. No doubt about it, the island was a paradise of beauty, she thought, glancing up towards the high mountains, soft and gentle against the violet, starlit sky. Lights here and there betrayed the presence of villas on the hillsides; a church, white and shining in the moonlight, stood in the valley below, its campanile silhouetted against the indeterminate void that was the arc of the heavens as it swept down to the sea. A donkey brayed on a nearby rise, the persistent whirring of cicadas mingling with his mournful complaints. Olive trees, gnarled and ancient, flaunted their silver leaves as if in competition with the sprays of moonlight that filtered through the tall and stately cypresses. Alana sat down on a low wall and felt suddenly at peace for the first time since coming here, to this magnificent villa whose owner was the man she could have had for her husband, a man so changed that at first she had failed to recognize him. Alert, and with her heart giving a sickening thud, she turned to see the shadowy form of a man coming towards her from the direction of the house. Conon! Where, she wondered in a panic, was Max? Rising unsteadily, she would have fled from the shadow if she could, but to her dismay she found that her legs refused to obey her brain and she just had to sink back to the seat she had occupied on the wall. Conon came on, a tall relentless figure dressed in black; there was not even a white shirt collar to relieve the impression of some horrific being, for Conon had donned a high-necked black sweater which he wore under the black jacket he had on at dinner time.

'So we have another few minutes to ourselves.' His voice was low, guttural, his hand as he reached down to take hers was cold as that of a corpse. Shuddering violently, Alana struggled to free herself, but she was jerked to her feet and crushed to the hard and sinewed body of the man she was now beginning to hate. 'Let me go! Where is Max? I'll scream if you don't release me at once!' Conon's low triumphant laugh was all she heard before her mouth was captured by those merciless lips again. 'Let you go!' He laughed, the laugh of a man bent on the direst mischief. 'I let you go once, my Alana, but never again! You're my prisoner and you'll remain so until the day that death parts us!' His mouth came nauseatingly close again. 'You're mad,' she gasped, twisting her head in a desperate attempt to avoid his avid, sensuous lips. 'Mad, do you hear!' 'Mad ...' The word seemed to drain from him all his anger and desire. 'She called me that...' 'She?' White to the lips, Alana swayed against him, her senses reeling, her mind fighting to retain consciousness. 'Your - wife—?' His hand came up as if he would strike her across the mouth, preventing her from saying anything else, but he dropped it to his side, his expression one of bewildered disbelief. Alana knew a dart of relief on realizing that he had been appalled at the idea of using violence towards her. But his anger had returned for all that, and his voice was a snarl as he said, 'I have never had a wife! You were to have been my wife - and you shall be yet! She was the devil's spouse, not mine!'

'I'm - I'm s-sorry, Conon—' 'For me?' He laughed harshly. Tour pity's wasted now. I'm free of her! Have pity for yourself, because you're going to need it!' 'Conon, let me go.' She spoke gently, and coaxingly, as if to a child. 'I'm not to blame for anything you've done with your life. I told you I never wanted to marry—' 'But you did marry,' he snarled. 'You married almost at once—' 'Not at once. And in any case, there was a reason for my marriage.' 'Of course there was. You sold yourself to the highest bidder.' His eyes raked her contemptuously. 'How you come to be working for this man Newland I cannot fathom. Can it be that all your scheming came to nought, that your husband left you nothing in his will?' 'That,' she managed to say without heat, 'is entirely my business.' Her hair was damp at the temples and her heart was throbbing painfully, but she contrived to appear cool now that he had released her. Strangely, she was making excuses for his conduct even while her logic told her that there was no possible excuse for it. 'He left you with nothing,' stated Conon, 'or you wouldn't be here now.' She hesitated, half inclined to make a run for the house; but on reflection she decided against it, certain that such a move would only serve to arouse him again. 'Conon, I'm very tired,' she began tentatively. 'Please let me pass you.' He stood still, staring down at her with a brooding expression. 'You're mine,' he told her, and his voice was vibrant with confidence. 'You and I shall be married within the week.'

Her lips parted as she brought a retort to them. But caution once again prevailed and she merely said, 'You talk nonsense, Conon, and you know it. You can't force me to marry you, and I'm sure I shall never marry you willingly.' His lips thinned to a mere line; they curved with a sort of amused triumph. He was like a man with a secret weapon, a weapon against which his enemy had no defence whatsoever. 'We shall see, my lovely Alana,' was his cryptic rejoinder. 'Yes, we shall see.' His confident tone, coupled with the expression of triumph in his face, caused Alana's heart to turn over despite the fact that she considered his attitude as ridiculous, his statement that she should be his wife as the words of a man who did not know what he was saying - or, perhaps, a man who was saying things merely for effect. That he was not quite right in his mind was of course not true; she had said that merely because of her fear at that particular moment. One thing stood out above all others, though: Conon Mavilis still desired her for his wife. This she saw quite clearly, and in consequence she was sorry for him. 'Where is Max?' she asked at length. 'Has he gone to bed?' Conon nodded absently; she felt that he had scarcely heard her question. 'Yes. He went as soon as we had finished our business.' Conon's eyes were fixed in front of him, a breeze from the sea teasing his black hair. The trees created shadows as their branches passed before the moon, and as one of these shadows caught Conon's face in profile Alana shivered. There was something so very satanic in his appearance, something that urged her to flee from him now, at

this moment, before he drew her into some web of evil in which he himself was already inescapably enmeshed. 'He went early.' She spoke into his preoccupation so that he gave a small start on being brought back to her. 'He said he was tired.' Strange the tone and harsh suddenly. Alana's heart gave another lurch. Bewildered by this inexplicable misgiving, she asked, 'Did he give any reason for being tired?' Knowing Max as she did she was surprised, to say the least, to hear that he had owned to being tired. He was the hardest working man she knew, tireless and possessed of boundless energy, especially when he was working abroad, for then he was considering the expense and would invariably conduct his business just as expeditiously as possible. 'It isn't like him,' she added, a frown between her eyes. Conon looked at her, then without warning lifted a hand to smooth away the frown. 'Don't do that!' he said imperiously. 'A frowning brow doesn't become you.' She twisted away and he made no attempt to stop her. But he was still between her and the path along which she had to go in order to get back to the house. 'Please don't touch me!' 'You resent my hands?' His eyes glittered with fury, but the sneer that came to his lips was one of disgust and contempt. 'You didn't resent the hands of your greasy mountain of a husband, did you?' He afforded her no chance of voicing a reply as, seizing her again he let her feel the cruelty of his mouth and the passionate closeness of his body against hers. Sickened, she began to struggle violently, but his

arms were hawsers of steel and she merely exhausted herself. He laughed at her as, taking her face in his hand, he forced back her head and brought his lips to hers. She made another attempt to free herself and this time her action served only to excite him more than ever. She suffered an eternity of uncontrolled passion before he held her from him and snarled, You'd better resign yourself to the touch of my hands, because you're going to feel them for the rest of your life!' White to the lips, Alana swayed and would have fallen had he not been holding her hands. 'You're hateful!' she cried. 'How very glad I am that I was sensible enough not to marry you. As for these repeated threats you're making - well, I treat them with the indifference they deserve. As I've said, you can't force me to marry you.' 'I never waste words,' he told her, and with a swiftness that made her gasp his whole manner changed to one of cool control which vested him with that sort of austere nobility which characterized the marble statues of the gods. He stood aloof from her yet retained a link of mastery that was absolute. She felt small and insignificant; she knew a fear that seemed to paralyse her mind so that coherent thought was becoming difficult. With an effort she rallied and said, 'You've been wasting them tonight—' 'No, my dear Alana,' he broke in softly. 'You will know soon enough that my words had meaning.' The fear increased as bewildering vibrations shot through her. His face, turned to her so that she saw every firm line and muscle highlighted in the silver glow from the moon, wore a confidence and resolution so strong that she could no longer convince herself of her own safety. It was absurd in the extreme, she thought impatiently,

but it was an indisputable fact that she was now trembling visibly, caught up in some emotion that was very near to a state of palsy. 'I want to go in.' Her lovely eyes pleaded even while she knew she should have assumed an air of arrogance, of angry indignation at the way she had been treated. 'I'm tired.' To her surprise he immediately stepped aside, flicking a hand in an invitation for her to precede him. 'Your employer will be talking to you in the morning,' he said, the cryptic quality in his voice not only arresting her but also causing another infathomable plunging of her heart. What was the matter with her that she should be so scared of this man? 'About what?' Alana inadvertently stepped on a stone and would have tripped had not Conon caught her. She came against him and his face came down close enough for her to feel his breath on her cheek. It was cool this time, and clean - like the wisp of a breeze that had come over a virgin moorland. Some strange emotion darted through her and was gone on the instant, elusive as the perfume of some shy violet on a hillside. Swiftly she pulled away from him. At her question Conon paused, staring ahead, preoccupied. 'You will discover all when he talks to you,' he began, but with a sort of desperate insistence Alana broke in to demand a fuller explanation. 'You said you were tired,' he then added, and once again she interrupted him. 'Not too tired to hear what it is that Max will be telling me.' 'You misunderstood me,' he said quietly. 'What I meant was that if I told you now you wouldn't sleep.' 'Wouldn't sl-sleep?' she faltered. 'What do you mean?'

Conon was shaking his head. 'You should know from a long time ago that I'm quite immune to the subtle and probing wiles that women employ. As I've said, you will learn all there is to learn when, in the morning, your employer talks to you.' They had reached the villa and Conon indicated that she should go in. 'I am taking a walk,' he told her, and without another word he was gone from her side, striding away into the shadow of the orchard. Unable to move, Alana stared after him until he had disappeared altogether. Her mind was in chaos as a dozen questions flitted through it. Why, for instance, should she at this time be searching into the far recesses of her brain to see if she could discover some hold that Conon might have over her? An errant thought had earlier brought back the past, and the terrible conflict that she had known, before, finally, she had agreed to become Howard Beaumont's wife. Was it this thought that had caused her to wonder if it were possible that Conon also had a hold over her? It was his own attitude that had been so confident, so triumphant; she had tried to fight against the pull of uncertainty and doubt, had tenaciously held on to the conviction that Conon had no grounds at all for his statement that she would soon become his wife. Wife! Shuddering, she ran up the steps. There was not the remotest possibility of her becoming the wife of such a man - a man whose control was no better than that of a savage. And yet her confidence ebbed so swiftly that she found herself unable to go to bed until she had learned from Max what it was that would keep her awake all night. Approaching his door, she listened for a moment before knocking softly and calling out his name. His prompt opening of the door was proof that he was awake, but he was fully dressed too, and Alana gave a gasp of disbelief when, glancing up, she noted the pallor of

his face. He appeared to have aged a little, and to be in the depths of despair. 'What's wrong?' she faltered, instinctively aware that she herself was affected in some way. 'Max, what has happened?' He hesitated, but somehow she felt convinced that he actually wanted to enlighten her. 'That fiend,' he said slowly at length. 'That heathen who brought us here on a false errand—!' He broke off, swallowing thickly and shaking his head from side to side. 'False errand?' Alana moved slowly towards her employer. He lifted his hands in a gesture of helplessness, then let them drop to his sides. 'You mean - he tricked us into coming here?' As her tones failed to show the depth of surprise which he had quite naturally expected, Max looked inquiringly at her. 'He has some ulterior motive?' she added before he could speak. 'You've been talking with him?' Alana nodded her head. 'He's so strange—' She stopped, flushing at the recollection of his treatment of her. 'He says I shall soon be his wife.' Watching Max's face to see how he received these words, she saw only an unfathomable mask and yet she sensed an alertness about him which, for no reason she could explain, increased her anxiety. He himself had asked her to marry him, and a swift show of anger would have been more in keeping with the information she had imparted to him. 'What has he said to you, Max? He was certainly making some implication when he said that you would be speaking to me in the morning. I couldn't wait till then, and that's why I'm here now. I feel that his confidence is backed by some strong attack

even while my common sense tells me that he can't possibly marry me without my consent - and that he will never have, naturally.' Max's eyes flickered with the most odd expression. 'Are you quite sure of that, Alana? You wouldn't, under any circumstances whatsoever, agree to marry him?' She stepped back, astounded by his questions. 'What are you talking about?' she asked sharply. 'There are no circumstances under which I would be coerced into marriage—' 'You were once,' he broke in quietly, and then before she had time to answer, 'Forget it, my dear. I might as well tell you everything, and in as few words as possible. I'm ruined. Gonon Mavilis has for years known something about me which I've smugly believed to be my secret alone.' He turned from her and, walking over to the window, drew aside the curtains. Outside there was such peace, such tranquillity, but the two inside were totally divorced from such things as fragrant garden perfumes, the view of mountains sleeping, of a drowsy sea, dark and vast, of palm trees swaying against a starlit sky. 'A long time ago, Alana, I robbed an old man who happened to be related to Conon Mavilis—' 'You robbed someone?' Automatically she shook her head. 'It isn't possible. Ever since the day I first came to work for you I've realized that your business flourishes on total honesty.' 'Today it does. A year before you came to me I was on the brink of ruin, having in my youthful ignorance been misled into making some disastrous investments. All would have been lost had I not had what I considered to be the most incredible piece of luck. An old Greek peasant walked into my office and offered me a thousand acres of land for a mere song. It seems he had quarrelled with his son and, aware that he had only a short time to live, he decided to do

the dirty on this son by selling all his land. I came over to look at it arid couldn't believe my luck, for it was land which included one of the most attractive and unspoiled beaches in the country. I bought it for a few pounds and sold it for a quarter of a million—' 'Max!' Alana stared at his back, staggered by this admission. 'No! Oh, no, you wouldn't do such a thing!' 'I was on the brink of bankruptcy, remember.' Turning, he then lowered his eyes, unable to meet her incredulous gaze. 'Yes, Alana, I did it. We all have a skeleton in our cupboard. I believed mine to be behind doors that would never be unlocked. My God, how little I knew! All this time Conon Mavilis has known—' 'And he's blackmailing you?' This was the only thing she could think of, so dazed was her mind becoming. Her faith in Max had been strong; she would have staked all she had on his complete honesty in business. And now she was being told of this most heinous crime, told by none other than Max himself. 'Is that it, Max?' A bitter curve of his lips and then, 'Yes, you can call it that. But before I explain what form the blackmail takes, I must explain that this old gentleman came from the Mani, a region of Greece which, like the island of Crete, has a strange and almost unbelievable custom called the vendetta.' He held up his hand on noticing her intention of interrupting. 'I daresay you've never heard of it, Alana, so let me tell you about it' And she listened, fascinated and incredulous, as he told her that the vendetta was a tradition, deeply-rooted, whereby, if an injury was done to someone, then the members of the injured man's family would determinedly set out to exact vengeance. If the person who had done the injury was not available then another member of the same family would receive the punishment which, Max said, could even be as severe as death itself.

'And Conon is exacting vengeance - taking it upon himself to punish you?' She looked at Max, saw again that grey, hopeless expression that had been on his face as she entered the room. 'But what can he do? I mean, you paid for the land, so he can scarcely blackmail you, can he?' She could not excuse Max's perfidy in robbing the man, but on the other hand she did not see how reprisals could be taken on him when, as she had said, the land had been paid for. 'The man came to me within hours of the contract having been signed, and asked to withdraw. I refused, made him go through with it.' Max paused and swallowed convulsively. 'Alana, I don't know what got into me; it was greed, sheer undiluted greed, but I made him go through with it!' Perspiration began to spread over his brow. That he suffered greatly from a guilty conscience was more than evident. 'It was the most reprehensible thing—' 'I know it! - oh, but I know it, Alana!' He put his hands to his eyes and his shoulders heaved. Alana felt her own eyes prick; to see a man so close to tears affected her so strongly that she herself wanted to cry. 'I was intending to say, before you interrupted me, Max, that although it was a reprehensible act on your part, there really is no need to fear Conon. You say he has threatened you, and that you'll tell me what form his blackmail takes. But, Max - dear Max, he has no hold on you at all— 'The contract was not at the time valid.' Slowly he spoke, and deliberately, looking at her now, his lips trembling, so deeply was he affected by emotion. 'I knew it wasn't right, but the old man didn't.' Appalled by this added admission, Alana said, her mouth dry and her words scarcely discernible,

'

You - you hoaxed him - hoaxed him, as well...?'

'I did, Alana.' 'So you can be prosecuted?' 'That is so. And if I am I shall not only serve a long sentence, here in a Greek prison, but I shall have to repay the money - not that I paid for the land, of course, but that I received for it The business will be gone!' 'Gone ...' It wasn't possible! Max had recently expanded the business, opening branches in Canada and Australia. He was one of the most respected property dealers in London, his integrity considered to be beyond question. All who came to him with the intention of buying property abroad came with confidence and complete trust, so unblemished was. his record. And yet this blot had been there all the time. It struck Alana just how little she knew about him. But he was sorry, and in her opinion this proved that he was by no means wicked. He had been young at the time of that property deal; his business was on the rocks. Temptation had been strong and he had not been able to resist it, but she had no doubts at all that he would be quite able to resist temptation now. 'It can't go, Max, not your wonderful business .. Her voice trailed away to silence as he shook his head in a sort of anguished gesture. 'I must face it, Alana, I'm finished!' 'No!' She moved to touch his sleeve. 'You haven't told me what form this blackmail is to take. You said you would tell me later. Explain, Max. I'm sure there's a way out of this mess.' He turned from her and her hand fell to her side. This was a dramatic moment even though she merely sensed the drama of it, being unable to put her finger on anything concrete.

There is a way out,' he said in tones husky with emotion. 'But I'm not prepared to tell you what it is—' 'You said you would,' she broke in almost accusingly. 'You've told me so much that you must tell me the rest - you must!' 'I can't.' His voice was firm and Alana, having thought of something else that might help, left the matter in abeyance for the moment. 'Max,' she said a little breathlessly, her lovely eyes alight with hope, 'you have a great deal of money now, and you could borrow the rest, Fm sure. You could then repay the money - to the son, I mean.' When at length he did speak his voice was husky with selfcondemnation and regret. 'He - he committed suicide, Alana—' Giving an audible sob, he turned away and for a few convulsive moments his shoulders shook uncontrollably. 'I didn't know this until Conon told me tonight. Can't you see, Alana, just how I'm going to be regarded? I've killed a man!' She could not speak, so full did she feel. Max gave another small sob and said, 'I've suffered, and shall continue to do so until my dying day!' 'I do believe you!' she cried, swiftly so as to afford him some modicum of relief from his conscience. 'Don't be so upset, Max. I can't bear to see you like this.' She felt a lump rising in her throat, and the tears had started to her eyes. Then suddenly, for no reason at all, she was remembering words her mother had often spoken to her. 'Your trouble is that you're too soft-hearted. Not only will you be hurt as you go through life, but you'll be taken in as well - fooled by those who are cleverer than you. Have a care, child, and do try to see through people.' How could she change her character? she had asked one day when her mother had warned her to be harder, more practical. Alana had pointed out reasonably that she was the product

of nature, the victim of genetics; her inherent qualities were what had been bestowed upon her, and she was herself as a result. In any case, Alana had never wished to change; on those occasions when her sympathy and compassion had afforded comfort she had been only too happy at her ability to help. At this moment her only desire was to help Max, Max who had been good to her all the way through, who had given her back her job without hesitation when she had asked for it. More than anything did she remember his daring rescue when he brought her from a burning building in which she had been trapped. She owed him her life and she would never forget that she had promised to repay him if ever she could. 'Go to bed, dear,' he was saying wearily. 'You must be very tired.' 'I'm not going yet,' was her firm resolve.'I want to know what Conon's ultimatum was.' 'Alana, my dear ... please ...' His voice trailed away; she had the odd impression that he had spoken with deliberate slowness - and for no other reason than that she would interrupt him to say firmly that she was not intending to leave until he had told her what Conon's ultimatum was. This impression was strengthened by his attitude as, watching her face, he appeared to be expectantly awaiting some response from her. 'Alana...' 'Yes?' she frowned. Max licked his lips, her manner quite plainly leaving him at a loss. It was her turn to play, he seemed to be saying. 'I - er - can't tell you about Mavilis's threat.' 'Threat?' she repeated, nerves tingling as - quite absurdly, she told herself - another impression was making itself felt in her mind, the impression that Max was merely prevaricating, and for effect. He

wanted to tell her of Conon's ultimatum, but at the same time he was endeavouring to appear unwilling to do so. 'I don't understand?' 'Please go to bed, dear.' Max's shoulders heaved and a great sigh of hopelessness escaped him. 'Don't insist on hearing any more.' Her eyes narrowed a little. She said in a tone that had gone stiff and cold, 'I think I'd better go and talk to Conon himself. I might then learn a little more.' She paused, but Max remained silent. 'I'm involved in some way, aren't I? And therefore it's not unreasonable of me to ask for an explanation. Conon said that, if he told me all, I wouldn't sleep.' Another pause. Alana watched Max's still form for a long moment before turning towards the door; she had almost reached it when he spoke, his voice low and resigned. 'I'll save you the trouble of going to him. His ultimatum is that—' He stopped and once again she had the strange idea that it was for effect only. 'It won't make any difference, Alana. I'm not allowing you to sacrifice yourself for me.' She spun round, her eyes flickering. 'Sacrifice myself?' A chill had shot through her whole body - the chill of doom. 'What do you mean, Max?' He paused a moment. 'He offered me freedom from prosecution only if I could persuade you to marry him.' Another pause and then, 'He knows that I once saved your life and he's staking all on your repaying me—' 'He knows you saved my life? How does he know?' Max shook his head, saying the man was omniscient.

'He seems to know everything there is to know about both you and me. It seems unbelievable, but the fact remains that he must have kept a tag on us, must have had someone in London who has registered any important move we've ever made.' He paused, his eyes directly on her. 'It would appear, Alana, that he has never lost interest in you during all these years, and whether what he feels for you is desire or love I was unable to define. He was exasperatingly non-committal when I tried to draw him out on the question of why he wanted to marry you.' She thought: he married someone else, so he must have lost interest in me then. But she refrained from mentioning this, since it was unimportant at the present time. 'He believes I shall marry him to save you ...?' Her voice faltered and she struggled to control the tumult within her as, with every passing second, the inexorable hand of doom was descending lower and lower, pressing its weight upon her. Vividly she was recalling, as if it were no more than a week ago, a scene she had often pictured but had never actually witnessed, a scene she had been told about where Max, the hero of the hour, had risked his life to bring her from that burning office. Overcome by heat and smoke, she had been unconscious when, having climbed a ladder, against the urgent advice of a score of onlookers. Max brought her inert form to safety only seconds before the ceiling of the room collapsed on to the furnace below. Alana had come out of it unmarked; Max would for the rest of his life carry scars on his shoulders and his back. 'He was so confident of making me his wife, and now I can see the reason for that confidence.' 'His confidence is misplaced.' Max was shaking his head vigorously, as if to add strength to his words. 'I've said you shall not sacrifice yourself for me and I mean it.' His tone was firm enough, and yet

Alana sensed a jarring note in it. However, as it was a mere vague impression she ignored it, her thoughts reverting to the fact that Conon had gone to such obvious lengths to ensure he was kept in touch with all that was happening to her. Max had mentioned both desire and love, saying he was unable to ascertain which of these had prompted Conon's determination to marry her. For herself, Alana would have considered desire to be the driving force, since any love Conon had ever felt for her must have died a long time ago. Desire ...? It did seem to be the most acceptable conclusion, and yet something seemed to be telling her that this was not so. But if neither love nor desire were the compelling force, then what was? Alana gave a sigh, and looked across at Max. It was a swift, unexpected glance and one which caught an unguarded expression an expression as unfathomable as his voice had been just now. She frowned in puzzlement but had no desire to probe at this particular time. 'My marriage to Conon will save you from imprisonment and also from ruin—' 'Alana,' he cut in before she could continue, 'I'm not allowing you to sacrifice yourself. How many times must I say it? Let's forget all about this business, forget the debt of gratitude you've always said you owed me, or the promise you made. I'm resigned to ruin, and to prosecution and imprisonment.' His voice caught and he swallowed convulsively. Her eyes moved slowly to his hands; she saw him clench them until his knuckle bones shone through the skin. That he was in the grip of anguish and defeat seemed so very apparent, and yet she found herself frowning in doubt It struck her that he had no need to mention the debt of gratitude, much less the promise she had made him, the words of which came back to her with startling clarity.

'Max, you've saved my life at the risk of your own. If ever the time comes when I can repay you, I will, no matter what the cost to myself. I promise, Max, because of deep gratitude that my life was saved by your bravery.' She had meant every word of that promise, and she realized that her decision to keep it had already been made. So the mention of it was not only unnecessary but out of place. It was ill-timed owing to its potent significance in these particular circumstances. However, Alana refused to harbour the intruding suspicion that he had in fact made reference to the promise with the sole object of bringing it to her mind - just in case she should have forgotten it. Max stirred and she saw that his face was set in curious, expectant lines as he watched for any change of expression in her eyes. That hint of suspicion intruded again, but she cast it out of her mind, allowing only one clear fact to emerge: she had it in her power to save Max. She was under a moral obligation to save him, this by the honouring of the promise which she had always meant to keep if ever it should become necessary. And it was necessary at this crucial time. For one terrified moment she found herself, hesitating, as she thought of what her life with Conon must be, and as she thought bitterly of fate's cruelty in condemning her to misery for the second time. But almost immediately she was aware of her conscience, her honour, her sense of responsibility, all pressing down upon her. And she knew utter defeat, for there was no avenue of escape anywhere. Dread for the life before her caused her heart to tremble; misery enveloped her as she stared into the black void that was her future, her lot as the wife of the satanic Conon Mavilis, the man who had so ruthlessly used the net of his knowledge to draw her into his power. 'Max...' The one word choked her and she was forced to wait a few moments before being able to articulate more words to tell him that

he had no need to worry any more. She would consent to become the wife of Conon Mavilis. 'But, Alana— He was cut short in his attempted protest by a raising of her hand in a gesture of finality. 'My mind's made up, so please let's not discuss it any more.' White to the lips, she turned her face towards the window and with growing bitterness took in the quiet, peaceful atmosphere of the world outside. For her, she thought, there would never be one moment's peace again. The first time she had sacrificed herself fate had been kind enough to bring about a speedy release; she had no hope of any release this time. It would be asking too much, expecting the impossible. No, she must resign herself to a life of torture with the man who, once having loved her, now hated her instead, blaming her for the unhappy marriage he had made. 'I wonder,' she mused, speaking aloud the thought that had just come to her, 'why he didn't make this move before now?' 'He could scarcely marry you while he was already married. He waited and watched, with the help of his spies, I shouldn't wonder. He knew all that was happening, all that had happened in the past. But it was not until his wife died that he was free to act.' Max paused and it occurred to Alana that he was no longer making any protest, that he was willing that she should choose the course that would lift the threat that lay over him. 'Rather opportune, his wife dying at all. Shouldn't be surprised if he hadn't helped her along the way—' 'Helped her—?' Alana stared, diverted and appalled at the implication. 'What exactly do you mean?' He shrugged.

'I wouldn't put him above murder—' He stopped again, pulling himself up abruptly as he realized just what he had said. 'Take no notice, Alana. He wouldn't take a risk like that. You certainly have no need to worry about your safety— Alana, don't look at me like that!' His voice had risen to a harsh and grating note. Alana turned away, desiring to hide from him the contempt and bitterness that had entered her eyes. So he didn't care what happened to her. She knew now that, right from the first, he had intended creating a situation whereby the result would be a sacrifice on her part. She recalled her hint of suspicion of a few moments ago; she now knew that his only emotion at present was that of infinite relief that his own skin was saved. He would make no further attempts to dissuade her from the decision she had made. And she was right. The following morning he departed very early, and as there was no ship sailing at the time Alana realized that he must have gone to an hotel in the town of Kalymnos, where he would pass away the few hours he must still spend on the island. He had left a note which was handed to Alana by the manservant immediately she came from her room and entered the hall. 'Good-bye, and thank you,' she read, the paper fluttering before her eyes.'I hope that things will not be too bad. At least you'll have all the material comforts of life.' It was signed, Tours, Max.' Pale, yet composed in a way that amazed her, she looked up at the dark Greek who had appeared from the dining-room and now stood beside her. 'At least you'll have all the material comforts of life,' he read over her shoulder, and a sneer curved his mouth. 'Yes, my beautiful Alana, you'll have those. And they're important to you, are they not? You enjoyed them for so short a time, though, didn't you? Your greasy mountain of a husband - the creature you chose in preference

to me,' he added with a snarl, 'left you nothing. This must have been shattering to you - but you got only what you deserved.' He towered, gaunt and evil, the man whose wife she had consented to be. Triumph blazed from his dark eyes; the sneer remained on his lips. 'And now you're mine, after all this time. It was meant to be! You made the decision I expected of you; your employer acted with the utter selfishness displayed when he robbed that old man. I'm never wrong in my reading of people's characters. You, on the other hand, are not so astute. You were mistaken in him, weren't you?' Alana nodded her head wearily. 'I began to realize that he meant me to honour the promise I made him,' she admitted in low and lifeless tones. But on recalling how haggard Max had looked when first die had entered his bedroom, Alana did wonder whether the idea of her sacrificing herself had, initially, not appealed to him. For if it had then why should he have worn that defeated look? Ah, yes, she saw it now. Max had not entirely lost hope that she would in the end marry him% but this new development prevented for ever his achieving his desire, and it seemed logical that he would have been upset about it. 'He is a wicked man,' Conon was saying, 'even though he did save your life.' 'I'd rather not discuss Max. I owe him my life—' She looked straight into Conon's eyes. 'And now, in order to save him from your wickedness, I'm forfeiting that life.' His face twisted into ugly lines, and the indrawn breath was like the hiss of a venomous snake. 'Look at it like that if you wish,' he snarled. 'All right - your life is forfeit! I am wicked, if that is how you want to regard me—' 'Aren't you wicked - blackmailing us in this way?'

'Be careful,' he warned, coming close and jerking her head up with a rough hand under her chin. 'I'm not the lovesick youth you once knew. I've changed, and for the worse! I know how to punish those who displease me. You,' he told her, increasing the grip with which he now held her chin, 'will learn to bend to my will! You'll be a Greek wife - subject entirely to your husband's authority.' He paused, but she did not speak. Her face was white, her heart throbbing against her ribs. 'Well, have you nothing to say? - nothing to ask?' She swallowed the saliva that filled her mouth. Conon released her and stood a pace or two away. 'One question I would like to ask,' she said huskily. 'Yes?' The dark eyes glittered interrogatingly. 'Max said he could not discover whether it was love or desire that prompted your wish to have me as your wife—' 'Love!' he ejaculated, not appearing to have taken in the rest of what she had said. 'Love!' He threw back his head and laughed, a demoniacal laugh that seemed to rent the very atmosphere of the room. 'No, my girl, there's no love in my heart for you!' She stared at him until the laugh had gone entirely from his lips. 'Desire...?' she murmured, but he was already shaking his head. 'What, then?' she added curiously. 'You must have a reason for wanting to marry me.' His mouth twisted, and the glitter returned to his eyes. 'It's obvious that I have a reason,' he agreed. 'And that reason is revenge! Because of you I've suffered years of purgatory ... and so, Alana, you must pay. I intend to punish you for all those wasted

years, years that would have been so different had you married me when I asked you to ... when I was in love with you. I always promised myself that, if ever it were possible, then I would make you suffer - and, by God, you shall suffer! Before I've finished with you you'll wish it had been you who had died, and not that hog that you were proud to call husband!' Alana said quietly, 'You appear to know so much—' 'I've made it my business to be regularly informed of what you were doing.' 'So I've gathered. What I was going to say was that, as you know so much, it's a wonder you don't know a little more about the circumstances leading up to my marriage.' He had taken a step towards her as she was speaking, but she made no move to draw away, since the fear in her heart lay dormant, buried by the hatred that, deep and fierce, was threatening to consume her to the exclusion of every other emotion. 'At that time,' he said, 'I accepted your word that you would never marry. But I hoped that at some later date I could make you change your mind. You were married before I knew it! - before I had time to go over to your country and endeavour to persuade you—' He broke off, his face an ugly mask of contempt. 'You are right, I don't know about the circumstances leading up to your marriage - and I have no wish to! All that concerned me was that you had preferred so unprepossessing a creature to me - you enjoyed his caresses and his lovemaking, while the thought of mine had obviously been abhorrent to you!' His face was tinged with crimson, which was creeping slowly beneath the tan, towards his temples. It was easy to see that he was incensed by the idea that she had preferred so undesirable a man to a man who was clean and good-living, and as

handsome as any man could possibly be. In all fairness she had to own that her action must have been galling to him, and exceedingly hurtful too, because there was no doubt at all that he was madly in love with her. Alana looked at him, half tempted to unfold the whole wretched story of the events leading up to her marriage to Howard Beaumont. But the hatred within her, coupled with the firm statement of Conon himself that he had no wish to know about the circumstances leading up to her marriage, deterred her and she merely shrugged and would have left him had he not prevented her by taking hold of her and drawing her close against his body. The swiftness of his action taking her by surprise, she twisted in his arms, her expression registering both the revulsion and the contempt she felt for him. His eyes smouldered in their sockets as, determined to exhibit his mastery, he let her feel the ruthless pressure of his lips. 'Don't you ever again look at me with an expression like that,' he advised softly, 'or by God I'll see that you smart for it!'

CHAPTER FOUR WITH the passing of the days following their wedding, Alana's revulsion for her husband increased, and the result was that at times he would become so angry that she feared he would use violence upon her. She never allowed him to see her fear, though, always assuming an icy front and treating him with the contempt which in her opinion he deserved. 'You'll regret this arrogance,' he warned one evening when, having dined in the lovely room overlooking the orchard, they had come out to the patio to have their coffee. 'You insulted me in front of Costagis and Katrina!' She looked at him across the small rattan table. 'Do you suppose you can fool your servants into believing that this is a love match?' she asked, allowing her eyes to rake him insolently. His own eyes glittered and the hand that lay idle on the table suddenly closed - tightly, so that the fingers whitened. 'Have a care,' he advised, his voice a low snarl that was far more frightening than anything he could have said in an unbridled fury. 'I've threatened, more than once, to make you smart!' She paled a little, much to her chagrin. Conon's lips curved in a way that denoted both triumph and amusement. 'I'll have you under yet! Greek wives very soon learn obedience—' 'I am not a Greek wife,' she cut in acidly. 'I'm English, and subjection is not for me.' The eyes appeared black as ebony as they looked into hers. Anger was in their depths, yes, but admiration lay there too.

'I must admit that I like your spirit,' he said. 'Thank you.' 'But I shall enjoy breaking it for all that.' Her temper flared and she spoke impulsively, incautiously. 'Did you manage to break your first wife's spirit?' she inquired, keeping a control on her voice despite the fury raging within her. 'I had the impression that she had broken yours—' She stopped, crying out in pain as her wrist was gripped, taken mercilessly into those long and sinewed fingers. 'Don't you ever dare mention her again!' His voice, vibrant with fury, was at the same time very quiet... like the soft growl of a tiger leaping to the kill. 'She is never spoken of in this house! You are the first one to speak of her - and I could kill you for it!' He was white with temper and in spite of herself Alana shrank back in her chair, automatically rubbing her wrist which was already inflamed, giving evidence of the bruise that must surely come. Unable to take her eyes from his face, Alana frowned inwardly, bewildered by this altogether disproportionate show of fury. Was he a little mad? she wondered. His eyes had taken on a staring, vacant look and his mouth twisted spasmodically as if affected by some uncontrollable mechanism from within. Fear caught at her throat; she swallowed over and over again, but the blockage remained and with an unconscious gesture she lifted a trembling hand to it, spreading her fingers out along it and then curling them around it in a sort of caressing movement. Conon's eyes became fixed upon the place where her fingers now rested, a look of dazed fascination on his face. The atmosphere was charged with tension quite beyond her experience; evil infected the very air around her and her fear grew to stifling proportions as,

flashing into her consciousness, were Max's words about the possibility of Conon's being capable of murder. Had he murdered his first wife ... and by strangulation? She shook her head, severely chiding herself for these melodramatic brain ramblings which had no foundation whatsoever. The way Conon was looking was not so very different from the satanic expression he normally assumed. It was just that he seemed inordinately fascinated by the fact that her hand was on her throat and, unable to sit and watch him a second longer she rose with the intention of leaving him. But movement was difficult and she realized that she was waiting for the pounding of her heart to subside. 'What's wrong?' her husband asked, turning his head as she got up from the chair. 'Are you unwell?' His gaze was all-examining as he took in her white face and the way she was moistening her lips. 'Yes, Conon - yes, I am unwell!' Her words came too quickly and his eyes narrowed. She turned to leave the patio, but his voice stopped her and she twisted round again. 'Stay! I am not convinced that you are indisposed.' 'I'm sorry—' In spite of her fear she managed to inject a note of tartness into her voice. 'But as I'm in no position to prove it to you then I'm afraid you'll have to take my word for it, I wish to go inside—' 'At this time? The night is young ...' His voice trailed away as he made a sweeping gesture with his hand. Motionless peace lay over the drowsy landscape, and the air was sweet with the scent of jasmine. Far down below the sea was rippled with silver stolen from the moon. 'The night is young,' he repeated, 'and it is beautiful. It's a night made for lovers, and we, my Alana, are lovers, are we not?'

'Don't be ridiculous!' she retorted, her fear yielding to anger. 'There's not an atom of love on either side! You've admitted that you don't love me - and I'm sure I don't love you, and I never could!' He made no emotional response to this, much to her surprise, but merely said, very quietly, 'Sit down, Alana. I am not in the mood for being alone.' Not in the mood for being alone? Did he mean that his thoughts would trouble him? Were his thoughts guilty ones? Suddenly Alana had a fierce desire to know more about his late wife - and about the manner of her death. Conon was looking at her with an arrogant expression, as if commanding her to sit down. Her chin lifted and a glimmer of anger entered her eyes. 'I'm tired,' she said. 'Good night.' 'You will stay and keep me company.' 'I will not be dictated to,' she replied, controlling her temper with difficulty. 'If you wished to go to bed you'd go - without even inquiring as to whether or not it suited me.' At this Conon inclined his head; he was too cool by far at this moment. Alana felt inferior, because she herself was becoming heated, and also because she was convinced that her husband would have his way, even if it meant his keeping her here by force, an action which, she knew, he would not hesitate to do were she to proceed with her defiance of his request - or order, as it was meant to be. 'I most certainly would, but then, Alana, I am the master. I do what I wish to do; you, on the other hand, do as you're told.' The tones were still quiet, but the authority continued in them was supreme and Alana discovered to her chagrin that she was taking heed of a

warning which advised caution on her part. 'Sit down,' her husband ordered again, and after only a few seconds' hesitation she did as she was told. His satisfaction was as galling as her own lack of courage and she glared at him across the table. 'You are learning, my girl,' he said, and that familiar sneering twist came swiftly to his lips. 'Fury rises within you, I see, but you dare not unleash it. I congratulate you on your wisdom.' Alana trembled with passionate hatred, and her eyes were points of venom. 'I might not always practise such wisdom!' she flared. 'If you yourself had any wisdom you'd realize that you're goading me too far!' He smiled infuriatingly. 'Too far for what?' 'For my endurance. You admitted yourself that I had spirit.' 'And, if you remember, I also said I'd enjoy breaking it.' Alana glanced at him with contempt. 'I believe I'm here to keep you company,' she said. 'In view of this, might I suggest we try to make some kind of interesting conversation? Your continued threats, are scarcely enlivening - in fact, I'm beginning to find them rather boring.' Brave words, uttered almost without her quite realizing just how provoking they were, and in the brief silence following she fully expected some vicious response from her husband. But to her surprise a glimmer of amusement appeared in his eyes, and it softened the hardness there so that for one fleeting second she caught a glimpse of the man she had once known. A strange tremor passed through her, a swift elusive snatch of memory ... Yes, she had at one time been deeply

affected by his charm, and the handsome face that could portray so many emotions, from kindness and concern, through tender amusement to that devastating smile and contagious laughter. What hell had he been through that his whole outward appearance, as well as his personality, should have undergone such major changes? 'Perhaps,' he was saying, 'it won't be too long before one of my threats is carried out. You'll not be bored then, I can assure you. Your mind will be totally occupied with nursing your bruises.' He meant it, and Alana felt some of the colour leave her face. 'At one time,' she said after a pause, 'you'd never have dreamed of raising your hand to a woman.' 'I'm not the man you knew. I've already warned you of that.' 'You've had no need to warn me,' she retorted.'I could see at once that you weren't the same man.' He stared at her; she saw him in profile now, and the shadows cast by the vines overhead increased the impression of evil that characterized his features. 'You have no regrets for the passing of that man?' was his unexpected question. She shrugged carelessly. 'I'm not interested in you as a person—' 'No?' His dark brows lifted a fraction. 'Not interested in your husband?' 'Why should I be interested in you? You're not a husband of my own choosing, remember.' Thoughtless words and ones she would have

taken back if that were at all possible. Conon's eyes smouldered like embers newly- fanned; the fingers of his right hand gripped the stem of his glass so tightly that Alana watched, fascinated, waiting for it to snap. 'No,' he snarled, 'I'm not of your own choosing - but that foul creature was, wasn't he? You chose him! But what did you get out of the marriage? Nothing! He left you nothing! How chagrined you must have been—' 'Can we change the subject?' cut in Alana, pale with anger. 'If we can't talk with a modicum of amiability then for goodness' sake let me go to my room.' In spite of her anger she felt utterly desolate, defeated by his power and lost in a void where no light entered, where no ray of hope would ever break through. Unconsciously she twisted her hands, unaware that her mouth quivered or that a haunting expression brought a shadow to her eyes. She saw with some surprise that he was frowning, and shaking his head a little as if endeavouring to throw off something unpleasant. 'Very well,' came his astonishing response, 'go to your room, if that is what you prefer.' 'You mean it!' she exclaimed, staring at him in disbelief. His mouth took on a bitter line, 'I mean it. Go to bed. Good night.' Rising at once, Alana left the patio just as quickly as she could, yet on entering the room which faced on to it she felt a compulsion to turn her head. Conon had leant back in his chair, the glass in his hand. He was twisting it this way and that in an abstracted movement, examining the hand-engraved bird in flight with which it

was so exquisitely decorated. Alana took another step and then found herself turning once again. There was something infinitely sad about the man sitting there, something profoundly stricken, as if he were a prey to grief, almost. In spite of herself her heart caught and it was with some amazement that she became aware of an urge to speak to him, to ask what was wrong. But suddenly he twisted round, sensing that she had not gone, and he spoke, fury seeming to have possessed him entirely. 'Go! Why are you snooping around! You said you wanted to go then do so, at once!' She went without another word, shaken by the out- burst, which was so unexpected. Her mind carried the impression that his anger resulted from the discovery that he was not alone, as he had supposed he was. He had desired to keep to himself that emotional moment when, overcome by some secret sadness or grief, he had dropped the mask of evil from his face. She had caught him with his defences down and this was the reason for his wrathful outburst.

Once in her room she crossed over to the window and drew aside the curtains. She was impatient with the chaos of her mind, where fear was alternating with anger and then - yes, incredible as it might seem - with pity. Pity! She threw off the word with derision, only to find it intruding again almost immediately. But why should she feel pity for her husband? He was not the only man who, having made a disastrous marriage, had been forced to suffer for it… Alana paced about, vaguely conscious of something vastly important that she could not grasp, much less understand. If only she could discover something about his late wife ... Her eyes kindled. Katrina ... The woman had on a couple of occasions made that kind of advance which suggested she desired to gossip to her new

mistress. Gently but firmly Alana had put her in her place, but now she felt that a subtle question or two would not come amiss. The opportunity occurred a couple of days later when on entering her bedroom Alana found Katrina there, just about to leave, having finished making the bed and tidying up. The woman smiled and remarked on a pretty jewelled brooch which lay on the dressingtable, and which she had not moved. 'My master buy it for you?' she asked tentatively, and Alana shook her head. 'No, Katrina, my mother bought it for me just before she died.' The woman's face shadowed. She put a plump hand to her mouth in a habit she had. '

Mitera die young, then?'

Alana nodded. 'Yes, Katrina,' she replied, a small sigh escaping her. 'Yes, she died young.' A pause; Katrina, encouraged by her mistress's manner, stood hesitant by the bed. 'How long have you worked for Mr. Conon?' asked Alana, assuming a casual mien. 'My man and me work for Mr. Conon long time.' 'How long?' 'Many year - eight - eight and one half.. Alana looked at her; the woman was smiling broadly, happy at the change in Alana's attitude towards her.

'This house doesn't look that old,' remarked Alana, and the woman gave a slight start. 'You not know, madam? Mr. Conon not say he been here only three - four months?' Biting her lip at the mistake, Alana then shrugged carelessly. 'Of course. How silly of me! My - er - mind was on something else.' Three or four months ... 'My husband lived on another island altogether.' . 'Yes, on Patmos.' 'Patmos? That's a very pretty island, I believe.' Alana was recalling Conon's words about his island. She now knew that they were not meant quite categorically. 'Very pretty, madam.' A small pause; an uncertain glance at Alana's face. And then, a smile appearing to encourage her to speak, Katrina, reassured, added that Mr. Conon had left Patmos immediately after the death of his first wife. 'But I expect you know this thing, Mrs. Conon. Your husband talk to you about it.' A broad smile and then, 'My own man, he marry before he marry me, and he talk very much about his other woman. He says she work harder than me, but he not mean that she better woman than me. Mr. Conon, he not say that his first woman better than you, because she bad—' Katrina broke off because Alana was frowning. The reason for her frown was that she disliked intensely this conversation with the maid, and yet she must learn more about Conon's first wife. 'You angry with me, madam, for this talk about Mrs. Conon?' 'No, Katrina,' returned Alana, shaking her head and producing a smile of encouragement without appearing too curious. 'No, I'm not angry with you.'

'I glad, madam. You see, you so different. She - er - she—' The woman broke off and lifted her head, arching her neck as she did so. 'She haughty...?' 'That's the word you want, I think.' 'Yes. She speak to me as if she queen and I little ant that crawl on floor - you understand, madam?' Alana nodded and said yes, she understood. 'And as Mr. Conon will have told you she have many many lovers, and Mr. Conon think that he will strangle her, but my man come and it is a good thing, because Mr. Conon not bad man that will kill, even though he come from Mani, where they sometimes kill their enemies.' Some of the colour had left Alana's face as she pictured Conon with his long sinewed hands around his wife's throat. She now understood why he had been so fascinated when she herself had been fingering her throat. Her action must have brought back the memory of what he had intended doing - what he undoubtedly would have done had not his manservant saved him. She said, adopting an air of sadness for Katrina's benefit, 'It was a dreadful time for my husband.' The woman's face took on a faraway expression. She was no longer a little scared of offending her mistress. 'It very dreadful time. And so sad, you will know, when the little one die.' A pause. Alana opened her eyes wide. But she nodded her head so that Katrina would believe that she knew all about the 'little one'. 'He so sweet - a fine son for Mr. Conon and he so proud of him. Then that woman - Mrs. Conon, I mean, she so taken up with her new lover, and they drink many alcohols together, when my master is away in Athens on business, you know. The little one, he

cry and she so angry that she beat him many times. Then she throw him away—' 'Throw him away?' Alana's whole mind was in revulsion at the idea of the woman's treatment of her child. But she was also seeing her husband in an entirely new light; she unhesitatingly made allowances for the terrible changes which had taken place in him. 'You know - she throw him across the room, and he hit his little head on the corner of a marble table that Mr. Conon have—' Katrina stopped, and looked hard at her mistress. 'Mr. Conon not tell you about his little one?' A hint of accusation had entered the woman's voice, because Alana had given her the impression that she already knew about the child. 'He not like to talk, I think?' Alana suddenly decided to be honest. 'No, Katrina,' she returned softly, 'my husband naturally did not like to talk about his little boy.' Silence fell for a moment. 'You wanted me to tell you about him, I think?' Alana nodded her head. 'Yes, Katrina, I would like you to tell me everything.' The woman's dark eyes were perceptive. It had been clear to anyone with any intelligence at all that there was something wrong between Conon and his new wife. As Alana herself had remarked, Katrina and her husband could not possibly believe that it was a love match. 'Mr. Conon had a nurse for the little one,' continued Katrina, 'but she was called away to her mother, who was ill. My man and me lived in a small villa close to the house of Mr. Conon and so I was not in

when this terrible thing happen - only Mrs. Conon and her lover, you know. Little Panos cry because he not good—' Katrina held her stomach and Alana nodded her understanding. 'He come from bed to room where Mrs. Conon is and she have raging temper with him and beat him. He bruises all over, besides the big wound on his poor little head. Mr. Conon is sent for by the doctor and he come at once—' Katrina stopped and a look of horror filled her eyes. 'Mr. Conon is in such a passion, you know, and when he at last alone with his woman he take her throat and press. It was terrible! My man just come in time and they fight - Mr. Conon and my man! Mr. Conon strong and so I come then, and a man who is gardening for Mr. Conon, and we at last have him away so that he will not murder that bad woman.' Alana was swallowing hard, full understanding sweeping over her as she visualized Conon as she had known him; then, later, disillusioned by his wife's infidelity, and yet having compensations in his son. Alana closed her eyes to shut out the terrible scene when he had almost committed murder - and who could really have blamed him? In any case, he originated from the Mani, where the vendetta was still practised, in the remote villages. 'My husband has suffered greatly.' The words came slowly, and almost inaudibly, for Alana was merely thinking aloud. 'No wonder he's as he is ...' Her voice trailed away; she looked at Katrina hoping she had not caught the words, but the woman was nodding her head from side to side. 'It pity he marry this woman, but he have to, you see.' 'Have to?' Alana looked swiftly at her. 'I don't know what you mean, Katrina?' 'I not mean that he have to marry this particular woman. But he have to marry some woman.' Katrina paused, becoming thoughtful, and

when she resumed her story she spoke with a frown on her brow, obviously angry at the way Conon's father had, quite literally, forced him into marriage. As she listened Alana heard that Conon had been in love with a girl in England, but she had turned him down. As this was said Katrina shook her head, then added, 'I not know how any girl could say no to Mr. Conon at that time. He was so handsome not like he is now, a little ugly, you know— The woman stopped and looked apologetically at her. 'I sorry, Mrs. Conon.. 'Don't apologize,' returned Alana quietly.'I know that my husband has changed considerably in appearance over the past nine years.' That was a slip; for it seemed possible that Katrina might have some knowledge that it was nine years since the English girl had turned Conon down. However, the woman betrayed no sign of surprise or perception and Alana was able to breathe again. Katrina had no idea at all that she was actually speaking to the English girl who had turned her master down. 'Mr. Conon's father, he very much - much...' Katrina stopped and shrugged before trying again. 'His father very much con-concerned ...?' She glanced at Alana uncertainly but continued before she could speak, 'He concerned that his business will go to his brother's children, who he not like. So he say to Mr. Conon that he have to marry, so as to have son, you see. They have big quarrel because Mr. Conon say he still love this English girl—' Again Katrina stopped, eyeing her mistress a little doubtfully. 'You asked me to tell you everything, madam, and so I do.' Alana nodded. 'I want to hear everything,' she invited, no longer troubled about her pride. In ordinary circumstances she would never have dreamed of standing listening to Katrina like this, but she was impelled to do so now, impelled by the desire to learn all there was to learn about her husband. She was aware of pity within her, and also of a sense of

guilt. This because had she married him then he would never have suffered as he had. Not that his wellbeing had really been her responsibility, but this knowledge did not, strangely, lessen her feeling of guilt. What also struck her forcibly was that, had she married Conon, then she could never have been coerced into marrying Howard Beaumont. Katrina had started speaking again and Alana took in the last few pieces of the story. Conon, accepting that he could never have the girl he loved, agreed to his father's request in the end and looked round for someone to marry. He chose a Greek woman because she would not expect love from him. But it seemed he was willing to be good to his wife, and Alana thought it possible that the two could have been reasonably happy together had the woman not been the abandoned creature she was. 'Mr. Conon have much bad life,' Katrina went on, 'but this woman got killed in a car crash, with her latest lover - and that was good!' Katrina's eyes glittered, but after a few moments the softer expression once more entered her eyes and she said, after a pointed yet uncertain pause, 'My man and I hope that he now have some happy times in his life... with you, Mrs. Conon.' Alana glanced away, realizing she knew no anger at the obvious liberty the women had taken by inserting this subtle reprimand into her narrative, for it was clear that libth Katrina and her husband were exceedingly devoted to Conon and, therefore, what she had just said was excusable. Managing to smile at last, Alana thanked her for telling her all, and even lowered her pride sufficiently to add, 'I'm very grateful, Katrina. I understand my husband much better now.' The woman beamed.

'Mrs. Conon,' she began fervently, clasping her hands in front of her, 'I too am grateful if you have love for my master.' And without another word she turned to leave the room. 'Katrina - come back!' Alana called out the words just as the woman was closing the door behind her. 'Yes, madam?' 'Was the child's mother not prosecuted?' Katrina shook her head. 'It bring too much disgrace on my master for, you see, it would all come out about the lovers and the alcohols. My master talk long time with his father, and the doctor, and they decide that this shame be kept a secret. I tell it to no one until I tell you, madam, because I not talk outside. But you one of the family now, and you want to know, so I tell you.' Alana nodded, her brow furrowed thoughtfully. 'If the child was actually murdered, then I don't see how it could be hushed up in this way.' 'They decide to say he fall down some steps in the garden - stone steps. I think that this woman was mad as well as wicked, and that she would be put away; and my master not want his son to have had a madwoman for a mother, so my master prefer to keep it all secret.' 'And so Mr. Conon then decided to move from the island of Patmos?' That is right, madam.' After a moment Katrina went away and Alana was left with her thoughts. It was clear that Conon had intended beginning an entirely new life - with a new home and a new wife,

totally disengaging himself from anything which could remind him of the past. And now Alana understood his fury when she had referred to his late wife. She had never been mentioned in this house, he had said. Compassion rose high within Alana, but the immediate intrusive thought was what he had done to her personally - his marrying her for revenge, solely because he considered her to blame for all his misfortunes, even for the death of his son. His attitude was illogical, to say the least, and Alana felt she would never be able to forgive him for forcing her into marriage. She determinedly fought down the pity she had for him, attempting to smother it by bringing her own misfortunes to the forefront of her mind. She succeeded at last, and yet lurking somewhere in her subconscious was that shade of guilt, and with it the half- formed idea that she should be making a firm resolve to try in some way to bring a little brightness into her husband's life.

CHAPTER FIVE No matter how hard she tried to throw off the small annoyance of her guilt complex, Alana began to admit that she never would be able to do so. It intruded at any odd moment, like the snatch of a bad dream that refused to be pushed permanently into the realm of forgetfulness. Anger would rise, and in consequence she would bring all her hatred of Conon to the fore. And if at these times he happened to be present, she would find it quite impossible to hide her feelings from him. 'Your hatred of me looks out of your eyes so often,' he said one night when, having come to her, he saw her move to the other side of the room, delaying the moment when he should take her in his arms. 'It's there now, Alana, but repulsive as I am to you, you will have to endure me. After all,' he added harshly, 'You accepted your first husband's caresses without any aversion.' Alana said nothing and he continued by reminding her that, if money were her chief concern then he, Conon, could give her all that her first husband had given her, and more. She still remained silent, having no desire to give him even one small clue that all had not been normal between Howard and herself. As for Conon, she was more than ever averse to having him near her; he looked so repellant, standing there with one hand in the pocket of his dressing-gown, the other fingering the end of the belt with much the same sensual movements as those used by the Greeks when playing with their worry beads. 'I'm tired,' was all she could think of saying, and was not at all surprised to see his mouth curve with a hint of humour. But he refrained from commenting as he said, very softly, 'Come here, Alana.' She shook her head, automatically glancing towards the open window, outside of which ran the long verandah on which she

would sometimes sit and read, or look over the gardens and orchard to the sea. 'Please go away.' She was somehow filled with a strange urgency for him to leave, for pity was creeping into her consciousness despite her efforts to crush it. Pity ... Why should she fear it? And suddenly she knew the answer to her own question. Pity could so influence her attitude towards her husband that it was possible she could find herself responding to his lovemaking. This she had always been fully convinced she would never do, mainly because she would then feel degraded, but also because she was determined never to afford Conon the satisfaction of having completely conquered her. 'Go away, I say! I don't want you here, and you're aware of that.' His dark brows lifted; he took a step towards her, his calm and languid manner not deceiving her in the least, so used was she now to his many varying moods. 'You're my wife, Alana—' That reminder is unnecessary!' His smile faded. 'In that case,' he said in the same soft and measured tones, ' you do not need reminding of your duty.' She coloured and looked again towards the window, this time more in order to hide her blushes than with any thought of escape. 'You don't appear to mind that there's nothing more than duty on my side and rights on yours?' She was thinking of the time when he was so much in love with her, when he had said that marriage to her would be perpetual bliss.

'I don't mind at all. I'm a Greek, remember; we form relationships with women whom we might even despise—' 'You despise me?' she cut in swiftly, unaware that the reason for the question might just be that she had no desire that he should despise her. His mouth curved in a sneer. 'Most certainly I despise you. To have married for nothing more than money, and been willing to have such a beast as that make love to you—' He stopped, and the sneering lips took on an ugly twist. Alana felt herself to be on dangerous ground and already wished she had - as always - succumbed without resistance to her husband's demands. 'What decent man would not despise a woman of your sort?' She looked at him, and wavered on the edge of a full explanation, the explanation that would clear her in his eyes. But suddenly his expression portrayed contempt so deep that she was provoked into maintaining a stubborn silence. He had never asked for an explanation, had not given her an opportunity of unfolding her story. He had instead taken for granted her worldliness, her greed for the material things of life. Why, then, should she trouble to disillusion him? Let him believe the worst of her; let him go on believing that she had led a normal life with Howard Beaumont, the man he called a beast. It mattered not one jot in a relationship where love was totally absent. 'I cannot help it if you despise me,' she said at length, shrugging carelessly. 'I am not really interested in your opinion of me, Conon.' His eyes narrowed. 'How mistaken I was in you, all those years ago. I looked upon you as my ideal, the perfect woman.' He raked her with disgust, and

automatically she pulled the edges of her neglige together. 'But I was young,' he said bitterly, 'and had never bothered with women ..And his voice trailed away in the preoccupation that swept over him. Alana knew without any doubt at all that his thoughts had drifted into the past, and he was thinking about his first wife. 'Or of their wickedness ...' Again his voice trailed off, but this time his expression became frightening. It was his little son that occupied his thoughts now, observed Alana, watching his eyes become embers of hate mingled with an anguish that was terrible to see. For Alana, fear and pity struggled for supremacy, and she knew for sure that pity would have won had not her husband, his features becoming contorted with fury, leapt across the intervening space and, taking her shoulders in a grip that brought excruciating pain, put his face close to hers and added savagely, 'Most certainly I knew little of their wickedness! — vile creatures that they are! My hatred for you is so strong that—' 'Conon!' she cried, struggling to free herself. 'You're hurting me. Please let me go!' But instead his grip tightened and she cried out. He merely laughed, the hideous, insane laugh of a fiend. 'Hurt you? I could at one time have killed you! I shall make you suffer, as I promised! Every time memory returns to me you shall suffer! You! - do you hear?' She was white to the lips, and so weak were her legs that it seemed her husband's supporting hands were all that prevented her from sinking down in a heap on the carpet. 'Please let me go.' Tears filled her eyes; she resolved in that .moment to break the contract she had made with him. She would escape, run from him, from this island. And never in her life would she set foot on it again. 'Are you really deriving pleasure from hurting me?'

'Pleasure and satisfaction!' But his grip was relaxed and after another raking glance over her body he released her and stepped back. But he still towered above her, a gaunt giant of a man whose face displayed all the evil of pagan ancestry, and more besides. For here was a man who could kill - had in fact almost killed his first wife. He would have done so had not his servants prevented him. Why, she wondered, diverted for a moment, had he not carried out his intention later? For he had continued to live with his wife right until the time of her death. He must have realized fully what the consequences of such an act would have been. Yes, Alana understood how his wife had managed to survive. The murder attempt had been made when, his mind unbalanced by the death of his child, Conon had not been able to recognize the danger involved. Once able to think more rationally, he had guarded against committing the folly that could have landed him in such dire peril. Yes,' he was saying, CI derive both pleasure and satisfaction from hurting you - making you suffer, making you pay for what I myself have suffered because of you.' His voice had acquired a softer timbre, but its edge remained as cruel as the twist of his mouth. 'I planned it a long time ago, planned that, should I ever have the chance, I'd be revenged on you for your refusal to marry me.' Alana was rubbing her shoulders, and wincing with pain as she did so. But her heart was no longer racing as painfully as it had been, and her nerves were gradually settling down after the chaos they had been through while Conon was in so frightening a mood. 'Is your attitude logical?' she was able to ask, and although he frowned at the question he merely shrugged his shoulders and casually remarked that, right down through the ages, revenge had never been associated with logic. 'One is emotional, the other mechanical,' he added casually, and this answer seemed to Alana to illustrate more than anything else the character of her husband, and also to highlight the difference

between his make-up and that of all other men she had known. Conon was exceedingly emotional, subject to quick changes of mood where he would appear to be propelled into action by some inner sensitivity or passion. Logic was, as he had said, mechanical, having to be assessed in terms of cold calculation, and with the final result in view. Conon was not like this; he seemed not to trouble himself with the end result of his actions, and this was very strange, for young as he was when she had known him before, he had seemed to have all his actions organized, planned to the last detail. Perhaps, she thought, his deep sorrow had unhinged his mind just a little; if so, then this would account for some of the changes which had occurred in his character. He was still standing close and she looked up at him, looked into his face, and into the dark unfathomable pools of grey that were his eyes. They narrowed, and smouldered with the embers of hate; they devoured her, and he appeared to become blind to all else but the burning desire to subdue and then to conquer, totally and without mercy. Alana, her heart beginning to race, took a backward step; she noted the amused flicker of his eyes at her action, the triumph of his manner as he stood there, tall and gaunt and confident as a king. Alana felt trapped, like an animal faced by destruction at the swoop of a predator. A trembling hand fluttered to her cheek, then dropped to her side again in a gesture of helplessness. Conon took hold of it, examining the beautifully-shaped fingers, and caressing the back of her hand as he did so. And then without warning she was crushed to him, caught in the inescapable net of his passion as his lips found hers and subjected them to the unshackled force of his ardour. Her senses rioted and she could only lay passively in his arms, waiting for the storm to abate. But alas for her hopes; Conon picked her up, and she was aware of his dark face above hers, conscious of being totally consumed by the fire of his passion before, with a movement of his elbow which she failed to notice, he had plunged the room into darkness.

He was sleeping and she gazed with wonderment at the tranquillity of his features. Relaxed as they now were, they portrayed only contentment and profound peace. All wickedness was gone and she saw the man she had once known, the man who, despite his indisputable mastery and air of almost arrogant confidence, could count among his virtues both compassion and the ability to love deeply. His mouth was slightly open, and curved in a way that suggested he was unconsciously smiling at some pleasant memory. The lines of his face, which had seemed so deeply ingrained that no erasure could be possible, were totally absent; the taut jawline no longer spelt inflexibility but merely strength of character. Release, she thought as she continued to stare at the dark face beside her. Release from torturing reflections and memories? Undoubtedly this was so, and the transformation was quite startling. Another moment passed and he stirred in his sleep. Alana slipped from the bed, put on a housecoat and went into the bathroom. Escape ... Last night she had fallen asleep with the word ringing in her ears; this morning she admitted that pity for her husband was fast dispelling the urge to flee. It was absurd, but she found the idea of his being alone quite unbearable. He had been alone before, but somehow she was reluctant to have him be alone again, for he would brood upon his misfortunes, would dwell incessantly on the death of his little son, and on how it had come about. It would have been bad enough had he lost the child through an illness, but to have lost him in such terrible, and unnecessary, circumstances must at the time have been devastating, and the memory must at all times leave his mind in anguish. 'Where are you?' The words came in tones of alarm ... sleepy tones of a man not yet awake. 'Lost...'

Lost? She turned and went back to the door. Conon was waking, and a deep frown knit his brow. Lost. What a strange thing to say! Something impelled her to reassure him, and she said urgently, 'I'm here, Conon.' The frown left his brow, but only to return immediately. 'What did I say?' he demanded. 'What have I just said to you?' She shrugged with an attempt at carelessness. 'You merely asked where I was.' Her eyes were on him; she noted the expression of relief that crossed his face. 'I see.' He glanced at the clock. 'You're up early.' 'It's such a beautiful morning. I think I'll go for a walk before breakfast.' He said nothing to this and she returned to the bathroom. Lost ... For some unfathomable reasons she felt that this had been a cry from the past, a cry of desolation and of pain, She frowned in bewilderment, wondering why she should have the idea that the word had escaped him out of the long ago rather than that it had referred to something closer to the present time. He had perhaps been dreaming - or in that state between sleeping and waking when one comes out with all kinds of irrelevant murmurings; the word would then have no specific meaning. Alana shook her head, impatient with herself for her inability to reach a firm conclusion as to why he had uttered the word. She was still occupied with the problem when, half an hour later, she was walking briskly along the road leading to the extreme end of the island. The sun had risen over the sea, spangling it with flame and bronze and every shade between deepest rose and pink. The sky

above was brilliant, the mountain sides a tapestry of green and gold, the lower hills a mosaic of colour from the gardens surrounding the blue and white cubic houses. Away over the tranquil sea the other islands shone in the slanting rays of the sun, their peaks sharp against the sky. She found herself smiling as she recalled her first impression of this sunny paradise. The sky had been overcast, the mountains hung in mist. The vivid colours that had later become a major part of the island's attraction for Alana had been obscured, and even the houses had seemed dismal and drab. But with the dispersal of the mist and the appearance of the sun the aspect had quickly changed. Now, Alana was beginning to love the island and could have been blissfully happy had her circumstances been different. She dwelt on the events of last evening, and shuddered in spite of the vivid recollection that her husband's love- making had been by no means as violent and unbridled as she had expected. There had on the contrary been a strange element of gentleness about his whole manner with her, and the kisses which had begun so savagely had in the end become as tender as those of a most devoted lover. A frown crossed her brow suddenly as she found herself admitting that the experience was far less abhorrent to her than any she had previously shared with Conon. Was she becoming so resigned that she was able to shed some of her revulsion for him? The idea was far from acceptable and in consequence she put the whole matter from her with a sort of escapist manoeuvre, mentally conducted but effective for all that. And she found herself enjoying her stroll, appreciating the views and the cool fresh breeze coming over the sea. Heady perfumes drifted down from the mountains where perfumed herbs flourished among the rocks. The castle shone like a perfect gem of architecture, poised as it was on the edge of the cliff. The island of Leros seemed so very close, owing to the clarity of the air, and the other islets seemed almost close enough to be part of Kalymnos itself, basalt outliers basking in the sun-drenched shallows of its lovely beaches.

Alana glanced at her watch and turned abruptly, to retrace her steps with more speed than she had used up till now. Only once was she late for a meal, and Conon had warned her that this was something he did not intend to tolerate. Angry as she had been at the admonishment she had prudently refrained from starting an argument, and she had never been late since. But as she hurried along resentment grew within her; this was akin to dictatorship and she was not the type to take it without a strong degree of resistance. And so she slowed her pace suddenly and strolled along in a much more leisurely fashion, arriving at the breakfast table more than ten minutes after her husband had entered the room. His eyes narrowed slowly as he waited for her apology. She lifted her chin, stared at him for a few seconds, and then sat down. 'You shouldn't have waited for me,' she said casually, helping herself to sugar, which she sprinkled on her grapefruit. 'I hope you haven't let your bacon spoil.' Conon sat down opposite to her and said softly, 'You know how I feel about lateness for meals. I warned you the last time that I would not tolerate waiting for you to arrive at the table.' He glanced at her bent head and added, 'Was your lateness deliberate, Alana?' At this she looked up swiftly, giving herself away at once.'I see that it was.' A small pause and then, 'And your apology?' he murmured, holding her gaze. Her chin went up again. 'I was walking, and it so happened that I went further than I intended. I cannot feel that any apology is necessary.' 'It's usual when one is late for a meal - when one has kept someone else waiting.' Leaning back, he flicked his napkin and placed it on his knee. 'Your manners leave a great deal to be desired,' he said, but

lapsed into silence when he found that no response was forthcoming. Looking at him, Alana was faintly puzzled by his attitude. Frowning in preoccupation, he appeared to be angry with himself for not carrying the matter further; it was as if he were fighting an inner battle where one side strove to subject his wife to a scathing reprimand, while the other side wanted only to let the matter drop. And as she herself had no desire for unpleasantness between them, Alana changed the subject and mentioned the lovely scenery which characterized this particular side of the island. 'It's a most pleasant walk,' she added when he made no comment. 'Don't you ever go to the end of the island?' 'I have done,' briefly and giving the impression that he had no further wish to talk to her. But for some reason she could not explain Alana persevered. 'The castle's most impressive; it seems almost to be in danger of slipping down the side of the cliff.' His eyes moved, and narrowed slightly. 'It's safe enough,' was all he said. 'I expect it is.' A pause and then, tentatively, 'The woman who lives there is English, I believe.' Conon nodded his head. He was frowning when presently he spoke. 'She's married to a Greek. He and I never speak.' Alana paused uncertainly, but her curiosity being stronger than her desire not to anger her husband, she asked him the reason why he and the owner of the castle did not speak. 'It seems so strange,' she added, 'because you're such close neighbours.'

'He doesn't approve of my wicked ways—' Conon laughed suddenly, a harsh derisive laugh. 'It's so amusing, really, because he's no room to be superior, not with his past!' 'Past?' Conon looked at her across the table, his dark eyes still gleaming with humour. 'He forced the girl into marriage, totally against her will.' Alana glanced swiftly at him, a question in her eyes. 'Forced?' she repeated unbelievingly. And then she added, just because she couldn't help it, 'Was it blackmail, as it was with you?' His humour was not erased by the question; in fact, it increased and he gave another short laugh. 'Something of the kind, I believe. I wasn't living here at the time. But on a small island like this there are no secrets. He had a hold over her - or rather, her family. She consented to marry him in order to save them from ruin.' Alana said dryly, 'It would appear that all you Greeks are alike.' 'Not all - not by any means. You were just unfortunate.' 'And the girl at the castle, it would appear.' 'I am given to understand that in their case the marriage turned out well—' He broke off and another harsh laugh escaped him. 'They are reported to be ideally matched, and madly in love!' The last phrase was accompanied by a sneer.

Her eyes opened wide. 'In love?' she echoed, diverted. 'You mean, it turned out all right in the end?' The ending all females like to hear: they lived happily ever after.' His expression was still one of amusement, but there was contempt there too, and a hint of derision. £You, Alana, won't be so fortunate. The reason is that Doneas Lucien happened to be in love with the girl all the time, whereas I hate you - have hated you since the day you turned me down!' His temper was rising, but she failed to note this and in a moment of imprudence she said, 'Since the day your marriage failed - that's what you mean, surely?' She stopped, but it was too late. Conon's mouth went tight, and a thread of crimson colour began to creep slowly beneath the tan of his face and spread from his mouth to his high, prominent cheekbones. 'My marriage! Haven't I told you not to mention it! By God, girl, I'll kill you if ever you mention it again! Understand? Understand!' She went pale, and her heartbeats increased rapidly. 'I'm sorry ...' She was genuinely regretful for her slip, wishing she had stopped to think before uttering words that would not only arouse his fury but which must surely bring him pain, since the memory of his son would naturally intrude. 'I'm very sorry indeed, Conon.' She stressed the sincerity she felt, injecting it into her voice and revealing it in her glance. But Conon was fast becoming incensed, apparently making no effort whatsoever at control. His eyes had both the vacant look of a madman and the faraway look of a man who was reliving a memory. It did not need much imagination on his wife's part to see that he was going over that terrible interlude in his life when, having been informed that his son

was dead, he then learned that the responsibility for his death lay wholly at his wife's door. 'Sorry!' he snarled, rising as if impelled to do so, and making for her side of the table, his long brown hands opening and closing in swift spasmodic movements. The man was mad, she thought, sheer terror plucking at her nerve-ends; he was mad with fury and with grief. 'I'll make you sorry in a moment! Gome here—' But Alana was not only on her feet, she had advanced swiftly towards the open window. 'Come here!' he commanded savagely. 'Come here, I say!' He leapt as he spoke but, with panic as a spur, Alana was through the window and racing along the verandah towards the steps leading down on to the flagged path running beneath it. Her hair flying, she sped towards the long drive and to her surprise reached the gate without-having been grasped from behind by her husband. She allowed herself a quick twist of the head, and discovered that he was nowhere in sight. Gasping with relief, she sat down on the grass verge just beyond the gates. Her heart raced, its palpitation causing a pain in her chest. Her nerves had come almost to breaking point and her whole mind was occupied with the idea of escape. She feared for her safety at the hands of this madman who was her husband, for she felt convinced that, one day when his grief and rage overcame him completely, he would become so bereft of reason that he would not know what he was doing. After a little while she was able to get up and walk along the road in the direction of the village. She was still very much unnerved and her mouth was dry and her throat stiff and aching. She took in the air in great gulps, endeavouring to relieve her discomfiture. What a life it was! She felt the hot tears stinging her eyes as a wave of selfpity swept over her. First there had been Howard Beaumont, blackmailing her into marriage by the threat of sending her brother to prison, and now there was Conon, coming into her life after she had been so opportunately freed from the bondage of her first disastrous marriage. Conon also had a hold over her - or rather, over

the man to whom she owed her life, a man to whom she was under an obligation because of the debt she owed and because of the promise she had once made to him. It was too much for one woman to bear, she thought, bitter resentment rising up against what fate had meted out to her. The tears flowed and she looked steadfastly at the ground when, from the opposite direction, there appeared a peasant riding a donkey laden with brushwood. A dog trotted beside him and behind him came his wife, clad entirely in black, a tired-looking woman carrying numerous wrinkles on her parched brown face. 'Kalimera!' said the man in greeting. 'Good morning!' 'Good morning,' returned Alana without looking up. The woman made a similar greeting and the two passed on, making for the steep road which ran up the hillside. They lived in a small white cubic' house nestling among olive and lemon trees, and it was to this small home that they were going. Alana envied them all at once. They knew security; they knew exactly their direction ... they were heading for their own particular little haven. 'But where am I going?' she whispered as she continued to trudge along the dusty road with the merciless sun blazing down upon her. She had no money with her, no clothes, and in addition she felt so fatigued that she had no real desire to go any further. She could not go back, though, she tried to tell herself; it was not safe, not with Conon in his present mood. 'Why didn't I bring my handbag?' she cried, not realizing that she spoke her thoughts aloud.'I can't get anywhere without money ...' Her voice trailed away to silence as she became aware of footsteps behind her. Conon! She would know his tread anywhere. Panic returning, she swung round, the colour draining from her face. She could not think or move, but just stood

there, hypnotized, like a rabbit facing a fox, her heart thudding madly against her ribs. 'Money, my dear,' came the murmuring tones of her husband as he reached her. 'Did I hear you talking about money?' She shook her head. 'N-no ... yes ...' 'Now why should you want money?' He was standing close, so tall and gaunt and frightening. But at least his anger appeared to have subsided and the light of insanity no longer burned in his eyes. 'What could you do with money in a place like this?' She said nothing, for her throat was blocked. Nor could she move, not until Conon took her arm and gave it a little insistent tug. She then found herself unresistingly obeying the silent order that she should return with him to the house. It was only when they had reached the front door that she drew back. 'Conon, I don't want to go in.' It was a plea although she did not know it herself. 'I'd rather stay out here, in the garden.' Conon stopped, an unreadable expression on his dark countenance as he said, his eyes flickering over her tear- stained face, 'Why have you been crying, Alana?' 'I felt unhappy.' 'About what?' 'My life here, of course.' Faintly his lips curled.

'You were happy enough with your first husband. What had he that I haven't get?' Alana looked up at him. 'What can you hope to gain by my answering that question?' He shrugged his shoulders, dropping his hand from her arm. 'Nothing,' he admitted. 'I was curious, that was all.' Alana was silent and after another moment he said softly, 'You were unhappy, so you thought you'd run away. Where, my dear, would you go?' 'I d-don't know - away, off this island!' His dark eyes flickered. 'You will never leave this island without my consent. Were you to make any attempt to avail yourself of any of the ships that leave here I should be informed of it long before you were able to sail.' She stared at him. 'You've already guarded against my leaving you?' Conon inclined his head. 'I like to forestall any moves that might have an adverse effect on my life,' he told her calmly, 'You're not the king of the island,' she was impelled to retort. 'How could you prevent me from sailing on one of the ships?' 'The harbour authorities have received instructions from me to the effect that, should my wife buy a ticket for the mainland, I am to be

informed immediately.' A pause as he waited for her to comment, but she could find nothing to say to this. 'So you see, my Alana, there is no escape for you. You're my prisoner here and you'll be happier if you accept philosophically the life you yourself have chosen.' 'I didn't choose it ! It was forced upon me.' 'You had a choice,' he said quietly. 'And now that you are my wife your place is here with me,' and he took her arm again and propelled her up the wide steps to the front door of the villa. 'Let me go!' she cried, twisting around and escaping from his hold. 'I'm not going inside the house!' Fear brought tears to her eyes and suddenly Conon was staring at her with a dazed expression, and shaking his head as if he would shake off the picture he saw. 'You're afraid of me?' he asked. 'Isn't that what you intended me to be?' He seemed to swallow something hard and painful in his throat. For some indefinable reason she was reminded of , his tone of voice when, earlier, he had mentioned the word lost. 'I suppose that is exactly what I intended,' he owned, but again he shook his head. 'This is real fear, though, real terror. What are you afraid of?' His whole manner had changed, miraculously. There was a softened look about his features, a concern in his dark eyes. Bewildered, she stared at him, and it did seem that the fear she had experienced had been due to something out of her own wild imaginings. For there was nothing now about him that could terrify; on the contrary, here was the man she had first known, the man whom she had admitted more than once could have attracted her had not she been so determined never to marry. 'What,' he asked again, 'are you afraid of, Alana?' They were at the door, standing on the

white marble step, and no scene could have been more peaceful nor even more romantic. For the garden, basking in the hot Grecian sun, sent forth a glory of colour and perfume, while rising behind it rose the tall majestic mountains, their summits melting into the fairweather cirrus clouds that lay like silver ribbons lacing the sky of purest sapphire blue. Graceful palms waving against the sky competed in height with the slender cypresses, while on another level nature's tapestry was further enhanced by the polished foliage of the citrus trees adding yet another shade of green to the picture. 'I was afraid of you? The admission came late, in answer to his question, but he had waited patiently, arrested by her changing expressions, and making some attempt to read them. 'Afraid .. .' He was speaking to himself, and frowning heavily as he did so. 'Yes, it's true, you were.' 'It was to be expected; wasn't it - the way you acted in the breakfastroom?' Her heart was settling, but her nerves were still suffering from the shaking they had received. Conon merely nodded, and his eyes brooded, dark and unfathomable. To her surprise he turned from her, as if to hide his expression, and then, after a small profound silence, lie strode away, in the direction of the orchard, and she was left with the impression that although it had always been his intention to put fear into her, so making her suffer for the torture which he himself had been through, he now knew some measure of regret at the idea that she had been so frightened that she had attempted to escape from him. What a strange unfathomable man he was, a man whose life had been shattered both by the failure of his marriage and by the untimely death of his son. It was understandable that he bore her a grudge, Alana thought, for it was a fact that, had she married him all those years ago, he would never have suffered at all— She cut her

musings suddenly, and mentally flicked a switch, bringing into focus an entirely different picture - a picture of her life and that of Conon. The misery she had known, the tragedy of his life ... these would have been prevented, and she and Conon would have been happy. Yes, she owned it, without a grain of reserve; she and Conon would have made a success of their marriage, just as he had asserted they would! 'Why, oh, why do we make these mistakes?' she cried, her brooding eyes following her husband's tall figure until it disappeared from view among the trees. -I was a fool to have taken notice of what happened to Sally and Mag! Each of us must pattern our own life, not be influenced by the mistakes which others make.' It was too late now. Conon was not the man she could have fallen in love with; he was a totally different person, unapproachable and embittered, a man who now hated where once he had loved, a man whose object in marrying her was one of revenge.

CHAPTER SIX Two weeks passed, weeks made up of quiet hours in the garden, of walks along the shore, of shopping in Pothia, the capital. Conon had never again spoken sharply to her even, and it seemed to Alana that he was fighting a battle within himself. She had the impression that while he still desired only to make her suffer, he on the other hand was being diverted from the course he had initially chosen. Nevertheless, he made no advances towards a more friendly relationship. As for Alana herself, she was amazed to realize that she would have welcomed his friendship. Life would have been more comfortable; they could at least achieve some sort of companionship, she thought, even though love could not possibly enter their lives. And then, one afternoon when she was sitting on the patio reading, it did seem that he was melting to a point where he could approach her. For he invited her to go with him to Myrtles, a town situated in a bay on the west coast of the island where, he told her, he owned a new hotel. Alana accepted with an eagerness which surprised her as much as it surprised him. 'I'd love to come with you,' she said, rising at once and laying down her book on the table. 'Are you ready now?' He nodded. 'You won't need a coat.' 'No, but I'd like to wash my hands and face. Do you mind waiting a few minutes?' 'I'll wait,' he said, and sat down in the chair she had vacated.

Was this the first step to a more pleasant life for them both? she wondered as, having washed, she began vigorously to brush her hair. It shone like deep gold, caught by the slanting rays of the sun as they pierced the narrow slits of the shutters at the window. She touched her cheeks with colour, and her lips too. She stepped into a crisp linen dress of white; sleeveless, it accentuated her lovely tan, and as she stood for a few seconds surveying herself in the mirror, she was satisfied with what she saw. Conon had risen and was standing by a flower border. She approached him and he turned on hearing her footsteps on the gravel path. His eyes swept over her from head to foot, coming to rest on her face. The dark eyes flickered, then took on a brooding expression. And he seemed to heave a great sigh. Alana knew for sure that he was thinking of what might- have been, and suddenly she realized that he was allowing a sore to fester, a sore that could heal if only he would permit it to do so. 'Ready?' He spoke at last, turning from her indifferently. The car was in the drive and soon they were on the road, but if Alana hoped for conversation she was to be disappointed. Conon was in a mood of moroseness, silent, preoccupied. Was he regretting the marriage? This idea came to her unexpectedly and she dwelt on it, feeling that her husband had reached a point where he was asking himself just what he had gained. Revenge was sweet, so it was said, but with time the sweetness could become less satisfying, and there was no doubt at all that Conon was at present deriving little or no pleasure from making her life uncomfortable. The fact that he had ceased to make it really miserable seemed proof and enough of this. He no longer went out of his way to be uncivil, he no longer displayed uncontrolled mastery in his love- making. On the contrary, he had for some time exhibited a gentleness of which she would never have believed him capable.

'Do you want me to come in with you?' she asked when eventually he pulled into the long tree-lined road leading to the hotel, and which was part of the extensive grounds which sloped right down to the shore. 'Or shall I have a look round the town and come back?' 'You can come in if you wish.' 'All right.' She smiled at him, willing him to smile back at her, but she failed in her endeavour. His face was a taut mask, dark, expressionless. The hotel was the last word in luxury and yet the beach was practically deserted. 'Does it' pay?' The question was out before she had time to think and she added swiftly, 'It must do, of course, or it wouldn't be open.' Conon looked at her. They were in the blue and white lounge, waiting for the drinks which Conon had ordered. 'As a matter of fact it doesn't pay.' 'Oh ...' She looked questioningly at him. 'Didn't you have an idea, before you built it, that it might not pay?' 'Why should I have had an idea like that?' he asked curiously. 'Well—' Alana shrugged, wondering what this was all about. 'You're a business man, and most business men invest only in those projects which they know will make them a profit.' 'Is profit all that matters? Is money the only important thing in life?' She gave a small sigh and said impatiently,

'You've deliberately misunderstood me. I don't care whether it pays or not; it can't make any difference to me.' 'It could do - when I've gone. The more money I make the wealthier you'll be when the time comes for you to inherit.' 'I am not interested in inheriting your money,' she told him with quiet dignity. A sneer twisted his lips at this. 'Nonsense! You married the first time merely for money—' 'How do you know?' she interrupted hotly. 'You have no foundation for making a statement like that!' 'The obvious stands out,' was all he said, the waiter having arrived with the drinks. 'Thank you. We'll be having dinner,' he added, 'early - about seven.' 'Yes, Mr. Conon.' The man made a slight bow, took the tip which Conon offered, and then departed. Alana sipped her drink, half inclined to remind Conon that she could have contested her husband's will, had she been so interested in the money. But she refrained, feeling too proud to make an attempt to clear herself. If Conon liked to think bad of her then let him. His opinion was of no importance, as she had once told him. He was looking around, his expression still brooding, and after what seemed an interminable time Alana spoke, urged by her own discomfiture to end the silence. 'Doesn't the hotel ever get filled up, then?' she inquired'. 'Surely a beach like this attracts tourists at certain times of the year?'

'There is a season,' he agreed, 'but as I said, this particular hotel does not pay its way.' She looked curiously at him, baffled by the way in which he accepted the fact that the hotel was being run at a loss. 'I assume you knew, before you built it, that it was most unlikely that it would pay?' 'Your assumption's correct.' Alana frowned in puzzlement and for the first time her husband's face relaxed and he smiled in some amusement. 'Then why did you build it?' she wanted to know. 'There happened to be a need for a luxury hotel — to cater for those people who desired the highest comforts.' 'You're not being very' explicit, Conon.' 'We get some tourists here, as you can imagine, with a beach so beautiful as this—' He swept a hand in the direction of the window, which extended the full length of the wall, and from which was a view of the sea. 'Those people who demanded first-class accommodation were not catered for and so I decided to give them what they wanted.' 'Even though you knew it would never pay?' 'I would not go as far as to say it will never pay. It might, at some future date. This place is becoming more popular as time goes on, but Kalymnos is not an island which enjoys the popularity of, say, Mykonos, and it doesn't seem that it ever will. However, many people prefer the quiet uncrowded places of the world, and this is one of them.'

'It is indeed!' She spoke enthusiastically, and his eyes flickered as he watched her expression change to one of animation. 'I think it's a perfect paradise!' 'Paradise,' he repeated in some amusement. 'I shouldn't have thought you'd regard it as that. Hell, more like,' he added, just as if he had to. 'I was speaking of the island, not my life,' she responded, a flatness creeping over her at this change in the tenor of the conversation, for it had appeared that he and she were at last managing to drop a little of their animosity. 'Your life is hell?' A gleam of expectancy entered his eyes and she saw at once that he was no longer in a mood of pensive apathy; he was right back where he had started - ready to enjoy any hurt he might inflict upon her. Within seconds he had changed and once again she was wondering what kind of a man he was, allowing himself to be driven this way and that, failing to look for any direction, 'I wouldn't go as far as that,' she replied, intent more on disappointing him than making an admission of the truth. In any case, life during the past two weeks had not been anywhere near as unbearable as it had at first. 'I expect I'm becoming accustomed to your ways.' Conon lifted his brows a fraction. 'What are you trying to convey?' he inquired perceptively. And, before allowing her time to reply, he went on to warn her not to be so confident that the past fortnight typified the future pattern of their lives together. 'I'm a man of moods,' he continued, 'and am liable to change without warning. I married you for the sole purpose of making you pay for what I have suffered - and you shall pay, make no mistake about that.'

Alana said nothing; she sensed that he was driving himself to make this assertion, and whether or not it would prove to be the case remained to be seen. She rather thought that things would in fact continue as they had during the past couple of weeks - but she was soon to discover her mistake. Conon, determined not to weaken in his resolve, began once again to make her life unbearable. His tongue lashed, his glance was either scorching or icy, his lovemaking was characterized by sheer mastery of the most primitive kind. Alana bore it all stoically, telling herself that this mood of her husband's would pass, but instead it endured without a break for over a month. 'Conon,' she told him one night when on entering the room he took hold of her without a word and crushed her in his arms, deliberately hurting her, and ignoring her little cry of protest, 'you are your own enemy, for I shall not stay with you.' She broke free and managed to put some distance between them. Her face was white, her nerves almost out of control. She thought; 'I never had this fear with Howard, vile creature though he, was.' 'You have everything you want, so why this threat to leave me?' Conon made no move to come close to her, but neither did he move away. Alana took another step backwards, an unconscious act because she knew there was to be no escape for her. 'Everything I want? I've lost my freedom!' 'By your own choosing,' was his calm reminder, and Alana shook her head vigorously. 'I didn't have any choice.' 'Not as much as you had the first time, I suppose. Then you were free to choose ... and you chose the one with the most money. I was merely my father's heir; I would never be wealthy while he lived.'

He laughed suddenly, the wild pagan laugh she had heard several times before. 'You weren't to know that things would turn out as they did - that had you chosen me then you'd have been far better off financially!' She looked at him in silence, fearing for her safety, so evil did he appear, with his dark lined face and gaunt frame, clad as it was in a black dressing-gown. 'Come here,' he murmured, holding out a hand. 'You took his- kisses and so you'll take mine! Come here, I say!' He was working himself up into that state of uncontrol that had so terrified her on other occasions, and automatically she shook her head and, dodging past him, made for the door. But the catch had scarcely been nego- tiated when he was beside her, a snarl upon his lips. 'You'll stop this aversion! I'm your husband and I intend that you remember it.' He seized her and for the next few moments she knew the unbridled savagery of his lips on hers. 'Yes, my lovely Alana,' he said hoarsely, picking her up, 'I'm your husband, and I intend that you shall remember it!'

« The dawn crept over the horizon; Alana opened her eyes and shuddered as she looked into the dark face beside her. Silently slipping out of bed, she entered the bathroom where, turning on the gold-plated taps, she ran the bath water. It was not possible that Conon could keep her here, she thought. She could go to the police yes, that was what she would do! She would tell them of her fears and although they might treat the matter lightly they surely would have sympathy for her and arrange for her to leave the island. She was English, and they dared not act in any way that would make it seem she was a prisoner. It was very strange, she mused as she got out of the bath and began drying herself with a towel, that at last she felt she could desert Conon, that she felt no pangs of guilt at the idea of letting Conon down. He deserved that he should be tricked, deserved it because he had acted in such a dastardly manner, playing

on her conscience and awareness of the debt she owed to her employer. As Conon was not about after breakfast she went off, taking the road along which she and Conon came after their wedding in the town of Kalymnos. It was a long walk to the nearest village, but she went quickly, swinging along and feeling she could really enjoy the scenery and fresh clean air if only she had been here under different circumstances. Once the village was reached Alana stopped a young man and inquired about a taxi. 'Taxi,' he shrugged. 'No taxi! This small village, and taxi only in big town of Kalymnos!' His ready smile showed a row of even white teeth and healthy gums. His brown eyes were merry and his voice light and friendly. 'But my brother have car and he take you if you like?' 'He will?' She looked gratefully at him. 'I must get to the harbour. I believe there's a boat leaving for the mainland in about two hours' time?' 'The Knossos. That is right. Gome with me! You are on holiday,' he added as she fell into step beside him. 'I think you like my island, yes?' She decided to say yes and received a quick smile in return. 'I just come back from my ship. I sponge-diver, you see!' 'You are?' Already she had heard of the sponge-divers of Kolymnos, men who risked their lives by diving into the ocean depths in search of the sponges that grow on the rocks down there. 'It's a very dangerous job, I've heard.' He nodded his head.

'Dangerous, yes! I like, though. I like go down very far under water and see the lovely ere - ere—' He stopped, and looked inquiringly at her. 'Little bodies that live there,' he added with a grin. Alana had to laugh for his good humour was infectious. 'Creatures is the word you wanted,' she obliged, and he repeated it three or four times before nodding his head in satisfaction at being able to pronounce it. 'My name Andonys,' he said, slanting her a glance. 'What is your name?' 'Alana.' 'Alana?' he repeated. 'I meet many English girls once when I work in hotel in Rodos - you know Rodos?' he asked; digressing for a moment. 'Yes, we landed there, and came on here by boat.' 'In Rodos I meet many English girls, but I never heard of Alana.' 'It isn't a very common name.' She glanced around her as they turned a corner. The road was lined with flowering trees, their blooms gleaming, bright yellow, in the sun. The white and blue cubic houses, all neat and clean, boasted gardens dripping with flowers, exotic flowers whose perfume filled the air all around. Giant cactus grew to make hedges, their pink flowers contrasting both in size and colour with the large dark green leaves, spined and thick. Bougainvillaea vines grew everywhere, as did the ostentatious hibiscus with its brilliant crimson flowers. Shady patios seemed to be the normal thing, for they ran along the front of every house. Wrought-iron gates lent a rather incongruous touch to some of the drives; Alana preferred the wooden gates, some of which were beautifully carved.

'This is my brother's house.' Andonys pushed open the gate and went ahead of Alana. He called out in sharp short sentences and all that Alana could understand was, 'Stella', and 'Petros', the words between these two names being spoken in Greek. A girl appeared, a doe-eyed teenager, shy but smiling. Andonys introduced her as his sister and then began talking to her in Greek. She pointed and Andonys's face fell. 'Your brother isn't here?' Alana had no need to ask the question and her heart sank. She could of course walk to the next village, but Andonys had not given her much hope regarding the hiring of a taxi. 'He gone to Kalymnos with his car! I think that if we one - two minutes before this time we catch him before he go!' 'Yes... but that isn't much use.' She felt defeated, and rather afraid of what she had done. Were she to be forced to return to Conon's house he would be bound to ask where she had been. Of course, she could insist that she had merely been for a long stroll, but she rather thought that he would suspect her of trying to get away. 'Have some refreshment and perhaps we think of something else, no?' She shrugged, glancing at the girl, Stella, who was standing shyly to one side, staring at Alana from head to foot, over and over again. 'I don't think I would be in time,' she said. 'But you have some refreshment? My sister want to give you a drink that we make from pomegranate—' Here he stopped and made signs with his hands. 'Red flower you see in the hedge. It pretty, and its seeds make very good drink. My sister make this drink and she want you to taste, no?'

'Thank you very much,' returned Alana graciously, 'but-' 'In Greece we always offer refreshment, and peoples not refuse our hospitality—' Andonys shook his head from side to side. 'It not ever done, Alana.' 'I see.' A look of resignation settling on her face she followed the girl who was now beckoning as she moved with the grace of one of her stately ancestors towards the open door. 'She not speak English,' explained Andonys. 'Girls in Kalymnos and these little islands not taught. Only boys taught to speak the English.' 'That seems unfair,' Alana could not help saying, even though her mind was otherwise occupied. 'Why aren't the girls taught our language?' Andonys gave an exaggerated shrug of his shoulders. 'They no need for it. Mens go to work away on other islands, or to Athens. Many of our mens go to Australia and so it is good that they can speak the language. But girls not go to work; they look after the house and - and have babies.' He grinned as he said this and watched his sister as she went through an arched opening to another room. A moment of silence followed and Alana looked around her. The floors were of tiles, cool and clean; the walls were distempered and it struck her that wallpaper would not be very good in this climate where there were so many insects about. Ikons were scattered about, on the sideboard and on a small table by the window. A cat and three kittens lay asleep on a chair and in a cage above the fireplace a canary sang its full-throated song. 'Oh!' exclaimed Andonys, 'here is my cousin! He have car also. I ask him if he take you to Kalymnos!'

The car crunched to a halt outside the house, sending up a cloud of ochre-coloured dust high into the air. Out jumped another stocky young man of about the same age as Andonys. Having rushed out of the room, Andonys spoke excitedly to his cousin, pointing and gesticulating and obviously asking the young man if he would take Alana to the harbour at Kalymnos. Alana saw the man say something, then frown as he turned his head towards the open door. More was said in Greek; Andonys was also frowning now, but Alana's at-, tention was diverted by the reappearance of Stella with a tray on which was a glass filled with the pomegranate drink; this she offered in her shy, smiling manner and Alalia took it from the tray, thanking her and sipping it immediately, for it was clear that she must take the look of anxiety from the girl's face. Alana smiled and said, 'It is wonderful! I like it, Stella.' The girl merely shrugged, looked a little sheepish, and disappeared with the empty tray. 'I think that you are not a visitor.' Andonys spoke swiftly, as soon as he re-entered the room where Alana was sitting. 'My cousin works in the harbour offices in Kalymnos, and he say that you wife of Mr. Conon who live at the big house up there—' He thumbed in the direction of the fiat-topped hill on which her husband's villa was situated. 'He say that Mr. Conon not allow you to leave the island.' The change in his demeanour was startling; he was accusing, almost antagonistic. 'Me and my brother would be in trouble with Mr. Conon if we had helped you to get on the ship—' He broke off again as his cousin cut in with something which he said in Greek. 'If you get to the harbour you not be able to buy ticket!' She said, pale and seething with anger,

'I'm English! I please myself what I do! If I want to leave this island then I shall do so!' Her voice was raised, which was unusual for her - although she had raised it several times since her marriage, used it to show Conon that she was not entirely docile and subject to his mastery. But now her high tones brought Stella running from the other room, her big doe eyes wide and questioning. Her brother explained and the eyes became larger still, and very round. Alana gathered that the Greek girls would never, under any circumstances, attempt to leave their husbands. 'I think you must go home,' said Andonys sternly, and Alana's anger increased at thus being spoken to by a mere boy. 'Have your refreshment and then go!' She would have put the glass down at once, but on glancing at Stella she changed her mind, unable even in these circumstances to hurt the girl. But she gulped down the liquid and, rising said good-bye to Stella, ignored both young men who, standing by the door, moved aside for her to pass from the villa. Her anger flared to almost uncontrollable heights as she walked home. It reduced her fear to minute proportions, so great was its possession of her, and by the time she entered the garden she was so thoroughly enraged that she considered herself a match for Conon in his most fearsome mood. He was sitting in a large chair, a book in his hand. Glancing up as she approached, he would have smiled had she not glared at him before he had time to do so. 'Hello,' he said in that tone of quiet authority. 'What's wrong with you? Where have you been?' 'I've been trying to get off this island!' she snapped. His eyes narrowed to mere slits.

'Indeed?' The eyes flickered over her before coming to rest on her flushed face. 'And you learned that you'll never succeed in doing so. Sit down and tell me about it.' He gestured to a rug that lay on the ground by the chair; he had obviously been sunbathing, for although he had on a towelling robe now she suspected that there was very little underneath it. 'Whom have you met?' His manner only served to enrage her even more. 'Andonys something or other! Impertinent brat! He had the audacity to order me to return to you. Who,' she rasped, coming close to him, 'does he think he is?' 'The son of one of my employees,' she was calmly informed. 'It would have been more than he dared to have assisted you to leave the island.' A pause as Conon looked her over again. 'I suspect that you tried to enlist the aid of his brother, who has a car?' 'This Andonys said his brother would take me to Kalymnos, but he wasn't in. Then a cousin came and—' Alana broke off, her eyes blazing at the curve of amusement that had settled on her husband's lips. 'I shall get away! I'm not staying married to you, so you can resign yourself to the fact that I've decided not to honour my decision!' He said nothing for a long moment and then, very softly, 'As I said, you can't get off the island without my consent, not in the ordinary way, that is. However, we do from time to time have private yachts anchor in the bay and often their owners are English. Alana,' he continued in the same quiet and dangerous tones, 'if you ever do manage to get away then my offer of safety for your friend Max will be withdrawn.' Inflexible tones and his jaw was fixed. She knew that he meant what he said and she wondered why she had not

thought of this before. She said, even though she had no desire to humiliate herself, 'I'm a prisoner, then? - your prisoner?' 'If that is how you regard yourself, yes. For me, you're my wife and to my logical way of thinking your place is here with me.' Laying aside his book, he stood up, an almost regal figure, and Alana frowned suddenly as she experienced a sense of inferiority. 'A contract is a contract, Alana. In attempting to break it you have disappointed me. I would have trusted you—' 'And yet you made provision in case I should happen to consider getting away?' she broke in swiftly. 'I'm that kind of man,' was all the excuse he was willing to offer. 'But although I did take precautions I trusted you not to let me down. However, you have let me down and I shall be a long while forgetting it.' 'Do you think I care?' she flashed. 'Well, I don't!' He stood facing her, the mountains rising behind him. The sun was high, but it threw shadows which caught his face, darkening it and distorting the lines and contours so that his features took on a repellant aspect. This, coupled with the tall gaunt frame, filled Alana with revulsion and, quite unable to prevent it, she shuddered visibly. His expression underwent a lightning change and apprehension rippled through her as his eyes glittered, like fireflies at dusk. The lips were drawn back, the white teeth bared. His whole being quivered with the savage passion that possessed him. Alana shrank back, a disastrous movement, she soon realized, for it released the spring which held his fury in check and before she could make any attempt to escape her arm had been grasped in a vicious hold and she was jerked towards him.

'Let me go!' she cried, terror gripping her as there rose before her the mental picture she had made of the scene when Conon had attempted to murder his first wife. 'You're hurting me!' 'I'll kill you if ever you shudder like that again! I'm your husband, remember—' Unable to control the instinct to hurt, he slid his hands to her shoulders and shook her so violently that she felt her senses leaving her. 'I'll kill you, do you hear!' 'Kill...' The one word came slowly, through whitened lips. 'Yes, I believe you would ...' Perhaps it was the conviction in her voice, or perhaps the expression of terror in her eyes - or it might have been the tremulous, uncontrollable spasm that ran through her, causing her to shake visibly - but the effect on him was instantaneous and staggering. The unshackled violence might never have been, so changed was his way with her. Gently she was drawn into his arms; his lips touched her hair and her throat, and her lips. But Alana, shaken to the very core as she was, and with her heart feeling as if it would burst any moment, could not have made the faintest show of reciprocation even had she wished. She just stood limply in his arms, and it seemed to him that she was possessed of no more warmth than an iceberg. Releasing her at length, he stood back, and looked down at her with a brooding expression in his eyes. She tried to read his face, to learn something of what was going on inside that unfathomable brain of his. But she gave up, aware of the futility of her efforts. In any case, all that stood out was his threat to kill her. It would be with her for all time, she thought. She would go in fear of him for the rest of her life. He was so calm now, though, that the past few terrifying moments already appeared as a dream that was fading so quickly that she was finding it difficult to recapture the incidents. Even his expression was elusive, and so clear were his eyes now that the evil glitter might never have been a reality at all. And, quite unbidden, the picture that rose before Alana's vision was Conon's face as she had

once known it - kind, soft, unlined by care or disillusionment. She recalled the tenderness that could come into his eyes, the compassion of his mouth; she had already owned to herself that he had held a deep attraction for her and had it not been for the breakup of her sisters' marriages she might have given his proposal some consideration. She had not been in love with him, but that was because, right from the first, she had put around herself a defensive cloak of caution. What would he have been like now had she married him then? Would he have retained that handsome countenance? - that attractive smile, that devastating charm of manner which only the Greeks can assume? He spoke, into her thoughts and recollections and as she glanced up at him she marvelled at the calmness that was slowly but surely taking the place of her previous terror. There was no doubt about it, the power of her husband had as many facets as his character, she thought, as, even while he spoke, her heart was regaining its normal steady beat. 'You say you're indifferent to my opinion of you. I find that strange, Alana. Most people are conscious of the regard of others.' 'Perhaps I am conscious of the regard of some people. but not of yours, Conon. It's of no interest to me whatsoever that you might despise me.' His eyes narrowed slightly. He was still in full command of his emotions, though, and the nobility of bearing that set him apart from others was very much in evidence. Unwillingly Alana recalled how proud she had once been to be seen with him. 'You are not desirous of my respect?' 'Where there is no love there can be no respect.' Her wrist was burning and unconsciously she smoothed her other hand over it,

aware as she did so that, her action having caught her husband's eye, he was staring at the mark he had made and a frown had appeared between his eyes. 'I shall never respect you,' she went on when he did not speak, 'nor do I believe that you could ever respect me—' She broke off and shrugged her shoulders. 'Neither of us should have any anxiety about the other's opinion. Surely you agree about this?' He glanced at her with a hint of contempt. 'You are very arrogant, Alana, and such behaviour does not become you. I remember you as you were - your beauty having a depth I yearned to reach ...' His voice trailed to a mere whisper; he was a long way from her. She frowned, arrested by the fact that his reason for marrying her appeared for the moment to have slipped his memory. For there was no hint of malice, of the revenge which had driven him headlong into the union with her. 'Yes,' he continued after a long silence, 'I wanted to reach the depth of your inner beauty, and I knew I'd have a long way to go.' He looked at her and the contempt returned to his eyes. 'Where is that beauty now, Alana?' Against her will she lowered her head, feeling like a spanked child. Her husband in this mood was all-supreme, absolute. And yet there was an unfathomable quality about him that made her ask impulsively, 'Why did you marry me, Conon?' and it was only when the question was uttered that she asked herself dazedly why she had put it to him. His face became a mask, unreadable and cold. But his eyes, narrowed and curious, were alertly watchful.

'What made you ask a question like that?' Soft the tone, and, to her surprise, tinged with mockery. How changeable were his moods! 'I believe I told you my reason. Are you now doubting my word?' Alana flushed at his direct question. It was so unexpected, spoken with this edge of mocking amusement which she had never heard before. She scarcely knew how to answer him, for his reaction was surely to be different from what she envisaged. 'You said you married me for revenge,' she said at last. Conon inclined his head. 'That's true, I did. But now you appear to be doubting the truth of this?' She regarded him intently, suspicious of him in this mood. And her suspicions made her ask, 'Was it the truth, Conon?' His brows lifted a fraction. 'So you are in doubt.' His lips actually twitched as he glanced quizzically at her. For one fleeting second she again saw the man she once knew, the man unscarred both in feature and in heart, the man who laughed a lot because he had hope in what the future would give him. And although the Conon of old faded on the instant, Alana was acutely conscious of the dart of emotion that shot through her, indefinable - and frustrating because of her inability to grasp it before it was gone. 'Tell me,' continued Conon in some amusement, 'what other reason could I have for wanting to marry you?' He had avoided the word revenge, but Alana, failing to see any special significance in the omission, said quietly, 'Other than revenge, you mean?'

Conon's eyes seemed to change colour, darkening to black, and his lips were drawn across his teeth, like a snarling dog. Watching him, and too baffled to be conscious of fear, Alana realized that the mention of revenge, bringing a return of memory to torture him with the misery of those cheated years, had acted like a fan on his wrath, igniting it once again so that it flared, consuming him and twisting his features into evil lines. 'Other than revenge!' His voice was like the snapping of metal. 'Yes - other than revenge.' Shrinking from him, Alana missed her footing and would have fallen had not his supporting arm reached out to her. 'I - I don't suppose you could have any other reason,' she faltered, her mind solely on placating him. 'And you're right,' he snarled, thrusting her from him. 'I married you for revenge, and don't you ever get any other ideas, do you hear?' 'Yes - of c-course I hear.'

CHAPTER SEVEN THE next moment he was striding away across the lawn and her eyes followed the gaunt figure until it had disappeared from sight. Then she sank down on the chair which he had been occupying, her heartbeats feeling like sledgehammers pounding against her ribs. How long would she be able to endure this? she wondered, thinking of her first marriage and recalling that, at the time, she had truly believed that her life could never be worse than this. But marriage to Conon was like living in the realm of Pluto himself, in those infernal regions from which there was no escape and into which no light ever entered. How strange he had been, though. There had been something unfathomable beneath the fury, and also in his insistence that she should keep in mind his reason for marrying her: revenge. Revenge... She must not get any other ideas … Alana leant back in the chair, willing herself to be calm, commanding her heart to behave normally. And once she had regained her calm and was able to think more clearly, it then seemed to her that there might be another reason for his marrying her. But what reason? He was not in love with her, that was for sure. No, it must be revenge, and yet Alana could not dispel the doubts that had come to her as a result of his very vehement declaration. It was as if by its forcefulness it had burned out some of its strength. She shook her head, baffled. Why should she question her husband's statement? He was not the kind of man to say one thing and mean another ... and yet... Reflectively she went over their lives together, and she found herself facing the rather startling truth that it had not been all discord. True, the scenes were terrifying, but as yet they had left no serious scars; his tongue could be venomous and cruel, but there were times when without effort he and she could converse in harmony. His voice

would then be quiet and most attractively-toned, being deep and resonant and carrying that hint of an accent which even Max had at one time envied. Yes, life had not been all discord, and as she dwelt now on the past few weeks she could not throw off the idea which had come to her. Conon would welcome a more congenial relationship between them! Alana's pity was still strong, but in combat with it was her resentment of her position, the position into which she had been forced by her husband. How could she ever forgive him sufficiently to be able to enter into an amicable relationship with him? Perhaps, with time ... A movement catching her eye, she glanced upwards to see her husband by his bedroom window - a shadowy figure more gaunt than ever, his face dark and lined - and sinister. His shoulders, straight and wide, seemed to exude a strength that served only to make him more repellent. An involuntary shiver rippled through her and she rose to her feet, the desire to get away becoming so strong that her pace was almost at a run as she made for the path leading from the gardens into the road. Her heart was thudding again, not from her exertions but as a result of the urgency of her wish to put distance between herself and the husband she feared. A deluge of self-pity swept through her as she went swiftly along the lane, having nowhere to go. Why should she be so unsettled as this? The self-pity increased to uncontrollable proportions and she started to cry. The lane, dusty and steep, lead down to the wider road which ran along the coast to the far end of the island, a region of wild mountain scenery and a rocky deserted shore. Reaching the road Alana slowed her pace, walking aimlessly, the desolation of the end of the island having a sudden appeal, since it suited her present mood to perfection, But before it was reached she had to pass the lovely Venetian castle which, perched as it was on the edge of the

high cliff, looked almost ready to topple over and crash into the blue waters below. Growing a little tired, Alana sat down on a boulder on the side of the road and stared out across the rocky scarp to the sea, a sea tranquil, and dull as pewter, for a cloud was obscuring the sun. Far down below the white sails of a luxury yacht were poised motionlessly against the horizon. The yacht must belong to the people at the castle, she thought, musing on the English girl and wondering what she was like. She was happy, Conon had said, for she and her husband were in love with one another. Happy ... Without warning the tears of self-pity gathered behind Alana's eyes; she made no attempt to stem them and after they had been falling for some minutes she wondered just what she must look like. Not that it mattered; there was no one to see here, here on this deserted and rocky shore. But the more she thought of the English girl the more she wanted to meet her; she was yearning for a voice whose accent was familiar, desiring conversation with one of her own countrywomen. How old was this wife of the Greek who, like Conon, had initially forced her into marriage? How long had she lived here, in this beautiful castle which had obviously been renovated with loving care and at no consideration for the expense? Rising to her feet at last, Alana continued along the road leading to the castle, pondering as she went on how she could introduce herself, but on discovering no way at all she merely stopped by the high wrought-iron gates and peered through them into the magnificent grounds. Enormous trees screened them from the wild stormy winds that might in winter come over the sea; velvet lawns swept away to exotic shrubberies and rose gardens, while, shining in the distance, was the aquamarine water of a huge swimming-pool. White marble statuary in the form of Greek maidens stood guard by a fountain set at a vantage point where it could be seen from many

windows of the castle. What grandeur went into the creation of the setting! - a setting of magnificent solitude where, to one side, the elegant mountain peaks melted into the pure blue of a Grecian sky, and to the other side the sea, rolling away into the luminous distance, its surface dotted with islets, some of them rocky and arid, some a little larger and displaying the whole gamut of colours between the dull green of the olive trees through the brighter, yet still sombre, green of the tall stately cypresses, to the more vigorous hues of the foliage of the orange and lemon trees. Leros, much larger than the others, and lying just off the coast of Turkey, was separated from Kalymnos by a narrow strait and seemed at times to be so close that one could quite easily swim out to it. On its terraced hillsides the white cubic houses gleamed as, unexpectedly, the sun emerged again from its barrier of fleecy cotton-wool clouds. 'Santa Elena,' murmured Alana, reading the small but charmingly carved piece of wood that was fastened inconspicuously to a tree at one side of the gate. No sign of life beyond the gates, and with a deep sigh of disappointment she walked on, still following the coastline and now entering the deserted country, wild and windswept, where tortured cliffs fell sheer into the sea. Suddenly she gave a little gasp of disbelief as without warning she rounded a bend and came upon the bronze figure of a siren; it shone in the sunlight, a lone female nude, perched incongruously from a high and rocky platform. So isolated it looked, exposed to the severity of storm and heat, and holding a lyre in its outstretched hand. How had it got here? she wondered, her mind totally divorced from her troubles as her curiosity increased. Someone had fashioned it with loving care, only to place it up here in this deserted place where very few people were likely to see it. Intrigued and wishing there were someone close at hand whom she could question, Alana twisted round to take in more fully the setting in which the figure

stood. Wild, desolate ... and yet attractive and compelling. She recalled her first impression of the island, but now she realized that it must be one of the most attractive islands of the Dodecanese, for its sandy bays were delightful, its plains lush and fertile, its mountains high and spectacular. A glance at her watch telling her that a long time had elapsed since she had left the grounds of her husband's villa, she turned reluctantly and began to retrace her steps. The thought of re-entering his property was far from attractive; she never felt at home, never enjoyed the sense of shared ownership which is the privilege of a wife who is loved and cherished. More tears fell; her nerves must be in a very bad way, she decided, once again making no effort to remove the moisture from her eyes and cheeks. Her footsteps dragged even though she was hungry now and her mouth felt like sawdust, so dry had it become. Lunch would have been over long ago, and no doubt Conon was even now looking for her and perhaps wondering if, despite his warning, she was making another bid for freedom. Eventually she found herself back at the castle gates, and so tensed up had she become that the moment she saw the huge Labrador dog leap over a hedge into the road she let out a piercing scream. This caused him to stop dead in his tracks, cocking an ear and tilting his magnificent head as if to ask why on earth anyone should be afraid of him. But he did bark after a second or two, and at the same time a deep masculine voice said commandingly, 'Jason - ela! Come here!' at which the dog turned instantly and ran to the gate which his master was already opening. 'I'm so sorry,' continued the voice. 'He's quite harmless, but—' The man, a tall and exceedingly handsome Greek, stopped speaking and a heavy frown knit his brow. 'It's clear that he's unnerved you,' he continued, still frowning as he looked at the tears on Alana's cheeks. 'Come in and

sit down for a few minutes.' His voice, deep and finely-toned like that of her husband, held an edge of concern mingled with anger. 'Jason, your manners are not what they were! Your mistress spoils you, I'm afraid!' The dog's tail was lowered, but only for a second or two. At that moment a young girl came swinging along the drive, her golden body clothed in a brief pair of shorts and an even briefer sun-top. The dog instantly bounded joyfully towards her. 'What—?' She stopped and glanced from her husband to Alana. 'Are you ill?' she then asked anxiously. 'Jason frightened her,' began the man, when Alana felt she must interrupt him and confess that her scream was premature, involuntary. 'He didn't do anything at all, so please don't blame hint. I saw him, and cried out. It was absurd of me to be so frightened.' By this time the dog was coming to her and automatically she put a hand on his silky head and patted it. 'He's beautiful,' she added. 'You mustn't scold him.' Jason wagged his tail, looked from Alana to his master, then went back to the girl. The man spoke again, and Alana, doing as he bade her, found herself inside the gates. She noticed the strange glance that passed between the girl and her husband when, after he had introduced himself as Doneas Lucien, and his wife as Julie, Alana had said, 'I'm Mrs. Mavilis; I've recently come to live here, on the island.' 'Mrs. Mavilis,' repeated Julie, nodding her head as if it had occurred to her that Alana could not be anyone else, for no tourists came this far along the shore. For the most part the only visitors were passengers from the cruise ships. They usually had only about four hours ashore and therefore had not the time for anything more than a

look around the town of ^Kalymnos itself, the harbour town which offered all they would need in the way of cafenions and souvenir shops. 'We do not know your husband very well,' added Julie, and there was no doubt about it, her voice was cool to say the least. Her husband's mouth was set and a slight frown creased his low lined forehead. Alana had noticed the scar on the right side of his face; it ran from his ear to his jawbone, and now, as she watched, a nerve pulsated in it, as if some emotion within him found outlet in this movement. She was left with the unmistakable conviction that Doneas Lucien disliked her husband intensely. And yet the two men were so alike in many ways, having the same noble air of authority and carrying the same aristocratic stamp of their Greek ancestors. Yes, they were alike, and it was strange indeed that they had never become friends. Alana felt awkward, because of the silence which seemed fraught with tension, and because she had no idea what excuses she could make for her husband's unfriendliness. At last she said lamely, 'He keeps himself to himself.' Doneas Lucien ignored this and asked his wife to take Alana inside and give her some refreshment. 'Oh, no,' Alana protested, unhappy at the coolness of the girl.'I mustn't trouble you.' Her voice Caught, quite unknown to herself, and it was as if it released a spring within the girl, whose eyes darkened with compassion. 'It's no trouble at all. Do come in; I'm sure you're wanting something to drink.' 'I must admit I'm thirsty,' returned Alana, thinking of the distance that still separated her from her own home. 'Thank you - yes, I would welcome a long cool drink.'

The girl smiled, and Alana thought she had never seen anyone so lovely as Julie Lucien. Doneas was looking at her and the tenderness in his eyes was something Alana would remember for a very long time. No man would ever love her as much as Doneas loved his wife, she thought, deep dejection flooding over her. She had never wanted to be loved, had vowed to remain single all her life. Yet fate had decreed otherwise and she had been married twice ... and had never loved or been loved. Emotion filled her, a mingling of yearning and regret. To her astonishment she was almost admitting that it would be wonderful to be loved as this girl was loved, the girl who was now smiling into her husband's face, adoration clearly displayed in her frank blue eyes. Her husband held her gaze for a few tender seconds, and now there was in his black eyes an additional quality that Alana .could only describe as worship. 'Have Polymnea make a sandwich or two for Mrs. Mavilis.' Doneas's glance was transferred to Alana as he spoke. 'Go along with my wife, and rest a while.' His eyes were perceptive; he knew that Alana had not eaten for some time. 'Thank you.' A few moments later Alana was entering the castle from the courtyard around which it had been built. She had passed through the gardens rioting with colour, had walked across a lawn textured like velvet, had gasped with admiration at the glowing hibiscus hedge and the huge bed of poinsettias. Julie, walking at her side, had smiled as she sent her a slanting glance. But once or twice Alana noticed that her eyes were curious, and on one occasion, when Alana took out a handkerchief to dry her cheeks, a frown had crossed her companion's face and her mouth had tightened a little. What was she thinking? wondered Alana. It was clear that they had no time for Conon; they must consider him strange, this tall gaunt

man whose face was etched in almost evil lines, yet who, in spite of this, carried himself like a god. 'Here we are.' Julie took Alana into a beautiful drawing-room whose enormous windows looked out on to the glory of the gardens and, beyond them, to the sea and the islets dotted about its surface. 'Do sit down, Mrs. Mavilis.' Indicating a chair, Julie then excused herself, saying she would be back in a moment or two. She left the room, Jason at her heels; looking from the window Alana saw Doneas Lucien talking to a man who appeared to be a gardener, but the man was lame, Alana noticed, and could not get about very well at all. Then, to her surprise, there appeared another man similarly affected by what appeared to be a form of paralysis. So intrigued was she by this sight that she was still staring at the trio when Julie returned, a bright blue beach robe over her sun-suit. 'Are those two men your gardeners?' she couldn't help asking, and Julie nodded her head. 'My husband employs only those men who have been injured by the sea.' Alana nodded and a shadow came over her face. 'I've heard about the sponge divers of Kalymnos,' she said. 'It's an underwater draught that catches them, and causes paralysis, isn't it?' 'That's right. But these men here are quite happy; they're finished with the sea, it's true, and are maimed. But they're doing a useful job of work and it pleases them not to be a burden on their relatives. Ah, here is Polymnea with the tray,' she added quickly as the maid entered. 'Thank you, Polymnea; please put it down here.' Julie then offered Alana a drink, which she accepted gratefully, Julie saying she must ask for more if she wanted it.

'You're very kind.' Alana drank eagerly of the fruit cordial contained in the tall glass which had been placed before her. 'I'm afraid I walked too far— She broke off, flushing slightly as she realized she was being subjected to a keen examination by those vivid blue eyes. 'I'm glad I met you, though,' she added swiftly. 'I've admired the castle many times, and wondered about the people who owned it. My husband told me that an English girl lived here and I thought it would be nice to talk to one of my own people.' 'I'm glad we've met,' was Julie's spontaneous reply. 'I hope you'll call any time you're passing.' 'May I?' Alana's glance strayed automatically to the window and, reading her thoughts with rather disconcerting accuracy, Julie said, 'Both my husband and myself will be happy to have you call on us.' Alana looked at her, and before she quite realized it she was saying, 'Happy to have me call, but not my husband?' 'We - we—' Julie broke off uncomfortably. 'We would welcome your husband too,' she began, then stopped once again, a flush rising. Alana needed no words to inform her that Julie was merely trying to be tactful, politely restrained in what she said. Leaning forward in her chair, she took up the plate of sandwiches and held it out to her guest. 'Do have something to eat, Mrs. Mavilis,' she invited, deliberately changing the subject. 'Would you like another glass of cordial?' 'I would, please,' said Alana gratefully. She took a sandwich and put it on to her plate. 'It's so hot, and I've walked much further than was good for me.' Julie had risen, but she paused a moment, glancing down into Alana's face.

'You've been put a long time?' she inquired, and her low sweet voice had a curious and unfathomable ring to it. Alana nodded her head. 'I've been walking for hours and hours—' She stopped, aware that she had revealed to Julie that she had preferred to be away from her home. 'At least,' she amended after Julie had thrown her an inquiring glance as if to encourage her to continue, 'I've been out for hours and hours. I kept stopping and having a rest.' 'You like it along here?' 'Along this shore? Yes, indeed! It's beautiful!' 'The islanders find it too wild and deserted for them.' 'I find it attractive and - and comforting.' She hadn't meant to say anything like that and to her relief Julie appeared to grasp this and tactfully made no comment. 'I'll get you another drink,' she offered, and went gracefully from the room. Alana was eating her sandwics when she became aware of lowered voices outside the corner window, which was open but shuttered against the sun. 'It is Mr. Conon's woman! Why does she come here, when my master not like her husband?' Alana stopped eating to listen. Two women servants, she soon realized, speaking English, much to her surprise, and obviously unaware that they could be overheard by the girl inside the room.

'I not know, but I see her long time since, walking along the road, looking unhappy! I think she afraid of that bad man who she married.' 'It is strange that we cannot find out anything about him.' 'My cousin lives in Patmos, and when he came two - three weeks ago he say that Mr. Conon try to kill his first wife!' 'Kill?' in an awed tone, and then, indignantly, 'You never told me, Thoula!' 'I tell madam, and she angry. She say I must not gossip as it might not be true anyway.' 'Mrs. Doneas not like us to say anything about anyone. She good woman!' 'I think that Mr. Doneas already know that Mr. Conon try to kill his wife.' 'You do? Why?' 'Because I later hear madam telling him what I say and he not show surprise. I think that is why he not like Mr. Conon.' 'I think it because Mr. Conon not sociable. He refused our master's invitations - and he was rude as well!' The women then went off into their own tongue and Alana was not able to understand any more. But on Julie's entering with another glass of cordial Alana asked if all her servants spoke English. 'I have taught some of them,' replied Julie with a puzzled frown. 'Why do you ask?'

'I heard two of them talking outside the window and was naturally surprised at their use of English.' Julie's eyes moved to the corner window. 'They like to practise,' she murmured, and then, looking directly at Alana, 'What were they talking about?' Alana shrugged and said carelessly, 'Oh, nothing much at all...' Her voice trailed away as, looking into Julie's perceptive eyes, Alana knew that her untruth had not been in any way effective. Julie knew she was lying, and in order to prevent her asking any further questions she drained her glass and rose to her feet. 'I must be going,' she said, assuming an urgency she was far from feeling. 'My husband will be wondering what has happened to me. Good-bye, Mrs. Lucien, and thank you for your kindness.' Julie said nothing more, but accompanied Alana to the gates, and only then did she speak, reminding Alana that she would be welcome at the castle any time she cared to drop in. 'Thank you, Mrs. Lucien.' 'Don't leave it too long,' smiled Julie, and Alana found herself saying, 'I won't - I promise.' Julie had turned her head and Alana saw her eyes light up as Doneas came striding to where the two girls were standing, by the gates. 'Feeling better?' he inquired politely, his dark eyes examining Alana's pallid face. 'Would you like me to run you home in the car?' Alana shook her head.

'It's very kind of you,' she said, 'but I do feel much better now, and I'd much prefer to walk.' 'I've asked Mrs. Mavilis to call just whenever she likes,' put in Julie. 'She's promised to do so.' Emphasis on this sentence and a faint smile of understanding came to her husband's lips. Astute, both of them, thought Alana, acutely aware that they were very much doubting that she would accept the invitation given by Julie and now being endorsed by her husband who, in his low and courteous tones, said they would be delighted to have her call and see them. 'You'll meet our son,' he then added proudly, just as if he were compelled to mention his child. 'He's just had his second birthday and so he is quite the young man.' Julie laughed, and tucked her arm into his. 'Doneas - he's still my baby! Don't you dare wish him grown up!' He smiled down at her; it was a faint smile, and dignified. Alana thought again how alike he and her husband were. Yet Doneas was a happy man, and a proud father, whereas Conon had nothing at all. There was not one atom of love in his life, no companionship, no pleasure at all that Alana could see - unless he derived some kind of pleasure from his dogged suffering, Embittered by the scars he carried, he sought no relief from the pain in his heart, no peace of mind, no light even. Revenge he did seek, and his soul had been blackened by it. Alana found herself swallowing a lump in her throat, and was conscious of tears in her eyes, and for some distance along the way she was too full even to think clearly. All she saw was her husband's misery, his imprisonment in the tower of grief from which it seemed he would never attempt to escape.

She was not very far from home when at last she switched her thoughts, pursuing another line and hearing again what the two women had been saying. Perhaps by now it was common knowledge that her husband had attempted to murder his wife, and Alana wondered just what the Luciens thought of this. Did they, having only part of the story - which would seem probable seeing that Conon had not been long on the island - blame him entirely for his lack of restraint. Did they actually consider him as a murderer simply because it was only by sheer good fortune that he had been prevented from committing the terrible crime? The idea of their condemnation proving too much for Alana, she resolved to tell Julie the whole story, and at the very first opportunity. She would tell her about the man she, Alana, had first known, the kind compassionate man whose handsome features had been totally unmarred by disillusionment and sorrow.

CHAPTER EIGHT CONON was in the drawing-room when she arrived back at the villa; he looked up from the book he had been reading and his eyes settled on her face. 'Where have you been all this time?' he inquired quietly. 'I trust you haven't been foolish enough to make another attempt at escape?' Alana stood by the door and stared at him across the lovely room, aware of perfumes drifting in through the open window ... and aware of a new feeling within her, a feeling rather pleasant but yet not definable in that she could have described it. Her stare was one of curiosity and not in any way resembling her usual glance of contempt and dislike. Conon frowned and asked again where she had been. 'For a walk,' she replied, coming further into the room. 'It must have been a long one?' 'It was.' She drew closer still to him, acutely conscious of the fact that she had no fear despite the austerity of his expression, and the glint that had appeared in his eyes at the brevity of her answers to his questions. 'Where did you go?' Alana gestured. 'To the very end of the island.' 'Did you meet anyone?' he asked unexpectedly. 'What makes you ask that?'

His eyes flickered to the clock. 'The length of time that you've been away. Either you've been talking to someone or you've deliberately prolonged your walk.' 'I met the people who live at the castle, she said, recalling that he cared as little for them as they did for him. 'You talked to them?' 'The dog came out and I was frightened by him. I screamed and the man appeared - Mr. Lucien.' Conon's jaw tightened. 'I asked if you had talked to them.' 'Yes, I did.' She fingered at the rim of a Sung bowl which stood on the table close to where she was standing. 'I couldn't do otherwise, could I?' 'How long were you with this man?' 'His wife came, and I was invited to have something to eat and drink—' 'So you went inside - and stayed some considerable time?' 'I went inside, yes. I didn't stay too long.' 'What did you talk about?' he wanted to know, and Alana shrugged her shoulders. 'Nothing in particular. Julie - Mrs Lucien - invited me to go again.' Conon seemed to think about this before saying, very quietly,

'You will not visit them again, Alana, understand?' His gentle tones failing to deceive her, Alana lifted her chin, intending to rebel at the underlying authority in her husband's voice. But, strangely, she fought against injecting even a small degree of animosity into her voice as she said, 'If you can give me an acceptable reason why I should not visit the castle, Conon, then I'll do as you request.' His eyes narrowed. 'I am telling you not to visit them again. My reason need not concern you.' She looked hard at him for a moment and then, 'Conon, why are you so aloof with them? They're very charming people.' 'I have no wish to be troubled by neighbours calling on me, and this would happen were I to make any move of encouragement.' 'It's nice to have friends. We could perhaps invite them in for a drink.' She did not for a moment suppose that the Luciens would be interested in such an invitation, but she just had to see how Conon would react to the suggestion. 'I gave up making friends a long time ago.' 'You could begin again,' she told him gently. 'I could - were I so inclined, but as it happens, I am not so inclined.' Alana shrugged, aware of defeat that was weighing far more heavily than it would a few hours ago.

'As you wish, Conon,' she said, and would have left the room had he not uttered words that made her turn back. 'Have I your word that you won't visit the castle again?' She shook her head at once. 'No, Conon,' she replied quietly, 'you have not. I promised I'd go again. Julie is English, and it's understandable that we should wish to get to know one another better.' Conon's mouth tightened. 'I hope,' he said, 'that you have more sense than to defy me.' Alana moistened her lips. 'Would you deny me this one small pleasure?' she asked, watching his expression curiously. 'It is my intention that you shall have no pleasure at all,' was his harsh rejoinder. 'On the contrary, it's my intention that you shall come to know just what hell life can be.' His eyes became brooding, and his fists clenched tightly, an indication of the tension within him. It was not difficult to read his thoughts, thoughts which took him mercilessly back to moments spent with his baby son, the child whose memory was ever with him, haunting him, torturing him, even helping to destroy him. If only he could forget, she mused, yet shook her head in a gesture of sadness. How could he ever forget so great a tragedy? 'Yes,' he murmured, and Alana saw at once that he was now unaware of her presence, so absorbed was he in the past, 'yes ... life cam be hell. ...' His face was drawn, and almost ugly, yet it was sorrow that looked out from those dark grey eyes, sorrow so deep that Alana felt tears welling up, and she blinked rapidly in order to

hold them back. She had no wish that her husband should see her crying over the anguish that was his. But he was watching her closely now and she saw that his expression was slowly changing to one of surprise. She turned, feigning interest in the view from the window, but as the silence lengthened she said at last, 'Life, Conon, can be what you make it— Oh, yes, I know that's not very original, but it's true to a great extent You dwell on the past—' 'I have much to dwell upon,' he broke in harshly. 'You don't know the whole! In fact, you know very little, so please refrain from proffering advice!' Alana turned back, and faced him. 'I am willing to listen,' she told him gently. 'Is it that you have some... sorrow?' She saw his eyes become alert, and she caught her breath. He must never learn that Katrina had talked to her about Conon's son. 'What makes you ask a thing like that?' he demanded, his eyes glinting strangely. She shrugged carelessly. 'You often look so sad, Conon.' 'Sad....' His eyes brooded again and once more he was in the past. 'It's of no matter - and it's no business of yours!' 'I'm your wife,' she reminded him, still in the same gentle tones. 'Wife?' he sneered. 'You wear a ring, it's true, and you're my bedmate, but that is all. You're not my wife in the true sense of the word, since there is nothing spiritual between us - nothing!'

Alana sighed, and left the room, relieved that he had forgotten to pursue the matter of her re-visiting the castle and yet distressed because of his suffering.

It was three days later when, Conon having decided to go to Athens, Alana found herself alone for the first time since her marriage. Her husband would be away for about four or five days, and she was rather surprised that he had not insisted on her accompanying him. He had not even asked if she would care to visit the capital, but had gone off early in the morning, before she was awake. Her first reaction was one of freedom, a feeling she had not experienced since the day she knew she must become Conon's wife. And naturally she set her steps towards the castle, finding herself hurrying, so eager was she to see the Luciens again, especially Julie, the lovely girl who, according to Conon, had been forced into marriage, only to find romance later, and to become a happily married woman with the added blessing of a son. A son... Something cold crept along Alana's spine. So that was the reason why Conon disliked the Luciens, why he would not encourage them as friends. He was envious of their child. Julie was in the garden when Alana arrived at the gate; it was swung open immediately and she was invited in by the smiling wife of Doneas Lucien. 'How nice of you to come again so soon! Do stay for a little while, won't you? My baby is sleeping, but I'd love you to meet him. He'll waken in about an hour or so.' 'I'll stay,' returned Alana with enthusiasm. 'My husband's gone away for a few days, so I'm on my own.'

Julie looked perceptively at her and for a moment Alana thought she was going to make some remark about Alana's being free for a while. Alana was glad that she had refrained, for she was unwilling to hear anything that would put her husband in a bad light. Julie, she was soon to learn, was a girl of great tact and understanding, and a girl with a heart as soft as her own. 'Will you stay for lunch, then? Doneas is busy in his study and I mustn't disturb him and so, in a way, I'm also on my own.' She was eager, and encouraging, and Alana felt her spirits rise. She had found a friend, and nothing Conon could do or say would be effective in keeping her away from the castle. 'I'd love to stay.' Alana glanced round the garden, then raised her eyes to the roof. 'Is that another garden, up there?' she asked and, when Julie nodded her head, 'It must have magnificent views?' 'It has. I was quite fascinated the first time I went up there. Come on, we'll go up, and have our coffee there - or would you prefer a cool drink?' 'A coffee will be fine.' Following Julie across the lawn fronting the castle, Alana recalled her resolve to tell her something about Conon as she had known him in the past, and she hoped also to learn something about him from Julie. Once on the roof, though, Alana could only stand and stare, twisting around so that she could take in the view from every angle - the mountains with their rocky peaks, the lower hills, green and gentle, with the white cubic houses nestling in their midst. Gleaming in the sun was the snow-white campanile of the church and, above it all, the azure sky of Greece and the golden rays of the sun adding a brittle splendour to it.

'What a picture!' she gasped. 'Oh, but if I lived here I'd be up on the roof all the time!' Her eyes scanned the immediate spectacle of colour - the mauves and pinks of the bougainvillaeas, the crimson of the hibiscus, the jasmine and roses and beautiful passion flowers. 'But you have a marvellous view too,' returned Julie graciously. 'I love your house; it has such a delightful setting. We lack the vista of wooded countryside that can be seen from your villa.' Alana nodded in agreement at this, for undoubtedly the villa did have one of the most spectacular views on the whole island. 'Do sit down,' invited Julie, offering a brightly-upholstered garden chair. Alana took possession of it and sat back, relaxing and admiring the small fountain as it glistened in the sun, creating rainbow colours in its spray. Julie went off and returned quite soon, bringing the coffee on a tray. 'One of our maids is away visiting her son, so I'm relieving the other two by doing odd jobs myself.' The smiling explanation was accompanied by a rather wry twinkle in Julie's eyes. 'I sometimes think a little hard work would do me good, but Doneas won't hear of it.' The tone of her voice changed quite perceptibly as her husband's name fell from her lips and Alana found herself experiencing a twinge of envy at the sublime happiness of the other girl's life. -Julie talked, and Alana learned that their child was now about the age that Conon's son had been when he died. Although Julie did not at first mention Conon, she did answer when eventually Alana herself brought him into the conversation. Alana asked outright how it was that the two men had not become good neighbours, mentioning that they were alike in many ways. Julie nodded thoughtfully before replying, with a certain amount of caution that could not possibly escape her listener,

'I've never quite been able to reason this out myself, Mrs. Mavilis, but I believe it was your husband's wish that he be left entirely alone.' 'I see.' Alana paused a moment. 'I'm right in assuming that your husband did make some move to be - er - friendly with Conon?' Again the other girl nodded her head. 'Yes, he did. He called on your husband Julie allowed her voice to trail away to silence and for a brief interlude Alana was reluctant to pursue the matter. However, she was keen to learn something about her husband so she overrode any small scruples she had and said, 'And Conon would have nothing to do with your husband.' It was a statement and Julie looked swiftly at her. 'I know, Mrs. Lucien, that he would not have welcomed any offer of friendship from anyone at all.' For a long while Julie did not speak; she was considering and when at length she resumed the conversation it was to inquire - again with that hint of hesitancy and tact - if Alana wished to know the details. 'I ask because you seem eager to talk about your husband,' she added with an understanding that made Alana gasp inwardly, You're seeking for information?' 'Yes, I am,' admitted Alana without hesitation. 'You've obviously guessed, Mrs. Lucien, that there's some mystery about our marriage.' Julie nodded, and smiled, and her eyes became pensive and reflective; Alana could not help but conclude that she was recalling her own marriage and the circumstances leading up to it. 'It's natural, Mrs. Mavilis—' Julie stopped and a slight frown knit her brow. 'Can I call you by your first name?' she asked and, when Alana nodded eagerly, 'My name's Julie, as you know, having heard my husband use it. What's yours?'

'Alana.' 'What a pretty and unusual name.' A pause and then, rather briskly, 'Well, as I was saying, it's natural that I was curious. I say "I" because my husband is never curious in that particular sense. He scolded me for my inquisitiveness when at first I began to wonder about the man who had come as our neighbour but who lived the life of a recluse, speaking to no one at all.' Julie stopped and spread her hands deprecatingly. 'I said that he must be nursing some injury done to him and admit I believed him to be married and separated from his wife. However, when it got abroad that he was going to be married I realized that I had been wrong in my conclusions - at least, as regards the part about his being married already.' Again she stopped and Alana interposed, eyeing her curiously over the rim of her cup, 'How did you find out that he was to be married?' 'The servants. They talk among themselves, and in fact it was one of our gardeners who happened to mention to my husband that Conon Mavilis was to be married.' 'It must have seemed sudden to you, Julie?' The last word was spoken with a measure of shyness and Julie smiled reassuringly at her guest. 'It was,' she agreed. 'And when it got abroad that his fiancee was an English girl I was most intrigued.' Julie picked up her cup and sipped the hot coffee. 'You see, Alana, there were odd circumstances attached to my own marriage, and I'll tell you about them some time, but not now. However, as I've said, I was intrigued, and also I was naturally eager to meet you. This I knew would prove to be difficult, for although I had intended calling on you quite soon after the wedding, my husband forbade it.'

'Because he himself did not like Conon ?' 'I wouldn't say he dislikes him,' frowned Julie, 'but he feels we ought to respect his wishes to be left alone.' 'Yes, I can understand.' Alana paused a moment in indecision; but she then continued, determined to enlighten Julie as to Conon's character before the tragedy of his marriage. Concealing nothing, Alana did wonder how she came to be confiding like this, after having known Julie so short a time. But as before, she was convinced she had found a friend, a good and staunch friend, one whom she could trust implicitly. It was one of those rare occasions when, having found a kindred spirit, one could bare one's soul without any embarrassment whatsoever, and without doubts or fears ever entering one's mind regarding the confidence one was making. Julie was obviously interested, keenly so, for her eyes never left Alana's face. 'And so you see,' ended Alana, 'there are excuses for Conon's behaviour.' 'It's an incredible story,' breathed Julie as Alana, having finished her narrative, leaned back in her chair and awaited her friend's comments. 'So you also were forced into marriage....' Yes. I knew you too were forced into it. My husband told me, but he also told me about your happiness now - that it all turned out right in the end.' An almost worshipful expression entered Julie's eyes. 'Yes, Alana, it all turned out right in the end. .. Another thoughtful pause and then, 'Do you know, I have a feeling that your marriage will also turn out right in the end—' 'No, it can't!' Alana shook her head decisively. 'Conon hates me, really he does, Julie. I'm not exaggerating.'

A wise little smile hovered about Julie's lips. 'Women are strange creatures, Alana,' she said. 'We think we know all the answers when in fact we haven't even asked the right questions of ourselves. Do you really believe that Conon married you for revenge?' 'I'm sure of it!' 'I have a feeling that he still loves you, Alana.' Alana stared, bewilderment and disbelief in her lovely eyes. 'No ... it can't be. Oh, Julie, you're quite wrong - I know it!' 'What makes you so sure?' 'A woman knows whether or not she is loved ... or hated.' Even as she said this Alana was thinking about her doubts regarding the reason for Conon's marrying her. 'Can I ask you a personal question, Alana?' requested Julie after a pause. 'Of course you can. I've confided so much to you already that there can't be any drawing back now.' 'Do you love your husband ?' 'No, certainly not!' Speaking with some heat, Alana for a brief second lost the fact that Julie had also been forced into marriage. 'Would you love a man who had coerced you into marrying him?' Julie had to laugh despite the seriousness of the conversation. 'I did, Alana, as you already know.'

'Yes. ...' Alana felt rather foolish and fell silent for a space. 'But my situation's very different from yours—' 'In some ways it must be, since no two situations can in such circumstances be the same. Nevertheless, there is a marked similarity, and I'm going to ask you again: do you love your husband?' 'No!' Shaking her head vigorously, Alana added that it. was quite impossible that she should love her husband. 'All right.' For the moment it seemed that Julie was not intending to pursue the matter, but at length she went on to add, looking directly into Alana's eyes, 'I'll ask you another question - if I may?' 'Yes?' 'Do you dislike Conon as much as you did at first?' No answer from Alana, who had already admitted to herself that the way in which she regarded Conon had undergone a recent change. Julie was smiling, and her expression revealed the perception with which she received her companion's silence. 'I have to confess,' offered Alana at last, 'that although I actually hated Con at first, I definitely do not hate him now.' You pity him?' queried Julie softly, as if the idea had just occurred to her. 1 do, greatly. As I've just told you, he lost his little son under those dreadful circumstances.' Julie nodded and a shadow settled on her face.

'It's strange that he's never mentioned this child to you,' she murmured at length. 'I feel he can't bear to talk about him - and yet I know that he thinks about him a great deal.' 'How do you know?' 'It's the way he is. He broods, and his eyes have a faraway look.' 'And he blames you for it all.' Julie gave a small sigh and added, 'It's understandable, but also quite unfair. You were in no way to blame, Alana.' A small pause and then, with a frown, 'I'm afraid I feel blameworthy. After all, had I married him all that time ago none of his misfortunes would have occurred.' 'That's true,' Julie conceded, Taut on the other hand, you were free to make your own choice.' 'Yes; and that's why it's so absurd of me to feel so guilty.' 'I rather think,' said Julie after a pause, 'that you made the wrong choice.' She spoke matter-of-factly, as if making a statement. To her own amazement Alana had inclined her head in agreement even before giving the words due consideration. Had she made the wrong choice? On several occasions lately she had found herself forming a picture of her life with Conon, had she agreed to marry him when he had first asked her to do so. 'I-I—' She broke off, unable to frame the words which would have explained her feelings at this moment. For she was actually trembling at the revelation which was thrusting itself at her, forcing

itself to the forefront of her mind despite her insistent rejection of it. 'It's pity I feel for him,' she whispered, speaking to herself and staring unseeingly out to the vista of sea and islets and the clear line of the horizon beyond. 'It - it can't be love!' She brought her gaze back to the girl sitting opposite to her, and she saw the tender curve of Julie's lips as she smiled. 'I suggested it was love,' murmured Julie softly. 'If you remember...?' The colour fluctuated in Alana's cheeks; she would have escaped Julie's direct stare if that had been at all possible. 'Have you seen my husband - er - properly?' was all she could find to say, and Julie's smile became a low amused laugh. 'You're saying that no woman in her right mind would fall in love with so unprepossessing a man? Is that it?' 'That's it,' returned Alana, her colour deepening. 'You did say, earlier, that he was once the handsomest man you'd ever met.' Yes, he was. But—' Alana spread her hands and could not help saying, look at him now. He's - frightening at times.' 'I must admit that he has a rather formidable expression—' 'When he's angry he's quite ugly.' Why she was talking like this Alana did not know, since loyalty forbade it. What she did know was that she was mentally fighting against the admission that she loved her husband; she was attempting to convince herself that it was impossible to fall in love with such a man.

'It isn't what's on the surface, Alana,' said Julie with that wise smile that once before had hovered on her lips. 'I myself discovered that...' She was reminiscing, almost forgetful of another presence, and Alana refrained from interrupting her flow of thought. And when at last Julie emerged from her reverie the subject was changed and not mentioned again until, much later in the day, Alana was leaving, having spent a most happy and relaxed few hours with her newfound friend. Doneas had joined them for lunch; he had been polite in a cool sort of way, but all reserve had vanished when a little while later his son was brought out by the nurse and left - at Julie's request - on the patio where the three were taking their after-lunch coffee. Alana had been quite enchanted with the child, who was obviously exceptionally intelligent as well as being blessed with a beauty of feature which had clearly come from his mother. His hair, his very dark eyes and the classical line of his mouth had been passed to him from his father, a father whose pride was unashamedly revealed by the fire that had entered his eyes the moment the child, having been brought out on to the patio, ran to him at once and, with his help, climbed up on to his knee. Alana could not help thinking about Conon, and the little son he had lost. A shadow crossed her face and it was at that very moment that Doneas happened to glance her way. I'm thinking about my husband's little boy.' Alana spoke swiftly, impulsively, because she had the impression that Doneas by his glance was asking her the reason for the sudden sadness of her expression. 'He lost him, you see.' 'Alana has been telling me all about the tragedy,' intervened Julie, noticing her friend's flush of embarrassment. 'We hadn't heard about this child of his, as you know.' An odd expression crossed Doneas's face; after a brief pause he said quietly,

'I did know, my dear—' 'You knew! But why didn't you mention it to me?' Indignation gleamed in Julie's eyes; it also tinged her voice, bringing a faint smile of amusement to her husband's lips. 'A woman's curiosity ... dear me!' He was teasing his wife, but all he received in return was a heavy frown, and a pout touched Julie's pretty mouth. 'It was no business either of yours or mine,' he added with a finality that forbade any further probing from his wife. However, a little while later Alana was fully convinced that the matter had been mentioned between Julie and her husband. Julie, having asked Alana to excuse her for a few minutes as she had something to say to her husband, returned from his study wearing a heavy frown in place of the smile with which she had left the room. She was thoughtful too, and cast Alana several odd glances, as if she were in a state of indecision about imparting to her guest some knowledge she had just acquired. 'What is it?' Alana could not help saying after a long silence -during which she experienced a strange feeling of expectancy. 'Is something the matter?' Julie shook her head and instantly said no, there was nothing the matter at all. Vaguely disappointed, Alana felt sure that Julie had just learned something about Conon's child; she was also sure that Doneas had forbidden his wife to pass on the information to her friend. When at a quarter to four Alana left, Julie accompanied her to the gate. She was again thoughtful, and the frown had returned to her face. Should she question her? wondered Alana, feeling that whatever it was that troubled Julie could prove to be of vital importance to Conon. Before she could speak, however, Julie was saying, in the most gentle tones possible,

'Don't judge your husband too harshly, Alana. There might be things you still don't understand ... and things which he also does not understand,' and as she said this she was shaking her head, and her lips were quivering. It was plain that she was emotionally affected and Alana said swiftly, 'What things does he not understand, Julie? I know what you mean by the first part of your statement: you're merely reiterating your earlier declaration that Conon still loves me, aren't you?' 'Yes, Alana, I am.' 'But the rest?' Alana looked pleadingly at her. 'Please be more explicit.' She watched the other girl's expression closely, but gained nothing. Nor was she surprised when Julie answered, quietly and with an unmistakable note of regret in her voice, 'I can't tell you anything, Alana - it's - difficult. Goodbye, and come again soon.' At the sincerity of the invitation Alana would have dearly loved to extend one herself, but she refrained in the sure knowledge that, even though she knew of Conon's absence, Julie would be unwilling to accept an invitation to enter his home. This saddened Alana and set her wondering if the friendship could survive in its rather precarious state of one-sided hospitality. However, it was, quite naturally, another matter altogether which occupied her mind as she wandered back along the road, leading to the villa. She was absorbed in the words which Julie had uttered, straining all her imaginative powers in an attempt to unravel what was obviously a mystery. Julie had learned something from her husband which had caused her to frown and to appear troubled; the tone of her voice had strengthened this impression for Alana and she had hoped to draw her friend out even though she had already reached the conclusion that Julie had been forbidden by Doneas even to mention

the matter to their visitor. But Julie would not be drawn and it was clear that she feared her husband's displeasure. Had she not done so Alana felt sure that the knowledge acquired by Julie would have readily been imparted to her. It was so vexing, and for one moment of anger Alana felt most resentful of the power which Doneas had over his wife. However, she soon shook this off, concluding that, being the kind of man he was, Doneas Lucien preferred not to become involved in other people's troubles. The villa came into view, but somehow Alana was reluctant to enter it at this time, so she slowed her pace, aware of a switch of thought, and she was now reflecting on Julie's insistence that Conon had never ceased to love the woman who was now his wife. From this thought came more ideas and pointers. Alana recalled her husband's linger when she had questioned his real reason for marrying her. Why anger? So simple the answer if indeed he still loved her. Believing she could never love him, he would not for one moment allow her a hint of his own feelings. Revenge was his reason, he had stated, and she, Alana, must not get any other ideas. Well, she had other ideas, and what amazed her most was the quiet and natural way in which these, having been imparted to her, had been accepted with a mere , fraction of the disbelief she would have expected. It was the way in which Julie had put it, and also the doubts which Julie herself already had. So Conon loved her... Alana was drawing close to the villa despite her slow progress up the hill and soon she was in the garden and crossing the lawn towards the front patio, from where she would enter the sittingroom. Conon loved her...

What of her own feelings? How simple if she also were able to admit that she was in love with her husband. 'No, it's pity!' Alana shook her head vigorously, seeing Conon only as he was now, gaunt and forbidding, his thin twisted mouth almost always wearing a sneer. She saw a man older than his years, a man weighed down by sorrow and whose features, once so noble and attractive, were marred by his grief, just as his heart was embittered by scars inflicted by disillusionment. 'How could I love him, when he looks like that? It's pity. I know it's pity!'

CHAPTER NINE 'MADAM, there is a visitor waiting for you.' Katrina was standing on the patio and spoke even before Alana mounted the steps. £It is the man who came with you at first—' 'Max! - Mr. Newland!' Alana stared uncomprehendingly. 'Is that who you mean, Katrina?' That's the man.' Her voice was stiff and cold; she fidgeted with the starched strings of her apron, an anxious expression on her brown homely face. 'He is in the small lounge, madam.' 'Thank you, Katrina.' What on earth could have happened? wondered Alana, still a little dazed at the news imparted by the maid. 'I'll go in to him at once. How long has he been waiting?' 'Since two o'clock, madam.' A second's hesitation and then, 'I hope my master is not going to be hurt, madam...' Alana frowned and passed through the room towards the door. She glanced back as she reached it. Katrina was flicking a tear from her eye. 'I don't think I understand, Katrina. What makes you think that your master might be hurt?' 'The gentleman said he had come to take you away.' Alana's eyes opened very wide indeed. 'You have no need to worry,' she said tightly. 'Your master will not be hurt.' A moment later she was facing Max across the small but luxuriously-furnished lounge that looked out on to the swimming-

pool and the mountain scenery beyond. She was pale of cheek, inquiring of expression, and Max, having risen from the chair, wasted no time at all in informing her that he had come to take her away, to rescue her from the man who had forced her into marriage. She listened, silent and attentive, until he had finished speaking. 'So you had it all wrong in the first place,' she said stiffly. 'I don't understand how you could have made such a mistake.' . 'I took all that Greek said as gospel! He told me that I could be prosecuted, that I'd be sent to jail, that I'd have to repay all that money. It was lies, the whole of it, designed to take both you and me in. He's a clever devil and no mistake! However, you're free, Alana. The divorce can be arranged from our own country. I'm ready to take you back at once, and it's a piece of luck that he's away from home. Not that it would have made any difference had he been here; I'd have brought him right down to his knees!' You say you've been employing a lawyer to sort it all out—' Alana broke off as he nodded, then she continued, 'This lawyer assures you that Conon can do nothing?' 'That's what I've just said,' came the rather impatient response.'I am not affected by the laws of Greece.' Alana looked directly at him, seeing him as he was on that fateful night when by subtle manoeuvring he had led her to the point where she had offered herself as a sacrifice so that he could avoid the revenge with which Conon had threatened him. Anger assailed her, and contempt for the kind of man he was. 'Isn't it a little late?' she inquired, with a calmness that amazed her, for only a short time ago she would have welcomed the opportunity which was being given her at this moment. 'I've been married for almost two months.'

He shrugged, and Alana sensed the lurking impatience in his voice as he said, 'These things take time. I got on to the lawyer as soon as I could.' He frowned at her. 'I had been congratulating myself on the speed with which the whole inquiry has been conducted.' There was an element of censure about him which acted as a fan to her anger and she set her mouth. 'You could have written to me, informing me of what was going on,' she said, and again he shrugged his shoulders. 'I naturally did not want to raise hopes that might in the end be dashed.' He looked hard at her. You don't appear to have grasped the fact that you are now free, that I'm taking you back with me to England. The maid said that Mavilis is in Athens, so you can go and pack without any trouble occurring.' He glanced at his watch. 'The ship leaves in three hours' time. Shall we have a meal here or go immediately to Kalymnos and have one there? Personally, I favour having a meal here, because I can't say that I care for the looks of those places on the harbour front.' He went on, telling her how he had missed her and that the replacement was most inefficient and that it would be good to have his old secretary back again in the small office adjoining his. 'And of course, I haven't given up hope of your becoming my wife,' he continued. 'After this experience you might like to take on a more civilized specimen of humanity - for it's no exaggeration to call Mavilis a heathen. Don't you agree?' She had listened quietly, her face becoming almost devoid of colour as her temper rose. The audacity of him! To think she had never even guessed at this side of him - the side which must surely have been revealed had she married him. Her blue-green eyes raked him with contempt; strangely, her anger against him was caused mainly by the disparaging way in which he had spoken about her husband. Conon, who had suffered so ... and who had loved her so much that

he had adopted criminal methods in order to force her into marriage - at least, if what Max said was correct, his methods had been criminal. Max was frowning at her, puzzlement in his eyes, He asked if something were wrong, his whole attitude that of the rescuer who has not been afforded the gratitude which he expected. 'What makes you ask if something's wrong?' Her voice retained its calmness but it carried an edge of sharpness that caused his frown to deepen. 'The way you are, of course. Anyone would think you were insensible of the fact that freedom stares you in the face.' 'Freedom from what?' she asked him curiously. Max threw up his hand in a gesture of asperity. 'From this hell - I take it that it's been hell?' he added, looking at her with an odd expression. You didn't think of that a couple of months ago,' she returned. 'You left me here without even one word of regret or sympathy.' He lowered his eyes; she noticed the guilty colour, begin to tinge his face. 'I felt such a heel, Alana, truly. I was too ashamed to stay and meet you that morning. I was being wrenched apart, not knowing whether to defy Mavilis and take the consequences, or to accept the offer you made.' Alana half turned from him in disgust, disgust at the weakmindedness of him. A heathen, he had called her husband, and in that most disparaging voice, just as if Conon were something almost

loathsome. But to Alana it was Max who was almost loathsome, and she could only stare in wonderment as she reflected on her one-time con- viction that he was a man of honour and implicit integrity. How mistaken one could be in another person. Alana remembered her mother's words about her being taken in, and she felt that, in Max, she had at last learned a valuable lesson. In future she would endeavour to be more discerning when assessing another's character. 'Alana,' Max was saying in sharp and faintly injured tones, 'speak to me! I've come all this way - without a moment's unnecessary waste of time - and you stand there and listen without one sign of emotion—' 'Or gratitude?' she broke in before he could finish. 'Is that why you're so piqued?' 'I am not piqued!' 'Surprised, then, and wearing that air of injury that appears designed to make me feel ungrateful?' He swallowed the angry lump that had risen in his throat. 'Are you going to pack?' he inquired stiffly. 'I've come to take you home, Alana.' 'Home?' She turned and swept him a glance, her eyebrows raised. 'This is my home,' she added with a quietness that amazed her, seeing how high her temper was at this moment. 'For heaven's sake! You're not trying to tell me that you want to remain here - with that pagan of a husband of yours! All right—' in anger he took several paces about the room - 'I've treated you badly, but I've now made amends. The divorce will go through without a hitch—'

'Divorce?' Her voice was as chill as the centre of an iceberg. 'What makes you think I desire to separate from my husband?' Max swung round, having been pacing with his back towards her. 'Are you out of your mind?' 'Very much in my right mind, Max.' His eyes opened wide. He stared at her, saw the pallor of her cheeks... but it was what he saw in her eyes that caused him to gasp and say, 'You've fallen in love with the man!' She swallowed hard, aware of the unnatural racing of her heart and the clamminess of her hands, both of which were clutched tightly at her sides. 'Yes, Max ...' The words came slowly and with some measure of difficulty, but they were clear and emphatic, portraying without any doubt at all her true feelings for her husband. Yes, I have, as you say, fallen in love with my husband—' 'But what about him?' broke in Max, shaking his head as if even now he could not accept what he had heard spoken with such quiet power and force. 'He isn't in love with you, so what hope of happiness have you?' Suddenly he softened and for the next minute or two he pleaded with her to come back to England with him, to put Conon Mavilis out of her mind once and for all. You're wasting your time, Max,' she told him when at length he stopped speaking. 'My place is with Conon whom, after all, I married of my own free will.' 'Not of your own free will!' 'I made the choice!'

'It was forced upon you!' She half smiled at this. Max seemed almost to have forgotten that he and he alone was responsible for the decision she had made two months ago. However, she saw no gain in allowing the conversation to develop into an argument, so she merely repeated her intention of remaining with her husband. For a time Max refused to accept this, but in the end he had no alternative than to do so and at last he was leaving, saying good-bye to her, assuring her that she would change her mind, and very soon. 'When that day comes,' he continued as he and Alana stepped out on to the patio, 'dor^t hesitate to contact me. I'll send you the money for your return home, and I'll also see that your husband is put in possession of the knowledge that he has no power over me at all - or over you. I'll let him know that his lies and stratagems have been thrown wide open. He'll not cause you any trouble, Alana, I can promise you that.' Why she allowed him to go on she did not know. She told herself afterwards that she had no interest whatsoever in what he said and, therefore, she was not really taking any notice of it. And it was only about his getting back to Kalymnos that she spoke when eventually she did decide to break in on what he was saying. 'Did you come by taxi?' 'No; I've a hired car parked just along the lane.' 'Oh ... why did you leave it there?' 'I wanted to approach the house unseen. I had hoped to find you in the garden, or somewhere.'

"You didn't want Conon to know you were here? You wanted the whole thing done in secret?' Max frowned. 'Certainly not! I've already told you I was prepared to do battle with Mavilis!' They had descended the steps and Alana was not intending to accompany him any further. 'I'll say good-bye, Max.' He stared at her for a long moment, then his eyes moved to her hands, still tightly clenched by her sides. 'Aren't you going to shake hands with me?' he asked, and for the first time she wondered if in fact he was experiencing some degree of hurt - or disappointment, or both. And so she extended a hand and put it into his. 'I wish you were coming with me, Alana.' She made no comment and eventually he added, 'Are you really happy at the thought of living with such a man?' 'I've lived with him for two months,' was her quietly- spoken reminder. 'That's no answer,' he almost snapped. 'Have you thought about the future—?' 'I'm in love with Conon,' she interrupted, 'My future is in his hands.' 'But he doesn't love you! He married you for revenge!' 'I am of the opinion that he married me because he loved me.' 'Of the opinion?' Max spoke swiftly, seizing on her thoughtless slip of the tongue. You're not sure? He hasn't told you, that's apparent. God, girl, you're taking something for granted—'

'Max,' she cut in, 'please let us say good-bye and put an end to this senseless conversation. I'm sorry I haven't asked you to stay for a meal, but I think you'll agree that we shall both feel more comfortable if we say good-bye now. As you mentioned, you can get something at one of the cafeneions on the front.' A moment later she was staring at his back as he strode angrily along the pathway leading to the lane in which he had left the hired car. She thought he would have turned, and lifted a hand in a last salute, but she was mistaken. She turned and mounted the steps of the patio, her mind tranquil now and her heart lighter than she had ever known it in the whole of her life.

CHAPTER TEN WITH the admission that she loved her husband Alana knew an impatience for his return, and yet mingling with this was a feeling of apprehension as to how she could handle a situation of which she had never contemplated being a part. There loomed so many problems that could mar the way to happiness for her and Conon. For instance, there was his bitterness to overcome; there was the memory of his son to be mellowed to a mere wisp of recollection that dulled the pain of the more potent memory that was Conon's at the present time. There was the difficulty of forcing him to admit that he loved her - Alana's musings came to an abrupt halt as it was borne in on her that as yet her husband's love was no more than an assumption on her part, and that she would not be sure until he himself declared it. Would he be able to declare it while he still blamed her for all he had suffered? It was most unlikely, she had to admit, and for one panic- stricken moment she almost wished she had not been so quick to reject the offer which Max had made to her. 'Conon and I can never make a go of it,' she whispered to herself. 'Too much has happened; he's too embittered, and even if he does love me he hates me as well. Perhaps it would have been best if I had gone back to England…' But no, she told herself determinedly, that would be an acceptance of defeat even before she had begun to fight, fight for the happiness she so greatly desired. She must try, at least, and accept defeat only when it seemed certain that Conon would never be able to forget the past sufficiently to make a new life for himself. He was still young despite the appearance of added years; he was once handsome, and could be so again were those lines of bitterness and hatred erased from his face. He had laughed once, so he could, if he tried, learn to laugh again.

Only a few hours after Max had left Conon telephoned to say he would be home the following evening. Alana spoke with infinite gentleness, saying she was glad that his business had been conducted so speedily. 'Glad?' came the sceptical rejoinder. 'Are you being polite, or diplomatic?' 'Neither. I'm merely stating a truth.' Silence. Alana waited, but when at last she did hear something it was a sound that could have been a sneering intake of breath before Conon spoke again, this time to ask Alana to see that dinner was ready by eight o'clock. 'I'll do that,' she replied, and immediately heard the receiver being replaced. Not a very promising beginning to her efforts, but she was undismayed, not having expected any initial success. Guiding her husband along the path she desired him to tread would not be easy, nor did she expect it to be conducted with speed. But she had all the time in the world, and she had hope... 'Madam ...' Katrina, standing in the doorway, spoke softly, bringing Alana round from her dreamy contemplation of the scenery outside. 'Yes?' Alana frowned slightly, not over-pleased at the interruption to her thoughts. 'What is it?' 'The man. He has gone, I know, but you, madam? Please—' Katrina broke off, wringing her hands. 'You are leaving my master?' 'Why do you ask, Katrina?' Alana's eyes dropped to the woman's hands. You have upset yourself quite unnecessarily.'

'Have I, madam? Oh, have I? My man and I have talked, you see, and decided that you would leave my master and return to your own country.' 'But I'm still here,' was Alana's gentle reminder. 'Isn't that all the proof you need?' The woman shook her head; it was an involuntary movement. 'We thought that you would follow later, when you have seen my master.' Faintly Alana smiled. 'At least you gave me credit for informing him in advance of any intentions I might have.' Katrina nodded, but her brow was furrowed in perplexity. Realizing that she did not quite understand the words, Alana re-phrased the sentence, putting it more plainly. And now Katrina nodded more vigorously. 'We know you honourable and would not run away in sneaky fashion, while my master was from home.' 'But you did think I would leave him?' Alana found that there was no resentment at this conversation with the maid. Intimate it might be, and not of the kind usually conducted, but there was something so pathetic about Katrina, such anxiety in her manner, that Alana's only desire was to reassure her. 'We worried because—' Katrina stopped and her glance was pleading. 'Madam,' she resumed when Alana showed no signs of speaking, 'if I say all I want to say, you will not be angry with me?' 'No, Katrina. Please say what is in your heart.'

'My heart... That is a very good way for you to put this, madam, for, you see, it is my heart that aches for my master.' 'It has no need to,' returned Alana gently. 'I am not contemplating leaving my husband. However/ she added looking interrogatingly at the maid, :'I would like to hear what you were about to say.' 'My man and I were worried because we know you unhappy ever since you come here, and we wonder why. Then after little while we guess that you the English girl who my master love long time since and we see that there some strange thing going on.' She stopped and, frowning in puzzlement, Alana prompted quietly, 'Strange thing, Katrina?' The woman nodded. 'Some mystery, I think you say in your language. We were feeling that my master force you to marry him, and that he not good to you because he want to punish you for not marrying him long time since. And so we wonder if you will leave him, but we will be very happy now that you say you stay with him. Madam, he will be good to you some day if only you be patient.' Alana smiled and replied tremulously, 'That is what I am hoping for, Katrina.' The woman managed a smile through her tears. 'You very good woman, and Mr. Conon very good man, so everything must be right in the end.' 'Yes, I agree,' was Alana's gentle rejoinder. 'Thank you for your concern, Katrina.'

Thank you, madam, for being so kind to me.' Without waiting for any response to this Katrina went from the room, closing the door softly behind her. Alana washed and dressed for dinner and then turned with the intention of leaving, aware as she glanced at her watch that the meal would be on the table within a few minutes. But for some reason she never was able to explain, she crossed towards the door leading into Conon's bedroom and, pushing it inwards, she entered - for the first time, although she had often seen the room from the open doorway. Sparsely furnished and with dark drapes and carpet, it was so very austere that Alana almost shuddered. The room suited the character of its occupier and as she stood and glanced around her, she began to wonder if she could ever reach a man who could do this to himself. For it was not difficult to see that Conon had wished for a cold unhappy environment; he had not desired any comforts, or brightness. It seemed morbid in the extreme and Alana was just turning to go when her eye caught the book lying on the heavy oak table by the bed. A snapshot - which might have been used as a book mark - had slipped from its pages and on impulse Alana went over and picked it up. The child ... Conon's baby son. A beautiful child with jet black hair and bright grey eyes. How like his father he was, even at this early age! For a long time she gazed down at the snapshot and then, swallowing a painful lump in her throat, she replaced it exactly as she had found it. Not that she believed it had been left like that by Conon; she knew that Katrina had been in here earlier and must have dusted the table along with the rest of the furniture. It would have fallen out as Katrina put down the book, but somehow Alana felt compelled to leave both book and snapshot as she had found them..

But the following day she returned to the room, urged by some absurd misgiving that, on his return, Conon would look at the book and snapshot, and suspect his wife of having tampered with the book and in so doing had come upon the photograph, which she had inadvertently let slip from the book as she laid it back on the table. 'I'm so silly,' she was telling herself as she opened the book to put the snapshot inside. 'Conon wouldn't suspect me of meddling—' She stopped and swung round on hearing the firm yet quiet tread on the landing outside the door. You're - you're early,' she stammered, aware of the colour draining from her face. 'I didn't expect you yyet--' She swallowed, staring into her husband's dark, set countenance. ''What are you doing?' he snarled, his eyes resting on the book, which she held in one hand, and then travelling to the snapshot, which she held in the other. 'Put that down!' "I'm sorry, Conon,' she faltered, placing the snapshot on the table.'I didn't mean -1 wouldn't—' 'Why are you in this room?' he demanded, reducing the distance between them. 'What have you been doing?' 'Nothing. I came in and saw that the snapshot had fallen from the book, so I decided to put it back.' Some small measure of strength had entered into her and she was able to look up into his face even though the features were twisted into ugly lines. 'Conon, there's no reason for you to be angry.' Quietly she spoke and for one fleeting moment he was arrested by this. But his temper rose again, fanned to a point where he just had to inflict some physical hurt upon her. She cried out as her arm was seized, but his grip only tightened more viciously and her eyes filled with tears. 'That photograph! What have you been doing with it?'

Alana looked mistily at him, potently aware of her love, and wondering in this moment if her husband could possibly feel for her anything except hate. His eyes burned like embers, his mouth was open, showing his teeth against the drawn-back lips that pressed tightly against them. 'I'll tell you everything,' she said, and proceeded to do so even though she was suffering agony from the grip he had on her arm. 'And now you know why I was here, at this particular time,' she ended, and only then did he release her, stepping back after taking up the snapshot of his son. He had quietened and now his gaze was transferred to his wife. 'It's my child,' he said softly, almost reverently. You knew it was, didn't you?' She nodded and admitted that what he said was correct. He then wanted to know how she had come to hear of the child and, unwilling to expose Katrina, Alana sidetracked by saying his son had been mentioned by the people living in the castle. He nodded then and seemed dazed, too dazed even to remind her that he had forbidden her to visit the castle again, or ask if in fact §he had done so, while he was away from home. 'Yes, they know of him, although I don't know how.' 'He was a lovely child,' said Alana gently, deep compassion in her tone, for Conon was like an old man, a man who would let go of his hold on life if he could. His face, still twisted, was grey, and his eyes terribly anguished. His long thin fingers caressed the snapshot for a moment, but then he put it down and without a word went into the bathroom. For a long moment Alana remained there, motionless, her heart pounding wildly against her ribs. She heard the water issuing from the taps and, turning, went into her own room. It was

unfortunate, in a way, that, having returned early, Conon should have come upon her like that. And yet, conversely, Alana was glad that he now knew she was aware that he had had a son. At dinner he was morose, but later spoke to her, in his customary sneering and contemptuous tone of voice. 'What have you been doing while I was away? I expect you were hoping I'd be gone much longer.' A statement to which she answered gently, looking straight into his eyes, 'I told you on the phone that I was glad your business was conducted so speedily; I also told you that I meant what I said.' He seemed startled, and he frowned slightly. 'You expect me to believe that?' Ignoring this, Alana remained quiet for a space. She and Conon were on the verandah and, apart from a branch of candles standing on a sheltered ledge by ' Alana's shoulder, the only light came from a full moon hanging like a gigantic silver ball over the sea. Warm balmy air surrounded them, and from the olive trees in the orchard there drifted the whirring of cicadas, carried on the wisp of a breeze that also brought exotic perfumes from the garden and the low foothills beyond. It was a night for lovers, for romance ... a night for seeking harmony and peace with one's fellow men. 'Would it be so difficult for you to believe it?' inquired Alana at last. She spoke softly, and smiled at him. Her mood was in keeping with her new resolve; she was endeavouring to lead her husband into gentler paths than those he had been travelling for so long. But, unfortunately, he was unreciprocal and although she had spoken so gently to him he seemed not to have noticed.

'Very difficult,' he replied. 'I don't quite see the reason for the desire that I should believe it.' He paused a second and then asked again what she had been doing while he was away, and he added, just as if he had to, 'Other than snooping around in my bedroom, that is?' She coloured, but her mood remained the same, quiet, unruffled. 'I wasn't snooping, Conon. I have explained what happened.' He said nothing and she then answered his first question. 'I've been reading, as I usually do, and I also visited Julie and Doneas Lucien at the castle.' A deep silence followed this, as she expected it would. Conon's mouth set and his jaw became flexed. 'I told you not to visit them again,' he reminded her in a very soft voice. 'I've made friends with Julie. I like her very much, and she seems to like me. I am sorry, Conon, but I can't cut away from her now.' His eyes took on a brittle light. 'You'll do as I bid you!' She hesitated, giving herself time to bite back the angry retort which quite naturally rose to her lips. 'Conon,' she said gently at length, 'what is it about the Luciens that you dislike?' He turned away; she saw his face in profile. The hardness of its lines could have daunted her had her resolution been less strong than it was. 'My reasons need not concern you,' he said presently. 'What does concern you is my wish. You'll adhere to it, or take the consequences.'

'What are the consequences?' she inquired, and he turned rather swiftly towards her. You're different tonight,' he said in a puzzled voice. 'Has something happened while I was away?' Faintly she smiled, wondering how he would react if she said, 'Yes, Conon, I've discovered that I love you.' But of course she did not say this; the time was not right, not in any way at all. 'Nothing much has happened,' she lied, thinking of Max's visit and hoping that he would never come to hear of it. Neither Katrina nor her husband would mention it, of that Alana had no doubts whatsoever. Conon was looking at her, a most odd expression in his eyes. Your tongue seems to have lost its acid bite,' was his quiet comment. 'Am I to take it that you are at last coming to accept the fact that life will be much more comfortable once you've resigned yourself to my authority?' She paled a little, yet by some miracle kept a strong rein upon her temper. 'I'm changing the subject, Conon,' she told him quietly. 'I am bringing back the question of why you don't like the Luciens.' His jaw tightened. 'That,' he said between his teeth, 'is my business.'

A pause followed as she debated on whether or not to say what was in her mind. At last she decided to do so, asking him outright if it was the idea of their son that was unbearable to him. 'Your son would have been his age now, I believe,' she added, aware of his fury rising again and aware also of that uncomfortable and familiar rapid beating of her heart. You've been discussing me - and my child - with that woman!' 'With Julie? I must admit that I talked about you, Conon. I wanted to know more about you, and about your son.' 'Do you know how he died? Do you?' The perspiration stood out like beads upon his forehead; the hand that held his liqueur glass shook. 'I'll tell you,' he added before she could speak. 'He was killed by his mother! And who is to blame for that? You! You, do you hear!' 'Not me, Conon,' she denied softly. 'If I had married you it would never have happened, naturally, but you still can't put the blame on me. I wanted to remain single, so I turned down your offer of marriage—' 'Wanted to remain single!' he snarled. 'Had that been a genuine excuse for turning me down I could have accepted it, and would never have attached any blame to you whatsoever. But you didn't want to remain single, as was proved by the fact that you married almost as soon as you got back to your own country!' His mouth twisted into a sneer; his dark eyes portrayed nothing but contempt. 'And what did you marry?' his fists clenched, stretching the skin tightly across his knuckles. That he was in the grip of a crucifying emotion was evident and only now did Alana fully understand just what her marriage had done to him. Angry with herself, she failed to understand how she could have missed what must from the first

have been so very obvious: that Conon had suffered agonies of mind at the idea of such a man as Howard Beaumont making love to her. 'A beast,' he shouted, 'a beast from the fields! How you could have done it is something I shall never understand! But you did - you preferred him to me—!' 'Conon, listen!' she broke in urgently, for it did seem that he was ready to do her an injury. 'You don't know all the details. I should have told them to you before, but I was stubborn. However, I'll tell you now—' 'Details,' he snarled. 'Do you suppose I want the details? Isn't my imagination enough?' 'Your imagination's all wrong; that's the trouble ...' She trailed off, real terror overcoming her now as she noted her husband's expression. 'I want to go in,' she faltered, rising from her chair. 'We'll talk tomorrow, in the morning—' She stopped, for he was shaking his head. She saw that he was willing to talk at this present time; she saw with profound relief that his expression - indeed his whole manner - had changed and he wanted to listen to her. She smiled at him and to her surprise he smiled in response. Alana knew all at once that her fear had brought him to his senses. 'You want to talk now?' she said, preparing to sit down again. 'I'm beginning to think,' he replied quietly, 'that it's time we talked. There is so much for us to tell one another, isn't there?' It was like a miracle! She could no longer hold back what was in her heart and she began to say that she loved him, but the words were cut by her cry of dismay as, having inadvertently twisted around, she knocked the branch of candles to the floor. 'Don't do anything! And don't move!' The order was rapped out by Conon, but instinctively Alana bent down, not at all sure what she

meant to do. Her long billowing evening dress touched the flame of one of the candles and although Conon was there at once, ready to deal with it, she panicked and, brushing him aside, ran down the verandah steps, putting a distance between herself and the candles. 'Alana!' Conon took the steps three at a time, having snatched up the rug from the verandah floor. 'Darling... oh, my love, don't run into the breeze like this!' It was a strangled cry and one which brought his wife up with a jerk. But as she turned she tripped on the hem of the dress and went hurtling against one of the marble pillars situated at the end of the verandah. She saw stars as her head hit the pillar, and then she knew no more until she awoke with Julie standing over her. 'What—' She tried to sit up, but Julie pushed her back on to the pillow. 'Where am I?' 'At the castle,' came the gentle voice of her friend. 'How are you feeling now?' Alana put up a hand, pressing it to her aching head. She remembered everything now - or, at least, she remembered all that had happened before she lost consciousness. 'Why am I here? Julie—' 'Hush, dear - Ah, here's your husband; he'll tell you everything.' 'Conon?' she exclaimed. 'Is he here too? What's happened?' But Julie had gone and the door was closing. Conon approached the bed, a pale gaunt figure whose clothes were blackened and smelled strongly of something that had been burned. But he was a man whose features had been more familiar to Alana nine years ago than in more recent times.

'Alana, my dear, dear love ...' He was overcome, and she saw that he was very tired indeed. He seemed to desire nothing more than to be close to her, holding her hands as he took a seat on the edge of the bed. 'Conon,' she began, 'why are we here?' He paused and then, 'The house was burned down—' 'Burned down?' She stared unbelievingly at him. :'But how?' He paused again, and then talked to her for some few minutes. She learned that, while he was attending to her, the fallen candles had got a hold and before he realized it the front of the house was ablaze. The very dry weather, coupled with the breeze that had freshened quite suddenly, had resulted in the fire getting a hold even before the fire brigade had been sent for. Doneas and Julie, coming home from a visit to friends, had seen the glow through the trees and had immediately appeared on the scene offering their help. 'And you, Alana,' said Conon when all the other had been explained, 'talked and talked while you were unconscious.' 'Talked? What about?' She looked at him with love in her eyes and he smiled then and every troubled line disappeared from his face. 'Everything. Your marriage and what had brought it about!' '

So you know that I never - that—' She stopped and coloured. Conon tightened his hold on her hand before bringing it to his lips in a gesture of reassurance. 'There is nothing I do not know. You talked of Max's visit; you spoke of your conversation with Katrina, and I heard how you had

learned about my son—' At the mention of his son he stopped and frowned for a moment. 'Alana,' he said slowly at last. 'Yes?' 'The child ... Doneas Lucien was a friend of the doctor who attended my son on one or two occasions when he was unwell.' 'Yes?' She stared, puzzled. 'That was a coincidence, for I'm sure Julie said that Doneas has lived here all his life.' 'They met when the doctor came over here for a year to start the hospital we have. They've been friends ever since?.' He looked at her. 'My son, Alana, would have been an invalid had he lived. He had suffered brain damage at birth.' 'An invalid?' she gasped. 'Are you sure?' Conon nodded his head. 'It's a strange thing, but at one time I suspected something was wrong, had been wrong since the birth, but I couldn't put my finger on anything and so I dismissed it - forgot all about it, in fact. But Doneas has known all the time. He told me tonight only because his wife begged him to do so - for our happiness, yours and mine.' Again he paused. 'I've been a fool, Alana, harbouring bitterness like I have. Forgive me, my darling - say you forgive me?' She sat up close to him and his arms went around her, lovingly, protectingly. She offered her lips and he took them gently, and with reverence and gratitude. 'I love you,' she told him simply. 'I was just about to say it when those candles fell.' 'I know. You said it all when you were rambling.' She had to laugh,

'Conon, what else did I say? Tell me!' 'I've already told you. Everything that ever concerned you and me came out.' 'Oh, dear!' She stared lovingly at him. 'You know, then, that Max had discovered your ruse?' Conon nodded unconcernedly. 'It was a ruse, but I had to have you for my wife, Alana - even though I hated you almost as much as I loved you.' Alana snuggled close to him, finding a place for her head against his breast. 'It's only love now, though,' she murmured, almost to herself. 'It's only love now,' was his fervent agreement. 'Now, and for always.'