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smile. `My husband's still asleep, and so I seized the
opportunity to come out and explore the beach. . . .' Her voice
trailed off lamely as she saw his expression. `I really do like
walking early in the morning,' she added defensively.
His expression was a study as he said, `So you're not rushing
back just yet?'
'No-I think I shall go farther along here. Is it possible to get
round that cliff?'
`Yes. There's a footway to the beach at the other side.' He
hesitated; and then: `Why not have a cup of coffee with me
instead? I was just going to make one when I decided to have a
wander round my aunt's garden first, to smell the sunrise-'
`Smell the sunrise?' she echoed, diverted.
He nodded. `There are fascinating smells when the sun's
coming up-but if you're used to being out early, you must have
noticed. The smells are there no matter what part of the world
you happen to be in, although they vary, of course.' He was
lifting the latch and he swept an inviting hand as the gate
swung inwards. `If you want to get the smells at their best, you
should be out when the sun's first coming over the horizon. The
whole atmosphere's intoxicating.'
`I saw the sun come over the horizon this morning . . .' She
stopped, chiding herself for the slip. No wonder his blue-grey
eyes were open to their fullest extent! But he let her words
pass without comment, and she mentally thanked him for it.
`I think we ought to exchange names,' he was saying a few
minutes later, when, after showing her into the sitting-room, he
said he would go and make the coffee. 'Mine's Matthew-
Johnson's the surname.'
'I'm Sarah,'
`Can I call you that?'
'Yes, of course.'
`I'll make the coffee,' he said again, and disappeared.
She glanced around. It was a small room at the back of the
house, and although here the shutters were open the light was
dim, the windows being rather small and in addition heavily
curtained with a thick tapestry material. On the sideboard were
all kinds of bric-a-brac and two ancient icons with partly burned
candles in their holders close by them. Another, larger icon
hung on one wall, and beneath it, on a table, a threebranch
candelabra with unused white candles. The furniture was old
but good, the rugs on the tiled floor handmade. It was a homely
room, and snug, but in some indefinable way, depressing.
Sarah thought it must be the icons, and she was suddenly
struck by the absence of them in her husband's house.
Perhaps, she mused, he no longer believed in God.
Matthew returned with a small tray holding two cups of coffee
and a sugar bowl.
`I've made it milky without asking,' he said, `but if you don't
like milk, I'll make you another.'
`I do like milk, but I don't take sugar.'
`Troubled about the calories?' His appreciative glance
examined a figure that was as nearly perfect as possible.
`You've no need to worry about such things.'
`I don't; it's just that I dislike sugar in coffee.' She leant back in
the chair, marvelling at the way she was able to relax, and
concluded it was owing to the prospect of freedom, for she was
confident that
Matthew would post a letter for her in England. He was bound
to think it strange, because Comaris was by no means cut off-
on the contrary, letters were taken on the ferry to Rhodes and
posted there, so some sort of explanation would be necessary
when she asked Matthew to post her letter. However, Sarah
decided to cross that bridge when she came to it, there being
three weeks before Matthew left the island.
This time yesterday she was hoping and praying that the child
Carl wanted would soon be on its way; she now regarded
conception as a disaster. Either way, though, she would seize
the opportunity of escape if it should arise.
Over the coffee their conversation was light and
inconsequential, but Matthew's underlying curiosity and
puzzlement were obvious, and Sarah half expected him to ask
some of the questions which were circling about in his mind.
However, to her relief, he practised restraint, and only when
she was leaving did he say, regarding her with an odd
expression, `Shall you be coming this way again tomorrow-at
the same time?'
`Yes, I shall.'
The blue-grey eyes flickered. `You'll come for coffee?'
`If you want me to.'
`It'll make an enjoyable start to my day.'
`I don't want to keep you from your reading,' she said.
`I don't get down to it until after nine. I've the household chores
to do first. Aunt Maroula said I wasn't to leave everything until
the last couple of days. A house ought to be cleaned every day,
or else it gets out of hand.' He stopped and laughed, asking
Sarah if she knew what that meant.
`No,' she admitted, `I don't-not really. I expect your aunt is one
of those ladies who follow a routine of doing the tidying up
every day. When I was in my flat I often left all the jobs until
the weekend, especially if I was going out in the evenings.'
`You were living on your own, then?'
`Yes,' briefly, before she added, `Goodbye for the present. I'll
see you tomorrow.'
`I'll be watching out for you,' he promised, and walked to the
gate with her. As she heard the latch click behind her she knew
instinctively that Matthew would stand there until she was out
of sight, and she wondered what his thoughts were.
On entering the villa by the door opening onto the terrace,
Sarah was immediately informed by Androula that breakfast
was ready and that Carl was waiting.
`Thank you.' Sarah made for the morningroom, determined to
hide any embarrassment she was feeling as to the events of
last night.
Carl was standing by the window looking out, and he swung
round quickly on hearing her come into the room, a frown on
his brow. He looked evil, she thought, wondering whether he
wore black for effect or because he liked it.
`Where have you been?' he demanded, looking her over as if
he expected to find the answer written somewhere on her
person.
`I've been walking.'
`Not on the grounds. I looked for you.'
`On the beach.' Somehow the meeting with Matthew had given
her confidence, probably because of the optimism she felt
about an early escape from her husband's clutches. `You did
not tell me there were to be any restrictions on my
movements.'
Carl's eyes glinted dangerously. `I advise you not to adopt that
attitude with me,' he said unpleasantly. 'It behooves you to
remember who I am.' The quiet vibrancy in his voice betrayed
suppressed anger; it also made the accent seem more
pronounced.
Sarah's chin went up. `And who are you?' she asked with chill
sarcasm.
`Your husband ... and your master. You're in Greece now-and
you'll conform to the customs of my country. Here, the husband
has full authority over his wife.'
Sarah's teeth snapped together. `I'm English! You'll never make
me into a submissive slave, so don't waste your time!'
To her surprise, he seemed taken aback by her attitude, and it
was obvious that he was puzzled. She must be careful, she
decided. If she went too far, he might be shrewd enough to
suspect that there was a good reason for her defiance.
`Sit down-' He flicked a hand towards a chair, and she moved
to take possession of it. `Last night you were my submissive
slave,' he said quietly and with a sneer.
She glowered at him, blushing hotly and trying to speak. But
the tight little ball that had lodged in her throat choked back
the words, and all that came through was a hiss of white-hot
fury. Carl laughed as he sat down opposite to her at the table, a
gaunt, straight-shouldered figure like something out of a
lawless, bygone age, she thought, hating him with a black
venom. What a victory for her if she should make her escape!
She had worked nothing out yet, nor tried to visualise what
would be the outcome of the letter she would send to her [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]