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alone ... no matter what happened in the
future.
`He was sad,' she whispered to herself. `Was
he sad be-cause he was thinking that we
must soon part for ever?'
Although she thought this might have been
the case, Mary could not be optimistic, simply
because the incident seemed to prove
beyond doubt that Damos cared something
about her, and so the time might come when
he would decide that he must divorce his
wife. But swiftly on this came the glaring
reality of her own married state. She had
forgotten it! - had considered herself free.
How very complicated it all was! Weary now,
she closed her eyes; Damos's soft and gentle
tones reached her and she opened them
again.
`You're so very tired, dear. Off you go to bed.'
Even now she was loath to be separated from
him and she opened her mouth to deny that
she was tired. But an imperious hand
prevented her from doing so and a moment
later she had left him, sitting there on the
patio, and as she turned to take a last
glimpse of his dark profile she saw him shake
his head, and she could almost hear the
shuddering sigh that left his lips.
CHAPTER TEN
IT was the following afternoon and Mary was
sitting in the garden, trying to read. But her
thoughts kept straying to Damos's mother
and the result was that a flood of sadness
and depression prevented any real
concentration on the book.
A movement caught her eye and she turned,
a swift smile giving a glow to her face as
Damos, clad only in shorts, came striding
towards her from the direction of the house.
`Have you finished all your work?' she asked,
and he nodded.
`All that I intend doing today.' His eyes
looked her over in admiration. She was in
brief shorts and an even briefer sun-top. For
the first time she was shy and embarrassed,
remembering that she was not his wife and,
therefore, he should not be looking her over
like this ... just as if she were his and he had
every right to this examination - and to the
stripping off of the scanty garments if he so
wished. For his eyes did seem to strip her and
naturally the colour rushed to her face. He
smiled on noting this most adorable blush,
and slid down on the grass opposite to her
chair. `Tomorrow,' he said decisively, `we'll
go on a trip to Metsovo.'
`You'll take me?' Excitement welled up at the
idea of another day out together. `I shall love
it!
'I expect we shall both enjoy it enormously,'
he stated, faintly amused by her eagerness.
But there was in his eyes a brooding
expression she had seen before. He was
looking at her wedding ring and she knew
instinctively that he was wondering about the
man who had put it there.
`How many miles is it?' she was asking the
following
morning as they sat having breakfast on the
shady patio at the front of the villa.
`Sixty kilometres - thirty-eight miles,' he
added swiftly as her forehead creased in a
frown of concentration as she prepared to
work out the conversion. `It's an exciting
drive if you haven't done it before.'
`You mean, the way is through a dizzy
mountain pass?'
He nodded.
`The first part of the journey will be along
good roads, but then you have a marked
deterioration.'
`I shall be quite safe,' she said, speaking her
thoughts aloud, `if you are driving me.'
He smiled at her and her heart leapt at the
attractiveness of him.
`Thank you, Mary, for your confidence in my
driv-
ing.'
She blinked. Was there a hint of sarcasm in
his tone?
The idea hurt, causing a shadow to cross her
lovely face.
`Child,' he said. 'what's wrong?'
She told him, with scarcely a second's
hesitation. And slowly he shook his head.
`Silly girl,' he chided. `Why should I be
sarcastic with
you?'
A smile broke to erase the shadow. But she
said, `The idea hurt, Damos.'
He looked into her eyes; already he knew she
loved him, but here was proof even if he had
not known. His mouth moved, uncontrolled,
but he caught his lower lip between
his teeth.
`You mustn't ever be hurt, Mary,' he told her
softly.
`Don't ever imagine things that are not
there; it's so absurd.
'I'm sorry.' Her long lashes sent curling
shadows on to her cheeks; the sunlight,
catching her hair, turned it to
pure, lustrous gold, a halo for a face of
exquisite beauty and form. The silence was
profound and she glanced up, to stare at his
unmoving features. Her smile reappeared,
and found a response in his as his face
softened. She was acutely conscious of his
eyes upon her, but she could not know how
moved he was by her gentle unaffected
charm as she sat there, her slender brown
limbs exposed to the sun, her shyness still
very much in evidence.
The silence remained unbroken until, on
seeing Theo's back as he came from the
shrubbery, wheeling a barrow, Damos
clapped his hands. The man turned, left the
barrow, and made his way towards them.
`Bring us out some lemonade-' Damos looked
at Mary. `Is lemonade all right for you, or
would you prefer some-thing else?'
`Lemonade will be very welcome,' she said,
and Damos nodded briefly to his servant.
It was Kyriaki who brought out the tray, and
as she laid it down on the grass Mary
suddenly became fascinated by her hands.
They were roughened by work, and on one
brown wrist were little blisters, one or two of
which had burst.
`What have you done to your wrist, Kyriaki?'
The question seemed to come unbidden, and
at the same time something seemed to snap
in Mary's brain.
`I burn it with fat when I take meat from the
oven, Mrs. Damos-' The girl shrugged. `It is
nothing; it not hurt now.'
Those burns ... and the roughened hands ...
Mary glanced down at her own hands, lying
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