The Greek's Runaway Bride Read online

  It was an afternoon that Chloe felt would live on in her memory for ever. They strolled along the harbour hand in hand, her heart swelling with pride whenever she glanced at Leon’s tall, lean frame. Even dressed casually in a thin short-sleeved shirt and jeans he had an aura of power about him that turned heads—especially female ones, as Chloe wasn’t slow to notice. She herself was not short of admiring male glances and more than one dark-eyed Greek looked enviously at first at Leon and then at Chloe’s silver fairness.

  They spent the early afternoon exploring the tiny alleyways off the harbour. Leon obviously knew the island well and led Chloe unerringly to a tiny shop set in a row of whitewashed houses, its shutters closed against the heat of the sun.

  The door opened to Leon’s knock and a weather-beaten face peered round the door, breaking into a beaming smile as Leon said teasingly, ‘Ari! I thought perhaps you had forgotten me!’

  A stream of Greek was the man’s response as he stood back to allow them to step down into the small shop. The stone-cobbled floor felt blissfully cool after the heat of the pavement, although it took some time for Chloe’s eyes to grow accustomed to the swift change from brilliant sunshine to half-light. The two men were still talking; or rather the old man was talking and Leon was listening, and Chloe stared round the shop with curious eyes. It obviously sold fishermen’s supplies of all types, and the smell of tar mingled pungently with the tang of salt.

  ‘So,’ the old man said at last, turning to Chloe and studying her. ‘You have found her and brought her to me at last? You have chosen well,’ he said to Leon, ‘and they will become her as they could never become a woman of our race; her skin will reflect their radiance. I shall get them.’ He saw that Chloe was looking increasing puzzled and explained in careful English:

  ‘Many years ago your husband came to this island after a bad storm. In that storm I had lost my boat and my son, and I was on the point of despair. It was your husband who gave me new hope, who reminded me that I had a daughter and would one day have grandsons. He also gave me the money to buy and stock this shop, and although I have never ceased to mourn my son I have come to realise that life is always worth living. As your husband predicted, I have two fine grandsons, neither of whom will ever need to brave the sea for their living. In repayment of all that your husband had done I offered him the only thing of value I owned—a string of pearls given to me by my father, who dived for them in these very seas. Your husband refused. I was to keep the pearls, he told me, and only when he found a woman worthy of such a gift would he come to claim them from me. For many years I have feared that they would never be claimed, but now that I see you I see that he was wise to wait.’

  He disappeared into the rear of the shop, and Chloe turned impulsively to Leon, her voice husky with emotion as she tried to put her feelings into words.

  ‘He is right,’ Leon told her softly. ‘Until now there has never been a woman whom I considered worthy of the pearls, whose value can be termed in the number of lives sacrificed in obtaining them. Diving for pearls used to be the only way a man of these islands could ever hope to amass any true wealth. What Ari didn’t tell you was that his father and three of his uncles lost their lives without completing a single strand of pearls. Ari himself dived for the remaining four, and permanently damaged his lungs in doing so. They weight themselves with rocks and dive to almost unimaginable depths.’

  Before Chloe could comment Ari was back, a small leather box clutched in one gnarled hand. He gave it to Leon, who flicked the catch with his thumb. The lid flew back and Chloe caught her breath in awe.

  The pearls seemed to glow with vibrant life. She touched them reverently, loving their warm, supple texture.

  ‘Turn round.’

  She did as Leon instructed, closing her eyes as she felt him slide the single strand of pearls round her throat, and secure the fastening.

  ‘Well, Ari?’

  The old man smiled.

  ‘As I said,’ he reiterated simply, ‘you have chosen well, my friend, and I am glad to have discharged a debt which has sometimes lain heavily upon me.’

  They remained with him another half hour, drinking strong Turkish coffee, Chloe listening while the two men reminisced. It was after three when they finally left, stepping out into a sunshine whose brilliance shocked.

  There was one thing which puzzled Chloe as they sauntered towards the taxi rank to secure a car to take them to see Homer’s tomb, and when they emerged from the alleyway into the square she asked Leon curiously, ‘Why did you accept the necklace—Oh, I know it’s beautiful, but…’

  ‘It was the only thing of any real value he had apart from his shop,’ Leon supplied for her. ‘Chloe, you still have a lot to learn about the Greek male. Ari was glad of my help at the time he needed it, but he wanted to repay me, and the only way he could do that was by offering me his most valuable possession. Had I refused it, or worse still, intimated that I could have easily bought the same thing from a jeweller, he would have been mortally offended, you must see that? To have refused would have seemed as though I didn’t value the sacrifice he was making; the sacrifices which had gone into obtaining those pearls. Now do you see?’

  Chloe did. He was a strange mixture, this man she had married; as tender and caring as the most perceptive of women at times, and yet on other occasions…. She shivered suddenly and glanced up at the sky, wondering if the cool breeze was just her imagination. She had to try to put the past behind her. But it wouldn’t stay buried for ever. For the sake of the child she might one day bear Leon, she would have to talk to him about Marisa, about his plans. But not yet, a cowardly voice pleaded. Let me have today!

  It was all too easy to give in to it. There was a cool breeze, Chloe was sure, she felt it again as Leon hailed an ancient taxi for them, but when she glanced up towards him, he seemed unaware of the sudden chill of the air. Once inside the taxi, Chloe forgot about it. They drove along a narrow road, past freshly painted windmills towards the spot where the great historian, who had for so many centuries been maligned merely as a story-teller, and who had given the world the epic and detailed history of valour and retribution in the Iliad and the Odyssey lay buried. How Chloe had loved tragic Achilles; had wept for Cassandra, cursed by Apollo with the gift of prophecy; had exulted with Penelope, rewarded for her faithful diligence by the return of her husband.

  The burial place was not as impressive as Chloe had expected, but nevertheless there was an undeniable timeless sense of peace surrounding it that left her feeling enriched when, after they had stood in mutual silence for several minutes, Leon directed her back towards the taxi.

  It was early evening when they returned to the yacht, but for the first time since she had come to Greece there was no spectacular sunset.

  Chloe dressed in one of the two evening dresses she had found on board the yacht, a deep vivid pink, emphasising her golden tan, its long skirt sweeping the carpet as she walked over to the mirror. The dress was a slender sheath, the bodice moulding her breasts and embroidered with small pink beads which glittered in the light, without detracting from the subtle shimmer of her pearls. Chloe touched them gently, tears misting her eyes. She had been unbearably touched that the old man had thought her worthy of such a gift. ‘I’ll live up to them,’ she promised him silently, the words a private vow that from somewhere she would find the courage to confront Leon about Marisa.

  He came in while she was applying a fine coat of soft pink lipstick, and stood watching her for several seconds without speaking.

  ‘It’s not too dressy, is it?’ Chloe asked anxiously, indicating her outfit. ‘You said a nightclub….’

  ‘It’s fine,’ Leon assured her. ‘By and large the tavernas and bars expect their patrons to dress casually, but this nightclub is attached to a particularly exclusive hotel, patronised by people who prefer to spend their evenings in something other than jeans and tee-shirts. I’m glad you’re wearing the pearls,’ he added softly, dropping a light kiss on the back
of her neck.

  Chloe was wearing her hair up, secured by two pretty combs, and as she slipped into her evening sandals she gave her appearance a final cursory inspection. Not perhaps for the catwalk of Monsieur René, but passable nonetheless!

  Another decrepit taxi was waiting for them as they went ashore, and despite its battered appearance it was clean and comfortable. Their driver handled his vehicle with a certain careless panache which had Chloe gripping her door on more than one occasion, until Leon slipped his arm round her waist, securing her against him.

  It was impossible to see anything of their surroundings in the dark, the faintly ghostly white arms of windmills the only landmarks Chloe could discern, until, at last, down below them in a small bay she could see surf creaming, and the multi-coloured lights illuminating an olive grove.

  The taxi screeched to a halt in front of an impressively porticoed entrance. Leon alighted and paid the driver, giving him brief instructions before helping Chloe out of the car.

  ‘I have asked him to pick us up later. My friends think nothing of dancing until dawn, but I can think of far better ways of passing the night, can’t you?’

  Chloe was still faintly flushed when they entered the hotel foyer. A beaming waiter addressed a few words in Greek to Leon before hurrying through a door marked ‘Private’. A few seconds later it was thrown open again, this time from the other side, and the man who emerged hurried up to Leon, embracing him in a fierce hug.

  ‘Leon! What a pleasure. Why didn’t you tell us you were coming?’

  ‘A spur-of-the-moment decision,’ Leon replied, giving Chloe a teasing smile. ‘Kristos, allow me to introduce you to my wife….’

  Kristos Kalymides bowed, and smiled.

  ‘And Marisa?’

  ‘On Eos.’

  ‘Ah well, never mind. You are here, and you will remain as our guests. You wish to play the tables?’ When Leon shook his head Kristos smiled. ‘Forgive me my friend, of course you do not. I was forgetting, the wheeling and dealing of big business provides more of a test of skill and nerve than the roulette wheel ever could, does it not?’

  ‘I have brought Chloe so that she may see traditional Greek entertainment,’ Leon explained. ‘Do you still….’

  ‘But of course,’ Kristos assured him, without giving him time to finish. ‘But not for the tourists, you understand. The men resent performing before such an audience. To them the dance is a serious matter, a sacred action. You will dine here, of course? What would you like? Caviare? I….’

  Leon shook his head. ‘Nothing like that, Kristos. I should like Chloe to enjoy some of our traditional Greek food. Soup, such as your mother used to make for me as a boy; pitta baked as only she can; tiny mussels fresh from the sea, kebabs—and then to finish perhaps an almond pastry?’

  ‘Leave it all to me,’ Kristos told him, beaming. ‘Come, Anthony will show you to a table. Spiro is leading the dancers now. Do you remember him? He used to go out on his father’s boat, until the old man died, and now Spiro’s brother makes a better living from taking tourists round the bay than his poor father made in a dozen fishing trips. Truly things have changed!’

  ‘You’re an old fraud,’ Leon grinned. ‘What would you do without the tourists, my friend? Who would occupy this fine hotel, eh?’

  Kristos laughed, slapping Leon on the back and hailing a waiter who hurried respectfully to his side.

  ‘Enjoy your evening. I hope to be able to join you later, or would I be de trop?’

  They were shown to a table right in front of a round dance floor, but at the same time discreetly concealed from the rest of the diners.

  Never, outside Paris, had Chloe eaten in such luxurious surroundings.

  Leon had taken her to Maxim’s to celebrate their engagement, and vastly different though the settings were, in the swift but unflustered movement of the waiters, the discreet glitter of expensive jewellery and the indisputable aura of real wealth, Chloe saw similarities. The soup, which she had faced doubtfully, proved to be delicious, thick and creamy. The tiny mussels which followed were a delicacy which Leon plainly relished. They were given wine, full-bodied with a fainty nutty flavour which went well with their lamb kebabs.

  Chloe barely had room for the promised sweet pastry by the time she had finished the succulent pieces of lamb, but to please their host, who had appeared at their table, she forced herself to eat the almost too sweet almond-flavoured delicacy.

  Most of the diners had finished eating; the hum of conversation started to die away, and Chloe was aware of a sense of expectation filling the elegant room with its almost stark black and white decor and marble-topped tables.

  When the troupe of male dancers finally appeared on the floor the silence thickened. Leon relaxed in his seat, his fingers reaching for and playing with Chloe’s.

  ‘What you are about to see is a performance by a nationally acclaimed troupe; they have won prizes all over Greece and Kristos is fortunate in having secured them for his guests.’

  Chloe soon realised what he meant. Although she knew next to nothing about the finer points of Greek dancing, she recognised skill when she saw it, and she was seeing it now. She sat on the edge of her seat, breathless with amazement, as she tried to follow the swift steps, her attention wavering only when she saw waiters weaving silently between the tables carrying piles of plates.

  ‘What are they doing?’ she whispered to Leon, as people stretched out to take a handful—in some cases two handfuls!

  ‘Wait and see,’ Leon teased mysteriously, beckoning a waiter and taking half a dozen himself which he placed on the table at Chloe’s side. ‘Would you like another drink?’

  Chloe shook her head. She was already feeling a little muzzy, and tonight she was determined to face up to Marisa’s presence in Leon’s life—to face up to it and ask what he intended to do about it, and she needed a clear head for that!

  The music reached a wild crescendo; the onlookers came to their feet, and to Chloe’s astonishment began to hurl plates towards the dancers, who continued to perform their intricate steps, almost without hesitation.

  ‘What on earth are they doing?’ she whispered urgently to Leon.

  ‘It is a sign of their appreciation,’ he explained in great amusement. ‘The more impressed one is with the dancing the more plates one throws. In Spain they throw flowers, in appreciation of the matador; in Britain all manner of objects are hurled on to football pitches in recognition of a team’s skill, but here in Greece we smash plates. Like this!’

  Under his encouragement, tentatively at first, and then gradually with more assurance, Chloe hurled her plates towards the dance floor, marvelling at the adroit manner in which the dancers avoided the shards of pottery.

  It was late when they left. Kristos had joined them when the dancers left the floor, and he and Leon had spent some considerable time talking over old times. They had worked together for a time in Athens in the offices of a millionaire ship-owner, but at no time had Leon allowed Chloe to feel neglected or left out. His arm had remained around her at all times, his glance straying to her face, as he explained various anecdotes.

  ‘Before you leave you must meet the dancers,’ Kristos told them, and Leon and Chloe were ushered backstage to meet the team of charming young men who had performed so well for them.

  After that they had to go up to the family’s private apartments to meet Kristos’ family and to say ‘hello’ to the two sleepy children who were roused from their beds to greet the godfather they had not seen for quite some time. At last Leon and Chloe left, not in their taxi, but in Kristos’ own car. He came out with them to wave them off, glancing frowningly up at the sky. Leon followed his look, as did Chloe, surprised to see that there were no stars.

  ‘That’s a bad sign,’ Kristos remarked to Leon. ‘The temperature has started to drop too.’

  ‘A storm brewing,’ Leon agreed.

  ‘Or the meltemi coming early.’

  Leon seemed deep in thought on the wa
y back to the yacht and once or twice Chloe had to address a comment to him several times before he acknowledged it. What was on his mind? she wondered.

  They boarded the yacht in silence and went straight to their stateroom. The first thing Chloe did was to reach for the fastening of the pearls, but it was too intricate for her to manage and she called to Leon, who was in the act of unfastening his shirt, having already discarded his evening jacket. The male scent of him reached out and enveloped Chloe as he bent over her.

  ‘There you are.’ He handed her the pearls with a smile, his eyes suddenly darkening slumberously as they probed the shadowy cleft temptingly concealed by the bodice of her dress. ‘Did you enjoy yourself tonight?’

  ‘Yes, I did.’

  Whether it was the storm brewing outside or the emotions within the room Chloe did not know, but the air seemed to take on an electric sensitivity, desire pulsating between them, so that she knew even before Leon reached for her with a smothered curse what was going to happen.

  Her zip was released and she felt the expensive silk gown slide from her body. Leon lifted her free of it, holding her so tightly within the circle of his arm that she could feel the buttons of his shirt pressing into her skin. She reached upwards, palms flat against the starched whiteness of his shirt, his arms slackening at her faintly murmured protest. His shirt was unfastened at the throat, baring the tanned flesh of his chest and the beginnings of the dark covering of hair. Chloe touched her mouth delicately to his skin, tasting the male texture of it, her lips parting moistly and involuntarily, as Leon’s hand cupped her breast, caressing it into swollen awareness, his mouth capturing the frantic pulse throbbing in her throat. Desire overwhelmed her as suddenly as a spring tide. She had no idea that the bed was behind her until Leon lowered her on to it, beginning a slow exploration of her yielding flesh which began at her toes and left not one single inch of her a stranger to the touch of his hands and lips.

  His embraces were returned with unashamed desire, and Chloe felt him shudder deeply in her arms, the muscles in his thighs taut as a bowstring as her lips followed the downward arrowing of the dark body hair to the flat maleness of his stomach.