Kate Proctor - No Mistress But Love

‘I shan’t need to wheedle,’ she informed him, her’ words hoarse with disgust. ‘Because I intend going to him right this minute and telling him the truth.’

‘Oh, yes?’ he enquired, his expression mocking. ‘You fancy a spell in a Greek gaol, do you? Because that’s where he’d have the two of us slapped, make no mistake about that.’

‘We haven’t broken any laws!’ exclaimed Lindy, thrown by a momentary flash of fear darting through her. ‘None that could warrant gaol, anyway,’ she added uncertainly.

‘You have some experience with Greek law, have you?’ he sneered, then paused as though savouring an idea. ‘Mind you, if the pair of us ended up inside perhaps I’d get an uninterrupted chance to show you exactly the lines along which I’d planned our relationship to develop …though I can no longer guarantee my intentions would be as honourable as they once were.’ He smiled wolfishly, hitching the holdall more securely on his shoulder as he did so. ‘So yes, why don’t you go ahead and confide all in Leandros? It might just have some very interesting repercussions.’

‘Get out of here!’ she spat at him, trembling with rage, yet startled to detect fear flashing through her once more.

‘Yes—I suppose I should, if that’s your answer.’ He sighed with false regret. ‘And I really shouldn’t keep that boatman waiting, even though I am paying him a small fortune to get me discreetly over to the mainland…your entire share of our salary, in fact. But I’m sure that, if you play your cards better than I did with Leandros, money won’t be one of your worries—the guy’s loaded.’

He had actually managed to frighten her with his talk of prison, she admitted bemusedly to herself as the door closed behind him and silence began filling the room with an almost palpable oppressiveness. She frowned, trying to examine that fleeting, puzzling fear, only to find it had disappeared along with the loathsome Tim. Her frown deepened as she remembered how her friends had tried to warn her of how naïve she was being where Tim was concerned. She gave a small shudder as she wondered what their reaction would be to the way things had now turned out—not one of them, she was certain, would have envisaged anything remotely as bad as this. How could she have been so incredibly pig-headed?

‘With embarrassing ease,’ she gloomily answered herself aloud, suddenly acutely conscious of how completely bereft she was of someone to confide in. Her status as the manager’s wife had erected an intangible barrier between herself and the rest of the staff, most of whom spoke quite good English and were unanimously friendly—but it was a friendliness that stopped short of allowing her to seek the actual friendship someone of her open and outgoing nature would naturally have sought. And she had to admit that it had troubled her, she thought unhappily, gazing around the room and frowning suddenly as her attention was caught by the unusual dimness of the light.

She turned and looked behind her, her gaze falling on the graceful marble-pillared lampstand in the corner, the single source lighting the room. She walked over to it, her frown deepening as she removed the heavy manila file balanced on top of the shade which had so dimmed the amount of light being emitted. So, she pondered, mystified and wary, Tim had been sneaking around almost in the dark—obviously intent on slipping in and out unnoticed.

After a few moments’ bemused thought she gave a dismissive shrug and tossed the file on to one of the cabinets, gazing around her once more in the now improved light. One thing was for sure, she thought wryly: she wouldn’t be taking on the little amount of work Tim hadn’t managed to delegate—her lack of Greek ensured that. In fact, though she had found plenty to do in the way of work to keep herself occupied, there had been few specific duties for her to perform. At first, Tim had taken delight in delegating menial tasks to her whenever an opportunity had arisen, though his pleasure had soon diminished with the unconcerned enthusiasm with which she would turn her hand even to something as dull as making beds.

But what was she to do now he was gone? she wondered apprehensively…Her job, non-existent though it was, had been part and parcel of his.

But what was very much more to the point…what was she going to do right now?

Pulling a small face, she switched off the lamp and stumbled her way in the dark to the door—trying to comfort herself with imagining Tim Russell barking his shins on the furniture as he had made the same journey in reverse.

She took the lift to the top floor, her heart thudding painfully in her chest and her thoughts drifting everywhere except to the man she was about to face once more. Had Tim taken only the holdall he had been carrying, or had he had his other things stashed away, ready for a speedy departure? She managed to keep her mind on similarly dredged-up thoughts until the lift doors had opened, knowing that the answers didn’t interest her in the least.

Resisting a strong urge to step back into the lift and ride up and down in it all night if it came to it, she strode to the door of Niko’s suite and knocked loudly on it before she had a chance to weaken.

‘It was unlocked anyway,’ he informed her as he opened the door. ‘In future, all you have to do is walk in.’

‘How was I to know that?’ she demanded icily, allowing her eyes to rise no higher than his silk-shirted shoulder-line as she stepped inside. ‘Which is my room?’

‘I’ll take you to it,’ he murmured, his face coming disconcertingly into her line of vision as he gave a small, mocking bow. ‘I don’t suppose your errant husband has turned up, has he?’ he asked as he led her through an archway and down a corridor, his words bringing a startled flush of guilt to her face.

‘I’ve really no idea,’ she muttered, her words sounding alarmingly strained and reluctant to her ears.

He drew to a halt outside one of the panelled oak doors leading off the corridor.

‘When did you last see him?’ he asked, turning to face her.

Lindy had begun lowering her eyes the moment they had spotted him turning. ‘I can’t remember,’ she lied, without the slightest glimmer of hope of being believed. ‘After what he’s done to me, I honestly wouldn’t care if I never saw him again!’

‘And I doubt very much whether you will—at least, not on this island,’ he murmured, his shrewdly watchful eyes never once leaving her face.

‘Good,’ muttered Lindy. ‘Now—is this my room?’

She took a step towards the door outside which they had stopped and found her path blocked by the bulk of his body.

‘How long have you been married?’

Lindy bit back an exclamation of irritation, yet as she did so she also experienced the niggling beginnings of alarm. She should have prepared herself for this, she thought nervously. The need for her and Tim to provide any details of their alleged marriage had never arisen, and they had never really discussed concocting any. If she started lying off the top of her head in her present state of tense exhaustion she knew she was perfectly capable of forgetting every lie she had uttered come tomorrow…detailed lying had never been her forte, even at the best of times.

‘If you don’t mind, I’d rather we didn’t even mention the man’s name,’ she said, striving to sound blasé.

She flinched as his hands descended on her shoulders, and promptly closed her eyes—simply because she couldn’t trust them not to betray her one way or another.

‘Russell stated in his application form that you were getting married around the middle of August. Given that we’re now approaching November, I can’t honestly say your attitude reflects that expected of a bride of just over two months.’

With considerable difficulty Lindy forced her mind not to dwell on this further evidence of Tim’s calculating duplicity.

‘If you already knew—why did you ask?’ she snapped, then, realising that that sort of retort would get her nowhere, added hastily, ‘If you must know, I married Tim on the rebound.’

She felt like awarding herself a medal for such a gratifying display of mental dexterity.

‘Really? Yet you and Russell applied for the job in the spring—I was under the impression that marriages on the rebound took place within a matter of days rather than months.’

‘Well, you were wrong,’ Lindy retorted, still not daring to open her eyes—especially not now that the faint yet distinctive aroma that was so unmistakably his had started working its way past her nostrils and into her senses. It was a smell that was no more than the vague fragrance of freshly laundered silk, combined with a delicate spiciness, far too subtle to be aftershave—yet it was a smell that was exclusively his and which now seemed to have the power to affect her like a seductive caress.

‘Lindy, if you insist on standing here with your eyes closed I shall only kiss you.’

She opened her eyes, not as quickly as she had intended simply because they had reacted to her efforts as though held together by glue. By the time they were fully open his features were a blur before them and her lips were already unconsciously parting to savour the impact of his.

Her arms reached out to embrace him as her mouth leapt to eager life beneath the intoxicating ministrations of his. But it was only her hands that made contact with his silk-shirted torso, and as she attempted to draw nearer, her arms straining to encircle him, realisation slowly began penetrating the fog of excited confusion clouding her mind that she was being deliberately held at arm’s length. And it was that belatedly dawning realisation that stung her into finding the strength to break free. What she found doubly humiliating was that he made no effort to stop her, merely lifting his hands from her shoulders as she twisted away from him, and it was with considerable difficulty that she restrained herself from burying her face in her hands in utter mortification.

‘It’s not fair,’ she panted hoarsely in an attempt to salvage at least a shred of her tattered pride. ‘You’re taking advantage of me when I’m practically dead on my feet with nervous exhaustion!’

‘Why on earth should you be in a state of nervous exhaustion?’ he asked, his tone amused as he opened the door, then swung her round and propelled her through it. ‘Surely not over that husband of yours, whose name you don’t even wish to hear?’

‘No doubt you find this all highly amusing,’ she flung at him, then found herself having to stifle an exclamation of sheer delight as the room was suddenly bathed in soft light.

It was a large room, airy and uncluttered, and with delicate splashes of buttery yellow here and there warming the dazzling whiteness of it. As in the main living area, this room had an outer wall consisting entirely of huge plate-glass sliding doors, one of which was opened to let the soft night breezes billow and dance through the curtains now drawn across them.

In the middle of the room was a huge canopied bed, its crocheted cotton covering so exquisitely worked that it was as though the bed had been shrouded in dazzling white lace.

Suddenly aware that she was being watched, Lindy brought the infatuated rovings of her eyes to an abrupt halt.

‘Why should I find any of this in the least amusing?’ he enquired, as though prompting her to continue her onslaught.

‘Because you’re not a poor defenceless woman who’s been used as a poker chip—that’s why!’ she instantly obliged, anger flashing in her eyes as she spun round to face him. ‘You wouldn’t find it nearly amusing if you were me, I can assure you!’