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Authors: Sara Craven
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women—concerned for their comfort and security.'
'So concerned,' she said tightly, 'that when a woman sins against your male-dictated,
male-orientated code, she is simply cast out, as my mother was, her letters
unanswered, her whole existence ignored. Some caring, some concern! Wel , thank God
she had my father.'
'I wil say amen to that, at least.' He would have said more, she knew, only at that
moment the saloon door re-opened and Dimitri entered. He must have sensed the
tension in the air, Helen thought, because she could sense the quick questioning glance
he gave them as he cleared the plates. The question soon gave way to reproach,
however, when he saw how little she had eaten, muttering a few remarks in his own
language for good measure.
'What does he say?' Helen asked, as Dimitri, sadly shaking his head, placed a bowl of
ripe peaches and glossy purple grapes as large as damsons on the table.
'He grieves for your lack of appetite,'
'Wil you tel him I'm sorry?'
'Can you not tel him yourself?'
'I can manage "please" and "thank you", but that's al .'
'Quite incredible,' he commented, adding more wine to his glass, as Helen declined any
more to drink, her hand over the top of her glass. 'One would think you were
determined to deny your Greek blood.'
'I've never been very conscious of it, but surely that's understandable under the
circumstances.'
'It is fortunate, then, that your circumstances have changed.'
'But I haven't,' Helen pointed out as Dimitri set down a huge silver coffee pot. 'And I
regard myself as total y English.'
'A few lessons with Madame Stavros wil soon change that, I think.'
Helen was barely conscious of Dimitri making his soft-footed way to the door. 'Who is
Madame Stavros?'
'She is the widow of a friend of your grandfather's— a former diplomat. She has
travel ed widely with her late husband and speaks several languages fluently, including
your own. Your grandfather has engaged her to be a companion for you, and to give
you u basic grounding in Greek.'
'But that's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard,' Helen protested. 'I was invited for
a few weeks' holiday, not to go back to school. And I certainly don't need a female
companion. Besides, doesn't my grandfather's sister—Thia Irini—stil live with him?'
'Kyria Atrakis speaks little English.' He paused. 'You wil like Madame Stavros.'
'Is that an opinion or an order?' Helen watched his mouth tighten ominously. 'Not that it
real y matters. I expect I can convince my grandfather that a girl' brought up in the
heart of the permissive society, as you yourself mentioned, is in no need of a
chaperone, however many languages she may speak.' She smiled at him across the
table. 'Shal I pour the coffee?'
'As you wish.' He pushed back his chair and rose, walking over to the bar.
The coffee was black and very strong, but Helen welcomed it, hoping it would
counteract some of the effects of the retsina which were now making themselves felt.
Her head was light, and her legs did not even appear to exist any more. She'd been a
fool to drink so much of it, when she wasn't used to it, she berated herself mental y.
Quietly she slipped off her sandals and tucked the offending legs beneath her on the
long-cushioned seat, while she sipped her coffee.
Damon walked back across the saloon, glass in hand, and stood looking down at her.
He looked very tal , suddenly, and she remembered that evening in the London flat, and
had to dig her nails in the palms of her hands to stop herself visibly shrinking back
against the cushions.
'Shal we go up on deck?' His eyes were fixed on her face, but she could not read their
expression. 'The moon wil have risen by now.'
Helen swal owed. 'I think I'd prefer to Stay here. The—er—motion of the boat.'
'Oh, yes, I had forgotten,' he said smoothly. 'Then let us by al means remain here.' And
to Helen's consternation he sat down beside her, so near that his thigh brushed hers.
She
'So concerned,' she said tightly, 'that when a woman sins against your male-dictated,
male-orientated code, she is simply cast out, as my mother was, her letters
unanswered, her whole existence ignored. Some caring, some concern! Wel , thank God
she had my father.'
'I wil say amen to that, at least.' He would have said more, she knew, only at that
moment the saloon door re-opened and Dimitri entered. He must have sensed the
tension in the air, Helen thought, because she could sense the quick questioning glance
he gave them as he cleared the plates. The question soon gave way to reproach,
however, when he saw how little she had eaten, muttering a few remarks in his own
language for good measure.
'What does he say?' Helen asked, as Dimitri, sadly shaking his head, placed a bowl of
ripe peaches and glossy purple grapes as large as damsons on the table.
'He grieves for your lack of appetite,'
'Wil you tel him I'm sorry?'
'Can you not tel him yourself?'
'I can manage "please" and "thank you", but that's al .'
'Quite incredible,' he commented, adding more wine to his glass, as Helen declined any
more to drink, her hand over the top of her glass. 'One would think you were
determined to deny your Greek blood.'
'I've never been very conscious of it, but surely that's understandable under the
circumstances.'
'It is fortunate, then, that your circumstances have changed.'
'But I haven't,' Helen pointed out as Dimitri set down a huge silver coffee pot. 'And I
regard myself as total y English.'
'A few lessons with Madame Stavros wil soon change that, I think.'
Helen was barely conscious of Dimitri making his soft-footed way to the door. 'Who is
Madame Stavros?'
'She is the widow of a friend of your grandfather's— a former diplomat. She has
travel ed widely with her late husband and speaks several languages fluently, including
your own. Your grandfather has engaged her to be a companion for you, and to give
you u basic grounding in Greek.'
'But that's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard,' Helen protested. 'I was invited for
a few weeks' holiday, not to go back to school. And I certainly don't need a female
companion. Besides, doesn't my grandfather's sister—Thia Irini—stil live with him?'
'Kyria Atrakis speaks little English.' He paused. 'You wil like Madame Stavros.'
'Is that an opinion or an order?' Helen watched his mouth tighten ominously. 'Not that it
real y matters. I expect I can convince my grandfather that a girl' brought up in the
heart of the permissive society, as you yourself mentioned, is in no need of a
chaperone, however many languages she may speak.' She smiled at him across the
table. 'Shal I pour the coffee?'
'As you wish.' He pushed back his chair and rose, walking over to the bar.
The coffee was black and very strong, but Helen welcomed it, hoping it would
counteract some of the effects of the retsina which were now making themselves felt.
Her head was light, and her legs did not even appear to exist any more. She'd been a
fool to drink so much of it, when she wasn't used to it, she berated herself mental y.
Quietly she slipped off her sandals and tucked the offending legs beneath her on the
long-cushioned seat, while she sipped her coffee.
Damon walked back across the saloon, glass in hand, and stood looking down at her.
He looked very tal , suddenly, and she remembered that evening in the London flat, and
had to dig her nails in the palms of her hands to stop herself visibly shrinking back
against the cushions.
'Shal we go up on deck?' His eyes were fixed on her face, but she could not read their
expression. 'The moon wil have risen by now.'
Helen swal owed. 'I think I'd prefer to Stay here. The—er—motion of the boat.'
'Oh, yes, I had forgotten,' he said smoothly. 'Then let us by al means remain here.' And
to Helen's consternation he sat down beside her, so near that his thigh brushed hers.
She
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