The Beads of Nemesis Page 10

  She spread the gold dress out on the foot of her bed and turned her attention to making up her face, a task that took all her attention because for once she wanted to look sophisticated and to bear the image of ‘Swinging London’ and, most of all, to put all the other women in the shade for the space of a few days. When she had finished she was herself rather surprised by the result. Her green eyes, as bright as emeralds, stared back at her in the glass, looking as mysterious as two green pools

  of light. She allowed her eyes to fall and was pleased by the shadowy effect of her long eye lashes. She had never thought of herself as beautiful, but tonight, she thought, she looked quite as well as she had ever seen Delia look. Excitement flooded through her veins, leaving a sensation of panic in its wake as she wondered if Pericles would notice and what he would do if he did.

  Last of all, she dropped the golden dress over her head and smoothed down the skirt over her hips, marvelling at the elegant cut and the glowing brilliance of the material. She turned swiftly as the door-handle rattled briefly and opened to allow Pericles to walk into her room as calmly as if he did it every day - and with as little warning!

  “I - I’m nearly ready,” Morag faltered, wondering what he had come for.

  “So I see.”

  The humour in his voice set the panic off again like fireworks through her blood. She glanced up at him, unaware of the appeal in her eyes. “Do you like it?” she asked him. His silence lent desperation to her next words. “You - did give it to me!”

  “You look very lovely,” he said at last, “but not quite the Morag I’m used to - ”

  “You don't like it!” she exclaimed in dismay. “Oh, Perry, why not? It’s the

  most beautiful dress I’ve ever had!” “Very splendid!” He smiled slowly. “I

  hope you remember whose wife you are this evening! Every eye - every

  masculine eye - will be following you in that!”

  “Oh, do you think so?” Her eyelashes swept downwards. “I think I

  might rather like that!”

  “Indeed?” he said dryly. “Well, keep your pleasure under control, if

  you can. You have no business attracting other men to want to make

  love to you, and I’m not the sort of man to stand by idly watching his

  wife flirt with other men! ” “Oh,” she said. The excitement within her

  was almost unbearable. “Will you - will you flirt with me?”

  “Do you want me to?”

  She licked her lips “I don’t know.” Her eyes flashed up to his face and dropped again. “D-do you?”

  “That would be telling,” he drawled ! “But Pericles” - she began.

  Pericles raised his eyebrows. “Are you asking me to flirt with you,

  Morag?”

  “No, no, of course not!” She smoothed down her skirts again and then stopped, thinking that he might think that she was trying to draw his attention to the very feminine line of the dress. “I wouldn’t do that!”

  He put a hand under her chin and forced her to look up at him. “Why not?”

  “I’m not very good at it - and you might not want to!”

  “Not very good at it? Oh, Morag! Don’t let me catch you dallying with anyone else, that’s all I ask! You’ll regret it if you do!”

  “Will I?” She tried to escape his restraining fingers. “I don’t think you’d hurt me.”

  “Don’t you?” The pressure of his fingers increased, though his thumb caressed her lips which trembled beneath his touch. “I hope you’re right!”

  She pulled herself together with an effort. “What could you do to me?” she dared him. She put a hand over his thumb, pulling it away from her mouth. “You’ll smudge my lipstick!”

  “I’m sorry,” he said automatically. He didn’t look sorry at all. On the contrary, he looked as sure of himself and as autocratic as she had ever seen him. “No, dammit, I’m not sorry at all! Who has a better right to smudge your lipstick anyway?”

  “But not now!” she protested, hoping against hope that he would

  overrule her.

  “No, not now,” he agreed.

  She winced, but he still didn’t release her. “Please, Pericles,” she whispered.

  “Please what? Kiss you?”

  Oh yes. Her heart thundered within her. “Please let me-”

  He did so with a snap of his fingers. “Very well, but I meant what I said, and you would do well to remember that!”

  Morag tried to hid her disappointment as best she may, making a play of looking at herself in the glass to see if she had to repair her make-up. But the tears in her eyes hardly allowed her to see her own reflection. Despair gripped her. The dress had made no difference! If it had Pericles would have kissed her whether she had asked him or not. He wouldn’t have been able to help himself!

  “I’m not likely to forget!” she muttered.

  His eyes met hers in the looking-glass.

  “See that you don’t!” he said.

  “Did you come only to threaten me?” she asked him.

  “No, I came to see if you wanted me to zip you up again - and give you this!” He put his hand into his pocket and drew out something that flashed as green as her eyes. “Jade for a jade,” he murmured. “I thought it would go with the dress.” He made to put it on for her, but she took a quick step away from him, determined that he shouldn’t touch her again. With a gesture of impatience, he put his hands on her shoulders and pulled her against him. “Stand still,” he commanded her.

  She could feel his breath on the back of her neck, then the coldness of the jade against her skin as he fastened the chain for her. She shut her eyes, wondering what he would do if she were to turn in his arms and thank him in the one way she longed to do, with her lips. Then she felt the kiss on the nape of her neck and she had no choice in the matter, for he had turned her to face him and his mouth descended on hers with a force that lit the short fuse of her own desire and she was kissing him as much as he was kissing her.

  “We must go and meet our guests,” he said at last, putting her from him.

  Morag nodded her head. “I suppose so.” She half laughed, half sobbed. “Thank you for this, Pericles.” She fingered the jade pendant, her cheeks pink. “I think I like my shells better, though - my beads of Nemesis.”

  He shrugged. “I think I do too,” he said, “though possibly not for the same reason.”

  She looked her enquiry, busily putting on some more lipstick, but Pericles only smiled and shook his head at her.

  They went together in the sitting room. To Morag, it seemed the room was already filled to capacity and she was glad of Pericles’ support as he put his arm lightly around her waist and introduced her to his

  many Greek friends. More of them spoke English than she thought possible, and after a while she began to enjoy herself, finding that almost everyone there was prepared to like her, and not only for her husband’s sake, but because they found her likeable for herself. Morag, quite unaccustomed to being the centre of attraction, found it a heady experience.

  Not even Takis, annoying as she found him, could disturb her newfound serenity. She took a step closer to Pericles, but she didn’t really mind when Takis manoeuvred her away from his side and over to the other side of the room where he could speak to her without being overheard by Pericles.

  “You look beautiful,” he congratulated her. “You see what good taste I have. Didn’t I advise you that that is the dress for you?”

  “Did you?”

  “You know I did! Though I didn’t know that you had such a beautiful pendant that would set it off to perfection!” “Pericles gave it to me, he gave it me just now.”

  Takis grinned at her. “So the dress had the desired effect?” Morag shook her head. “I - I didn’t want him to give me anything.”

  Takis took her hand and raised it to his lips. “Not many people would believe that, but I do. I am very hurt, Morag, here in my heart. When you first came h
ere, you looked at me with your green eyes and I thought you liked me very well, but all the time you were planning the conquest of another.”

  Morag smiled. “It was he who conquered me,” she murmured.

  “No, not yet,” Takis contradicted her. “When that happens, I shall totally give up hope. But until then I shall try to do to you what you have done to me!”

  “I haven’t done anything to you!”

  “You have stolen my heart!” Takis returned, a gleam of laughter in his eyes. “I will revenge myself on you for that!” “Will you?” Morag drew herself up, though she was still smiling. “Pericles will protect me from anything you can do!”

  The teasing quality disappeared from Takis’ voice. “Like he did Susan? He made no pretence to defend her!”

  Morag felt suddenly cold. She had forgotten all about Susan for the moment.

  “Did she need his protection?” she asked.

  “She was his wife too. He allowed her to do as she pleased. He did not protect her by calling her to heel -” “Perhaps he trusted her,” Morag put in.

  Takis favoured her with a glittering smile. “Would you like to be so

  trusted?” He laughed softly. “Not by Pericles, you would not!”

  She was saved from having to answer by someone coming up behind

  her. She looked around and saw that it was Pericles. She turned to him

  at once. “Did you want me?” she asked.

  “My mother is getting ready to show her paintings. She wants you to

  help her to arrange them.” He looked curiously at her. “She tells me our

  wedding present is among them.” Morag cast him an unconscious look

  of appeal. “Only if you like it,” she began to explain. “You may not want

  it!” “I shall hardly hurt my mother’s feelings by saying so!” he said dryly.

  “No,” Morag agreed. “But Dora herself said you might not like it. She

  wouldn’t want to hang it if you don’t!” Pericles put his hand on her

  upper arm, pushing her forcibly through the door and out into the hall.

  “Never mind that just now,” he bade her grimly. “What was Takis saying

  to you?”

  “Nothing!”

  “I prefer you keep it that way! You have nothing to say to him, no matter how he flatters you and makes eyes at you -”

  “He doesn’t mean anything by it!” “Doesn’t he?” Pericles’ hand tightened about her arm until she uttered a cry of protest. “I warn you again, Morag, if you want to flirt with anyone, flirt with me!’

  “Why should I?” she demanded, rubbing her arm.

  He said something in Greek which she didn’t understand, though she thought she recognised the words yineka mou which she knew to mean ‘my woman’.

  “You don’t own me!” she said.

  He laughed and pushed her before him into his mother’s studio. “Don’t tempt me, Morag.”

  Tempt him? She didn’t think she could, otherwise she would have done so this long time past. Sometimes she thought she was fixing herself in his mind and heart, but mostly she knew better and that as far as he was concerned she was no more than someone he had found to look after his children. Of course he liked to keep things normal on the outside, but it seemed she was alone in longing for love. He was able to

  do without it.

  “Well, you don’t own me!” she said with spirit. “If I like Takis, I don’t see why I shouldn’t talk to him all I want to!” She very nearly added ‘So there!’ but was prevented by the look on his face. It served him right, she thought rebelliously, to be a little less sure of her. Perhaps he would notice her more if she stood up to him.

  She looked uncertainly at him and looked away again as quickly.

  “Indeed?” he said coldly. “As a matter of fact,” she answered, “as a matter of fact I don’t care for Takis - ”

  “Then you don’t need to talk to him?”

  “N-no, though I can’t ignore him completely. He is your cousin and, seeing he’s staying in the same house - ” She broke off. “Perry, I do try not to be alone with him!”

  “Try a little harder!” he advised, his voice tinged with ice. “I mean what I said about that young man. You’re my wife, Morag, not his. See that you remember it!”

  She blinked. “You have very Greek ideas sometimes,” she said. “But I’m not Greek. You ought to remember that!” The coldness left his face. “What do you mean by that?” he drawled, giving her an amused look.

  “I mean I have a mind of my own!” she answered defiantly, taking a grip on herself. It wasn’t the moment she would have chosen to have a row with him, but if he wanted it that way, she wouldn’t baulk at obliging him. Her eyes glinted dangerously, reflecting the fearful excitement that still clutched at her stomach. “I don’t take orders!” she added for good measure.

  “You’ll take mine,” he answered. He still looked amused, and that added a fatal spark to her temper.

  “Why should I?” she demanded.

  “Because,” he said quietly, “in the last resort we both know that you would rather please me than fight with me. You may not be Greek, but you’ll take your lead from me and be pleased to have it so. Don’t be silly, Morag! Would you rather have it the other way round?”

  Fortunately for Morag, she escaped having to answer because her mother-in-law came rushing into the room, her hair standing on end, and looked with surprise at the two of them.

  “What are you doing in here?” she asked Pericles. “I keep telling everyone that I’m not going to show the paintings in here! The light isn’t right. All I need is a little help in moving the few that I want seen into the other room. If you carry these ones, Morag can manage the one with its face to the wall, and I’ll bring in any others I’ve decided on while you’re shifting those.”

  Pericles grinned. “Which one is our wedding present?” Dora shrugged her shoulders. “We’ll leave you to guess,” she turned on Morag, running a hand through her hair, thus making it look wilder than ever. “It’d serve you right if Pericles humbled your pride for you in front of all those people!” Her expression softened at the look on Morag’s face. “You look beautiful in that dress, my dear. I’ll have to paint you again in that one day, but not until you’ve found yourself.” Her enthusiasm grew as she thought about it. “Yes, it will be a splendid counterpart to the first one! I’ll give them both to you!”

  “So that’s what our wedding present is,” Pericles remarked.

  “But you’re not to look at it yet!” Morag put in hastily. She was surprised to hear that her voice sounded quite normal. Even so, she couldn’t quite bring herself to look at her husband in case he, too, should know what Dora had meant both by her finding herself and by the hope that Pericles would humble her pride. Dear God, it was uncomfortable enough to be in love with a man without having to tell him so in words, when one had no idea if he even liked in return, let alone felt any of the hurricane of emotion in which she found herself.

  “Why not?” Pericles asked.

  She made no answer but turned her attention to struggling to lift the heavy canvas to take it into the other room.

  “Here, let me have it!” said Pericles, taking it forcibly away from her. He turned it round and placed it back against the wall, standing well back and taking a long, thoughtful look at the painting.

  Even Dora stood quite still awaiting his verdict. Morag’s eyes went straight to the painted image of herself. Perhaps it wasn’t as revealing as she had remembered it. And, if it was, perhaps Pericles wouldn’t notice the naked invitation in her eyes, or the strength of her desire as she looked quite obviously at him. The silence stretched on and Morag longed for the floor to open and swallow her up! Couldn’t he say something, anything at all?

  But then he did speak and she wished just as passionately that he hadn’t, “I didn’t think anyone else had seen her like that,” he said.

  “Like what?” Morag asked in a whis
per. She cleared her throat. “Like what?” she said again.

  His eyes swept over her face, but without the tenderness she had been hoping to find in them. “As though you wanted to be loved,” he said frankly.

  The hot colour stormed up her face. “I don’t! I mean your mother is a very clever artist. I was just the model.” “Come,” said Dora, “we must take the paintings into the other room. Peggy has done a sketch of Morag also. Perhaps Pericles will find more to like in that likeness of you.”

  “I like this one,” said Pericles. “But I’d prefer it not to have a public viewing tonight. It is not a view I want other men to have of my wife.” “Oh, arrogant!” Morag began, feeling a good deal safer by his decision. “Just because you think - ”

  “So would any man!” he retorted.

  She turned away from him. “But you do like it?” she asked.

  “Yes - ” He cut himself off as he heard footsteps coming towards them. “Ah, Takis, have you come to help carry the paintings?”

  The young Greek looked round the room, his eye falling on the painting of Morag. “Very pretty!” he commented. He gave her a wicked look, his smile wide and innocent, “Who were you looking at, pedki? Ah, but I remember now when you sat there and dreamed your dreams! You were looking at me, Takis Kapandriti!”