Pagan Lover by Anne Hampson Page A

accept the good life that is offered to you.’
    She looked at him through a mist of tears.
    ‘I have no life. You’ve robbed me of all happiness, both now and in the future.’
    His hands closed tightly again, but she sensed that the cause was not anger this time, but rather the outward sign of some tumultuous emotion inwardly affecting him. A nerve in his throat pulsated, fascinating her as she stared at it. Then her eyes moved, to notice the sunlight on his temple, turning the grey hairs to silver. He had told her he was thirty-one, but he looked older—perhaps the result of the dissolute life he led, she thought.
    He turned to glance at her and for a moment fixed his gaze on her eyes, and the brightness he saw there. A frown knit his brow; he seemed about to speak but changed his mind, and then, his face harsh in the sunlight, he walked away, leaving her standing there, desolate and alone, and yet the curious pain which pierced her heart seemed not to be anything to do with her own plight, but rather to be for the man whose unwilling prisoner she was.
    After a while she began to wander in the grounds; the gardener who had been busy weeding the border at the end of one of the lawns moved slowly, casually a garden fork in his hand. With the other hand he took a string of worry beads from his pocket and began clicking them; she heard faintly a low masculine sound, as though he were singing or humming a tune to himself. A sigh escaped her. She had told her husband she would never be free, but already she was thinking of freedom. In his presence she seemed to be hypnotised by him, submitting to his wishes like a puppet on a string, and she had often wondered if he would in the end captivate her totally by a combination of mastery and the lovemaking which always transported her to the supreme height of bliss. Undoubtedly she was getting something out of marriage to him—and he was fully aware of it. She was putty in his hands when he had her emotions heightened; she responded in every way to his demands, surrender bringing its own fulfilment.
    And at those times she never even thought of David, or the tragedy of her wedding day. He was a nebulous figure who had flitted through her life and was no longer important. But in the cold light of day when she was free of the fascination and domination of her husband, she did think of David, and the home they had got together—the furniture bought with such care, the carpets and curtains, all purchased after long and happy interludes of discussion as to colour schemes and durability. It had been such fun, during those months of preparation, she recalled nostalgically. She and her fiancé had wandered hand in hand through the shops, each thinking of the great day when they would-be together in the cosy little home they were building.
    And now.... Would she and David ever come together again, after she had managed to escape? There would have to be a divorce first.., and Greek men did not believe in divorce And suppose there was a child? No, she whispered vehemently. No, there must not be a child!
Leon had been so confident, though, that a child would arrive quite soon. For her, that
would be the end of hopes for escape—
    ‘I won’t think about it!’ she whispered fiercely to herself. ‘I must think about getting away, because the longer I stay the more likely I am to become pregnant!’
    That evening at dinner she was very quiet, her mind fixed on the problem of getting away.
Leon, taking it for granted that she was abstracted for another reason altogether, frowned darkly at her and snapped,
    ‘It’s time you got that fellow out of your system! You’re my wife now and the sooner you resign yourself to it the better!’
    The scowl on his face marred an effect which—
Tara grudgingly admitted—could have been incredibly attractive. For
Leon, immaculate in an oyster-white linen suit with a pastel-green shirt, had that particular air of distinction found only among the