threeso if all went well Ricky would be gone. But if he were still here. . . . Not that it mattered; she would have a visitor if she wanted one, but she did send up a little prayer that Ricky would get well in time to be gone before her husband's return.
And he was. She saw him off on the morning boat, which had come in loaded with passengers, most of whom were met by Poriot relatives; one or two others, late tourists, were approached by the taxi-drivers.
'Thanks for everything.' Ricky looked decidedly downcast at leaving.
'I'm sorry for all the trouble I've caused you.'
She smiled at him.
'Don't keep apologizing, Ricky. It was no trouble, you know that. I'm only too glad that it wasn't worse. Take care for a while - mind what you eat.'
'I shall!' He was on the boat and she on the quay. 'Good-bye - dear Tara! Can I write to you?'
'I don't think—'
'Please…'
'All right. But don't forget what I said: have a talk with Freda.'
His smile disappeared.
' I might, but it won't do any good.'
The boat: was moving; the small gathering on the quay was waving wildly. The Greeks always got excited for nothing at all. She lifted a hand as Ricky raised his. He blew her a kiss and, because she pitied him, she did likewise. And just then she turned her head, acutely conscious of eyes fixed upon her. The garsoni she had noticed the other day stood about a couple of yards from her; he was now waving vigorously to someone on the boat.
Tara turned and walked away, across the plateia with its high clock tower and cenotaph, with its tavernas and steamship agents' offices, its hotel and shops, and its crowds of people, there to see the Marina depart.
She wondered why she should be excited at the thought of Leon's return. For the five weeks of their marriage he had scarcely spoken to her; she felt sometimes that he hardly knew she was there at all. They ate together when he was in; they took their drinks on the patio, and that was all. They never walked together, or chatted, or went out visiting. Leon had never entertained, but she knew that he used to do so because Savvas had told her. The owners of other white villas scattered about the wooded hillsides were his friends, Savvas had said, and they used to come and dine. They were Greek shipowners and oil millionaires, and some of them were in the hotel business.
Altogether it had been a dull existence .. . and yet each time he went away for a few days she experienced this feeling of excitement at the thought of his return. What was she hoping for, in her subconscious?
He would never even notice her, let alone show any interest in her. As for his ever coming to care.... It was an absurd thought, and yet she would daydream sometimes, allowing her threads of imagination to unwind from the tight ball of despondency which for most of the time engulfed her, and she would live in a world of ecstasy, live through that delicious interlude when on that wonderful evening he had claimed her, and kissed her with such possessiveness and passion.
She had responded, sublimely unconscious of the trap into which she was stepping. The days that had followed her promise to marry him had been ones of sheer undiluted bliss, a prelude - dangerous on more than one occasion - to more rapturous delights in store.
And now, after almost six weeks of marriage, she had never known her husband.
It was inconceivable that he could remain aloof, that he never for one single moment desired her. Inconceivable because his lovemaking had been tempestuous and passionate; he had wanted her then, she felt sure. But that had been only desire for her body which, at one particular moment, was no different from that of any other woman.
Had he taken her then - and she refused to dwell on whether or not she could have resisted him - it would have been merely for convenience, for the momentary satisfaction of desire.
Tara was eternally grateful that she had never been really tempted by Leon, for she never would have wanted
And he was. She saw him off on the morning boat, which had come in loaded with passengers, most of whom were met by Poriot relatives; one or two others, late tourists, were approached by the taxi-drivers.
'Thanks for everything.' Ricky looked decidedly downcast at leaving.
'I'm sorry for all the trouble I've caused you.'
She smiled at him.
'Don't keep apologizing, Ricky. It was no trouble, you know that. I'm only too glad that it wasn't worse. Take care for a while - mind what you eat.'
'I shall!' He was on the boat and she on the quay. 'Good-bye - dear Tara! Can I write to you?'
'I don't think—'
'Please…'
'All right. But don't forget what I said: have a talk with Freda.'
His smile disappeared.
' I might, but it won't do any good.'
The boat: was moving; the small gathering on the quay was waving wildly. The Greeks always got excited for nothing at all. She lifted a hand as Ricky raised his. He blew her a kiss and, because she pitied him, she did likewise. And just then she turned her head, acutely conscious of eyes fixed upon her. The garsoni she had noticed the other day stood about a couple of yards from her; he was now waving vigorously to someone on the boat.
Tara turned and walked away, across the plateia with its high clock tower and cenotaph, with its tavernas and steamship agents' offices, its hotel and shops, and its crowds of people, there to see the Marina depart.
She wondered why she should be excited at the thought of Leon's return. For the five weeks of their marriage he had scarcely spoken to her; she felt sometimes that he hardly knew she was there at all. They ate together when he was in; they took their drinks on the patio, and that was all. They never walked together, or chatted, or went out visiting. Leon had never entertained, but she knew that he used to do so because Savvas had told her. The owners of other white villas scattered about the wooded hillsides were his friends, Savvas had said, and they used to come and dine. They were Greek shipowners and oil millionaires, and some of them were in the hotel business.
Altogether it had been a dull existence .. . and yet each time he went away for a few days she experienced this feeling of excitement at the thought of his return. What was she hoping for, in her subconscious?
He would never even notice her, let alone show any interest in her. As for his ever coming to care.... It was an absurd thought, and yet she would daydream sometimes, allowing her threads of imagination to unwind from the tight ball of despondency which for most of the time engulfed her, and she would live in a world of ecstasy, live through that delicious interlude when on that wonderful evening he had claimed her, and kissed her with such possessiveness and passion.
She had responded, sublimely unconscious of the trap into which she was stepping. The days that had followed her promise to marry him had been ones of sheer undiluted bliss, a prelude - dangerous on more than one occasion - to more rapturous delights in store.
And now, after almost six weeks of marriage, she had never known her husband.
It was inconceivable that he could remain aloof, that he never for one single moment desired her. Inconceivable because his lovemaking had been tempestuous and passionate; he had wanted her then, she felt sure. But that had been only desire for her body which, at one particular moment, was no different from that of any other woman.
Had he taken her then - and she refused to dwell on whether or not she could have resisted him - it would have been merely for convenience, for the momentary satisfaction of desire.
Tara was eternally grateful that she had never been really tempted by Leon, for she never would have wanted
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