English. She had lapsed into Greek and he realized she was watching him closely. One tough cookie, this girl. She had taken quite a beating but still she was probing.
'I beg your pardon?'
'Nothing,' she replied in English.
She started to get up and he used one hand to push her down on the bed again, digging his fingers into her shoulder. Both their bodies were gleaming with sweat from what they had done together, from the later struggle. The heat was building up in the room and Marler felt parched.
'Can I have a drink?' she asked.
'No. What is your relationship with Petros Gavalas?' he said again.
'I am his granddaughter . . .'
'I know that. It isn't what I meant. 'And you know that. Did he send you here to extract information from me - by using any method?'
'He wouldn't do that! No Greek would do that to his own kith and kin . . .'
'So you came yourself? Why? Because you love Englishmen? I recall you said that.'
'I hate Englishmen,' she hissed, pulling her hair back from her face. 'I want to get dressed . . .'
'You couldn't wait to get your clothes off when you arrived. If you hate Englishmen why did you take up with Harry Masterson when he arrived?'
'Who?' She drew back as Marler broke loose. Grabbing her by her long hair, he twisted it, pulling her down on the bed as he sat on her stomach, his mouth tight, pinning her down. He jerked her hair and she opened her mouth to scream. His hand clamped flat over her lips, exerting so much pressure she couldn't use her teeth to bite him. Her dark eyes were full of hate.
'Harry Masterson,' he repeated. 'Stop lying. You were seen with him at the Hilton. Other places, too. Now, I'm going to remove my hand. Yell - try to - and I'll knock you out.'
He jumped up suddenly, walked to his jacket, took a cigarette from his pack and lit it. The unexpected change of tactics threw her off balance. She stood up warily, slowly reached for her denims, slid inside them, wriggled herself into them, watching him. Straightening up, she adjusted the slacks, still naked above the waist. She spoke quietly as she made the threat.
'I'm going to accuse you of rape. The Greek police don't like foreign men who rape Greek girls.'
'There's the phone. Call Chief Inspector Sarris. I'm sure he'd enjoy a session with us. That he'll be interested to hear how you gave the signal for a marksman down at Zea to try and kill me. The bullet missed me by inches.'
'What are you talking about? There was no shot. I would have heard it . . .'
Marler was certain that for the first time she was telling the truth. He kept the surprise out of his expression. She reached for her blouse and held it dangling from one hand.
'You might just have managed it,' Marler speculated.
'Managed what?'
'Driven Harry Masterson so crazy over you that he fell for it. When you lured him down to Cape Sounion so he could be killed.'
'No! No! That was something I didn't do. What do you think I am?'
That's easy to answer.' He pulled his wallet from his jacket. Taking out a sheaf of five-hundred-drachma notes, he looked at her. 'How much? What's your fee? For . . .' He gestured to the bed.
' You swine! You lousy bastard! '
'And I have diplomas to prove you're right,' Marler assured her.
She crammed her feet into her shoes, slipped on her blouse, hastily adjusted it. She glanced in the mirror. Her hair was a wild tangle. Marler handed her the brush he had picked up before opening the door earlier. As she used it, brushing her mane vigorously, she again stared at him in the mirror as he donned his bathrobe. This time she had a puzzled expression. His deliberate changes of mood were confusing her. He disappeared into the bathroom, returned holding a glass of water.
'You said you were thirsty. Next time I ask questions please give me answers, then we'll get on fine together.'
She drank the water in two long gulps, handed him the glass. 'I've never met a man like you before. Harry wasn't . . .' She stopped speaking.
'Harry wasn't
'I beg your pardon?'
'Nothing,' she replied in English.
She started to get up and he used one hand to push her down on the bed again, digging his fingers into her shoulder. Both their bodies were gleaming with sweat from what they had done together, from the later struggle. The heat was building up in the room and Marler felt parched.
'Can I have a drink?' she asked.
'No. What is your relationship with Petros Gavalas?' he said again.
'I am his granddaughter . . .'
'I know that. It isn't what I meant. 'And you know that. Did he send you here to extract information from me - by using any method?'
'He wouldn't do that! No Greek would do that to his own kith and kin . . .'
'So you came yourself? Why? Because you love Englishmen? I recall you said that.'
'I hate Englishmen,' she hissed, pulling her hair back from her face. 'I want to get dressed . . .'
'You couldn't wait to get your clothes off when you arrived. If you hate Englishmen why did you take up with Harry Masterson when he arrived?'
'Who?' She drew back as Marler broke loose. Grabbing her by her long hair, he twisted it, pulling her down on the bed as he sat on her stomach, his mouth tight, pinning her down. He jerked her hair and she opened her mouth to scream. His hand clamped flat over her lips, exerting so much pressure she couldn't use her teeth to bite him. Her dark eyes were full of hate.
'Harry Masterson,' he repeated. 'Stop lying. You were seen with him at the Hilton. Other places, too. Now, I'm going to remove my hand. Yell - try to - and I'll knock you out.'
He jumped up suddenly, walked to his jacket, took a cigarette from his pack and lit it. The unexpected change of tactics threw her off balance. She stood up warily, slowly reached for her denims, slid inside them, wriggled herself into them, watching him. Straightening up, she adjusted the slacks, still naked above the waist. She spoke quietly as she made the threat.
'I'm going to accuse you of rape. The Greek police don't like foreign men who rape Greek girls.'
'There's the phone. Call Chief Inspector Sarris. I'm sure he'd enjoy a session with us. That he'll be interested to hear how you gave the signal for a marksman down at Zea to try and kill me. The bullet missed me by inches.'
'What are you talking about? There was no shot. I would have heard it . . .'
Marler was certain that for the first time she was telling the truth. He kept the surprise out of his expression. She reached for her blouse and held it dangling from one hand.
'You might just have managed it,' Marler speculated.
'Managed what?'
'Driven Harry Masterson so crazy over you that he fell for it. When you lured him down to Cape Sounion so he could be killed.'
'No! No! That was something I didn't do. What do you think I am?'
That's easy to answer.' He pulled his wallet from his jacket. Taking out a sheaf of five-hundred-drachma notes, he looked at her. 'How much? What's your fee? For . . .' He gestured to the bed.
' You swine! You lousy bastard! '
'And I have diplomas to prove you're right,' Marler assured her.
She crammed her feet into her shoes, slipped on her blouse, hastily adjusted it. She glanced in the mirror. Her hair was a wild tangle. Marler handed her the brush he had picked up before opening the door earlier. As she used it, brushing her mane vigorously, she again stared at him in the mirror as he donned his bathrobe. This time she had a puzzled expression. His deliberate changes of mood were confusing her. He disappeared into the bathroom, returned holding a glass of water.
'You said you were thirsty. Next time I ask questions please give me answers, then we'll get on fine together.'
She drank the water in two long gulps, handed him the glass. 'I've never met a man like you before. Harry wasn't . . .' She stopped speaking.
'Harry wasn't
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