Rachel Lindsay - The Taming of Laura Read online

  'Well!' thought Laura. 'That serves me right for thinking I was unforgettable!'

  Setting her cap more firmly on her head, she picked up a tray filled with chewing gum and barley sugar and walked down the aisle, offering it to each occupant. When she reached the young Greek he lifted his head and grinned.

  "I'm glad to see you passed after all."

  "I didn't think you remembered!"

  "But of course. How could I forget a girl who refused to dine with me?"

  Before she could reply the red light flashed on above the cockpit door and she excused herself and took her seat at the rear of the aircraft, ready for take-off.

  As soon as they were airborne, she set about preparing lunch, and was busy with the trays when the buzzer sounded from the cockpit. 'If Tim O'Brien wants any more tea,' she thought as she marched down the aisle, 'I'll throttle him!'

  But it was not the young navigator who wanted her, it was the Captain.

  "I'd like some strong coffee," he said tersely. "I've a lousy headache." He stood up from his seat and the co-pilot took over.

  "Would you like some aspirin?" she asked.

  "I've got some, thanks. Just make the coffee as quickly as you can." He lay down on one of the bunks which the crew used during their rest periods on a long flight and closed his eyes. He was unusually pale and she looked at him with disquiet. There had been a virus infection among some of the crew flying between London and Beirut and from his grey face it seemed as if Captain Jackson was going to be the next victim.

  'A dose of one of the sulphonamides would do him more good than coffee,' she thought. But it was not her duty to remonstrate with him. On board a plane, as on board a ship, the Captain's word was law. Quickly she made the coffee and took it back to the cockpit.

  Captain Jackson struggled to sit up. "My head's getting worse," he groaned. "I bet I've caught some damn bug."

  "Three day virus," she corrected.

  "Oh lord!" He lay back against the blankets. "That means I'll be stuck at the Corinth and won't be able to fly back tomorrow."

  "What about the rest of the crew, sir? Do we have to stay on there as well?"

  "It depends how booked up we are. If necessary, they might fly out another pilot."

  Laura returned to the galley and told the steward the news.

  "Seems pretty likely we'll all stay in Athens for a few days," he replied. "Personally, I'll welcome the break and the sunshine."

  Laura stretched her arms above her head. "So will I. I've got quite a bit of Greek money saved. I didn't spend much on my last few trips so I'll splash the lot this time and see if I can take a trip out to some of the islands off the coast."

  "Get Tim O'Brien to take you."

  "I'd prefer to go alone."

  "As long as you are alone," the steward retorted, "young Tim will be after you!"

  The buzzer sounded and frowning slightly as she thought over the steward's remark, Laura walked down the aisle. The light was on above Mr. Dimar's chair and she leaned forward enquiringly.

  "Yes sir?"

  "I'd like to talk to you. Come and sit next to me." He patted the empty seat beside him but she shook her head.

  "Flight personnel aren't allowed to sit next to passengers."

  "Not ever?"

  "Only in exceptional circumstances." Her eyes twinkled. "For an invalid or for someone who's very nervous."

  "Well, I'm not an invalid but I am nervous — when you're around."

  She laughed. "If you don't want me for anything I've got to get back to the galley."

  "Don't go yet." He half stood up and then, as if aware she would not like to be made conspicuous, sat down again. "Won't you let me take you out tonight? You're a stranger in Athens and it's my home town."

  Laura shook her head and the smile left his face. "Does that mean you don't want to come with me, or aren't you staying over?"

  "Yes, we are," she admitted. "Probably for an extra day or two———— " She stopped abruptly. It would not be diplomatic to tell a passenger that the Captain of an aircraft was ill.

  Seeing her hesitation, the young Greek misconstrued it. "Look, if you're in doubt about seeing me, I can give you credentials. I'm a very honoured and respected citizen of my country, you know."

  "I'm sure you are!"

  "Well, how about it? I bet you haven't seen the Acropolis by moonlight?"

  "No," she admitted, "I haven't." Suddenly it seemed an ideal way of escaping from Tim O'Brien. "Very well, Mr. Dimar. I will accept your offer."

  "Good. I'll call for you at eight-thirty."

  As Laura changed for dinner that night she was glad she had brought one of her prettiest dresses with her, and walking across the vestibule to meet Andrea, felt a stir of excitement as she saw the expression on his face.

  "You should always wear lilac," he murmured. "It's more subtle for you than green." "But not half as subtle as your compliments!" she retorted and they laughed together as they walked out of the hotel to a gleaming white American car.

  "This should really be a golden chariot," he said as he helped her into the front seat.

  "It's quite glamorous enough for me." Laura looked around. "I've never been in an American car before. What is it?"

  "A Cadillac of course."

  The words "of course" implied an acceptance of a certain standard and Laura wondered curiously what he did for a living. Many of the Greeks who travelled on the Bantock line were in shipping or the export and import business. Not that this man looked as if he cared about any business at all. He seemed too gay and frivolous for her to imagine him interested in anything other than pleasure.

  "Why are you frowning?" he asked.

  "I didn't realise I was. I was just thinking."

  "About me, I hope."

  She hesitated. "I was wondering what you do."

  "What I do? Or what I intend to do?"

  Deliberately she misunderstood the question. "What you do for a living."

  He smiled. "Doesn't the name Dimar mean anything to you?"

  "I've heard it before, but I'm not sure where."

  "Do you not know of the Dimar shipping line?"

  "Of course! How stupid of me!" She caught her breath. "But you're not————"

  "No, I'm not Nikolaos Dimar. He's my cousin."

  "I see." Laura crossed her hands in her lap and stared down at them. Even to be the cousin of Nikolaos Dimar immediately set Andreas apart, for the wealth of the Dimar Shipping Line was a byword. No wonder he had been surprised at her refusal to go out with him! Women no doubt fell over themselves to have him for an escort. She smiled. What a story this would make to tell Celia!

  She turned and looked through the window. The Corinth Hotel was situated some few miles outside Athens and they drove through a straggling, slummy area of mean streets and dingy houses, with children running barefooted over the cobbles, before they approached the capital itself. Ahead of them in the distance loomed the twin hills between which Athens was built and the silhouette of the Acropolis, rearing high above the city, shimmered white in the moonlight.

  Ignoring the large, imposing hotels, Andreas drove to a small restaurant off Constitution Place where he was greeted like a long-lost friend by the proprietor.

  "I take it you don't know much about Greek cooking?" he asked as they sat down at a table in the corner of the room.

  "Not a thing," she admitted.

  "Good. Then I hope you will leave it to me."

  Leave it to him she did and when the youvetsi—lamb cooked with garlic, bay leaves and tomatoes—arrived it was as delicious as he had promised. They drank the local wine and followed the entree with a sweet called halva, a mixture of sugar and almonds pounded to a paste with butter and semolina. It was exceptionally sweet and Laura could not finish hers completely, although she was amused to see that Andreas asked for a second helping.

  "Tell me," he said, breaking into her thoughts, "how is it that a girl like you is not married?"

  "B
ecause no marriage could offer me the pleasure I get out of my job."

  He looked at her astonishment. "But think of the pleasure you would have if you married the right person."

  She smiled. "I'd much rather be my own boss."

  "Really? I can see I will have to do something to alter that." He caught her hand across the table. "I want you to call me Andreas, and I hope you'll let me call you by your name. I can't keep calling you Miss Prentiss for ever."

  "For ever?"

  "For ever and ever. Now I've found you, I'm not going to let you go."

  Laura flushed, unused to such fulsome compliments. "My name's Laura," she said primly.

  "Laura." He gave the word a soft inflection. "Lovely, lovely Laura."

  Behind them a guitarist began to strum a plaintive Greek melody and Andreas pushed back his chair. "Will you dance with me?" ,

  "Here?" she said in surprise.

  "Yes. Another couple have already taken the floor so your British reserve need not be afraid that everyone will stare at you!"

  Moving round the room in his arms she found it strange to dance with a man whose eyes were on a level with hers. She glanced at him surreptitiously, noticing his unusually long lashes. Seen in profile he looked exceptionally young, too young in fact.

  "How old are you?" she asked abruptly and was instantly horrified at the question. The Greek wine must be stronger than she had thought.

  But he merely grinned. "I'm twenty-eight. Do I look older?"

  "No, much younger. I thought you were about my age.

  "And that is?"

  "Twenty-three."

  He nodded. "At twenty-three most Greek girls are married."

  "You can't compare me with your countrywomen."

  "Thank goodness for that! They are too docile and repressed."

  "I thought men liked docile wives."

  "Docile wives perhaps, but fiery mistresses."

  "Indeed!" Laura said coldly.

  "Indeed," he repeated and pulled her closer. "I love teasing you. You rise to the bait so easily. It must be your Titian hair."

  She raised her eyebrows. "Most men call it red."

  "But I am not like most men. You will soon learn that for yourself."

  "Yes," she said soberly. "I can see that I will."

  CHAPTER THREE

  LAURA saw a great deal of Andreas, his charm and persistence overwhelming her original determination to keep free of any entanglements. He was in London throughout July and tried to commandeer every available moment of her free time. To begin with she resisted but as she got to know him better and became more at ease in his company, she found herself accepting his friendship and basking in his admiration. She did not know much of his personal life apart from the fact that his widowed mother and sister lived with him in a flat in Knightsbridge, and he spoke rarely of his cousin Nikolaos, who to Laura remained a mythical, mysterious figure.

  Andreas' invitation for her to meet his family came as a surprise although Celia, home on three days' leave at the time, could not see anything unusual in it.

  "After all, why shouldn't he ask you home?" she said as she sat on the edge of the bath tub and painted her nails. "There's no doubt Mama wants to cast an eye on the girl who's monopolising her son's time."

  "He's monopolising my time too," Laura said, busy soaping herself.

  "Maybe." Celia's voice was unexpectedly dry. "But you're not connected with the Dimar Shipping Line, honey."

  The bar of soap dropped from Laura's hand and fell into the water with a splash. "You don't think I'm going out with Andreas because he's connected with the Dimar Line, do you?"

  "I don't but it wouldn't surprise me if Mama did. I must say I'm amazed he hasn't tried to shower you with presents. Greeks usually do."

  "I wouldn't take any presents from him. And anyway, the fact that he's Nikolaos Dimar's cousin doesn't mean a thing. He probably has hundreds of cousins working for him."

  Celia shrugged. "Just the same, I'd watch my step if I were you. You don't want to get hurt. And if young Andreas follows true to pattern he'll do what the head of the family tells him."

  "You're getting worked up over nothing." Laura stepped out of the bath and reached for a towel. "I like Andreas but that's all there is to it."

  But later that evening as she entered the young Greek's flat, Laura remembered Celia's words. Andreas had always referred to his home as small, but this was as much like her conception of a small flat as a cottage was like a palace. A large, square hall narrowed into a long corridor, on either side of which were heavy mahogany doors, and leaving her wrap in an ornately furnished bedroom she followed a maid into a drawing- room so large that, although fifty people were already there, it was still half full.

  Laura stood on the threshold in dismay. How annoying of Andreas not to have warned her that his mother was giving a party! She would have worn something more elaborate if she had known. But almost at once she was glad she had chosen a simple black dress, for none of her clothes could have compared with the exquisite gowns worn by the jewel-encrusted women around her. She was still hesitating by the door when Andreas came forward. In the black and white of evening clothes he seemed like a stranger, but as he took her arm there was the same boyish twinkle in his eyes, the same irrepressible warmth in his voice.

  "Every time I see you, you look more beautiful," he whispered. "You should always wear that colour."

  "You say that no matter what I wear!"

  "But I mean it." His eyes travelled over her slim, rounded body. "Every colour was made for you!"

  "Don't stare at me like that," she whispered. "People are looking."

  "Let them." His fingers were tight on her arm. "Come, I want you to meet my mother." He led her over to a thir. woman sitting beside a dark girl whom Laura had no difficulty in recognising as Andrea's sister. "Mama," he said, "I'd like you to meet Laura Prentiss."

  Mrs. Dimar extended a small hand weighed down by an enormous ruby ring and ruby and diamond bracelet. "How nice of you to come, my dear," she said in pleasant but halting English. "My son has often spoken of you."

  "It was kind of you to invite me," Laura murmured and turned to smile at Andreas' sister.

  The girl smiled back. Olive skinned, with large, flashing eyes, the most attractive thing about her was her smile which, disclosing perfect white teeth, was so friendly and inviting that Laura warmed to her instantly. This attraction was mutual for Melissa Dimar patted the sofa invitingly.

  "Please sit by me," she said, "and tell me all about your work. I would so much like to be an air hostess."

  Her mother laughed indulgently. "And what do you think your husband would say to that?"

  Laura looked at Melissa in surprise. "I didn't know you were married."

  "I am not." The dark brown eyes were filled with a strange sadness but the heavy eyelids shadowed them as Mrs. Dimar spoke again.

  "Melissa is eighteen. It will soon be time for her to marry."

  "Eighteen is so young," Laura said and Andreas laughed.

  "I keep telling you that in our country it is different from here. To a Greek girl marriage is the main object in life, and they marry much younger."

  Laura was suddenly intensely conscious of Andreas' foreignness, of the gap that lay between his way of life and her own. The butler stopped in front of her with a silver tray and, glad of a diversion, she took a glass of champagne.

  "Andreas!" His mother stood up and gave him her arm. "I am sure Miss Prentiss will forgive us if we leave her for a little while. Our other guests…"

  "Of course, Mama." He smiled at Laura. "I'll be back soon. I want to have the first dance with you." He walked away and Laura sat down beside Melissa.

  "You have a beautiful home. I've never seen anything quite like it."

  The girl looked round indifferently. "Myself, I like our house in Athens. But then, I prefer the weather there."

  "I didn't know you had a home in Athens as well."

  "Oh yes. We don'
t live here all the year. Both Andreas and my cousin Nikolaos travel a great deal— especially Andreas—and Mama does not like him to live in a hotel all the time."

  Laura felt strangely disturbed at such evidence of wealth. She looked round and recognising many faces that were well known in society, politics and industry, began to feel more and more alien.

  'Celia was right,' she thought. 'Andreas lives in a different world and I cannot hope to enter it.'

  She felt a touch on her shoulder and looked up to see him in front of her.

  "I don't like your thoughts," he said quietly. "Put a smile on your lips and come and dance with me."

  She followed him into another room almost as large as the drawing-room. The carpets had been taken up and a three piece band played softly in one corner. Together they glided into the rhythm of a waltz and feeling his arms familiarly close around her, she relaxed.

  "Oh darling," he murmured. "I'm so proud of you tonight. You'e the most beautiful woman in the room."

  "And the poorest! Why, one single piece of jewellery here is worth more than I earn in a year."

  "Is that so?" Abruptly he stopped dancing and catching hold of her arm, led her on to a wide balcony overlooking the park. "So that's what you were thinking a moment ago!"

  "Of jewellery? Of course not."

  "Not of jewellery," he said quickly, "but you were thinking of the difference between us." He put an arm round her waist but she pulled away from him and averted her head. "Laura, what's the matter? Have I done anything to hurt you?"

  "No, but———— " She turned and looked at him. "I had no idea you lived like this."

  "I made no secret of it." He was puzzled. "You knew my name and who I was."

  "I didn't realise it meant such luxury and wealth. It's like another world to me."

  "That is nonsense! I'm still the same person. You're still the same person. Why should the fact that I have money worry you?" For the first time since she had known him she saw him angry, the laughter gone from his eyes. "I won't let you close your mind against me, Laura. Neither will I allow you to underestimate yourself. You're a beautiful woman, what does it matter if you are poor when you are so rich in everything else? No emeralds can compare to the green of your eyes, no pearls to the milky whiteness of your skin."