Master of Comus Read online

  Paul smiled patiently under this, saying something which brought a quick smile to the old woman's wrinkled face. Then he turned and indicated Leonie.

  The old woman gave a little cry of obvious pleasure and spoke. Leonie smiled, looked at Paul. 'I don't speak Greek.'

  The old woman looked horrified, clearly understanding her. She spoke then in English with a thick Greek accent. 'You do not speak Greek? Ah, how terrible! A Caprel not to speak Greek!'

  Paul's insolent gaze made Leonie angry. 'This is an English Caprel,' he drawled. 'Quite a different breed, you will find, but a Caprel, nonetheless, Clyte.'

  Clyte was staring openly, her blue eyes taking in every part of Leonie's appearance. 'Yes,' she said at last, 'you are right, Paul. A Caprel—one of the black Caprels.' She smiled at Leonie. 'There are two strains in the family, you know. Some are black- haired, others fair. Your grandfather was dark. You have inherited his colouring. Paul's grandfather was fair.'

  Leonie smiled her interest. The old woman spoke quickly in Greek again and Paul laughed.

  'Yes, she has the gift of silence, Clyte. She tells me she never speaks if she has nothing to Say.' His lifted eyebrows mocked Leonie gently. 'A rare gift in women.'

  'Come quickly now ,to Argon,' the old woman said, taking Leonie's hand. 'He has been waiting impatiently to see you.' She gave her a sly grin. 'You angered him by your letters, but you gave him a great desire to see you.'

  'Quarrelling with him already?' Paul asked.

  'She returned the money he had paid for her fare here,' Clyte told him, chuckling. 'I have not seen him so excited for a long time. I thought he would have a Stroke. But excitement is good for him. It stirs up his blood. She did him good.'

  Paul's glance measured Leonie once more. 'Pride and arrogance,' he said thoughtfully. 'Oh, a Caprel to your fingertips, my dear.'

  She burned with anger but did not retort. Clyte, grinning, led the way into the cool interior of the villa. The magnificence of the furnishings took Leonie's breath away. She had never seen such superb decor. The long saloon they entered was marble-floored, pale blue and white, with Greek legends illustrated in mosaic circles here and there. Paintings hung on the walls, and she recognised the styles of some of the greater modern artists, including several early Picasso sketches framed in black wood. The furniture was of the French empire period; ornate, delicate, highly polished. Flowers stood everywhere, their colour giving warmth to the room. The deep-buttoned silken chaise-longue was scattered with matching cushions.

  Clyte hobbled past all this without a glance, taking it for granted. Paul watched Leonie's expressive face closely. He wanted her to feel the charm of Comus.

  They walked through a marble-floored hall and up a flight of wide, sunlit stairs. Argon Caprel's bedroom was the master suite at the front of the house, facing the broad curve of the blue sea.

  Clyte knocked on the closed door, and a deep voice bade them enter. Leonie's swift glance took in the whole room; deep-piled white carpet, silk lamps, fitted wardrobes and dressing-table, a cushioned bedroom chair and the bed which dominated the room.

  Seated upright against a heap of pillows was a broad-shouldered old man with white hair and a massive, rock-like countenance from which shone eyes of her own golden brown.

  They stared at each other for a long, silent moment. Then Argon Caprel said in his deep voice, 'So! You are the English girl.'

  'I am Leonie Wilde,' she countered. 'How are you, Great-grandfather?'

  'Stand by the window,' he replied obliquely. 'I want to see you better.'

  She stiffened, but obeyed. Three pairs of eyes watched her remorselessly. Rigid-backed, she lifted her chin defiantly, she stared back at them.

  'You're your mother's child,' Argon said at last.

  'A Caprel,' nodded Clyte, with satisfaction.

  Argon flashed her a curious glance, as if asking a question, and Clyte nodded to him again, as if agreeing with an unspoken remark.

  'Do you enjoy your job?' Argon asked abruptly.

  Leonie was surprised that he knew about it, but nodded. 'Very much. It's exciting work.'

  'You are good at it?'

  She smiled, her teeth very even and white. 'I think so. I'm very highly paid.'

  'You can paint while you are here,' he told her. Comus is an artist's paradise.'

  She glanced out of the window at the hillside which fell away steeply to a shelving beach. 'Yes, I should say it was!'

  'I am tired,' he said suddenly, relaxing against his pillows. 'Come and see me again tomorrow and tell me more about yourself. Paul will look after you tonight.'

  She saw that he did, indeed, look pale, and she threw a look of anxious enquiry to Paul, who smiled reassuringly, taking her by the arm to lead her out of the room.

  'Goodnight, Great-grandfather,' she said over her shoulder.

  'Goodnight, Leonie,' he replied. 'I am sorry our first meeting is so short, but we will make up for it tomorrow.'

  Paul waited on the landing for Clyte to re-emerge, and asked her to show Leonie to her room. Clyte led her to a large room at the back of the house looking on to the garden. It was as elegantly furnished as the rest of the house; ultra-comfortable with every modern convenience, including a shower cubicle and a television.

  'Not,' said Paul later, 'that you can get much on the things. The transmitter only just reaches here. In calm weather one can get a good picture, but during a storm all you get is a blizzard of white dots.'

  'I doubt if I shall want to watch it, anyway,' she said. 'I shan't be here long enough to exhaust the pleasures of sightseeing.'

  He surveyed her insolently. 'I'd forgotten you were an artist. That explains a great deal.'

  She knew she would regret asking, but she did ask. 'What does it explain?'

  'Your self-assurance and hard opinions,' he drawled. 'Artists always have a high opinion of themselves and a low one of others.'

  'I find such generalisations worthless,' she said crisply, determined not to be affected by the charming picture he made, lounging against the cocktail cabinet with a glass in his hand and his golden head honey-smooth in the lamplight.

  The blue eyes brightened. 'I get the impression you think us all worthless: Argon, the villa and myself.' His smile taunted her. 'Isn't that so?'

  'I have no idea of my great-grandfather yet. As for yourself ... well,' she shrugged, 'if the cap fits!'

  'Tart as a lemon, aren't you?' he asked with amusement.

  'You shouldn't ask for my opinion if you only want polite lies,' she said sturdily.

  'Your opinion?' He straightened up, his eyes blazingly angry suddenly. 'Your opinion isn't worth a straw since you came here determined to despise the lot of us, determined to see nothing admirable or interesting on Comus. Your mind is like concrete. Nothing permeates it. You're a narrow-minded, bigoted little beast!'

  Leonie felt a pricking of tears at the iciness of his tone. Honesty compelled her to admit the truth of much of what he had said, yet his frank condemnation still hurt.

  'I'm an outsider here,' she flung back recklessly. 'For eighteen years my great-grandfather ignored my existence. Do you really expect me to be floored by all the evidences of his wealth and power, or, for that matter, by your famous charm and good looks? I may be prejudiced, but that's hardly surprising considering the circumstances!'

  He put down his glass and came towards her, and she looked at him in alarm. His tone silky-smooth, he murmured, 'So my famous charm and good looks leave you cold, do they, dear cousin? I wonder...'

  She involuntarily stepped back, frightened as much by the unaccustomed pounding of her own pulses as by the expression of intent menace on his face.

  Paul caught her by the elbows and held her at arms' length, staring down with an odd expression at her uplifted features, their fine-boned strength softened by the lamplight into a sort of beauty. 'Your eyes are like pansies,' he whispered softly. 'They have little golden centres. A pity they are so cold.'

  'Don't waste
your charm on me,' she snapped, 'I'm immune.'

  He laughed at that, the insolent blue eyes caressing her face. 'Are you Sure? Why is that pulse beating at the base of your throat, then? Why are your fingers trembling as I hold you?'

  'Let me go, damn you,' she whispered huskily. 'This phoney love talk of yours makes me want to throw Up!'

  He laughed again, but harshly, and released her, although he continued to watch her closely. 'You have a nasty tongue, my love. So tell me—what makes you think you're immune? Another man? It usually is. What's he like, this Romeo of yours?'

  'Oh, you'd get on famously together,' she snapped. 'You have so much in common—glib tongues, a fast line in cheap patter and not a shred of genuine feeling in your souls.' -

  'Ouch!' His blue eyes narrowed. 'I gather the gentleman left you somewhat disillusioned.'

  'He left me for an heiress,' she informed him bitterly. 'To do him credit, the experience probably did me good. I learnt a lot from him.'

  'None of it very pleasant, apparently.'

  Her lip curled. 'Education often proves unpleasant.'

  'You loved him?' The question shot at her abruptly.

  Her brown eyes shifted, then the thick black lashes descended to veil her expression. 'You ask too many questions.'

  'My dear, it's obvious,' he drawled. 'Such bitterness could only have been bred by love. Well, you're well rid of him, if that's any comfort to you. I can't say I'm flattered by the comparison, however. To my knowledge I've never hunted heiresses.'

  You don't need to,' she retorted. 'You use the same techniques for different purposes.'

  He put out a long finger to touch her cheek, and her skin tightened under the touch. 'Poor little thing! You've been through the fire, haven't you? Unlucky all round—with your family first, then your love affair. No wonder you're as stony as that hillside out there.'

  She found his gentleness too weakening. Moving away, she turned her back on him to stare out of the window at the dark night sky. 'I'm tired. I think I'll go to bed,' she said.

  'I'm astonished,' he said. 'I hadn't thought you were a coward.'

  She turned angrily, met his amused gaze and was forced to laugh. 'No, really. I'm exhausted.'

  The blue eyes laughed. 'I believe you, despite appearances. Sleep well.'

  Leonie went upstairs to her own room and stood in the darkness for a moment waiting for her heart to calm down. At a distance Paul Caprel had had a romantic glamour which was enthralling. She found his actual presence far more potent. Common sense, so long instilled, so much part of her nature now, warned against taking any part of his charm seriously. It was second nature to the man to flirt with every available female. He was another Leo, as she had told him, smooth-tongued and plausible, yet basically not to be trusted.

  'I'll never fall in love like that again,' she told the warm, scented night, and wished she believed her words herself.

  CHAPTER TWO

  DAWN conferred a cool sweetness on the island air. Under the pines which shaded the beach path a small grey lizard scuttled in search of flies, and the sea thistles were alive with gaudy butterflies, with long forked tails, flicking to and fro with easy grace.

  Leonie had awoken at first light and gone downstairs to find the servants moving about quietly on sandalled feet. Her appearance created something of a stir, but Clyte was sent for, and persuaded her to sit down in the breakfast room and eat some rolls and fruit with a pot of strong coffee.

  Still not certain as to Clyte's actual role in the household, although convinced of her importance to Argon, Leonie enquired as to the possibilities of swimming on the beach. Clyte smiled, her gold-filled teeth glinting against her pale gums.

  'Of course, my dear, of course you may swim. You have brought a costume?'

  Leonie nodded. 'I hoped I would get a chance to sunbathe.'

  Clyte's pale old eyes surveyed her. 'YOU have a good skin for taking the sun. A Greek colouring.'

  After breakfast, Leonie went up to her room to fetch a large towel and swimming costume, then found her way down the beach path with Clyte's directions as a guide. The way was stony and difficult, but at last she emerged on the beach; changed behind a large rock and ran down into the tantalising coolness of the water.

  She swam like a fish, diving under the blue swell of the waves now and then, or floating and staring up at the concealing canopy of the sky. As the sun climbed the skies the refreshing coolness left the beach and it grew hotter. She spread her towel on the sand and lay down on her stomach. After a while she anointed herself with sun-tan lotion and turned over on to her back. The heat of the sun made her drowsy. Her lids flickered and closed.

  She did not hear the soft grate of sandals on sand until Paul spoke to her.

  'You must be careful, you know. This sun is deceptive. You don't want sunstroke.'

  She reluctantly opened her eyes. He stood over her, very tall and long-limbed, in dark swim trunks, a towel over one arm. His tanned face wore a sardonic mask as he contemplated her long, slender half-naked body, travelling openly over the pointed swell of her breasts, her flat stomach and slim thighs.

  Flushing, she sat up and drew her knees up to her chin as if to hide herself.

  He crouched beside her and picked up the bottle of lotion. 'I'll put some of this on your back. Time you turned over.'

  She was too late to protest. He had tipped some into his pal m and began to smooth it over her back. His long fingers stroked caressingly down her shoulders, following the faint golden line of down along her back to the swell of her hips. He took his time,

  arousing pulses in places she had not suspected of possessing them.

  'That's enough,' she exclaimed abruptly. 'Thank you.'

  His hand halted, spread out against her skin, the long fingers splayed in a caress. 'Did you sleep Well?' he asked without removing his hand.

  'Yes, thank you.' She moved restlessly. 'I'll lie down again now. Are you going to Swim?'

  He withdrew his hand. 'Yes,' he agreed. He dropped his towel beside hers and sprinted down the beach into the water. Leonie watched as his lean body hit the waves and dived into them. He was more muscled, more athletic than she had expected, his body strongly shaped and lean. I must be careful, she told herself. He's far too attractive. She lay down on her stomach, exposing her back to the relentless sun.

  A short while later a towel dropped across her body and Paul flung himself down beside her. 'You must cover up now. Too much sun too soon is dangerous.'

  The sun isn't the only thing around here that's dangerous, she thought wryly. She turned her head, her wet hair flicking him across the face, and found him far too close for comfort.

  The bright blue eyes mocked her. 'Clyte told me you were down here. An early riser, I gather. How very English!'

  'Is Clyte one of the family or a servant?' she asked him, avoiding more personal subjects.

  'Neither,' he said briskly, with a hard look. 'She has worked for Argon since she was fourteen years old, but she's far more than a servant, if less than family.' He grinned. 'I suspect they were more than master and servant when they were young, to be honest.'

  She felt vaguely shocked, and her expression betrayed the feeling. Paul gave her a sardonic look. 'They're old now, but they had their moments, no doubt. Why should that shock you? They're human beings with ordinary human emotions and human needs.'

  Leonie built a tiny wall of sand with her fingers, embedding shells and pieces of wet seaweed in it. Paul lay and watched her, his head cradled on his folded arms. She has a dark, passionate face, he thought, but the passion has been forced down, if not out of sight, and that damned English education of hers has erected a glass wall around her. She was like a sleeping princess in a crystal cavern, and the sight of her created in him a savage desire to hack his way through the ice with brutal disregard for any emotional damage he might do. It would have been better for her, with her hereditary instincts, to be brought up by Argon as a Greek. The lines of that face were all
Greek; stormy, dark with the austere bone structure of an island people accustomed to a hard existence.

  At first sight he had been deceived by the cool hauteur of her English mask. Now he saw through the mask to the Greek soul within it.

  Her wall crumbled suddenly. He laughed. 'A pointless pastime, building with sand. Time you learnt that.'

  She sat up, flicking sand from her fingers. 'I think I'll go back to the house. Argon may be ready to see me.'

  Paul rolled over on to his back and surveyed her insolently, a hand shading his eyes from the sun. 'Get dressed first, then. Argon has a very old-fashioned attitude to women. He expects them to be fully clothed.'

  'I was not intending to march into his bedroom like this,' she retorted.

  'You never know with the English.' 'Chauvinist!'

  He laughed. 'Proud of it, too.'

  Her dark face lit with an answering smile. 'Yes,' she said. 'I can understand that.'

  Paul's eyes narrowed. A gleam shot into them, the sudden delight of the collector who sees a rare object he has long desired. 'You're half Greek yourself, remember.'

  She looked vaguely at a loss. 'I'm just beginning to realise it.'

  'Had you never realised it before?' she shook her head. 'Not really.'

  'But you knew!'

  She shrugged. 'Knowing a fact is a very different thing from feeling it in your bones. My mind knew that I had Greek blood, but my heart had never felt it. It was not until I actually got here that I began to feel in any way Greek.' She frowned. 'It began when I looked down from the plane and saw the Aegean, I think. Then when I met Argon...' Her voice broke off and she smiled. 'Blood is thicker than water, we say in England.'

  'Ah , but to a Greek the saying has more meaning. The Greek family is a much stronger unit, more cohesive, more powerful. Family loyalties are sacrosanct here.'

  'That was not my mother's experience,' she pointed out.

  Paul grimaced. 'She broke a tribal law. She married without the consent of the family.'

  'And became a family outlaw!'