The Windmill of Kalakos Read online

  When she went into the dining room to serve the red mullet she was only too conscious of his nearness. Surely he must hear her heart hammering so loudly that she seemed to have no other sound in her own ears.

  “You must join me,” he invited, pointing to a place on the opposite side of the table.

  “I can’t leave Nikon to eat alone,” she objected, although she was eager to accept.

  “Why not? Is he more important than I that he must have company?”

  “Well, he’s used to Caterina being there and—”

  “And I’m used to eating alone.”

  In another moment he would retract his offer, and sacrificing herself to Nikon would bring her no reward. “All right,” she said hastily, “I’ll bring in the next course and join you, if I may.”

  Nikon had no objection to being left alone in the kitchen and Jacynth savoured the delight of sharing with her employer a meal she had cooked. It was the first time she had eaten in the dining room, for she had not visited it again after that early tour of inspection with Caterina. The room, in spite of its elegant furnishings, lacked the warmth of companionship. She could imagine a dozen people seated around the oval table, hear their animated conversation, see the glances, amused, surprised or displeased, that passed between them. But that was only in the mind. In actual fact she found it difficult to converse with Mallory during the meal, for she was acutely aware that only the present crisis of Caterina’s illness had saved her from being in disgrace over last night’s incident when she had returned so dishevelled after the outing with Ray.

  Mallory was not very talkative either, and she had the impression that he now regarded as a mistake having invited her to eat at his table.

  “I’ve some work to do later,” he said when she brought in the coffee, “so you can bring me the brandy to my study. But there’s no need for you to go on working. You’ve had a pretty full day and probably we’ll catch up tomorrow.”

  She accepted her dismissal and retired to the kitchen to clear away and wash the dishes.

  During the next three or four days Jacynth managed the double routine of typing Mallory’s work and attending to the meals. Mallory was not liberal with his compliments and the nearest he came to a word of praise was when she served fried mussels followed by pastitsio, a concoction of macaroni, minced meat and browned béchamel sauce.

  “Very good flavour,” he pronounced, “but one of these days you must treat me to some of your own English dishes. Apple pie, for instance.”

  She smiled with pleasure and made a mental note to ask Nikon to obtain some apples.

  “Nikon tells me he has found a young girl who could help with the housework,” Mallory continued. “Probably you can find time to show her around the house when she comes tomorrow.”

  “Certainly. I’ll do that.”

  Since the first evening when Mallory had invited Jacynth to join him in the dining room, he had not repeated the offer and, in a way, she was relieved to eat with Nikon in the kitchen, although when she served a meal to Mallory, she was always conscious of his devastating masculinity. Once, when she accidentally touched his shoulder, she almost dropped the dish of carrots in her hand, for her arm felt as if it were on fire.

  When next day she took the girl whom Nikon introduced as Chloe to start on the upstairs rooms, Jacynth was full of curiosity to learn what Mallory’s room looked like. The decor was more feminine than she had visualised, cream and turquoise walls, cream brocade curtains at the windows and a large double bed with an ornate bedhead wrought in brass.

  A bedside table was piled with books and papers, as one would expect, but there was also a photograph in a silver frame, a portrait of a very beautiful woman with dark hair and gentle eyes. His mother?

  Jacynth pulled herself together and gave the girl Chloe instructions, although her Greek was inadequate for the purpose and she resorted to pantomime gestures for sweeping and dusting.

  Two mornings later, when Jacynth considered she had more or less mastered the new routine of the household, she rose very early, donned her bikini and an enveloping towelling wrap and went down to the seashore to bathe. Her favourite little strip of beach was close to a portion used by one of the hotels farther along the shore and two men were already setting out cushioned lounge chairs and umbrellas ready for the crowd of sunbathers who would settle themselves there in a couple of hours’ time. After swimming around for a while, she turned on to her back and studied the aquamarine sky above her. Far off she could hear the sound of a motor-boat—the inevitable water-skier, she guessed. When she raised her head and glanced towards that direction, she recognised the unmistakable figure of Mallory, a golden-tanned body in black trunks skimming along the water in undulating loops as the boat swerved and turned.

  She raised one arm to wave to him, but could not be sure that he had seen her, and now she noticed a second boat with its attendant skier approaching from the opposite direction.

  The two boats seemed intent on a collision course and Jacynth watched, fascinated, as the two skiers evaded each other. Then suddenly, to her horror, she saw that one of the boats was coming straight towards her at terrific speed. She struck out blindly in what she thought was the opposite direction, but something landed a paralysing blow on one side of her head and shoulder and the darkness overtook her.

  When she opened her eyes, she blinked in puzzlement. A man’s face was bending over her as she lay on some hard surface and when the mist cleared she saw that the face belonged to Mallory.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “I—I think so.” So she had not drowned after all, unless this was heaven and Mallory only a vision. “What happened?”

  “That clumsy fool in the other boat made a sharp turn and the stern hit you and sent you under.”

  “But somebody fished me out?”

  Mallory grinned and nodded. “I had that honour—and you were slippery as an eel.”

  The motor boat grounded on the beach and Mallory sprang out. Jacynth raised herself to a sitting position, but the pain in her shoulder twisted her face in anguish.

  “Wait!” Mallory commanded, then bent forward and scooped her out of the boat as though she had been a large fish, but she was much more excited than the fish would have been. She longed for the brief moment to continue as he held her close to his chest, then set her down gently on the sand.

  “Can you walk?” he asked.

  “Oh yes,” she affirmed, but her first steps were tottery. “I had a bathing wrap and sandals farther along.” The boatman trotted along and retrieved the wrap, which Mallory then held and draped around her shoulders. Jacynth closed her eyes, partly because her shoulder ached and her head throbbed, but mainly because she was aware of his tender touch, the touch that aroused all her longing for the full embrace that might have followed.

  In the next few moments he had pulled on his own towelling wrap and thrust his feet into the sandals handed to him by the boatman.

  “We’d better get home as quickly as possible,” Mallory muttered, and took her arm to help her up the beach and across the road, completely ignorant of the intoxicated, heady sensation for which he was responsible.

  He carried her up the stairs and into her room and she was nearly fainting with exultation. As he laid her on her bed and loomed over her, a tanned figure in a dark blue wrap, she became afraid to meet his eyes for fear of what he might see there.

  “A pity this should happen when Caterina is away,” he said.

  “Oh, I shall be all right in half an hour,” she assured him.

  “You’re probably still rather shocked. Take it easy for today. By the way, what made you come out for a swim so early? Or is it a habit?”

  “No, this morning was the first time. I thought I could take the time then. Chloe, the girl recommended by Nikon, will do the housework, so I have only a bit of cooking to do, apart from your various documents.”

  Mallory’s mouth relaxed into a smile. “You seem terrified of s
lacking. Do I really keep you in chains?”

  “There are times when I feel that I’m not working hard enough,” Jacynth admitted.

  “That was only at first. I had to see what sort of stuff you were made of.” He thrust his hands into the pockets of his wrap. “I’ll telephone for the doctor to come and examine you later in the day. I think only bruises and a certain amount of shock, but we’d better make sure. We don’t want a household minus both you and Caterina.”

  He leaned over her and she imagined for a wild instant that he was going to kiss her, but evidently he changed his mind, straightened up and stalked out of the room.

  Her spirits, which had been so high during the last half hour, slowly sank to zero. No, of course, he could not do without both herself and Caterina. That would be a disaster for both the smooth running of his business concerns and his household. How foolish of her to fancy that his consideration was on her own behalf as a person. He had rescued her when one of the boats hit her, but he was really rescuing his secretary and temporary cook, not Jacynth Rowan. Yet she regretted that she had not known that exquisite moment when-he must have lifted her into the boat.

  Chloe brought Jacynth’s breakfast and Jacynth was grateful for the hot coffee. After a short rest she roused herself to shower and dress. Her shoulder was painful, but no bruise showed yet.

  In the kitchen Nikon had already begun to prepare vegetables and expressed his concern about Jacynth’s accident, adding that early morning skiers were a dangerous breed and motor-boats a menace.

  She gave Chloe instructions about cleaning the various rooms and assured Nikon that there was no cause for alarm. Mallory had evidently announced that he would be out all day, so that meant that lunch need not be very elaborate and she could later on concentrate on the evening meal.

  Typing was a different matter and her speed was slowed down considerably, but she doggedly stuck to the tasks awaiting her attention.

  In the late afternoon the doctor came, and Jacynth was relieved to hear that apparently no bones were broken. The shoulder would ache for several days and probably bruising would appear. The side of her head was grazed just above the ear, and the doctor attended to this. In excellent English he instructed her to come to his surgery if any further treatment should be needed, or if she became worried about her injuries.

  When Mallory returned in the early evening she asked at what time he would like his dinner served.

  His glance was directed at some papers on his desk and he did not look up. “Oh, just bring me something on a tray—an omelette—anything—and a glass of wine.”

  “But I’ve made you an apple pie!” she protested.

  “Apple pie?” His puzzled glance indicated that he had never heard of such a strange dish.

  “Yes, you suggested it as an English sweet.”

  His face cleared and he half smiled. “Oh, yes, so I did. I wonder if that was wise. All right, bring in whatever you’ve concocted.”

  Fine thanks I get for pandering to his lordship’s whims! Jacynth thought rebelliously as she returned to the kitchen.

  “Where do you eat your own meal?” he asked when she eventually placed the cheese board in front of him.

  “With Nikon and Chloe in the kitchen. I shall never learn Greek if I don’t try to talk to people.”

  He nodded, then grinned at her. “Of course. When you eat alone, you talk to yourself in your own language.”

  She flushed as she remembered the occasions when he had overheard her mutterings.

  “Perhaps in due course I might learn to chatter to myself in Greek.”

  “Good idea!” he agreed.

  She gave her attention to clearing away and stacking the plates and glasses on the tray. He had not bothered to ask her how she felt after this morning’s encounter with the motorboat or what injuries the doctor had diagnosed, or even if the doctor had called.

  She was halfway to the door when he said, “Is your shoulder painful where the boat hit you this morning?”

  “Not too bad,” she replied lightly.

  “I telephoned the doctor to ask him about your injuries. He told me they were not serious, but you might feel stiff and bruised within a day or two.”

  So he had checked up on the doctor’s report. Out of sincere interest, or only to find if she might be exaggerating her aches and pains?

  “So I thought we might perhaps give you a rest from cooking tomorrow,” he continued. “You can arrange something simple for Nikon and the girl and then in the evening I’ll take you to a place I know.”

  Her spirits soared at a ridiculous rate. “And lunch? Will you be in?”

  “No. I have an appointment. You can probably fix up lunch for the three of you.”

  She picked up the tray which she had rested on a side table. “Thank you, Mr. Brendon,” she said calmly, schooling her face into a formal expression, so that he should not criticise her again for a too-eager attitude.

  But in the kitchen she could scarcely eat her own meal for the dancing excitement that coursed through her being. Presently she sobered, for the thought occurred to her that possibly his motive for taking her out to dinner was that he could stand no more of her cooking. True, she knew she was not in Caterina’s class, but she could hardly be expected to have the housekeeper’s long experience. Nikon and Chloe had pronounced the apple pie “Very good”, but perhaps they were no more than polite.

  Jacynth was relieved next day that some of her obligations had been lessened, for her right shoulder ached and as her typing took longer, she was glad not to spend too much time in the kitchen. But late in the afternoon when she went there to help a little with the evening meal for Nikon and Chloe, Nikon came to tell her that a visitor had called and would like to see Jacynth.

  Her thoughts immediately veered to Ray. “I’ll see him in a few minutes.”

  “A lady,” Nikon informed her.

  “Oh. Where have you taken her?”

  He told her he had seated the lady in Jacynth’s office.

  She hurried out of the kitchen, wondering who the caller might be. Hermione Perandopoulos was standing at Jacynth’s desk, glancing apparently idly at the document in the typewriter.

  Jacynth gave the Greek girl a formal greeting, but Hermione did not return the salutation. “Miss Rowson—or whatever your name is—I understand that Mallory—Mr. Brendon—is without his cook.”

  “Yes. Caterina is ill.”

  “And you are taking her place?”

  “I’ve been coping with a few meals, that’s all,” replied Jacynth mildly. “Won’t you sit down, Miss Perandopoulos?”

  Hermione ignored this invitation and took a few restless steps about the room. Then she glared at Jacynth. “Mallory knows perfectly well that at any time we could provide him with cooks or servants. There is simply no need for a typist to meddle in his household affairs.”

  “If Caterina is likely to be ill for some time, no doubt Mr. Brendon will get in touch with you,” said Jacynth smoothly.

  “I will not tolerate you any more, Miss Rowland!” Hermione’s hazel eyes flashed with fury. “Ever since you came here, you’ve tried to insinuate yourself into Mallory’s household. In fact, you’ve thrown yourself at him in the most shameless manner.”

  “That’s not true!” contradicted Jacynth.

  Hermione smiled scornfully. “Not true!” she repeated contemptuously. “Why, it’s written all over you that you’re in love—or fancy you are—with Mallory. I’ve already warned you how foolish you are, but you’ve taken no notice, so now I shall insist that Mallory gets rid of you.”

  “Perhaps Mr. Brendon might insist on choosing his own secretaries,” Jacynth said.

  “Do you really believe that he will listen to you and not to me?”

  “I’m quite sure that you have great influence with him,” Jacynth replied. Her mind was trying to find a way of getting rid of Hermione before Mallory could return. If the Greek girl were here when he came in, Jacynth could envisage severa
l dismaying possibilities. Hermione might insist that Mallory dismiss his secretary on the spot. Even if he temporised, managed to calm down Hermione, it was very unlikely that he would fulfil his promise and take Jacynth out to dinner. His companion would undoubtedly be Hermione.

  So now Jacynth adopted a bold course. “Miss Perandopoulos, please forgive me, but I have some work to finish tonight for Mr. Brendon, and then I have a dinner engagement.”

  Hermione stopped in mid-stride. “Really? So in spite of your supposed devotion to your employer, you have acquired some other men friends here?”

  “Would that be unnatural?”

  “Probably not in your case,” retorted Hermione. “There are quite a number of young Englishmen here, and in fact, I understand from Mallory that you have a special friend.”

  Jacynth frowned. So Mallory had mentioned Ray, and Hermione was eager to seize on the connection.

  “And I suppose you’re now in a tearing hurry to finish your work and meet this young charmer tonight,” Hermione smiled. “Perhaps you would do better to concentrate on him and dismiss all your romantic thoughts about Mallory. My advice would be for your own good.”

  Jacynth smiled tentatively. “I’m sure it would,” she agreed. Oh, if only Hermione would leave now before further conversation led Jacynth into making promises that could not be fulfilled!

  Hermione was gazing around the room. “You’ve no telephone in here, apparently. I want to make a call—to Mallory.” She gave Jacynth an oblique glance that was a mixture of triumph and contempt.

  “The only one is in Mr. Brendon’s study.” Jacynth accompanied the Greek girl, imagining that Hermione might know where Mallory would be at this hour.

  “Where is he likely to be?” she asked.

  Jacynth shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  “Oh, come! Don’t be evasive. Is he coming home to dinner?”

  “No.”

  “Then I’ll try two of the numbers I know.” She glanced up at Jacynth. “My conversation will be private, so—if you don’t mind?”