The Windmill of Kalakos Page 17

  His suggestion was so contrary to what she had expected that for a moment or two words failed her. Then she recovered part of her composure. “I’m afraid I’m very much out of practice,” she apologised.

  She was furious with Mallory for exposing her to Hermione’s ridicule. In any case, what did these two want from her? A gentle serenade to provide a background for their intimate conversation? Jacynth would see them hanged first before she would comply with his request.

  “Perhaps some other time,” she now added with a smile at Hermione.

  “You have great faith in the future,” retorted Hermione in a fierce undertone.

  Mallory had lit another cigar and now sat down. “We were discussing this house and what to make of it,” he said to Jacynth. “Until now I’ve rented it from the Italian owner, the woman who used to live in it. Now she wants to sell and has offered me the first refusal.”

  “It would be a poor bargain, whatever the price,” declared Hermione.

  “I don’t think so. It would need completely redecorating,” observed Mallory.

  “Nonsense. This villa is simply not worth redecorating,” Hermione said emphatically. “You know that my father has half a dozen houses here in Rhodes and every one of them much better than this. Surely the best plan would be to let the Italian woman sell the villa and the site to one of your hotel companies. You could probably buy it quite cheaply for that purpose.”

  “That has always been a possibility, of course, and she is well aware of it,” he agreed.

  “Even the garden is shabby and your swimming-pool a joke,” continued Hermione. “One thing you could get rid of is that dreadful old windmill cluttering up the space.”

  “Oh, no!” exclaimed Jacynth involuntarily, and the other two turned to glance at her. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have spoken, but I—I like the windmill.”

  Hermione smiled contemptuously. “I’m surprised to find you in favour of anything so antiquated, but then of course whether Mallory keeps it or not hardly concerns you, does it?”

  Jacynth subsided with a muttered, “As you say”, but then she caught Mallory’s eye and saw his faint nod of approval. At least, she supposed it was approval. Was he then egging her on to spar with Hermione?

  After a while, Hermione rose. “Take me round these well-laid-out grounds of yours,” she commanded Mallory. “Possibly a new hotel might make a splendid feature of your precious windmill.”

  She threw Jacynth a triumphant glance as she linked her arm with Mallory’s. Naturally Jacynth did not expect to be invited to such a tête-à-tête and was puzzled as to why Mallory had asked her out here in the first place, apart from asking her to play the piano.

  So now she went into the drawing room, where the grand piano offered a challenge. Impulsively, she sat on the long brocaded stool, lifted the keyboard fall and propped up the lid. She played a few chords softly to flex her fingers, then began a Debussy Arabesque, but she was not in the mood for gentleness and chose a Chopin Polonaise, all fiery brilliance. Finally she played the Revolutionary Study, which more nearly matched the indignation she felt after her encounter with Hermione.

  She banged out the final chords, then became aware that Hermione had entered the room through the french windows, with Mallory close behind her.

  “So you really can play,” was Hermione’s cool comment. “I thought perhaps you could manage only a few waltzes on a schoolroom level. I apologise for doubting you.”

  Hermione’s apologies were no more than tissue paper, but Jacynth whirled round on the stool. “As I said, I’m out of practice. Plenty of wrong notes—if you detected them,” she added, as a barb. “And my repertoire of works I can play from memory is not very large.”

  She rose. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go along to the kitchen and see if Caterina needs any help.” She escaped from the room before Mallory could make any further requests, although she knew that Caterina would have finished her work in the kitchen long since.

  Next day Mallory again spoke of the villa. “As Miss Perandopoulos points out, there are many other villas on the island—and elsewhere in Greece or other islands—that I could make into a home eventually.”

  Jacynth refused to look at him in case he might read the anguished despair in her eyes. So he was now thinking of marrying Hermione and settling down somewhere. True, there would be plenty of the Perandopoulos establishments, but naturally Mallory would want one house he could call his own.

  “The woman owner now needs the cash. She’s had a tragic life in some ways. Husband killed in the war, one of her sons lost in an air crash and another, a young boy, died when he was about fifteen.”

  “How unhappy her life must have been,” murmured Jacynth sympathetically.

  “Of course the boy’s room would have to be opened and cleared out,” Mallory continued. “That locked room along the corridor—that was her younger son’s room and she wanted it kept as he left it.”

  So that was the secret of that locked room! “But I’m glad you like the windmill,” he added. “Perhaps one day I’ll have it cleared out and renovated.”

  “And I’m pleased that you don’t want to demolish it,” she answered.

  “Perhaps we all demolish too much—and then don’t know what we really want to build in place.”

  He went out of the room before Jacynth could fathom the meaning of this cryptic remark.

  A few days later Ray telephoned, asking if Jacynth could spare time for a steamer trip along the coast next day.

  “It means a whole day, so tell your boss you must leave early and get back late,” he advised.

  Mallory was not in at that moment, but Jacynth replied, “All right, Ray, and thank you. I’ll be there.”

  “Eight o’clock at the harbour. I’ll meet you down there opposite the Market Hall and we’ll find the ship.”

  As she put down the receiver, Jacynth began to regret her easy acquiescence in the plan. She was not so worried about taking the day off as to the wisdom of further excursions with Ray. She had not meant to encourage him after Sara’s visit, but she was committed now.

  Mallory made no difficulty when she explained that she was quite up to date with the work, unless he urgently needed her tomorrow.

  His gleaming eyes disconcerted her, especially when he said lightly, “I need you every day—but you can go off and enjoy yourself.”

  I need you every day. The words rattled in her brain, but of course he didn’t mean them in the way she longed for him to need her, as a person and not as a fairly efficient secretary.

  The steamer trip was scheduled to sail down the north-west coast of Rhodes and then close to the island of Alimia.

  “Do we land there?” asked Jacynth when she and Ray were seated on the upper deck.

  “Don’t think so. I believe it’s a wild sort of place. I thought I could have a look at it and I might make a special journey another time and see what I can pick up in the way of pottery or other lines.”

  By now Jacynth was accustomed to the fact that usually Ray had a twofold purpose whenever he proposed a jaunt. It was never merely for pleasure.

  Jacynth gave herself up to the enjoyment of the day, watching the rocky coastline of Rhodes slide by, seeing the clusters of white houses indicating small towns.

  After lunch, which proved to be a delicious assortment of fish with salad, followed by pastries and cheese, the steamer veered northwards towards another island, Symi, close to the Turkish coast. Jacynth saw from the map symbols that here were Byzantine and medieval sites.

  “I should love to explore this island,” she said. “Maybe later on I can find out where a steamer calls there.”

  Ray laughed at her with some indulgence. “You’re always wrapped up in the past. Think of the future.”

  “I don’t know how you can travel about Greece and the islands and not be moved by all that they can show of their wonderful past,” she retorted.

  “The past is all very well, but it doesn’t provide me
with my keep for the years to come.”

  Jacynth sighed and concentrated on the colourful rocky coast of Symi, vowing that when she had the chance, she would spend a long holiday pottering about all these little islands.

  It was some time later when both she and Ray became aware of the changed rhythm of the ship, which had slowed speed. Passengers began to ask each other what was the matter, deckhands ran about apparently engaged on urgent tasks.

  “Engine failure, I think,” commented Ray. “But they’re sure to repair the fault, whatever it is, and we’ll be on our way.”

  But it soon became obvious to Jacynth that the ship had ceased to make way and was slowly drifting in the direction of the Turkish coast.

  “Why don’t they put back to Symi?” muttered Ray irritably. “They’ll soon be in Turkish waters at this rate.”

  Apparently it proved impossible to turn back to Symi or any other Greek territory. An officer came along the decks informing people quietly that there was no danger, but that the steamer would have to land at some point in Turkey.

  “Got your passport?” asked Ray of Jacynth, who nodded. It was only a fluke that she had put it into her handbag this morning.

  The more worrying problem for her was a very late return to Rhodes. Mallory would expect her home at a reasonable hour.

  Eventually two tugs came out from the shore and the steamer was guided into a tiny harbour, where all passengers were ordered to disembark.

  “Why on earth couldn’t they have got tugs from a Greek port?” asked Ray. Other men were echoing the same idea, but a seaman explained that none were apparently available and the captain could not risk his ship grounding on the rocks.

  The formalities were long and complicated. Jacynth had imagined that a show of passports would be all that was necessary, but everyone had to fill in long forms, giving detailed information as to residence, occupation, nationality and so on.

  “When do we leave here?” Jacynth wanted to know.

  “How should I know?” rasped Ray. “You’re safe on land, anyway.”

  Then an official came into the large room to which the passengers had been confined and announced that a steamer would return them to Rhodes tomorrow morning.

  “Tomorrow?” gasped Jacynth.

  Ray shrugged his shoulders and grinned. “Thank your lucky stars you’re with me, instead of at the mercy of—” He broke off. “Why, this is almost where we came in, you and I. Remember? At the airport at Athens, when we lost the plane.”

  “I remember,” she said grimly. That adventure had done her no good at all with Mallory and this one could probably have unpleasant consequences.

  In due course the women and children passengers were taken to a separate room where a simple meal was provided; bowls of soup with bread. Some of the women complained that the food was not much of a dinner which they needed, but Jacynth considered that the Turkish officials were doing everything possible for a number of chance passengers who had not been expected. Later in the evening rugs and blankets were handed to the mothers with children and the uniformed men were apologetic that they could not provide for everyone.

  Jacynth made the best of the situation by pillowing her head on her cardigan and trying to sleep, even in fitful dozes.

  In the morning, the passengers were given hot coffee and biscuits and at nine o’clock were shepherded to a small steamer which would take them to Rhodes.

  Jacynth soon found Ray on the deck and asked how he had fared.

  “Terrible. Hardly any food and nowhere to sleep.”

  “What did you expect?” she queried sharply. “A four-course dinner and a comfortable sofa to sleep on?”

  Ray looked down at her and yawned. “The affair hasn’t improved your temper. It wasn’t my fault that the ship broke down.”

  “I’m not blaming you for anything. I just wish it hadn’t happened at this particular time.” If Mallory had been away from the villa, it would not have mattered, but now she saw clearly that the fragile harmony that existed between her and her employer was likely to be snapped irrevocably.

  It was perhaps fortunate that she had at that moment little idea of how devastating the storm would be.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “How can you blame me for the ship breaking down?” Jacynth was more angry now than she had ever imagined. Mallory was taking a fiendish delight in proving that she was nothing but a cheap, wanton girl who seized any opportunity of staying out at nights with her men friends.

  “I’m not yet convinced that you were on the steamer at all,” he hurled at her, his eyes blazing.

  “You can check that with the Turkish authorities. I filled in a lengthy form and signed my name to it.”

  “Hermione was right when she said—”

  “I’m well aware of Miss Perandopoulos’s views,” Jacynth interrupted, her discretion thrown to the winds. “Ever since she met me, she’s been trying to persuade you to sack me, send me back to England, anywhere, so long as I have no contact with you. Now she’s succeeded. The perfect excuse for sacking me has dropped right into your lap.”

  “Who said I was sacking you?” he demanded.

  Jacynth glared at him across the desk. At first she had tried to explain rationally and quietly the sequence of last night’s events, but gradually the interview had developed into a shouting match until they were both facing each other across three feet of mahogany, Mallory’s dark eyes by turn contemptuous or fiercely unbelieving, her own face flushed and her voice almost out of control.

  “Do you really think I could go on working for an employer who takes the attitude you’re taking?” she demanded.

  “In that case, you’re sacking yourself.”

  “In that case,” she repeated mockingly, “you’re finding it convenient to put the onus on me.”

  Now she was holding on with both hands to the edge of the desk. She was really burning her boats now. Mallory was not the man to capitulate, to withdraw his accusations that she was just another permissive girl with little sense of morality.

  Suddenly Mallory sat down at his desk and ran his fingers through his thick, dark hair. The gesture, so familiar to her, almost demolished her resolution not to surrender; she wanted to run to him, crave his indulgence, beg him to let her stay, but she steeled herself to endure. What good could come of staying in his employ now? She would always feel ashamed, humiliated, even though she had not committed a sin other than being shut up in a Turkish Customs shed all night.

  “I think it’s time to put an end to all this,” he said coldly, as he drew his cheque book out of the drawer. She watched him for a few moments as he began to write a cheque.

  As he said, this was really the end. He tossed the cheque towards her.

  “I’ve added an extra amount to compensate for the lack of notice—on either side,” he added, with a significant glance at her. “There’s also enough for your air fare home.”

  Jacynth picked up the cheque and glanced at the amount, generous by any standards. But the size of the sum only served to reawaken her fury. “I don’t want any kind of bonus,” she stormed. “I’m not accustomed to being bought off. Nor do I need the money for my air fare.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Oh? Do you intend hitch-hiking back to England?”

  “My methods of travel are my own business. For the present, I intend to stay in Rhodes.”

  “I see.” He almost hissed the words at her as he came towards her, and for a wild, panic moment she thought he was going to take her by the shoulders and shake the life out of her. “You’re going to stay here—with this man, who obviously means so much to you.”

  “He’s always been willing to offer me a job here,” she said shakily.

  “How wise of you to provide yourself with a second string! May I be permitted to ask where you will live? Or are you planning to share whatever accommodation he has?”

  “My future is of no concern to you, Mr. Brendon,” she flung at him, although her eyes were brimming with te
ars. He would never know how much she longed for her future to be his concern.

  She pushed the cheque towards him. “Perhaps you could let me have one for the salary owing to me—and nothing more.”

  With cold deliberation he tore the first cheque into small pieces and let them drop from his fingers on to the desk. When he handed her the second cheque, he said maliciously, “Allow me to wish you success in your—new venture.”

  In her turn, she longed to tear this cheque into small pieces and fling them in his face, but that would have been a futile gesture, merely robbing herself of money she would need in the next week or two.

  “I will finish the work outstanding,” she said with as much dignity as she could muster.

  “You will certainly not,” he snapped. “I’d rather you left the house as soon as you can pack your belongings. I don’t want to see you again.”

  “And I shall be glad to go!” Jacynth retorted defiantly. But in her bedroom she collapsed on the bed and wept for sheer misery. That final lie had unnerved her, and if she had stayed another moment in Mallory’s study, she would have completely disgraced herself by a torrent of weeping.

  When she was calmer, she asked herself how she could go on loving so stubbornly a man firmly determined to believe the worst, even when all the circumstances yelled aloud that she was not to blame.

  It took little time to pack her few belongings, but when she unhooked the beautiful tile plaque of the Prince of the Lilies, which Mallory had given her, her tears started afresh. The pottery vase portraying the Cupbearers, which Ray had given her, had caused no such flood of emotion. Perhaps one day she might be able to look on the tile plaque and remember without grief of an episode in her life and a man whose image would always remain in her mind.

  When she went downstairs to say goodbye to Caterina and Nikon, she visited first her office-sitting-room and noticed immediately that all papers and files had been removed by Mallory. Only the covered typewriter remained; otherwise, all evidence of her occupation of the room had vanished.