The Windmill of Kalakos Page 19

  Suddenly Jacynth’s whole world exploded and fell in ruins. One morning Mallory was in his study when Jacynth entered and she saw at once that he was in a towering temper. “How could you do this, Jacynth?” he stormed at her.

  “Do what? What is it?”

  “This.” He handed her a Greek newspaper and pointed to a column on the financial page. “If you can’t read it, I’ll tell you. Perandopoulos has secured the contract, that I was just about to sign. He’s undercut our bid by two million.”

  Jacynth raised a white, puzzled face towards him. “But—but—I don’t understand,” she stammered. “If his bid were lower, then—”

  “His initial bid was much higher. I know that. But somehow, somehow, he managed to get hold of our figures, slice off a couple of million and put in his own tender. No one knew our figures except two people—you and me.”

  “But how could I have disclosed them to anyone? I don’t even know Mr. Perandopoulos.”

  “Plenty of other people do, and I should hardly expect you to act directly. That information was worth quite a few thousand drachmas. I don’t doubt that this boy-friend of yours could do with some extra capital if he’s setting up on his own. Between the pair of you, he’s probably managed to make a handsome start.”

  When the full meaning dawned on Jacynth, she became ice-cold. “How dare you accuse me of using your business secrets? Is that the sort of girl you think I am?”

  “You knew that Perandopoulos was our rival in this particular deal.”

  “Yes. But it wouldn’t occur to me to sell information either to him or through any kind of intermediary. As for Ray being able to dispose of it to anyone as important as Mr. Perandopoulos, that’s quite absurd.”

  Mallory paced the room. “I just can’t see any other way in which the information could leak.”

  A sudden flash of vision came into Jacynth’s mind. She remembered when Hermione had called and glanced at the work in the typewriter. Subsequently, she had been alone in Mallory’s study on the pretext of telephoning him. How much could she have examined the files and documents in his desk? “Well? Have you anything to say?” he now demanded. How could she say that she suspected Hermione, who would naturally deny any such charge?

  He sat down at his desk and put his head into his hands. “Jacynth, I trusted you—I’d have trusted you with my life.” After a few moments he straightened up. “It isn’t really the loss of business that matters. It’s you.” He laughed mockingly. “I can see now that all along I’ve been taken for a ride. You and your boy-friend had it all planned, didn’t you? You were to pretend you loved me—”

  “I didn’t pretend, I do love you.”

  “Then why?—oh, it doesn’t make sense.”

  “No, it doesn’t make sense to me either,” she said coldly, although she was fiercely angry. “Here is your ring.” She pulled it off her finger slowly and laid it on his blotter-pad. “I’ll bring you the keys I have of your desk and the safe. Perhaps you’d like to check first and then lock up all the other confidential documents. I don’t want to be accused of further thefts!”

  She rushed out of the study before she could burst into tears. She must control herself, even though her heart was breaking into a hundred pieces. When she returned with the keys, Mallory was not there and a few moments later, she heard the sound of his car driving away.

  Jacynth sat down in his chair, closed her eyes in misery. She should have known that such heights of joyous happiness could not last. One cannot remain on the peak and the descent into the abyss is full of terrors.

  She became aware of the telephone ringing and she picked it up mechanically.

  “Oh, that you, Jacynth?” Ray was calling. “Oh, good. Look, I wanted to explain about that other day when you called, but—”

  “It doesn’t matter, Ray. Forget it.”

  He laughed. “Forget it? I daresay you can. I’ve just heard that you’re going to marry the great tycoon. You’ve done very well for yourself, haven’t you? Stringing me along with all those tales of how you hated him and he worked you so hard and all that. Oh, well, enjoy your bargain. Good luck to you if you can make a go of it. Incidentally, I might know in the future where to come for a small loan, perhaps. If I needed a bit more capital? How about it?”

  She jammed down the receiver. It was ironic that Ray should wish her good luck at the very time when her relationship with Mallory had so utterly crashed into destruction.

  She went up to her bedroom, wondering what on earth she could do now. She could still go to Crete, she supposed. Mallory would have to give her the work permit if she demanded it.

  Once again wearily she began to pack her suitcases, but this time she left the tiled plaque of the Prince of the Lilies conspicuously on the dressing table. She wanted nothing more to remind her of Mallory. She would go right out of his life, as no doubt he had already thrust her out of his own.

  This time she would not ask Nikon to get a taxi. She used the telephone in Mallory’s study for the last time and when she saw the taxi arrive, she carried the cases out of the front door quietly and could not even bear to take a backward glance of the Villa Kalakos, although she caught a glimpse of the windmill.

  A ship would sail for Crete tonight, she found, and in the meantime, she would sit in a cafe. Her mind was numb with the morning’s events and as the day wore on she tried to make her mind a complete blank. She thought of her own childhood, traced her school progress, remembered holidays, her music exams, anything to shut out this aching bewilderment that enveloped her.

  She was glad when at last it was time to board the ship.

  Then she realised that in her anguish, she had again forgotten the matter of the work permit. She did not know where Mallory had hidden it and was too depressed at the time to look for it. Never mind. Permit or no permit, she was embarked for Crete and a happier time. It was a pity that in Rhodes, a delightful island which she had come to love, so much heartache had come her way.

  She settled herself in the saloon of the steamer and tried to concentrate on a novel, which she had bought at a kiosk.

  It was about Greece, and now she wished she had taken something else, one about Africa or Australia or Greenland. Later on, perhaps, she might be able to read about Greece and the islands when time had softened the pain of linking Greece with Mallory.

  Someone stepped past her, then stopped. Some instinct warned her not to look up, but against her will, her better judgment, her head slowly lifted.

  “I’ve come to take you home.” Mallory spoke quietly, almost pleadingly.

  Home! The word touched a sensitive chord within her, but she steeled herself against the urge to rise and fling herself into his arms.

  “I’m not coming,” she said. “You found you couldn’t trust me. Why should I trust you? How am I to know when you’ll fly into a rage and fling your accusations at me?”

  “You won’t know, because—oh, what does it matter?”

  “It matters to me. If you really loved me, you’d trust me. You’d know that I couldn’t willingly let you down.”

  “Come home with me, Jacynth. I can’t explain it all here.” He lifted her by the elbows and she stood rigidly, her head turned away. Then, her will-power sapped, it seemed, she relaxed for a moment in his arms.

  He held her close against him, then released her, picked up her suitcases and shepherded her out of the saloon and towards the gangway, just as a deckhand was untying the ropes. She thought woodenly that he had possessed her suitcases and she had little choice but to follow him.

  His car was close by the quay and once inside, she sat up straight, her gaze fixed unseeingly ahead. Meticulously, she took care not to touch his sleeve when he swung round corners.

  Contrary to her expectations, he remained completely silent until he opened the front door of the Villa Kalakos. Then he said, “Come into my study.”

  “I’ve chosen this room,” he said when they were both inside and he had, surprisingly, locked th
e door, “because this is where I came near to making the greatest mistake of my life.”

  “So even the great Mallory Brendon makes mistakes!” Jacynth taunted.

  “What a shrewish vixen you’ll become in a few years’ time, if I don’t take steps to tame you!” A smile lifted the corners of his mouth.

  He planted her in his own armchair and remained standing. “First, I must take back every word of accusation I threw at you this morning.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I went to see Perandopoulos and he was most elated, not only at securing the contract, but because of his informant of our price.”

  Jacynth waited expectantly.

  “Hermione came in then and I knew what her father meant when he said that blood was thicker than water. She told me that loyalty to her father was more important than to anyone else, including me. Unless, of course, the old man added, if I married his daughter, then all the secrets would be in the family.”

  “And did she tell you how she obtained the figures?” asked Jacynth.

  “M’m. She said you were extremely careless—and let her in here to my study alone while she pretended to telephone me.”

  “I guessed that now, but how could I have stopped her? She was also in my office, glancing over the work in my typewriter. She was your friend—even the woman you might marry—what could I have done?”

  Mallory came towards her and bent over her. “Nothing, against such a spiteful woman. She told me that she would never have used her information but for the fact that my engagement to you was announced—or rather, it spread through the bazaars, as it were.”

  With an effort, Jacynth rose, disengaged herself from Mallory’s hand. “Well, now that’s been cleared up, perhaps I can leave again.”

  “For Crete?” he queried, refusing to let go her hand. Then her face crumpled and the tears slowly coursed down her cheeks.

  “Darling!” he whispered, taking her firmly into his arms and wiping away the tears. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I’m humbly asking for it. I was mad to doubt you. Jacynth, my love, please stay.”

  The entreaty in his voice finally broke her cold resolution and she clung to him, responsive at last to his gentle kisses, aware of the fierce, latent urgency of his desire and revelling in the ecstasy of that promise for the future.

  After a long pause, Mallory asked, “And when do you leave for Crete?”

  “Not tonight, apparently,” she laughed.

  “Nor tomorrow, nor ever—not without me,” he threatened, his eyes shining with tenderness. “Together, we’ll go places—and you shall see my country through the eyes of a bride.”

  She sighed and wound her arms round his neck. “Together,” she murmured, “together. That’s all I ever wanted.”