And then it all came back, and she turned her head, expecting to find the room empty, but there sat Constantine in the wicker chair, his black eyes resting thoughtfully on her. He was, she registered dully, still in the suit he’d worn down to dinner last night. His face was etched with lines as though he hadn’t slept, and that, together with the crumpled suit, seemed to bring her to her senses and she sat up in bed, her blonde hair tumbling in wild dis- array all over the thin straps of her ice-pink camisole. She saw his eyes darken, and protectively reached out for the matching wrap and pulled it on.
‘Jade—’ he began, and she raised her hand to halt him, because she knew that she could not bear to hear him say it. She wasn’t going to break down in front of him. Let him have Eleni if he wanted, but let him not say it.
‘I want to go home,’ she told him, and saw the corners of his eyes crease in bewilderment.
‘Home?’ he echoed.
‘Yes. Home. I’ll get dressed, and then I’d like to leave as soon as possible. Please say goodbye to Eleni and her mother for me. And Sophie. I’d prefer not to see anyone, if you don’t mind.’
‘They’ve gone,’ he said flatly.
Now it was her turn to e
cho. ‘Gone?’
He shifted his position in the chair and loosened his tie. ‘Yes, gone. Leaving us alone. At last. Be- cause it’s high time that you and I had a talk.’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘You don’t? Well, I do.’
And then she realised what had probably hap- pened. Eleni had gone because it would be more diplomatic if Constantine terminated the marriage without his lover around. Perhaps there was that touch of kindness in him which Stavros claimed he had. Either that, or pity, or simply a dread of any scenes which might ensue. But Jade had her dignity; and she didn’t want his kindness or his pity.
‘It’s all right, Constantine,’ she said quietly, marvelling that her voice should hold no giveaway tremor. ‘I know perfectly well what you want to say to me.’
His eyebrows rose to become lost in the blackness of his hair. ‘You do?’
‘Sure,’ she said flippantly. ‘You’ve made a mistake. You thought you wanted me and for a while you probably did. But now that Eleni is free- well, I want you to know that I understand. I’m releasing you from our marriage.’
A pulse began to beat insistently in the hollow beneath one cheekbone. ‘Just what the hell are you talking about?’ he demanded, from between gritted teeth.
‘You know darned well what I’m talking about! You want her, not me—and she wants you. She wants you so badly, you can feel it in the air. You don’t have to pretend any more. You spent the night with her, OK, I understand, but now I just want to get out of here, and as far away from you as possible.’
‘I spent the night,’ he repeated ominously. ‘With Eleni?’
She’d had enough, flimsy nightdress or not, she jumped out of the bed and ran for the bathroom. ’You know you did!’ she sobbed, and wrenched the door open, but he had waylaid her, pulling her vi- olently into his arms, and she recoiled from the fury on his face, the contempt she read in his eyes.
‘You think I’m that kind of man?’ he thundered. ’That I could make love to a woman while my wife lay in the next room?’
‘But I’m not your wife, am I?’ she shouted back. Wives were loved, cherished. ‘Not really! Not properly!’
‘Then why don’t you start being my wife?’ he ground out, and he pushed her down on to the bed.
‘No!’ she screamed out, as she felt the sinewy weight of him on top of her, so hard against the softness of her body, and her hands reached out to grip convulsively at his shoulders, supposedly, she thought, to push him away, but suddenly she wasn’t doing any pushing. ‘No,’ she pleaded on a broken whisper. ‘Not like this.’
‘How then?’ And his lips brushed softly against hers. ‘Like this?’
For answer she gave a great sob in his arms, and then he cradled her to his chest, murmuring words in Greek which she did not understand, but which soothed and calmed her. When she’d stopped, he opened each eyelid with a gentle finger.
‘Do you really think I wanted Eleni here?’ he quizzed.
‘You asked her to stay for as long as she liked!’
‘Because she is my stepsister, and because we Greeks show respect and hospitality to our family. I don’t love Eleni,’ he said.
‘But she loves you.’
He sighed. ‘Yes,’ he admitted. ‘Or rather she thinks she does. She is a spoilt child who wants to take everything she sees—she always has been. She imagines that no man can resist her if she puts her mind to it. And last night, after dinner, I was not, as you imagined, making love to Eleni—instead I was telling her that I intended settling down to a happy and, I hope, a very long life, with you, my wife—if you can bring yourself to forgive me.’