‘I think we should stick with Nikos, don’t you?’
The rebuff stung. No, it killed. A part of herself withered like a cut flower deprived of water.
She narrowed her eyes, ignoring the tears she could feel heavy in her throat. ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer Mr Kyriazis?’
A muscle jerked in his jaw but he returned his gaze to the paper and read on for a few moments before closing the pages and turning around, propping his butt against the edge of the kitchen bench. His eyes locked with hers.
‘What did you want to speak to me about, Mrs Kyriazis?’
She swallowed, all desire to act the part of his wife for real evaporating in the face of his coldness. Confusion was swirling through her, biting at her confidence bit by bit.
‘The housekeeper,’ she said finally, knowing the only thing worse than looking overeager was looking like an idiot who couldn’t finish a thought. ‘I can do some of her stuff.’
He arched a brow, silently imploring her to continue.
‘Well,’ she said, bitterly regretting embarking on this path. ‘I did my own shopping at home. Most of my cooking, too. I also took over the gardens.’
‘You? Who can’t tell wisteria from jasmine?’ he prompted sceptically.
She squared her shoulders. ‘That was a long time ago. I love flowers now. Roses especially.’
She was babbling. What was that pervasive feeling of grief? And how could she stem its tide?
‘Do you grow roses here? I suppose not. They’re more of an English thing, aren’t they? But, anyway, you said you have gardeners. In England I...’ She tapered off at his complete lack of responsiveness.
‘Eléni has been my housekeeper for a long time,’ he said finally, his tone as far from encouraging as it was possible to get. ‘I am not willing to offend her. She will not want to share her responsibilities.’
Marnie stared at him with rich disbelief. ‘Even with your wife?’
His smile was not softened by anything like happiness or pleasure. ‘My wife has other responsibilities.’
Marnie reached for her coffee. Thick and gloopy or not, it still had the ability to put some fire in her blood. ‘What’s got into you?’ she asked when she’d drunk almost the whole cup. ‘You’re treating me like...like...’
He waited for her to continue, but when she didn’t speak, letting her sentence trail off into nothingness, he prompted, ‘Like what?’
He was impatient now. She felt like a recalcitrant child.
‘Like you hate me.’
His nostrils flared as he expelled an angry breath. ‘Your words, agape, not mine.’ He pushed up off the bench. ‘I’ll be home for dinner.’
‘Where are you going?’ She stared at him incredulously.
He laughed. ‘Well, Marnie, I have to go to work. You see, our so-called marriage is really a business deal. You’ve upheld your end of the bargain spectacularly well so far—even bringing your virginity to the table. Now it is my turn. My assistant’s number is on the fridge, should you need me.’
He walked out of the kitchen without so much as a kiss on the cheek.
She stared at his retreating back, gaping like a fish dragged mercilessly from the water. Hurt flashed inside her, but anger was there, too. How could he be so unkind? They were married, and only hours earlier had been as close as two people could be. That had moved things around for her; it had changed the tone of her heart. She wasn’t the same woman she’d been the day before, or the week before, or when they’d made this hateful deal.
But for Nikos apparently nothing had changed. Nothing.
And he hadn’t even told her to call him if she needed anything! She was so far down the pecking order that she was supposed to go through his assistant if she needed her own husband for anything.
Well! She’d show him!
She ground her teeth together and wandered over to the newspaper, simply for something to do. The article he’d been reading was an incredibly dry piece on an Italian bank that was restructuring its sub-prime loans.
She flicked out of the finance section and went to international news. Though she generally liked to keep abreast of world events, she looked at the words that morning without comprehension. The black-and-white letters swam like little bugs in her eyes until she gave up in frustration and slammed the paper shut.
She sipped the coffee again, before remembering how disgusting she found it, and then glided across the kitchen floor, pulling the fridge open. The platters from the night before were there; they’d been put back on their shelves. The flavours were reminiscent of childhood family holidays, when the four of them had travelled by yacht around the Med, stopping off at whichever island had taken their fancy, enjoying the local delicacies.
Libby had loved squid. She’d eaten charcoaled tentacles by the dozen. Whereas Marnie had been one for olives, cheese, bread and dolmades. Libby had joked about Marnie’s metabolism in a way she’d been too young to understand, though now she knew that she’d been unfairly blessed with the ability to eat what she wanted and not see it in her figure.
It was the one small genetic blessing Marnie had in her favour. The rest had gone to Libby. The shimmering blonde hair that had waved down her back, the enormous bright blue eyes, a curving smile that had seemed to dance like the wind on her face, flicking and freshening with each emotion she felt. And Libby had almost always been happy.
Marnie padded across the tiled floor, drawn to the glass doors that framed the view of the ocean. It sparkled in the distance, and she saw with a little sound of pleasure that there was an infinity pool in the foreground. She toyed with the door handle until it clicked open and then slid the glass aside, stepping out onto the paved terrace as though the breeze had dragged her.
She breathed deeply. Salt and pollution were a heady mix for a girl who’d spent much of her time in the English countryside. She grinned, trying to put her situation with Nikos temporarily out of her mind. An almost childlike curiosity was settling around her, and she slipped across the terrace and stood on the edge of pool. The water was turquoise.
Her toe, almost of its own volition, skimmed the surface before diving beneath, taking her foot with it.
Perfection.
Uncaring that her expensive linen dress might get crumpled or wet, and for once not thinking about photographers or what people might think, safe in the knowledge that she was completely alone, Marnie lifted the dress over her head and left it in a roughly folded heap on the tiles.
In only her bra and underpants she slid into the water, making a little moan of delight as it lapped up to her neck. As a child she’d gone swimming often.
She ducked her head underwater, beyond caring that her artfully applied make-up would smudge, and stroked confidently to the far end of the pool. She propped her chin on the edge, studying the bright blue sky, turquoise ocean and faraway buildings for a moment before duck-diving underwater once more and returning to the house side.
It felt good to swim, and she lost count of how many laps she completed. Eventually, though, as she drew to the edge of the pool, her arms a little wobbly, she paused to gain breath.
‘You are fast.’
A woman’s accented voice reached her and Marnie started a little, her heart racing at the intrusion.
Not knowing exactly what to expect, she spun in the water until her eyes pinned the source of the voice.
A woman was on the terrace, a mop in one hand, a smile on her lined face. She had long hair, going by the voluminous messy bun that was piled on top of her hair, and it was a grey like lead. She wore a dark blue dress that fell to the knees and sensible sandals.
The housekeeper. What had Nikos said her name was? She wished now she’d paid better attention, rather than focussing her mental skills on just what the hell had happened in the hours since they’d made love.
‘You swim like a dolphin, no?’ the housekeeper said, and when her smile widened, Marnie saw that she was missing a tooth.
‘Thank you,’ she said, inwardly wincing at how uptight she sounded. She tried to loosen the effect with a smile of her own. ‘I’m Marnie.’
‘You Mrs Kyriazis.’ The housekeeper nodded. ‘I know, I know.’
She was tall and wiry and she moved fast, propping the mop against the side of the house before lifting the lid of a cane basket. ‘I always keep towels in here. Mr Kyriazis likes his swim after work.’
Dangerous images of Nikos—bare-chested, water trickling over his muscled chest and honed arms—made her insides squeeze with remembered desire. ‘Does he?’
‘So the towels always are fresh. I can get you one.’
True to her word, she lifted one from the box and placed it on the edge of the pool, beside Marnie’s dress. Her hand ran to the item of clothing, lifting it as if on autopilot and draping it over a chair instead.
Marnie was a little shamefaced at the uncharacteristic way she’d discarded it.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, her tone stiff. ‘Nikos didn’t mention your name,’ she fibbed.
‘I’m Mrs Adona.’ She grinned. ‘You can call me Eléni, though, like Mr Kyriazis does.’
‘Eléni.’ Marnie nodded crisply. That was it. Curious, she tilted her head to one side, watching as the older woman returned to fetch the mop. ‘It’s nice to meet you.’