Beware of the Beast (16 page)

Charlotte sagged against the table. She did not know
exactly what she had been expecting, but not this. Her brain
could not handle the confusion of emotions George
Constan-
dis's
news had aroused within her, and she found herself
staring at him without actually seeing him.

Pulling herself together, she made an effort to behave
normally. "I... I see." She licked her dry lips. "
Er
... won't
you sit down, Mr.
Constandis
?" She picked up the bell and
rang it. "Tina will bring us some fresh coffee."

"Thank you." George seated himself in the chair
Alex usually occupied, "I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news.

Charlotte made a gesture of indifference as the Greek girl appeared from the kitchen. She ordered coffee for her guest,
and then applied herself to finishing her own breakfast. But
it was impossible to feel any enthusiasm for eating when her
brain and stomach churned unmercifully.

Tina brought fresh rolls with the coffee, smiling confidently
at George
Canstandis
. He teased her, asking her about her
boy-friends, and sending her away giggling. It was obvious he was quite at home here, and although Charlotte had no
reason to resent it, she found herself doing so. It was ridiculous,
but she resented his coming here, she resented his easy
sympathy, his camaraderie with the servants, and most of all his assumption that she was missing her husband. She was tempted to tell him that so far as she was concerned, if Alex
chose to spend the next six months in New York, she wouldn't
care. But that would have been childish, and not completely
true. She wanted this charade over and done with, and how
could it be so if he was thousands of miles away? So she bit
her tongue, and answered him in monosyllables when he
asked what she thought of the island.

At last the meal was over and he rose to his feet. "Thank
you, that was delightful," he told her, which Charlotte thought
could not be completely true either in the circumstances. "And now, I must leave you."

With reluctance, she found herself unable to deny the
obvious question: "I - will you - are you going to New York,
too?"

George regarded her steadily. "I am. Why? Do you have a
message for your husband?
A letter, perhaps?"

"No." Charlotte took a deep breath. "No message."

George hesitated. "You are sure?"

"Quite sure."
Charlotte rose too.

He inclined his head. "Very well,
kyria
."
He moved towards
the steps. "No doubt your husband will keep you informed of
further developments as they occur."

Charlotte's fingers curled round the edge of the table again.

"How long - that is — does Alex expect to be away - very
long?"
  
'

George shrugged, and spread his hands in continental fashion.
"In this case - three, maybe four weeks.
Who can
say? It depends how far Steiner has reached in his
negotia
tions
."
         

"And this merger is important?"

"Oh, yes,
kyria
."

"But why?
What is it for?" Charlotte couldn't prevent the
sudden outburst. "Doesn't he have enough money?"

"Mergers do not always make money," George corrected
her. "At least, not in the way you mean. This particular
negotiation will make something far more important. It will
make work for a greater number of people."

"Work?"

"Yes, work - jobs. This firm in New York - it is - how do
you say it- floundering,
ne
?"

"Why would Alex want to merge with a firm that is
floundering?" Charlotte was confused.

George was patient. "With a difficult economic situation,
many companies are floundering. But in this instance, there are
valuable importing and exporting sanctions which we can
use."

"So the people who work for this company won't lose their
jobs."
  

"That is correct."

Charlotte sighed. "I wouldn't have thought Alex would
care, one way or the other," she murmured bitterly.

George caught his breath. "Your husband does care. He
cares deeply for anyone in difficult circumstances. Why do you
think he has so many enemies? Because he inspires a degree of
loyalty in his employees
which
many men could wish to emulate!"

Charlotte flushed at this impassioned outburst, feeling
obliged to defend herself. "I know very little about my - my
husband's business
aflairs
, or the strength of devotion of his
employees. I only know that so far as I am concerned -
"
She
broke off abruptly. Not even to this man could she con
fide her own miserable circumstances.

"
Kyria
."
George was speaking again, leaning towards her,
his hands resting on the table. "When your husband's father
was killed, the shares in the Faulkner
corporation
fell dram
atically. It was understandable. Steven Faulkner was a brilliant
man, a man at the height of his power, Alex was what?
Twenty-three, twenty-four?
Hardly more than a boy.
A
trained economist, but that was all. Yet in fifteen years, Alex
has not only
equalled
his father's record, he has overtaken
it, and in doing so has won the respect of every professional
in the business! We used to be a shipping company- now we
have interests in hotels and airlines, travel agencies, oil wells,
newspapers.... Do you have any idea how many people we
keep in employment?"

"Oh, no -
no!"
Charlotte wrapped her arms about herself
tightly. "I've told you, I know next to nothing about Alex's
affairs. They're nothing to do with me."

"Then perhaps you should make them so," snapped
George coldly, and Charlotte's eyes widened in indignation. "I'm sorry," he added, less aggressively, shaking his head. "But I used to work for Steven Faulkner. I was with him the
day he died. I followed him out of the hotel in Paris on the day
he was shot. I've never forgiven myself for not being first
out of that hotel, and consequently my feelings for Alex are as close as any father for his son."

Charlotte stared at him, realizing he meant every word he
said. But how could she explain to this man her position?
How could she tell him that there was little point in her
involving herself with the Faulkner corporation when in -
what? -
a
year, eighteen months? -
she
would be a free
woman again? She simply wasn't interested - was she?

Choosing the least provocative thing so far as she was
concerned, she said awkwardly: "You can't really blame your
self for Alex's father's death. I mean, even if you had been the first
out of the hotel, surely whoever killed Mr. Faulkner
would know who he was aiming for?"

George nodded heavily. "Oh yes, I tell myself this, of
course. Alex tells me this. But one cannot completely erase the doubts. That is why I urge you not to minimize the risks
your husband is
running,
why you must not behave childishly
because you cannot always have your own way."

"My own way?" echoed Charlotte confusedly. "What are
you talking about?"

"
Kyria
,
life is too short to be small-minded. Refusing to
write your husband a letter, refusing him even a kind
mes
sage !
I know you are angry with him. Perhaps you would rather he was here than me. I would rather that myself. But it is not possible. I should add that Alex's mother went
everywhere with her husband. Perhaps you should think along
those lines yourself!"

"Now-wait a minute!"

Charlotte could not allow him to get away- with that, but
already he had turned and was walking down the steps.
Maria's appearance forestalled the retort Charlotte longed to
make, and gripping her arms tightly, she followed them across the hall and down the corridor towards the patio.

Another man was waiting outside the villa, seated at a
glass-topped table, drinking beer and chatting with Sophia
and Tina. They all stood around awkwardly when Charlotte
appeared.

"This is
Manuelo
," George introduced the pilot casually,
and Charlotte managed a tight smile at the young Greek in
his unconventional attire of jeans and vest, a peaked cap, the
only badge of his profession, pushed incongruously to the
back of his head.

George slapped him on the shoulder, and the young man
moved away towards the helicopter, standing squarely on the
green turf. Then George turned back to Charlotte, and his
words were for her alone.

"Do not look so angry," he said. "We all make mistakes."

"Alex did not ask me to go to New York with him," she
told him tautly, but George's expression did not alter.

"Do wives need invitations?" he queried dryly. "I must go.
Herete
,
kyria
.
Kali
thiaskethasi
!”

He strode away to climb into the helicopter, and Charlotte
watched it take off with a frustrated sense of impotency. When
she turned back to the villa, only Maria was waiting on the
patio.

"
Kyrios
Alexandros
?" she asked at once. "He is well?"

Charlotte's sigh was defeated. "Yes, Maria, he's well. But
he won't be coming - back, for some time,"

"Oh,
kyria
!"

Maria's sympathy was almost Charlotte's undoing. It would
have been so easy to give in to the tears which burned at the
backs of her eyes, to allow the old woman to comfort her,
secure in the knowledge that Maria would believe her distress
was solely to do with the news George
Constandis
had brought.

But she couldn't do it. She couldn't cheat the old servant
like that, even though she resented George's attitude. But the
tears she was tempted to shed had much more complicated
origins, much of which she didn't entirely understand herself.

So she accepted Maria's condolences dry-eyed, and as soon
as possible made her escape to her room to try and prepare
herself for the second ordeal of the day.

Eleni
Faulkner's home was little more than a cottage,
nestling in a fold of the
difis
overlooking a rock-strewn cove.
There was a garden surrounding the cottage, bright with
flowers and shrubs, some of which like roses and hollyhocks
Charlotte recognized, and others she did not. The building
itself was made of stone and painted white, dazzling in the
noonday sun.