He gave a laugh. 'Captain Petrachos sailed the yacht along the coast—he's anchored off the shore now. We'll take a launch back to it whenever we want- There's no hurry.’
'Oh,' said Andrea. Once again she realised how very, very easy being a holidaymaker was if you had a luxury yacht trailing around after you.
'Shall we dine ashore?' enquired Nikos, calling for another beer.
'Can we?'
He laughed again. 'Andrea, this is our hon—' He caught himself, and amended his words. 'Our holiday—we can do anything we like!'
Andrea looked around. Everywhere were open-fronted restaurants, tables spilling out onto the quayside and the pavements, happy holidaymakers enjoying their escape from hum-dram lives. It was livening up now, and she could hear the throb of bouzouki music emanating from the bars.
'Let's eat here!' she enthused. She could not face returning to that opulent monstrosity of a yacht, whose garish luxury appalled her so. Besides, she felt safe here, amongst so many people....
And Nikos was being so nice...
She sipped her orange juice, nibbling moist, succulent olives out of the dish placed in front of them, staring out over the harbour. Carefully, tremulously, she opened her mind and let herself face up to what had happened.
Nikos had made love to her. He had taken her naked body and brought it to ecstasy. Initiated her into the realm of sensual experience. Changed her from an unknowing, virginal maiden into a woman who knew the power of the senses. The overwhelming, irresistible power that took away all reason, all logic, and swept her away, to let her do things, experience things that she had never, ever thought to experience.
It happened. It was real. I let it happen.
She could have stopped him—should have stopped him— but she hadn't. She hadn't found the strength to stop him.
Even though she knew exactly why he had done what he had.
She said the words to herself, spelling them out. Letting there be no mistake about it. Refusing to deceive herself.
He made love to me. Last night Nikos made love to me because he felt sorry for me.
That was the truth of it.
It tore at her, pulling her in two. Part of her was filled with mortification that this most perfect paean to masculine perfection should have had to force himself to make love to her scarred, disfigured body. But part of her was filled with wonder—wonder that a man who had married her for no other reason than to get her grandfather's business empire should have had the compassion, the kindness, to feel sorry for her...
Emotions stirred in her heart, welling up, but she knew they were dangerous. Very dangerous.
Nikos Vassilis, who had married the splendid Coustakis heiress, not the humble, ordinary Andrea Fraser, would have no use for such emotions—and neither must she.
It was late before they returned to the yacht. They had eaten in one of the harbourside restaurants, filled with chattering, cheerful tourists. It had been fun, and had distracted Andrea from her deeper thoughts. But now, as the motor launch creamed its way across the dark sea towards the string of lights that edged the massive bulk of her grandfather's latest toy, those thoughts surfaced.
Nikos could tell. As he helped her up the lowered steps to gain the safety of the deck he knew, by the way she immediately pulled her hand free of his, that she was filled with nervous self-consciousness.
Keep playing it easy, he adjured himself.
Dismissing the crewman with a smile, he turned to Andrea.
'Come, let us watch the night.'
He led her up to the uppermost deck, towards the stern. They would not be overlooked there. The bridge crew were out of sight, and he had given orders that the rest of the staff could stand down.
Glad for a reprieve from having to go to bed, and not having the faintest idea what on earth Nikos was going to do about sleeping arrangements now, Andrea followed him. It was, she had to admit, a glorious sight. The twinkling line of lights along the Cretan coast echoed the blaze of stars in the celestial oceans above their heads.
They stood side by side, leaning on the railings, trying to identify constellations.
'I only know the Plough and Orion in winter,' admitted Andrea. 'London isn't very good for star-gazing.'
'We should sleep in a goat hut on the top of Mount Ida to have the clearest view on the island!' teased Nikos, and she smiled.
'Crete was wonderful,' she said wistfully. 'Thank you for taking me there today.'