Legend Of Lexandros. Anne Mather

to feel compassion. Jane’s going through a terrible experience, and she isn’t going to be helped by that kind of statement. All right, I know it’s over, but she needs love now, and gentleness, not chastising.’

      ‘Did you find out where they were going?’ he asked bluntly.

      Dallas shook her head. ‘We’ve never discussed it, why?’

      ‘Well, I’d certainly be interested to know.’

      Dallas sighed. ‘I expect we will know everything in time, when Jane feels capable of telling us. Until then, we don’t question her.’

      Charles snorted, and went away in a huff, but for once Dallas didn’t particularly care what he thought.

      She read from the newspapers that Alexander Stavros had flown his son’s body back to Greece for burial there, and she wondered whether indeed she would ever see him again. It seemed unlikely. There was no reason why he should care about what happened to them now, and their paths were never likely to cross in the normal course of events.

      Two weeks after the accident Dallas began to get really worried about Jane’s depression. It did not seem to be lifting at all, and she refused to talk about anything remotely connected with the events of the last few weeks. She had not as yet returned to work, although naturally Dallas had had to return to her teaching job at the school. Jane spent her time either in bed, or moping about the flat, and refused to go and see a doctor, even though the doctors at the hospital where she had been taken after the accident had advised her to see her own doctor before resuming work. She averred that she was perfectly all right, and would get better in her own good time.

      One evening, when Dallas was leaving the school gates at four o’clock, she was surprised to see a huge black Mercedes parked near by, and as she passed it on her way to the bus-stop the nearside door opened, and Alexander Stavros slid out and confronted her. It was a cold evening in early April, and Dallas was muffled up in a headscarf and her sheepskin jacket, and compared to the immaculate elegance of his clothes she felt terribly untidy. But he merely smiled, rather sardonically, she thought, and said:

      ‘Hello, Dallas. Get in, please. I want to talk to you.’

      Dallas hesitated, only momentarily, and then slid into the passenger seat while he walked lazily round the bonnet and slid behind the driving wheel. He was driving himself today, so they were alone.

      He did not start the engine, but instead offered her a cigarette which she gratefully accepted, while her body relaxed in the warm, luxury of the car. He lit himself a cheroot, and then looked sideways at her.

      ‘Well?’ he said. ‘I have been in England exactly three days, yet you have not made any attempt to get in touch with me.’

      Dallas stared at him in a bewildered fashion, her cheeks turning pink. ‘I … I don’t understand,’ she said awkwardly.

      ‘No? And yet I did send a message round to the flat advising you of my return.’

      ‘You did?’ Dallas felt like an idiot. What on earth was all this about now?

      ‘Of course. Your sister took the message herself.’

      ‘She did?’ Dallas shook her head. ‘Well, I’m afraid she didn’t tell me. Did … did you want to see me?’

      ‘Did I want …?’ His eyes narrowed slightly. ‘I think perhaps we must be talking at cross-purposes. Naturally, you would want to see me.’

      ‘I would?’ Dallas bit her lip, desperately trying to understand him. At last she gave up. ‘I’m sorry, Mr. Stavros, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

      Now it was his turn to look surprised. He studied her intently for a moment, as though weighing up whether she was telling him the truth, and then he shrugged. ‘Perhaps you don’t at that,’ he murmured. ‘I should have made certain before I left that you were informed. It seems apparent that your sister is afraid to tell you herself.’

      Dallas’s fingers clenched convulsively on the strap of her handbag. ‘What is she afraid to tell me?’ she asked breathlessly, her eyes wide and dismayed.

      Alexander Stavros’s mouth twisted. ‘It seems I must again be the bearer of unhappy tidings; your sister is pregnant.’

      Dallas felt her stomach turn over, and she suddenly felt very sick. It wasn’t that it was such a great shock; she had known instinctively that all was not right with Jane for a long time, but now that it was put into words so blatantly, she felt suddenly lost and helpless, with no one to whom she could turn. Except Charles, her emotions argued, but what would Charles think?

      Stavros stared out of the car window at the passing traffic, giving her time to collect her scattered wits. He smoked his cheroot slowly, and Dallas, her eyes drawn to him, relaxed a little at his calm acceptance of the situation. When he thought she was recovering, he looked at her with his dark, inscrutable eyes.

      ‘I’m sorry I had to break it to you so bluntly,’ he said. ‘But it was the only way. Your sister knows, of course, and I was told at the hospital when I went to bring her home. They thought I already knew, you see.’ He sighed. ‘I told Jane to tell you at once, but obviously she found herself incapable of doing so. I also outlined an idea to her which I wanted you to think about, too.’

      Dallas drew deeply on her cigarette. ‘She has said nothing at all about anything personal, but I suppose this explains the withdrawal symptoms she is suffering from.’

      ‘Yes,’ he nodded. ‘So now everything is known to you I will tell you my suggestions, yes?’ As she inclined her head as though in assent, he went on: ‘This child, when it is born, will be my grandchild, do you understand? It matters little to me whether your sister was going to marry my son, or otherwise. The child is all that is important; I cannot have my grandchild ignored by his own family, so I have suggested to your sister that she comes with me to Lexandros until the child is born.’

      Dallas stared at him in astonishment. ‘Lexandros?’ she echoed.

      ‘Yes. Lexandros is an island, my island. My home is there; I was born there, and so was Paris. It is right that Paris’s child should be born there also.’