Legend Of Lexandros

She climbed the shallow steps and walked to the door slowly. When she reached the door, she turned and looked back. Alexander Stavros was standing moodily in the centre of the room, his hands thrust deep into his pockets, his dark eyes brooding. Dallas felt a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach as she looked at him, and she found herself wondering again what his wife was like. For the first time in her life she found herself confronted by a situation she couldn’t control. She had always considered herself sane and sensible, and certainly not the type of person to ever be attracted to a man like this, and yet Stavros could not help his attraction, any more than she, as a woman, could help being aware of it, and she thought it was as well that she would never meet him again. Perhaps Jane’s involvement with Paris Stavros fitted into the same category. And as Paris had shown an immediate interest in Jane, her sister could not help but feel flattered.

‘So,’ he said slowly, ‘you are leaving, Miss Collins. I have … enjoyed our little conversation. It has been quite enlightening, believe me!’

Dallas did not reply. There seemed nothing more to be said. She merely opened the door, and closing it felt a feeling of depression sweep over her.

CHAPTER TWO

AT the weekend Dallas was astonished to find that Jane was not seeing Paris. After her conversation with Alexander Stavros, Dallas had thought that her intervention could only have had an adverse effect on the whole affair, and she could hardly believe that he had actually spoken to Paris. But whatever he had said, it was obvious that Jane knew nothing about her actions, and for this she was grateful.

Charles arrived on Saturday afternoon to take her down to Maidenhead for the rest of the day, and Dallas impulsively suggested that Jane might go with them.

But Jane was not so keen, and merely declined politely in favour of staying at home and washing her hair. Dallas left her with some misgivings. If Paris had finished with her, she would be better with company than moping at home alone. However, there was nothing she could say, so she had to agree and go with Charles reluctantly.

Mrs. Jennings was waiting for them impatiently, and Dallas was forced to spend the afternoon talking to her while Charles went out to do some gardening. Mrs. Jennings was not the best of conversationalists, and consequently Dallas was prodded into doing most of the talking. It was apparent that Charles had been unable to contain the information about Dallas wanting them to have a home of their own, for the first thing Mrs. Jennings said was:

‘Charles tells me that he is thinking of converting this house into two flats.’

Dallas felt her cheeks burn. ‘Oh, is he?’ she temporised.

‘You know he is. It was your suggestion, wasn’t it?’

‘No, not exactly. I thought we ought to have a place of our own.’

‘Stuff and nonsense,’ said Mrs. Jennings rudely. ‘Charles and I get along very well together. I wouldn’t care to have anyone else about the place.’

‘But I’m going to be about the place,’ replied Dallas firmly. ‘And Charles is going to be my husband. I think I ought to have some say in the matter.’

Mrs. Jennings looked annoyed. ‘All these new-fangled ideas! When I was a young girl, I would have been delighted to have a roof over my head, let alone anything else. A big house like this, going to waste!’

‘I know, I know, but naturally I want to buy the things we will use; our furniture, our curtains, our own home!’

‘You’re an ungrateful girl,’ exclaimed Mrs. Jennings. ‘I expect it’s that flighty young sister of yours putting ideas into your head!’

‘Let’s leave Jane out of this,’ began Dallas hotly.

‘Why? She has to do with it, hasn’t she? Running around with that Stavros boy! Well, she needn’t think she’ll get away with that kind of behaviour once she’s living here!’

It was one thing for Dallas to find fault with Jane, but quite another for a comparative stranger like Mrs. Jennings, and Dallas felt her blood boiling at her prudish remarks.

‘I doubt whether Jane will want to live here,’ she said, controlling her temper with difficulty. ‘In any case, the wedding is still four months away. There’s plenty of time for more discussions nearer the date.’

Mrs. Jennings grunted, but was forced to change the subject when Dallas refused to say any more. But Dallas herself felt a rising sense of frustration. Were she and Charles always going to have to adhere to rules made by his mother? And did Charles want things differently, anyway?

In the week that followed Dallas was tempted many times to question Jane as to the reason for her not meeting Paris, but she knew she could not do this. She had to wait until Jane was ready to tell her herself. The only time Jane did go out was to the cinema with a girl-friend, and she was home soon after ten as expected.

Dallas was relieved, and yet she could not believe it could be as easy as all that. Jane had been too adamant before to give Paris up without a fight, and Paris himself, from what she had heard, did not sound like the kind of boy to be intimidated by threats.

She was concerned, too, about Jane, in another way. Her sister did not look well, and her appetite was practically non-existent. At first Dallas had put it down to the enforced separation from Paris, but after a while she began to wonder whether that was all it was. Jane looked so tired in the mornings, and seemed to have lost the vitality she had possessed in such abundance.

Dallas was worried, and could not hide her feelings entirely from Charles, but when he managed to gain her confidence sufficiently to be told the reasons for her concern, he scoffed at her.

‘Heavens, Dallas, what do you want? A couple of weeks ago you were worried because she was going out with Paris Stavros. Now you’re worried because she’s not! You don’t make sense!’

‘I know, I know. It’s just … oh, Charles, I have a premonition. Things aren’t as simple as you’d have me believe.’

‘Rubbish! The child has been brought to her senses, that’s all. Your talks to her must have borne fruit. I must confess I was surprised at first, but now I can accept it, why can’t you?’

Dallas flushed. She had told no one of her visit to Alexander Stavros, not even Charles, for she feared his anger about her intervention.

‘I don’t know,’ she said, now. ‘Maybe it just seems too good to be true!’

The following weekend Dallas was awakened early on Sunday morning by a loud knocking on the door of the flat. Drowsy with sleep, she slid out of bed and as she did so she saw that Jane’s bed was empty. She frowned. That was strange. Jane never rose first on a Sunday morning.

Pulling on a turquoise quilted housecoat, she brushed back the tumbled cloud of her hair and walked through the lounge to the front door, trying as she did so to register the events of the previous evening.

She had gone to Maidenhead with Charles as usual, and when she came home Jane was in bed again, as she had been the previous week. She had thought nothing of it and respecting Jane’s silence assumed she was asleep. So where was she now? Had she got up early and gone out and forgotten her key?

She pulled open the door and blinked at the man who stood on the threshold. He was tall and dark, like Alexander Stavros, she thought unwillingly, but there the resemblance ended. This man had a black moustache and beard, and was typically Greek in appearance. He was dressed in a thick fur-lined coat, and looked broad and muscular.

Dallas shivered involuntarily. ‘Yes? What do you want?’

‘You are Miss Dallas Collins?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. Will you get dressed and come with me, please. Mr. Stavros wishes to see you. Mr. Alexander Stavros!’

Dallas swallowed hard. ‘I … I don’t understand. Why should Mr. Stavros want to see me?’

‘That is for him to tell you,’ replied the man solemnly. ‘I will wait.’

‘Now look here,’ began Dallas hotly. ‘I want to know what all this is about. You can’t expect me to walk out of here with you without any kind of explanation whatsoever.’

The man half smiled. ‘Mr. Stavros thought you might say that. Very well. I am Myron Saravanos, secretary to Mr. Stavros. He wishes to speak to you concerning your sister and his son Paris. They ran away together last night.’

‘What!’ Dallas was horrified.

‘You have not missed your sister?’

‘No. At least … not until just now. I saw she wasn’t in bed.’ Dallas felt near to tears suddenly. ‘Oh, please come in. I must get dressed. Does Mr. Stavros know where they’ve gone?’

‘He will explain,’ said Myron Saravanos calmly. ‘Do not be alarmed. They will be found and brought home. It is unfortunate, but not irrevocable.’

‘You’re so … so … detached!’ Dallas closed the door as he entered the room, and then hurried into the bedroom to dress.

She did not stop to think what she was putting on, and found herself wearing the green tweed dress which she had worn the previous evening and her sheepskin jacket.

‘I’m ready,’ she said, after she had hastily run a comb through her long hair. ‘Shall we go?’

A low red limousine awaited them outside, chauffeur-driven and luxurious, but Dallas had no thought to give to her surroundings. Her mind was in a turmoil, her tired brain alive with the knowledge that she had been right all along. It had been out of character for Jane to submit so easily. But what now?

Alexander Stavros was waiting in the suite of the hotel. Dressed in close-fitting dark blue pants and a navy blue knitted shirt, he looked restless and arrogant, pacing about the cream-carpeted floor. He stopped at their entrance and said:

‘So, Miss Collins, it seems your fears were justified.’

Dallas nodded, not trusting herself to speak, and without asking her whether she wanted a drink or not he poured out a generous measure of brandy, added a little water, and said:

‘Drink that. It will restore your confidence as well as your voice.’

Dallas took the drink, accepted a cigarette, and sank down into a low armchair.

‘Wh … where have they gone?’ she asked, after she had taken a few sips of the spirit and felt it burning its way into her stomach.

‘Of that I am not certain,’ he said, shrugging. ‘Knowing Paris, I doubt whether he is positive himself of his destination.’

‘But … I mean … don’t you think they may be making for Scotland?’

‘For Scotland?’ He stared at her. ‘Ah, yes, you mean Gretna Green, yes?’ and at her nod, his face assumed a strange expression. ‘I confess I doubt whether my son has marriage in mind,’ he said harshly.

Dallas’s cheeks paled, and he gave an ejaculation. ‘Oh, really, Miss Collins, don’t pass out on me. Surely even you are not so old-fashioned as to imagine that every couple who run away make for Gretna Green!’

‘No, but how can you be so sure?’

He shrugged. ‘My son and I had a short conversation on the subject of English girls,’ he said. ‘Paris told me then that he had no intention of becoming seriously involved with anyone here. He is perfectly aware of his obligations to me and to his fiancée in Lexandros.’

‘His fiancée?’ echoed Dallas weakly.

‘I am afraid so. His marriage has been arranged for many years, and his fiancée is the daughter of one of my greatest friends. You see, Miss Collins, in Greece we are still a little old-fashioned ourselves, and we find these kind of marriages work very well.’

Dallas shook her head. ‘Jane doesn’t know about his fiancée,’ she said quietly. ‘No matter what you may think, she really believes she loves Paris.’

‘She is bemused by his possessions,’ retorted Alexander Stavros, roughly. ‘Good God, I did not know there were such creatures left in the world today.’ He poured himself a strong whisky, and turned back to her. ‘You really are unique, Miss Collins, and I’ll drink to that.’

Dallas’s cheeks burned. He was mocking her and she did not like it.

Apparently he had tired himself of baiting her, for he walked over to Myron Saravanos who was standing by the window, smoking quietly, and they had a short but animated conversation in Greek. Then Myron Saravanos left the room and Alexander Stavros lifted the telephone.

Dallas took little notice of what was going on around her. She thought that perhaps she ought to ring Charles, but he would not take kindly to being woken at seven a.m. on a Sunday morning, so she decided against it.

Time slipped by. She was aware that investigations were being carried out, trying to find the whereabouts of the missing couple, and Stephanos Karantinos appeared and spent some time talking to Stavros.

At ten-fifteen the telephone rang, and Alexander Stavros answered it himself. As he listened to what was being said his face darkened and he gnawed at his bottom lip for a moment before replying in the affirmative and replacing the receiver meticulously. Dallas could see his face was very pale beneath the tan, and Stephanos put a hand on his arm and spoke to him in his own language. Alexander Stavros answered him, and Stephanos gave a startled gasp and pressed his hands together violently, shaking his head. Dallas felt her nerves jumping. What now? She rose from her seat, and Stavros faced her wearily.

‘They have been found,’ he said in an expressionless voice. ‘Paris is dead. Your sister is all right.’

Dallas stared at him in bewilderment. ‘Paris is dead!’ she echoed faintly. ‘But … I mean … how …?’

Stavros shook his head. ‘As usual Paris was driving recklessly. He crashed into a lorry on the M1. Mercifully your sister was thrown clear. She is merely suffering from shock, and a few minor cuts and bruises.’ He lit a cheroot with hands that were not quite steady. ‘The police want me to go and identify the body of my son.’

He turned away, clenching his fists, and Dallas looked from Myron Saravanos to Stephanos Karantinos awkwardly. She did not know what to do; what to say. Anything would sound inadequate. Stephanos took pity on her.

‘Come, Miss Collins, I will take you home. Arrangements will be made to bring your sister back to you. I think you had better leave it all in our hands, yes?’

Dallas nodded, casting a compassionate glance at Alexander Stavros’s back. What a terrible thing to have happened to him! How desperately he must feel the pain.

She walked to the door, and then went out without speaking again. There was nothing she could say that would in any way assuage his grief. Besides, at times like these, it was his wife he needed most.

But when, in the car, she tentatively mentioned this to Stephanos Karantinos, he shook his head.

‘Alex has no wife,’ he said softly. ‘She died almost ten years ago.’

‘Oh!’ Dallas bent her head. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know.’

‘How could you?’ He shrugged. ‘Anna suffered from leukaemia. The last few months of her life she was in terrible pain. It was a blessed relief.’

‘Does … does Mr. Stavros have other children?’

‘No. Paris was his only child.’

‘How terrible!’ Dallas clasped her hands together in her lap. ‘So now he has no one.’

‘Not exactly,’ replied Stephanos, turning into the road where the girls’ flat was situated. ‘He has a mother, and several brothers and sisters. He will not be completely alone.’

He halted the sleek car, and Dallas slid out without waiting for his assistance.

‘Well, thank you,’ she said. ‘Please let me know if there is anything I can do.’

Stephanos nodded kindly, wished her goodbye, and drove away.

Dallas walked tiredly up the steps and into the flat. She felt shivery and shaky with the aftermath of the shock, and could hardly take it all in. It scarcely seemed possible that so much could have happened in such a short period. That Paris Stavros should be dead seemed incredible, and she wondered what the gossip-hungry press might make of it all.

She made herself some coffee, lit a cigarette, and sank down into a low armchair to await for Jane’s return. Her thoughts were in a turmoil, and it was difficult to assimilate the events of the last few hours.

Charles would have to be told, of course, but she would leave that until later. Just now, she had no desire to be forced into revealing situations which were so painfully evident.

She needed time to gather herself together to speak to him, but for the moment she could only remember Alexander Stavros’s face when he told her the news, all arrogance gone, leaving his face strangely vulnerable.

* * *

In the days immediately following the accident, Jane and Dallas acquired a closeness which they had not experienced since the first few months after their father’s death. Jane seemed to have lost all her independence and clung to Dallas helplessly, looking to her for strength and guidance.

Alexander Stavros himself brought Jane home, carrying her up the stairs and into the flat as though she was a featherweight. His face had resumed its mask of indifference, although his eyes were strangely gentle as he looked at Jane.

Dallas indicated that he should leave her on her bed in the bedroom, and after he had done so and said goodbye to Jane, he came out, closing the door behind him to speak to Dallas alone.

His height and presence seemed to fill the small room, and Dallas, for all her five feet six inches, felt small and inadequate beside him.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked, looking down at her with his intensely dark eyes.

Dallas felt suddenly disturbed, and looked away from him.

‘I … I … of course I am. Are … are you?’

He shrugged. ‘My feelings are not easy to describe,’ he replied, softly. ‘But yes, I suppose you could say I am all right.’

‘There’s nothing I can say,’ began Dallas, twisting her hands together nervously.

‘No, there is not.’ He took out his case and extracted a cheroot. ‘May I?’ and at her swift nod, he lit it. ‘You will need to talk with your sister,’ he went on. ‘There is much to discuss.’

Dallas didn’t quite understand this remark, but she let it go. This was not the time for questions, and while she wished he would go with one half of her, the rest of her being experienced a desire for him to stay. He emanated a feeling of power and competence, and she thought he was the kind of man a woman would always feel protected with.

‘So.’ He walked to the door slowly. ‘I will go. I have much to do … to arrange. We will of course see you later.’

‘Yes, Mr. Stavros,’ Dallas nodded hastily.

Brushing past him, she opened the door of the flat for him, but he stopped her, his eyes intent upon her.

‘Dallas,’ he said, surprisingly, ‘I may call you that, may I not?’

Dallas nodded, too surprised to do anything else.

‘Don’t worry … about anything.’ He fastened the dark astrakhan coat closely about him, turning up the collar.

Dallas frowned. She didn’t understand what he meant, unless he thought Jane was going to be very difficult to console.

‘All right,’ she said, allowing him to open the door wide and step into the aperture. ‘Th … thank you, for bringing Jane home.’

He nodded. ‘Oh, by the way, Dallas, don’t be surprised if you find some newshounds on your doorstep later in the day. Unfortunately it will be impossible to keep something like this private. Do you understand? My life has been in the public eye for so long it is difficult for me to do anything without it being reported, and this is news!’

‘Yes, Mr. Stavros, I understand.’ Dallas swallowed hard, and he half smiled, and then turning, walked swiftly away towards the stairs.

Dallas closed the door and leaned back against it momentarily. Then the sound of Jane’s choked sobbing coming from the bedroom aroused her from her reverie, and with a stiffening of her shoulders she walked briskly through to the bedroom.

* * *

For several days the flat was besieged by newspaper men and women, all wanting to know how Jane was, and about her relationship with Paris Stavros. Dallas refused to answer any questions and Jane was too distraught to care one way or the other. So everything was left to Dallas, and she was forced to take a week off work so that she could stay with her sister.

Charles was unsympathetic. He couldn’t understand Dallas’s attitude, and said so.

‘Really, Dallas,’ he complained, ‘you’re treating the whole affair as though it was a grand tragedy. I thought you’d be glad that it was over once and for all.’

Dallas stared at him, aghast at his unfeeling words. ‘I would never, never wish this on anybody,’ she denied hotly. ‘Charles, surely you can find it in your heart 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.’