Kitabı oku: «Moon Of Aphrodite», sayfa 3

‘Oh, I can be very persuasive when I want. But in this case I didn’t have to be. When I left after attending to your—needs, I simply took your key with me.’ He touched his jacket pocket. ‘I have it here.’

She held out her hand. ‘Give it to me, please.’

‘Why? You won’t need it again. We are leaving soon. As it is, I have had to telephone your grandfather and tell him we have been delayed.’ He paused. ‘He wasn’t pleased, and it is bad for him to suffer any agitation.’

‘And I suppose you made haste to tell him it was all my fault,’ she said with heavy irony.

‘I told him merely that you have been tired by your journey from England, and that the heat had affected you. I did not tell him you had been mad enough to try and explore the Acropolis in the full blaze of noon without allowing yourself to become in any way acclimatised. Michael Korialis is not one of those who—to use your English phrase—suffer fools gladly, and I didn’t wish you to make a bad impression immediately.’

She gave him an outraged look. ‘The implication being that I’ll make one eventually.’

‘I think it is inevitable. You are wilful, disobedient, and have a sharp tongue, and none of these are attributes to appeal to a man who adheres to the old ways like your grandfather. You have a lot to learn about Greece and its men, Eleni.’

‘I’d prefer to have no more lessons from you,’ she said baldly.

He smiled. ‘As you plan to have me dismissed as soon as we get to Phoros, there will be little opportunity for such lessons,’ he said smoothly, but his dark eyes held an odd glint, and Helen bit her lip in sudden uncertainty. Perhaps she shouldn’t have clashed with him quite so openly. Her grandfather had obviously given him a great deal of power, and it had gone to his head. But it might have been better to have waited to declare her enmity until they were safely on Phoros. But she’d not been able to help herself. The thought of him looking at her, touching her when she was sick and helpless made her feel ill all over again.

She should have retaliated after he had kissed her in London, she thought vengefully, as she repacked her small case. She should have hit him or laid his face open with her nails, then he would not have dared take these kind of liberties. And she ignored the small warning voice which suggested that a man like Damon Leandros took what he chose, as he wished, and without counting the cost.

As she worked, she was aware of him watching her, his dark face enigmatic as she thrust her toilet bag on top of her night things, and threw her hairbrush in after them.

As she clicked the locks shut, she ignored his outstretched hand.

‘Perhaps you would bring the others.’ She nodded towards her other cases, standing under the window.

‘I’ll have them brought down, certainly,’ he said evenly, after a pause, and she-suppressed a grin. Beneath his dignity, obviously, to walk behind her carrying two large cases, she thought. Perhaps she had discovered his vulnerable point. He didn’t like to look ridiculous. And that, she thought, with the vaguest germ of an idea forming in her head, could be just too bad for Mr Macho Leandros!

As she walked along the corridor towards the lift, Helen became aware of two excitedly giggling chambermaids observing her from a linen room. She glanced questioningly at Damon, who smiled faintly.

‘They are pleased to see you,’ he said. ‘Your grandfather is a much loved man.’

She felt as if he was waiting for some special response from her, but she could give none. The prospect of meeting her grandfather was becoming more and more formidable.

She entered the lift in silence and stood waiting while her companion pressed the ‘down’ button.

‘How do we get to Phoros?’ she asked at last, more to break the silence than from any desire for information.

‘There is a car waiting to take us to Piraeus. From there we make a journey by sea,’ he said laconically.

‘Oh.’ Helen digested this. ‘I suppose there’s a regular ferry service, even though it’s only a small island?’

‘It runs three times a day.’

The faint wish to make him look ridiculous which had been buzzing in her mind now began to take shape.

It would give her great satisfaction, she thought, to arrive on Phoros alone, having left Damon Leandros ignominiously behind in Athens. She wished she had thought of it earlier while she was still in her room. Perhaps she could have lured him into the bathroom and locked him in somehow, although she had a feeling the only bolt had been on the inside of the door. Well, she would just have to think of something else.

As they emerged from the lift Helen saw her remaining luggage being carried out to the car ahead of them. If this was a sample of the service provided by all her grandfather’s hotels, then it could hardly be faulted, she thought wryly.

‘Don’t we have to—check out or something?’ she asked a little desperately as they moved past the reception desk.

‘That’s all been taken care of.’

‘But my key,’ she persisted. ‘You’ve still got my key.’

‘I left it in the door of your room.’

Oh, blast! Helen thought savagely. If she could have delayed him at reception even for a moment or two she might have been able to get out to the car and persuade the driver to leave without him.

She could hardly believe her own fortune when she heard one of the receptionists call after him, and saw him hesitate with obvious impatience before he turned back towards the desk.

‘You go ahead,’ he directed briefly. ‘I hope only to be a few minutes.’

‘Take as long as you like.’ Helen sent him a dazzling smile. Her heart beating rapidly, she walked towards the door. The car, an opulent vehicle of a make which she didn’t immediately recognise, was drawn up at the kerb, and a man in a chauffeur’s uniform was standing beside it. When he saw Helen coming towards him he threw open the rear passenger door with some ceremony.

She got in, trying to appear calm and in control of the situation.

‘Do you speak English?’ she asked.

‘Only a little, thespinis.’

‘That’s fine.’ She made herself speak slowly and deliberately so that he would understand. ‘I want to leave at once. We must go quickly to catch the ferry.’

The man’s face was a picture of astonishment. He started to say something about Kyrios Leandros, but Helen swiftly interrupted.

‘Kyrios Leandros cannot come with us. He has been delayed.’ She mimed a telephone call. ‘He is too busy. He will come later.’

The driver gave her a long doubtful look, then stared at the hotel entrance as if willing Kyrios Leandros to appear like the Demon King and put an end to his uncertainty. But no one emerged.

‘Please hurry!’ Helen applied a little more pressure. ‘If I miss the ferry, my grandfather Michael Korialis will be angry.’

It was clear the Korialis name had pull with the driver, because with a fatalistic shrug he got into the driving seat and started the car. Helen sat back in her seat, allowing a little relieved sigh to escape her lips. She wished she could be around when Damon Leandros finished taking his phone call, or whatever he was doing, and came out of the hotel to find the car gone and her with it, but you couldn’t have everything in this life, and she was more than content to be speeding towards Piraeus and the Phoros ferry without him.

And let him explain that away to my grandfather along with everything else, she thought.

The drive to Piraeus was a little disappointing, as the road lay through rather dusty suburbs and industrial estates, and the scenery was flat and uninspiring. Helen found it difficult to relax. She felt exhilarated, and a little nervous at the same time, and could not resist taking brief looks back over her shoulder, as if she half expected to see Damon Leandros following them.

But that was impossible, she told herself confidently. He’d have to find another car, and that would take time. She glanced at her watch, wondering what time the Phoros ferry left. The traffic was heavy, and the car was constantly being forced to slow almost to a crawling pace if not stop altogether. But recalling her experience of waiting for the bus, Helen decided that timetables were obviously not as strictly adhered to in Greece as in the rest of creation. Certainly the driver did not seem at all agitated by the frequent delays, and the easiest thing to do was to follow his example.

She sighed in relief as the harbour came in sight, and sat forward, waiting for the car to stop. But it did not stop. The driver steadily threaded his way through the other vehicles both moving and stationary which packed the narrow streets, narrowly avoiding laughing, chattering groups of people who roamed across the crowded highways as if it was just another extension of the narrow footpath.

There seemed to be streamers everywhere, Helen thought dazedly as she stared out of the window, and hundreds of people boarding and disembarking. She only hoped the driver knew what he was doing, and that her escapade would not end in her sailing off into the wide blue yonder on the wrong ship.

She tapped the driver on the shoulder. ‘Which is the ferry?’ she asked.

But his only response was an owlish look and a faint shrug of the shoulders as if her meaning escaped him.

‘Boat—Phoros,’ she tried again, and this time to her relief he nodded, smiling broadly.

‘Soon, soon, thespinis.’

And with that she had to be content. The car moved on, away from the harbour, and the scent of exhaust fumes mingling with the more pervasive odours of charcoal grills and olive oil, and out on to a winding road. Helen twisted round, staring at the clustering vessels they were leaving behind. She could only hope the driver knew what he was doing as they left the vast sprawl of the waterfront behind them. The road they were on seemed to have been carved out of the vast cliffs themselves, and some of the views were spectacular, she had to admit. She was intrigued too by the numerous little shrines and grottoes which were dotted along the wayside. Thank-offerings, she supposed, but to which gods—the ancient or the modern? Perhaps in a country like Greece the old pagan undercurrents still ran strong.

The road turned downhill, and she saw another smaller harbour beneath them, where sleek motor launches and small yachts lay at anchor. It looked the last place in the world where a public ferry for a small place like Phoros would leave from, and she leaned forward frowning a little.

The driver looked back at her, as if aware of her uncertainty, and pointed downwards, saying something in his own tongue which clearly intended to be reassuring. She made herself smile back, but her tension showed in her smile. She was at the end of one journey, perhaps, but at the beginning of another. And at the end of it was a man who, although unseen, had seemed to dominate her childhood and adolescence, on whose character, whose pride, arrogance and lack of compassion she had speculated so often and to so little avail. Yet soon they would meet, and her stomach churned involuntarily at the thought. If her grandfather could be judged by the calibre of the men he chose to employ, she thought, then resolutely switched her mind to other less disturbing ideas. He had sent for her, he wanted to see her, so surely that indicated a softening of his earlier implacable attitude. Or at least she had to hope so, or the few weeks she was committed to spending in Greece could well be unendurable.

She wished she had never allowed herself to be persuaded to come to Greece, if persuasion was the word. Emotional blackmail might be more appropriate, she thought bitterly, remembering how Damon Leandros had deliberately played on her heightened sensibilities. He was to blame. He was to blame for everything.

The car drove slowly along the waterfront, past open-air cafes whose gay awnings fluttered in the slight evening breeze. There were people everywhere, tourists tentatively sipping their first tastes of ouzo and retsina, and the usual anonymous groups of men talking, the bright strings or worry beads in their hands moving incessantly as they gestured to lend emphasis to their remarks. The main waterfront at Piraeus had almost been too crowded to assimilate, but here Helen had time to look around her and take in some of the atmosphere.

It was soon obvious that the driver was no stranger here, and this in itself was a reassurance to her. The car was recognised and voices called and hands lifted in greeting, to which he responded. He drove slowly along the curve of the quayside almost to the far end before stopping. Then he turned to Helen.

‘Boat here, thespinis,’ he announced.

There certainly was a boat, but not the small, rather scruffy steamer she had ruefully envisaged as the most likely craft to be plying between Piraeus and an unimportant island. It was a large, impressive cruiser with cabin accommodation, and what appeared to be a sun deck with an awning. And was that a radio mast? she wondered in bewilderment.

The driver had opened her door by this time and was standing patiently waiting for her to alight.

Helen gestured weakly at the cruiser. ‘This?’ she asked with a shake of her head.

He nodded vigorously. ‘Phoros boat, thespinis. You hurry. They wait for you.’

How very obliging of them, Helen thought, sudden amusement rising within her. Her suspicions about the timetable were apparently totally justified, and she would bet the other passengers were blessing her by now.

A flight of steps led down from the harbour wall, and at the bottom a man in a white uniform was waiting to help her on board. Helen waited while her luggage was speedily transferred to the cruiser, and smiled as the driver returned up the steps.

‘Efharisto,’ she said shyly, trying out one of the few Greek words she knew.

‘Parakalo.’ He removed his cap. ‘Go with God, thespinis.’

The cruiser had indeed been waiting for her, Helen decided, because as soon as her feet touched the deck it seemed to become a hive of discreet activity, and she could feel the throb of powerful engines springing into life. Her cases had vanished, she noticed, and she stood feeling rather solitary, and a little lost.

A man wearing jeans, and a pale blue vest which showed off a powerful torso and arms, went past her, and Helen detained him with a quick ‘Oh, please!’ He paused, looking at her enquiringly.

She shrugged rather helplessly. ‘Where are the passengers?’ she asked. ‘How long does it take to get to Phoros?’

He spread his hands out in front of him. ‘Then sas katavaleno, thespinis.’

‘You don’t speak English,’ Helen said resignedly, and turned away, to find the man in the white uniform beside her.

‘Welcome to the Phaedra, Miss Brandon,’ he said with a heavy accent. ‘It is pleasant on deck, ne? But there are refreshments below, if you prefer.’

Some coffee, Helen thought longingly. The scents and flavours emanating from the tavernas they had passed on the way here had served to remind her just how hungry she was, and how Damon Leandros had rushed her off from the hotel without allowing her to order the soup she had craved.

‘I’d like to go below,’ she said rather shyly. She looked round the deck. ‘Is—are the other passengers there too?’

‘As you say, thespinis.’ He smiled with a flash of white teeth and led her to a companionway. The passage it led to was wider than she had expected, its walls panelled in wood, and there were doors on each side. The first one they passed was open and glancing in Helen saw it was the galley. A swarthy white-coated steward was busy putting the finishing touches to what appeared to be an extensive cold buffet. If this was for the benefit of the passengers, as she supposed it must be, then it was clear no expense had been spared. It was incredible, she thought. The only explanation could be that there were two classes of ferry available to Phoros, one for the general public, and this one for the exclusive use of the privileged classes who had their holiday villas on Phoros. It all fitted in with everything that had happened to her on the journey so far—the private jet, the luxury of the hotel. There were definite advantages in being related to Michael Korialis, she thought with a certain irony, and probably that was what she was intended to think.

The officer stopped so abruptly that Helen, lost in her meditation, nearly cannoned into him, and knocked softly on a door, before opening it with something of a flourish, then standing aside to give Helen access to the large saloon beyond.

Her dazed eyes took in deeply cushioned leather seating, low tables, and a well-stocked bar in one corner. And all for her benefit, because there wasn’t another soul in there. She took a wondering step forward, and then from the doorway behind her the last voice in the world that she had expected or wanted to hear ever again said softly, ‘Welcome on board the Phaedra, Eleni.’

CHAPTER THREE

SHE turned and stared at him, her face, her whole tense stance reflecting the shock and disbelief she was experiencing.

‘You!’ She was almost choking. ‘But why—how …?’

‘It is quite simple.’ He moved forward, shutting the saloon door behind him—shutting the world out, she found herself thinking wildly, shutting them in alone together. ‘I took my own car and a different route. Did you really think I would allow you to leave me behind, and make the rest of your journey alone? Your grandfather asked me to bring you to him, and I shall do so, Eleni, whether you wish it or not.’

‘Well, I don’t wish it,’ she said defiantly.

‘You have already made that more than clear. But you must have realised by now that in spite of your hostility to me, I find certain compensations in your company.’ His eyes rested momentarily on her mouth, then moved downwards, slowly and deliberately as if he was mentally re-creating the physical action of stripping the simple navy dress from her as he had done only a few hours earlier.

She said rather faintly, ‘I think I’ll go back on deck.’

‘And I think that you will stay here,’ he said quite quietly, his body a barrier between her and the door. ‘I warn you, Eleni, if you provoke a scene, you will make no one ridiculous except yourself. The crew will obey my orders and not yours. Now sit down. Dimitri will be bringing our meal in a few minutes.’

‘Food would choke me,’ Helen declared with furious inaccuracy.

‘That is unfortunate,’ he said sardonically. ‘Then you may sit and watch me eat.’

She flung herself down on the long cushioned seat that ran the length of one wall of the saloon.

‘I will make you sorry for this,’ she muttered in a low voice. ‘I promise I’ll make you sorry!’

‘I believe that you will try,’ he said slowly. ‘It remains to be seen whether you will succeed. If you continue to deliberately provoke me, you could be the one who is sorry.’

‘Are you threatening me, Mr Leandros?’

‘No, merely warning you, Miss Brandon,’ he retorted with mocking formality. She longed to hit him, to see her finger marks on that dark face, but she did not dare. She couldn’t be certain what kind of reprisals he might exact, and she did not want to find out.

There was another swift deferential knock at the door, and the steward entered, his eyes flicking curiously from one to the other. He spoke to Damon Leandros in Greek, and received a brief reply in the same language.

Helen crouched on the seat, watching sullenly as the man pulled up one of the tables and placed a chair carefully opposite where she was sitting. In a matter of moments a spotless linen tablecloth had been added, together with cutlery, plates and wine glasses.

Damon Leandros walked over to the bar, and picked up a bottle of whisky.

‘May I offer you a drink, Eleni?’

‘I want nothing from you,’ she bit out at him.

‘If you continue to take that tone, you may get more than you bargain for,’ he said harshly. ‘Dimitri speaks no English, but he is far from deaf, and you will oblige me by behaving civilly in his presence. Now, I ask you again. Would you like a drink?’

She did not look at him. ‘Yes—thank you. I—I’ll have a retsina,’ she added with a shade of bravado.

His brows rose and he gave her a searching look. ‘Really? You would not prefer Martini or Campari?’

‘I’d like retsina,’ she insisted stubbornly. ‘I know what it’s supposed to taste like, and I still would like to try it.’

He shrugged. ‘As you wish.’ He poured a modest amount of pale liquid into a glass and brought it to her, before settling himself in the chair opposite. She knew he was watching her intently to see her reaction as she lifted the glass to her lips, and steeled herself. As it was, even the first cautious sip caught her by the throat, and for a few seconds she was terrified that she was going to choke ignominiously. It was like drinking pure resin, she thought furiously, and she was sure he had done it deliberately, because she knew there were many quite mildly resinated varieties available.

‘Cheers,’ she said ironically, setting the glass down.

‘Ya sas.’ He lifted his own glass courteously, a faint smile playing round his mouth. ‘Is the retsina to your liking?’

‘Perfectly,’ she lied. ‘It—it’s everything I’ve always heard about it.’

Dimitri was bustling backwards and forwards. Helen heard the subdued pop of a wine cork being withdrawn, and prayed that it was something slightly more palatable. He set a platter of crusty bread on the table, and a bowl of something that looked like mayonnaise, but smelt intriguingly of garlic and other things. Helen could not restrain a slight gasp when he placed a dish of huge succulent prawns on the table between them, then withdrew from the saloon at a slight unsmiling nod from her companion. Helen was sorry to see him go; the prospect of dining tête-à-tête with Damon was a disturbing one. She remembered the last time she had dined in his company at the flat in London, and the unexpected aftermath, the memory of which still had the power to tighten her nerves and make her mouth dry.

She stole an unobtrusive glance at her watch, wondering how many hours of his company she would be forced to endure before they reached Phoros. She took another sip of retsina, and found to her surprise that it improved on acquaintance. Which was more than could be said for her companion, she thought, and smiled to herself.

‘You are amused about something?’ He was leaning back in the chair, watching her with half-closed eyes.

‘Not really.’ She gave a slight shrug, then leaned forward and helped herself to one of the prawns.

He pushed the bowl of dip towards her. ‘Would you like to try some of this?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said doubtfully. ‘If it has a lot of garlic …’

‘Don’t worry,’ it was his turn to be amused, ‘I intend to have some too.’

She had taken another sip of retsina before she realised what he meant, and flushed hotly.

‘You flatter yourself, Mr Leandros!’

‘I think we both know that I don’t,’ he said evenly, and his eyes went to her mouth again, his expression suddenly sensuous as if he was remembering exactly how its softness had felt under his.

Helen took another hasty sip of her drink, and another prawn, shaking her head vehemently as he offered the dip again. He shrugged and put the bowl on another table, offering her the bread in its place, with an ironic smile.

She took a piece, then steadying her voice, she said in what she hoped was a normal conversational tone, ‘I take it that Phaedra is in no way part of the normal ferry service to Phoros.’

‘In no way,’ he agreed.

‘So you lied to me,’ she said.

‘In what way did I lie?’

‘You let me think we would be travelling on the ferry. You knew perfectly well that I—that I wouldn’t want …’ her voice tailed away lamely.

‘To sail off with me into the darkness of the Aegean night?’ he asked smoothly. ‘You have only yourself to blame for that. We could have left several hours earlier and reached Phoros in daylight. And I did not lie. I mentioned only a sea journey. It was you who decided we would be travelling on the public ferry.’

‘That’s just playing with words,’ she said hotly. ‘You should have told me what was really happening. Does—does Phaedra belong to my grandfather?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘Are you disappointed?’

‘Just curious,’ she said. ‘I suppose it belongs to another of his wealthy friends. He’s lucky to have so many.’

‘Michael has perhaps been more fortunate in his friends than in his relations,’ he said drily.

Helen went rigid. ‘That’s an abominable thing to say!’ Her voice rose in anger.

‘Oddly enough, I did not mean you. But are you really trying to claim that your behaviour has been beyond reproach?’

‘I am going to Phoros. Isn’t that what everyone wants?’

‘Not if you are going full of resentment, determined to rub salt into old wounds, Eleni. If you are going to your grandfather to exact some kind of personal retribution, then it would have been better if you had stayed in London.’

‘Now he tells me,’ she said savagely. ‘What shall I do? Swim back to Piraeus?’

‘No,’ he said coldly. ‘Try and search your heart for some glimmer of the compassion I found in you that night in London.’

She opened her eyes wide, staring at him over the rim of her glass.

‘Oh—I see. It’s the soft yielding bit that turns you on. That was where my last so-called glimmer of compassion led, wasn’t it—to being grossly insulted by you.’

‘You have a gift for exaggeration,’ he said harshly. ‘Also for provocation. I would take care, Eleni.’

‘It’s you that needs to take care,’ she said recklessly. ‘I won’t forget any of it, you know. The ambiguous remarks, the degrading way you treated me this afternoon—I’m going to tell my grandfather every sordid detail.’

‘I see I didn’t underestimate your capacity for vengeance,’ he drawled. ‘Perhaps you also underestimate me.’

‘I don’t think so.’ Helen set down her empty glass. She felt quite lightheaded, and wondered uneasily whether it was anticipation of her coming victory, or merely the effect of retsina on her still empty stomach. She hastily ate some more bread, and helped herself again to the luscious prawns.

‘I’m glad to see you have recovered from your indisposition,’ he said indolently after a few minutes. ‘Also that the colour has returned to your face. You clearly enjoy the stimulation of a fight.’

‘I always considered until now that I was the peace-loving type,’ she said tartly. ‘I suppose you find that difficult to believe.’

‘A desire for peace is usually the prerogative of the elderly. Someone as young as you, Eleni, should love life and all it has to offer.’ He finished his whisky. ‘Perhaps until now you have only been half alive.’

‘I’ve been perfectly happy,’ she said indignantly.

‘That is impossible.’ Deftly he opened the wine and poured it into the waiting glasses. ‘Perfection in happiness is not so easily attained. You have possibly been content, but no more.’

Helen tilted her chin. ‘May we change the subject, please?’ she requested coldly. ‘I’ve no wish to sit here and listen to your assumptions about me.’

He smiled and lifted his glass in a mocking toast to which she made no response whatever.

Dimitri appeared silently to remove their plates and serve the next course—tiny chickens, their flesh delicately flavoured with herbs, and a large serving tray set with dishes of every conceivable type of salad. Finger-bowls, with flower petals floating on the surface of the water, were placed on the table beside them, before he withdrew again as quietly as he had arrived.

It was all very impressive, but then she supposed it was intended to be. Everything which had happened was meant to underline the contrast between the modest comfort of her past circumstances and the luxury she was to encounter in the immediate future. She felt a thrill of apprehension which deepened as she looked up and encountered the dark, brooding gaze of her companion.

Her appetite seemed to have deserted her suddenly, and she only picked at the food in front of her.

‘Is the meal not to your liking?’

She started as Damon Leandros’ voice intruded on her thoughts.

‘It’s all delicious,’ she said hastily. ‘Perhaps it’s just the—the motion of the boat.’

His eyebrows rose and he sent her a look of cynical disbelief. She supposed it had been a foolish thing to say. The sea was so calm, it was hard to believe they were on board ship.

‘You are a poor sailor?’

‘I haven’t done a great deal of sailing. My life has been spent in a city,’ she reminded him.

‘Of course. You have missed a great deal.’

‘But none of the things that matter. All this—–’ she gestured around her—‘is purely incidental.’

‘How very high-minded of you,’ he said with a faint smile. ‘You despise money and the material comforts it can provide?’

‘Of course not. My father isn’t exactly a poor man, you know.’

‘No,’ he said after a pause, ‘he seems to have done well enough for himself. It is to his credit that he has done so.’

‘To his credit?’ she echoed.

‘His life was very different when he married your mother,’ he said evenly.

She gasped. ‘You mean—you’re insinuating that Daddy was a fortune-hunter? Oh, of course.’ Her voice stung. ‘There would have to be an ulterior motive. It wouldn’t suit Greek—machismo, would it, to admit that my mother preferred an Englishman to an arranged marriage with one of her own countrymen—someone she probably didn’t even know. She actually dared rebel—break out of the mould, so naturally all kinds of excuses have to be made. After all, she set a dangerous precedent, didn’t she? Other women might decide to take a hand in their own destinies, and that wouldn’t suit the arrogant Greek male. You did invent the word “tyrant”, didn’t you?’