Legend Of Lexandros

‘Paris, here?’ Jane laughed. ‘I couldn’t do that.’

‘Why not?’

‘Well … I mean … his apartment is huge, with gorgeous furniture …’

‘You’ve been to his apartment? When? I thought you always went to clubs?’

Jane grimaced. ‘Heavens, what have I said! Why shouldn’t I go to his apartment?’

Dallas unloosened her hair from its knot and it fell in a cascade of colour about her shoulders. Caught off guard, Jane said:

‘Why don’t you always wear your hair loose? You look so much younger! You make me feel so mean, Dallas, because I know you’re only a little older than I am, and you’re having a hell of a time with me, aren’t you?’ She half smiled. ‘It’s only when you look so schoolmarmish, and Charles is there beside you like a bloodhound, that I forget who you really are. Dallas, please try and understand.’

‘It’s no good, Jane,’ said Dallas wearily. ‘We stand at opposite sides of the line. You can’t see what’s under your nose, and I can’t believe he’s sincere!’

Jane hunched her shoulders. ‘Well, there’s nothing you, or Charles, can do. I love Paris, and I intend to go on seeing him.’ She tugged angrily at her hair with a comb. ‘Whatever you say!’

* * *

A week later Dallas had made a decision, brought about mainly by the fact that Jane was no longer telling her the truth. Her breath had smelled strongly of alcohol two evenings when she came home, and Dallas, who had been in bed pretending to be asleep, had lain awake for hours after Jane’s breathing had become smooth and regular. Jane was also beginning to look drawn and tired, for late nights combined with early mornings were making their presence felt. Dallas seemed continually in a state of anxiety, and she wished wholeheartedly that Paris Stavros would find himself another girl-friend soon.

Unable to expect any useful assistance or advice from Charles, Dallas decided her only course of action was to try and contact Alexander Stavros, the boy’s father. It seemed a vain hope; Alexander Stavros lived in Greece, and she had no earthly idea how she could reach him there.

Besides, even if she could contact him, why should he care what happened to her sister, so long as Paris was happy? Unless the threat of a scandal might deter him. Maybe he was a man with a heart; maybe she could appeal to his better judgement.

Dallas felt desperate. She was clutching at straws and she knew it. And then, as though fate was lending her a helping hand, she read one morning, in her newspaper going to work, that Alexander Stavros had arrived in England the previous day to visit his son, and to have trade talks with British businessmen. A casual word about it to Jane that evening brought forth a veritable stream of information about him, gleaned no doubt from Paris himself, and within a short time Dallas knew that he was staying at the Dorchester, and would be there for approximately a fortnight.

Deciding not to mention her decision to Charles, Dallas telephoned the Dorchester the following morning and asked to speak to Mr. Stavros. A polite receptionist advised her that Mr. Stavros was not in the hotel, but if she wished she might speak to one of his secretaries.

‘One of his secretaries!’ exclaimed Dallas, in astonishment, and then, swallowing hard, she said: ‘When will Mr. Stavros be back?’

‘I really couldn’t say,’ replied the receptionist smoothly. ‘Excuse me, but who shall I say has called?’

‘I … I … he won’t know me,’ began Dallas awkwardly, and would have said more, but the receptionist interrupted her.

‘I would suggest you speak to one of the secretaries,’ she said, in a cool tone. ‘Mr. Stavros doesn’t take calls in the normal way. I’m sure Mr. Saravanos would be able to help you.’

Dallas hesitated for a moment. ‘But this is a personal matter,’ she said, running her tongue over suddenly dry lips. ‘Is there no way I can contact Mr. Stavros direct?’

‘Excuse me, but I have other calls to attend to,’ said the receptionist, avoiding a direct answer.

‘Very well.’ Dallas was forced to ring off. She came out of the telephone kiosk dejectedly. It was mid-morning break at the school, and she had slipped across the road to make her call. There seemed no alternative but to ring again tomorrow and speak to one of the secretaries.

The next day she could not concentrate on her work. She put off making the call to the Dorchester all day, hating the way she was having to put herself into such an awkward position. What would Alexander Stavros think of her when she did get to see him, or should she say ‘if’? It was doubtful indeed whether a man in his position would bother about a nobody like herself.

She went home after work, made the evening meal for Jane and herself, and then waited until Jane had dressed for a date with Paris and gone out before thinking seriously about ringing the hotel again. To humble herself in this way was alien to her nature and the thought of asking him now to stop his son from meeting Jane seemed stupid and childish.

She felt sure she would never have the nerve to go through with it, no matter what the consequences to Jane might be. It could only look bad. She would seem like the ugly sister trying to keep Cinderella from the ball.

She smiled at her thoughts, and then hunched her shoulders. It was all very well deciding in the heat of the moment to see Alexander Stavros, but now, in cold blood, it was fast becoming untenable.

She washed the dishes, wiped down the draining board, and eventually put the dishes back into the cupboard. Then she walked into the lounge.

The television was playing away to itself, so she switched it off and walked into the bedroom. She sat in front of the dressing-table mirror studying her reflection for a few minutes, trying not to think of the task ahead of her.

Then she pulled open the dressing-table drawer to take out a handkerchief when something else, caught on the lace of the handkerchief, fell with a thud on the carpet. Bending, she picked it up. It was a bracelet, but such a bracelet as Dallas had never seen before. It was, or looked like, solid gold, with inlaid stones of red and blue which looked like rubies and sapphires. Dallas dropped it hastily back in the drawer, as though it burned her. She had no doubts as to its origin; Paris must have given it to Jane, but why?

Any doubts left in her mind as to the advisability of her task fled away. She had no choice but to try and do something before it was too late.

She changed into navy blue stretch pants and a scarlet anorak of Jane’s. It was a cold evening and such attire was more suitable than the short skirts she usually wore. But she smiled to herself when she thought of Charles’s displeasure if he could see her now. He hated casual clothes, and preferred Dallas to wear tailored suits and dresses, with little adornment. Her hair had come loose from its immaculate pleat, so instead of putting it up again, she combed it out, leaving it loose about her shoulders. She touched a coral lipstick to her mouth, and then ran down the steps out of the block of flats. The telephone kiosk was a couple of blocks away and Jane was often saying they should have one of their own, but Dallas could see no point when in a little over four months they would be living in Charles’s semi-detached house at Maidenhead which already had a phone.

Charles was not coming up to town this evening and Dallas felt a carefree liveliness assail her as she walked to the telephone. Sometimes Charles was a little too overbearing.

The kiosk was already occupied, so she stood around stamping her feet to stop the chilling wind from piercing the warm quilted lining of the anorak, and then when the man emerged, she slid inside thankfully. It was March, but so cold it could have been January, and spring seemed a long way away.

Dallas rang the Dorchester, and inserted her money, and when the receptionist answered, a man this time, she felt relieved. At least she would not have the ignominy of asking the same questions to the same girl.

But when she asked for Mr Stavros, the man’s answers were practically the same as the girl’s had been. So deciding she might as well speak to the secretary, a Mr. Karantinos, she was put through to the suite.

A maid answered at first, and then she heard the accented tones of Stephanos Karantinos.

‘Oh … er … good evening,’ said Dallas, biting hard on her lip. ‘Would it be possible for me to speak to Mr. Stavros? It’s a personal matter.’

‘Mr. Stavros is changing for an evening engagement,’ replied Stephanos Karantinos. ‘Surely I can be of assistance. You say it is of a personal nature. In what way is this so?’ He was polite, but unyielding.

Dallas sighed. ‘It’s to do with Paris, Mr. Stavros’s son. He is at present going around with my sister Jane.’

‘Yes?’ The voice was clipped. ‘This is what you wish to speak to Mr. Stavros about?’

‘Yes. I … I … want it stopped!’

She was aware she had shocked the man, but in an amused way, for he burst out laughing, and she felt unreasonably angry.

‘It’s no laughing matter,’ she exclaimed hotly, and then heard the sound of voices as though someone else had joined him and was asking what the joke might be. There was more laughter, and then another voice reached her ears, a deep attractive voice, with barely a trace of accent.

‘Alexander Stavros speaking. To whom do I address myself?’ His tone was mocking, but Dallas was too relieved to be actually speaking to Stavros himself to care.

‘My name is Dallas Collins, Mr. Stavros,’ she answered shakily. ‘This … this is rather difficult for me, but my sister Jane works for your company in the London office, and she is at present infatuated with your son Paris. I want you, if you will, to use your influence to stop this affair before anything unfortunate happens.’

‘Unfortunate? For whom?’

‘For Jane, of course.’

‘Indeed?’ There was silence for a moment, and then he continued: ‘It seems to me, Miss Collins, that you are interfering in something which is actually no concern of yours.’

‘No concern? Jane is only seventeen. Our parents are dead, and I am legally her guardian!’

‘Paris is only eighteen, Miss Collins.’