"I guess I never really thought of it that way." "Well, I have, and I understand it. Most men aren't ready to deal with women on equal terms. Men don't have to use either subterfuge or intrigue to get their way with women." She reached out and pinched his chest. "They do it right out in the open."
"Most women ask for it. They tease men." She burst out laughing. "See what I mean? Women ask for it, so anything goes. Women are supposed to be the weaker sex, but let me tell you something. Secretly, most men fear and hate women."
He shook his head, and grinned. "Not me. I'm not afraid of women and I definitely don't hate them. That's the problem ... I love women."
By the time their dinner arrived, Indy was filled with expectations. In spite of her dire comments on men, he was sure Dorian would invite him to her berth tonight and he couldn't help but imagine what it would be like with her. He thought of running his hands through her long dark hair, of touching her face, her shoulders, of reading her entire body like a blind man learning braille. He'd never met anyone like her. Never.
"Would you like some dessert?" she asked as they finished their meals.
"Maybe some Italian ice cream."
"Spumoni, of course. I'll go find the waiter. The service is terribly slow."
"No, that's all right, Dorian," he said, but she was already out of her chair and heading down the aisle.
He turned, glancing after her, and saw her pause and lean toward a table where a man was seated by himself. Their eyes locked momentarily, and something flickered between them, something Indy couldn't decipher. Then the man looked away, his eyes flitting about like insects, shoulders twitching nervously. He was about thirty, fair-haired and slightly overweight. As Dorian disappeared into the next car, the stranger rose to his feet and followed her.
Indy's gaze trailed after him. What the hell was going on? He was tempted to get up and follow them, but decided against it. It was none of his business.
A couple of minutes later, two dishes of ice cream arrived. Indy stared at the multicolored scoop in the dish in front of him. He waited a while longer until the edges of the ice cream started to melt. He quartered it with his spoon, tasted it. What's taking her so long? What are they doing? He glanced over his shoulder, then turned back to his dish. Slowly, spoonful by spoonful, he consumed his serving. When he finished, he laid his spoon aside.
Time to take a look around.
He rose from his chair and walked quickly down the aisle of the dining car. The next one, which was the last car of the train, was a bar. It was crowded, but Dorian was nowhere in sight. Neither was the man who had followed her.
He described Dorian to the bartender and asked if he'd seen her. "No," the bartender said with a shake of his head. "Sorry."
"But I saw her walk in here. Just a few minutes ago, and she hasn't left."
He pointed to the far end of the car. "Maybe she went outside."
Outside? He moved through the crowd to the end of the car, and opened the door. The sweet evening air rushed around him, a scent of countryside and purple skies. He stepped out onto the iron balcony and saw Dorian stand ing at the railing, smoking a cigarette. For a moment or two, she seemed unaware of his presence. She was as motionless and lovely as a statue in profile, the wind blowing her hair away from her face, one arm crossed at
her waist, the other propped against it, holding a ciga rette. Then she turned, saw him, and smiled.
"Did you get your ice cream?"
Cool and possessed, he thought, and for a moment 'ice cream' turned to ice queen in his mind. He nodded, then gestured toward her cigarette. "I didn't know you smoked."
She tossed the cigarette over the railing and fixed her hands at his waist. "I probably do a lot of things you don't know about."
Indy touched her face and kissed her, a slow, almost hesitant kiss. Her mouth tasted sweet, of exotic fruit, exotic wine, exotic everything. He ran his hands through her raven hair, loving the thickness, the softness, and then she stepped back from him, her mouth still close to his, and whispered, "My ice cream is melting."
"I bet it is."
As he followed her back through the bar into the dining car, it occurred to him that he hadn't seen the blond man, and now the table where he'd sat was empty. A disappearing act.
Maybe he'd imagined the whole thing. Maybe Dorian had stopped to pull up a stocking, and the man had been embarrassed when she'd caught him looking at her. He hadn't followed her, but had gone to the bathroom. By now he'd returned to his seat in one of the passenger cars.
Of course. That must be it.
7
Intrigue in Athens
The sun was low by the time they reached the Acropo lis, and the city was hidden in a copper haze. But from where they stood, high above Athens, the slanting rays bronzed the magnificent Doric columns of the Parthenon, and Indy gazed in awe.
"I grew up thinking Greece was a legend."
Dorian laughed. "I think I hear echoes of your father."
"His bedtime stories were about the feats of Zeus, Heracles, Poseidon, Hermes, and all the others.
Medusa, the Gorgons, Jason and the Argonauts. I heard about them all."
"Well, that sounds like a wonderful childhood," she said, hooking her arm through his.
Yeah, real swell, he thought, but he didn't disagree with her. Not now. He took in a deep breath, as if the magical air surrounding this bastion could somehow preserve the moment.
"What do you think is the single most amazing thing about the Acropolis?" she asked.
He thought back to her lectures, but drew a blank and shook his head.
"That any of it still exists," she said and explained. The Turks stored ammunition in a building called the Propy laea and one day in 1645 it exploded. Forty-two years
later, the Venetians blew up the Parthenon. The only reason it still remained was that early nineteenth-century archaeologists restored it to what they believed had been its appearance in the fifth century B.C.
"Now you sound like the professor again." He smiled as he said it just to show her he didn't mean it as a criticism. "This must be a very special place for you."
"It is, of course, but actually my favorite place in Athens is the Tower of the Winds in the Roman Agora, especially at dawn."
"I'll have to see it sometime." Indy gazed over the city below them in the fading light. "Great place to be an archaeologist. All the best ruins are right in your backyard."
He expected her to laugh. She didn't. "Archaeology grew up around this country just as European civilization did."
They moved from the massive columns of the Parthenon and walked over to the Erechtheum, the only other sur viving building. "So why do you teach in Paris? I'd think you'd prefer to be here."
"That's complicated. You have to understand that we Greek archaeologists tend to favor the aesthetic aspects of the science. Rather than dirtying ourselves in pits looking for pottery fragments, most of us prefer to study the great works of ancient sculpture. In fact, the chairman of ar chaeology in all our major universities is actually the chairman of the history of sculpture."
"Really? Why is that?"
"It's a way of compensating for the fact that we are economically and socially behind the northern countries which drew on our legacy. We've only been independent for ninety years, you know, after four centuries of foreign domination. So by focusing on the aesthetic aspects of archaeology, we ever so slightly elevate our present culture."
"You agree with that approach?"
"No, but I understand it. I teach in Paris because it's easier to take a broader approach to the field."
They stopped in front of the Erechtheum and examined the Caryatids, a series of stone maidens who served as pillars on the building's southern porch. The last rays of the sun danced across the faces of the stone goddesses; behind them, light and shadow eddied across the porch. For an instant, Indy thought he saw someone standing near the base of one of the statues.