Catching Moonlight (Man Season) Read online

  CATCHING MOONLIGHT

  Man Season Episode #3

  By

  Mila McClung

  RTWD PRESS

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Catching Moonlight

  Copyright 2013 RTWD Press

  All Rights Reserved.

  For all the moonlit lovers.

  CHAPTER ONE

  “And all this belongs to me?” Toby Styles asked breathlessly as she surveyed the island around her. To the west was the impossibly blue Mediterranean Sea, sparkling like jewels in the midday sun. To the east were splendid, lushly green mountains. And standing like a mirage right in front of her was the house, the ThalasaSelene, or Moonsea, as it was known by the locals; it was an enormous, elegant mansion, crisp white, blazing in the sunshine, with cobalt window frames that matched the curvy roof tiles.

  “Yes, Miss Styles, it is yours. Your late father was adamant that his only child should inherit his home.”

  She glanced sharply at her father’s lawyer, Stephan Cristos. His only child – why hadn’t her father acknowledged her while he was alive, if he had cared so much?

  She thought back to the expression on her mother’s face when the letter arrived at their New York brownstone that told of Gregory Alexandrou’s passing. Toby had to catch her and walk her to the sofa.

  “Who was he, Mom?”

  “He was … oh, Toby, he was my first love! The most beautiful boy I’d ever seen. Wild black hair, the softest blue eyes, like yours. And that wicked smile … I can still see it! He was a troublemaker, always getting in wrong with the police or any other authority. But oh did I love him!”

  “So why am I just hearing about him now?” Toby wondered. She had caught her mother’s cast off phrase “like yours” and that had started the wheels turning in her mind.

  Lauren Styles drew a deep, shivering breath, gently pulled Toby down to sit beside her.

  “I should have told you years ago but Matt … your dad, well, he didn’t want me to. He thought you might not love him anymore if you knew he wasn’t really your father.”

  Toby felt tears stinging her eyes. “I don’t believe this! Tell me I’m dreaming!”

  “No, Toby, it’s true. I met Gregory in Athens when your grandparents took me there for my graduation present. We fell in love immediately. I’d never known love like that before, or since. It was frightening just how desperately he wanted and needed me.”

  “Why did you leave him then?”

  “Mom and Dad dragged me back to the States, kicking and screaming. Dad even threatened to have Gregory arrested since I was still seventeen. I hated him for that!”

  “That explains a lot,” Toby sighed, recalling how cold the air was whenever Grandpa came to visit. Her mom talked to him politely and all but Toby could feel an undercurrent of icy disdain. “Did you ever see Gregory again?”

  “No, not once. He thought I didn’t love him enough because I wouldn’t give up everything and run off with him. Then once I was home I discovered I was pregnant, with you, and I accepted Matt’s marriage proposal. He’d been my off and on again beau all through high school. He loved me so much he was willing to accept you as his own, said no one would ever have to know.”

  “Well, I certainly didn’t!”

  “Don’t be angry with me, Toby.”

  “I suppose I should be but I’m not. It’s all like some strange fantasy. Maybe it’s best to forget it, and get on with our lives.”

  “I don’t think it’s going to be that simple. The letter is from Gregory’s lawyer. Apparently he was a wealthy man; he was a distant relation of royalty! Ha! If my father had known that how different things might have been! He always did take great stock in people’s ancestry. It says here that Gregory only found out about you a week before he died of lung cancer. Some investigator noticed your resemblance to Gregory’s mother and put two and two together. Poor darling! I wish I could have been there for him!”

  She began to sob; Toby wrapped her in consoling arms.

  “It wasn’t meant to be. Don’t you tell me that often enough when I miss out on something?”

  “True. But it seems cruel to love someone that strongly and never be able to see them again. I still love him, I never stopped.”

  “But, Mom, if he had loved you as desperately as you believe, and he had money, why didn’t he come after you?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe he found someone else. But it doesn’t matter now. He’s gone.”

  Lauren dried her tears; sat quietly for a moment, remembering.

  “What else does the letter say?”

  “You’ve inherited Gregory’s family manor and the island it sits on. It even has a name! Moonsea! Sounds downright romantic, doesn’t it?”

  “Yeah. But, Mom, what am I going to do with an island in Greece? I’m supposed to transfer to Stanford in a few weeks.”

  “You have time to fly out and look at the place. Maybe the lawyer can help you sell it, if you don’t want to keep it.”

  “Will you come with me?”

  “Oh, Toby, I couldn’t!” She began to cry again. “I’ve just lost your father, and now this! I’m not sure if I can handle any sort of trip.”

  “I understand. I’ll book a flight as soon as I can. I might as well get it over with quickly.”

  Now, there Toby was, in paradise, surrounded by beautiful people and glossy scenery. Her quick trip had stretched out into three weeks, thanks to some rather confusing laws and a huge language barrier. And she’d spent those weeks in Athens, a busy, dusty, bustling city, seeing the usual tourist havens and getting antsy about missing her first semester at Stanford.

  All her worries seemed to melt away as she let the sea breeze flow over her newly tanned skin, bared in spots by the design of a saucy yellow sundress. It dried the sweat on her freckled brow and swept her long red hair up into a delicious frenzy. Never in her twenty years of living had she felt so free.

  Stephan Cristos openly admired her. He was a black-eyed devil with an infectious grin and a sleek, cultured accent. He’d told Toby that he studied at Oxford in England before deciding to chuck it all and return to Greece to sell real estate. She kept expecting him to ask her out while they were in Athens but he was content to be her lawyer and nothing more. Or was he?

  Toby wasn’t very good at reading signals from men. She’d lived most of her life in expensive private boarding schools, away from her family – and boys. When the other girls would sneak out to meet their boyfriends at the theater or the skating rink Toby would hide in her room, her pert nose stuck in the pages of some hopelessly romantic novel. Books were her comfort, her real schooling; her only true friends.

  When she realized she’d be going to Greece Toby had a strange hope rise in her heart – that somehow, there in one of the most romantic places in the world, she would meet a stranger who could sweep her off her feet and carry her away into a glorious love affair. She kept the hope hidden like a jewel too precious for anyone to see. At first she thought Stephan Cristos could be the man she’d dreamed of for so many long, lonely nights but he remained polite and aloof. And he had a kind of arrogance that she didn’t enjoy.

  He was admiring her figure as she surveyed their surroundings.

  “I can’t believe I’m finally here! And I can move in immediately?”

  “Yes, as soon as you want. The house is completely furnished. And it comes with two servants … Aella, the cook and housekeeper, and Kosmas, the gardener.”

  “
Servants? Oh, I don’t need anyone to help me.”

  “It stated in Mr. Alexandrou’s will that his servants should stay here as long as you own the house. They were like relatives to him. He would not see them turned out.”

  “Well, why didn’t he leave the house to them? Could I do that? Just hand it over to them?”

  “No, Miss, I’m afraid not. The house cannot change hands again for a year. He was explicit in that as well.”

  “I can’t sell it, either?”

  “Not for a year, no.”

  “Lovely. So it’s going to sit here, running up property taxes, while I’m in college?”

  “No, Mr. Alexandrou knew he was dying, so he set aside enough to pay taxes and other expenses for several years. You only have to worry about keeping the place up. And it practically runs itself, with solar power and a reservoir of its own. You really have a unique home here.”

  “I can see that. Well, I guess I’ll go in now. You can get back to your business.”

  She held out her hand, he took it, kissed it like an Old World gentleman. Toby’s breath caught for a second; she savored the charm of his gesture, and the unexpected thrill it gave her.

  “I will visit you here soon, if you’d like.”

  “I’d like,” she smiled, trying to evoke the confidence and sexiness of the heroines in her beloved novels.

  “Good Day, Miss Styles.”

  “Same to you, Mr. Cristos.”

  “I’ll expect you to call me Stephan, next time.”

  “I will, if you’ll call me Toby.”

  “You can count on it!”

  She watched him as he made his way gracefully back down the valley to the dock. He walked like a panther, stalking everything in his path. It gave her chill bumps wondering what kind of lover he’d be.

  “My God, Toby,” she whispered to herself. “You’d think you were a cat in heat! Get a grip!”

  Once Stephan had hopped into his sleek motorboat and disappeared into the blue, Toby breathed deeply and turned towards the big, carved wooden doors of Moonsea. The design on the doors was intriguing – a full moon gracing a sea view, with a beautiful siren flinging her arms and chest to the sky, her face beaming, as if she were in love with the moon itself.

  The interior of the house was as bright and white as the outside, furnished in comfy English sofas and chunky wing chairs. Enormous, stone-faced fireplaces were ever ready to ward off the evening chill. Grand paintings and sculptures revealed the wealth of her ancestors, some of whom graced the walls in vivid portraits. She walked along slowly, recognizing her own features in some of the faces.

  “Ah, there you are, Miss!” a lilting voice called out. Toby turned to see a robust woman of about forty with short-cropped mahogany hair and gray, darting eyes. “I’m Aella, the housekeeper here.” She came close, stood straight before Toby, examining her with an aggressive stare. “You look like him, my Gregory! He was beautiful, like you!” With that she hugged Toby like a lost long aunt. “We’ll get along fine, I think.”

  “Yes, I think we will,” Toby uttered, a bit out of breath.

  “Your room is at the top of the stairs, on the right. Wash up, lunch will be ready soon. Do you like feta cheese?”

  “Very much.”

  “And olives?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Good, you’re my kind of girl! We make the cheese ourselves, and my husband, Kosmas grows the olives. See?”

  She pointed out the window. Beyond the back of the house she could see goats grazing on the hillside, and far out towards the sea, a grove of olive trees danced in the gentle wind. Toby noticed a ruin standing rather precariously at the edge of the sea.

  “Oh, what’s that? An old temple?”

  “It was a temple, used in ancient times as a place to worship the moon goddess, Selene.”

  “That’s fascinating. Maybe after lunch I’ll explore it.”

  “I don’t think you should. The rocks are not strong there. They slip out from under your feet too easily. Believe me, I know. I almost fell into the sea myself. Luckily, Kosmas was nearby, and caught me. You will meet him at lunch. Go on up now, and wash.”

  Toby nodded and scurried up the stairs with her bags, feeling a bit like a new child at camp. Her room was lovely, white walls and a faded plank ceiling, with subtly pink draperies and bed linens, and a wonderful chaise lounge upholstered in a rose-covered damask.

  She unpacked, folding some of her clothes into a carved-wood dresser and hanging the rest in a mirrored armoire. She paused at the windows, open to the scintillating sea breezes, and noticed the gardener Kosmas, talking to a young man near the temple. As far as she could tell, the boy was quite attractive, with unkempt black hair flapping in the wind, his body shapely and firm. Some mad whim had her digging in her satchel for a pair of vintage binoculars that she’d brought to watch ships on the sea. But when she found them she didn’t aim them at the water – she pointed them towards the boy standing with Kosmas.

  Toby shivered all over at the sight of him. She was right – he was very attractive, in an unspoiled, primitive way, much like the untamed hills and sea about him. His eyes flashed emeralds in her direction – she hid quickly, afraid he might have spotted her. But then he went on talking with the gardener – and Toby resumed her spying.

  “Damn, he is fine!” she whispered. “Now I know I’m going for a walk after lunch!”

  She freshened up, spraying a delicate mist of her new French perfume in her hair, hoping that the boy would join them for lunch. But when she arrived in the kitchen, Toby was disappointed to find only Aella and Kosmas.

  The cook introduced her husband; he was a charmer with his mustached smile and sparkling brown eyes. And his English, which he said was learned from watching old American movies, was quite good. They discussed the state of modern cinema – he was very opinionated, thought Hollywood had ruined its reputation by exporting superhero blockbusters and vulgar comedies. Toby rather clumsily brought the conversation back to the island – and the boy at the temple. When she mentioned him she noticed a change in both Aella and Kosmas. It was like a cold wind had enveloped them.

  “You saw him?” Aella asked.

  “Yes, when I was unpacking, I glanced out the window. He was at the temple, with Kosmas. Who is he?”

  Aella thought a moment.

  “He is … my nephew. His name is Dio. He helps us with the chores.”

  She looked at Kosmas; he offered an approving nod.

  “Then he lives on the island, too? Here at the house?”

  “No. I mean, he does live on the island, but he has a room of his own behind the temple.”

  “Yes,” Kosmas spoke up. “He’s a solitary boy; reads poetry and books when he isn’t working. He doesn’t have much use for the rest of the world.”

  “Oh, I see,” Toby said, feeling a bit let down. The idea of talking to someone her own age, especially a gorgeous boy who read books, was enticing. “I guess I won’t bother him then. I thought it might be nice to say hello.”

  “No, no, it’s better to leave him alone. Dio is a strange boy …”

  “She doesn’t mean he’s strange,” Kosmas laughed. “He isn’t dangerous or frightful. He’s what you call a recluse.”

  “Well, I don’t blame him for that! I should think if I had this place to live in, and steady work, and a good supply of books, I’d be a recluse, too!”

  They all smiled; everything seemed fine again. But Toby’s mind kept drifting back to Dio, and to the sentence she’d uttered – this place to live in, and steady work and a good supply of books – at that moment, it sounded like a perfect life.

  After eating a wonderful salad full of feta and olives, of course, and an egg-lemon soup, plus a bit of Spanakorizo, a spinach and rice stew, Toby was more than ready to go for an extended walk over the countryside.

  The air absolutely tingled with salt and wind and earth and fresh sunshine. Toby was lit up from the magic of it. And the realization that it was al
l hers. More and more she found herself thinking that a person could spend the rest of their days happy in such tranquil surroundings, never caring whether they had a degree or a career or even a new pair of shoes. She wondered what her dad, Matt, would say to that. He was determined to make her his mirror image, in action if not flesh. He’d been a hard-nosed, no-nonsense workaholic, and she’d been on her way to achieving that dubious status, too, when his sudden stroke and death changed everything. She questioned whether living on his terms was what she still wanted. She knew one thing, though: a career on the fast track wasn’t worth dying for. There had to be more meaning to life than that.

  Toby took a strenuous path through the goat pastures then strolled slowly for awhile through the olive grove. The island wasn’t huge but it seemed vast to a city girl used to the vertical instead of the horizontal. Once she reached the temple she sat down for a rest, observing the sea as it calmly swayed back and forth. The rhythm was hypnotic, made her lids heavy. She curled up on a soft mound of earth and drifted easily to sleep.

  Strange dreams made her restless. Voices crying out in pain as a scene from some ancient drama unfolded before her. There was a tall, frowning crone, a cruel glint in her dark eyes, speaking in thunderous tones to a delicate younger woman. The latter was raven-haired, very pretty, and pale. She bowed her head as if in the presence of royalty as the crone assailed her with crude accusations and threats. Once alone, the younger woman went to a hidden chamber in the temple and brought out a beautiful boy – he was around nineteen years old, with white skin and sad emerald eyes, his hair a shock of ebony. The woman cried and said, “Oh Lord Zeus, I can only pray that you protect my child, your son, from Mother Hera’s wrath.”

  But Zeus did not hear. In his stead, the angry Hera reappeared and laid down an oath: “From this day forth that bastard child will be tied to this temple with a rope of shame! For all eternity he will remain here. He will never age, or marry, or bear children. He will be alone, forever!”