His Forbidden Bride (8 page)

circumstances.

But from now, I'l cool it, she told herself. Sherry is bound to know when

Andreas' boss returns from Athens, and I'l make sure I keep any questions

casual and discreet.

And if I happen to meet Andreas again in the meantime, I'l let him think that

I was simply winding him up in turn.

Trying to get myself out of a tight spot with a few wel -chosen fibs.

That was the best—the only way to handle things. For al kinds of reasons,

she thought, of which her own peace of mind was only one.

'Did you find the beach al right?' Sherry asked that evening, setting a dish of

taramasalata on Zoe's table.

'Oh, yes.' Zoe allowed herself a wry smile and a shrug. 'Only it wasn't quite

as deserted as you said.'

'Oh, heck.' Sherry wrinkled her nose. 'Is Steve Dragos back? I hadn't

realised I thought he was stil wrapped in cotton wool in Athens after his

heart attack.'

'I don't think the guy I met is a candidate for heart trouble,' Zoe said.

Although he might cause his fair share of it, she added silently. 'He seemed

to be some sort of gardener-caretaker.'

'Really?' Sherry looked surprised. 'I didn't know there was one. Maybe he's

some relation to Hara who looks after the house. What's his name?'

'I'm not sure he mentioned it,' Zoe said untruthfully, fil ing her glass with

water. It had occurred to her suddenly that she didn't want to have al her

prejudices about Andreas confirmed. To be told by Sherry that his bed was

col apsing from all the notches in its post. Or even to be teased about her

encounter with him. 'So,' she went on. 'Who is this Steve Dragos?'

'Oh your usual multimil ionaire.' Sherry shrugged. 'Runs fleets of tankers and

freight carriers round the world. And somehow, in between it all, found the

time to build the Vil a Danaë.'

'Heavens,' said Zoe, rather faintly. 'I—see.' She paused. 'Yet he doesn't live

there.'

'Oh, no. He has an even more palatial vil a just up the coast' Sherry gave

her an anxious look as she unloaded from her tray the smal carafe of white

house wine that Zoe had ordered. 'I hope you didn't get into trouble for being

there,' she added quietly.

'No, it was fine,' Zoe assured her. She lowered her voice in turn. 'But they

know you use the beach sometimes.'

'Hel ,' Sherry said gloomily. 'Steve Dragos must have a spy camera up on

some satel ite. Thank God I'm not into skinny-dipping.' And she went off to

take the order from a German family at an adjoining table.

Zoe had a lot to think about as she ate her grilled sword-fish, and its

accompanying salad. Was the man in the photograph this Steve

Dragos—and had he given the Vil a Danaë to her mother? And, if so—why?

What on earth had Gina Lambert been doing mixing in that kind of

super-wealthy society? It made no sense. Family life had been comfortable,

but there was little money to spare. And certainly no indication from her

mother that she'd once moved with the jet set.

She had the uneasy feeling that she was getting into deep water, but she

couldn't back off now. She needed desperto know everything.

Her sense of disquiet was also heightened to simmering point by the

expectation of seeing Andreas; walk into the courtyard at any moment. After

all, he knew where she was staying, and she'd been secretly convinced he

would come to find her, if only to make some edged remark about her

ignominious retreat. On the other hand, maybe he'd decided to shrug her off

as the one that got away. Because that had been her intention—hadn't it?

Al the same, every new arrival sent her heart thumping, but there was no

tal , arrogant figure scanning the tables with narrowed dark eyes.

Her hasty departure seemed to have had the desired effect, she thought.

She should be grateful for that, and she knew it.

Every glance, every smile he'd sent her had revealed the practised

womaniser, she told herself. And his relationships would be just as fragile

and ephemeral as any of the but-terflies with wings like chocolate velvet that

she'd seen in the garden at the villa. Which was the last thing she needed.

She ate her dessert of fresh apricots, and fingered over the coffee and

Metaxa that rounded off the meal.

'That was wonderful,' she sighed when Sherry came to clear the table. 'My

compliments to the chef.'

'That's my mother-in-law,' Sherry told her cheerful y. 'The most unflappable

woman in the universe. And a great dancer, too. You'l see her in action

tomorrow night when we have live music.'

Al the other diners were leaving, most of them to walk along the

harbourside and find a taverna for a final nightcap. Zoe supposed she could

do the same, but instead she found herself going back to her room.

It's been quite a day, she thought, and a comparatively early night wil do me

no harm at all.

Besides, it was unexpectedly lonely being on one's own in a foreign country,

where other people al seemed to be couples or family groups.

Had Gina been lonely, too, and tempted, as a result, away from the normal

pattern of her existence? Was that what this was al about—a holiday fling

with a man, who turned out to be rich enough to give houses as farewel

presents instead of the conventional piece of jewel ery?

It wasn't a very palatable possibility, she thought, opening her door. But it

made sense.

As she switched on the light, she glimpsed herself in the wall-mirror, a girl

with pale hair and wide, expectant eyes in a black slip of a dress cut low

across her breasts. A dress to please a man, she thought with sudden

self-contempt. In spite of everything she'd told herself that afternoon.

Maybe this was how it had begun for her mother, too. Perhaps Gina had

stood in a room like this one, feeling the stir of sheer physical attraction

along her senses. Finding it irresistible.

Had she stayed here, and fought for her self-respect, or had she gone back,

flitting like a slender ghost, to where he'd been waiting for her in the shadow

of the cypress trees?

But Andreas was not waiting anywhere for her, she reminded herself. His

work was over for the day, and he was probably at home in some smal

white house in Livassi, with a wife and brood of children.

She made a sound in her throat, muffled, painful.

I walked away, she thought. I behaved wel . I did the right thing. The only

thing.

So why do I feel as if I lost?

Zoe slept badly, and was wide awake in time to see the sun rise in a

flawless sky, promising another intensely hot day.

She'd had time, during the night, to decide her next move, so she showered

and dressed in a knee-length black linen skirt, with a matching vest top over

her bikini. Her hair she twisted into a loose knot on top of her head secured

by a silver clasp.

'Not going back to the cove?' Sherry asked, pouring breakfast coffee into

her cup.

'I think that would be pushing my luck an inch too far,' Zoe admitted with

utter truth, at the same time stifling a pang of totally unsuitable regret. 'I

thought I'd do some sightseeing instead, before it gets too warm. Discover

what Livassi has to offer.'
And, maybe, meet Uncle Stavros
…

'Wel , don't blink,' Sherry advised. 'Or you might miss it.' Then, relenting,

'Actually, Livassi's really pretty, and the church is lovely with some terrific

frescos. But they like you to cover your shoulders if you plan to visit'

'I've got a shirt to put on.' Zoe delved into her bag, and produced it, checked

in black and white, with long sleeves, and voluminous enough to wear as a

beach cover-up later.

'And watch out for the icon,' Sherry added as she turned away. 'It's

supposed to help women get pregnant so you might want to give it a wide

berth.'

'That's OK.' Zoe tried a nonchalant shrug. 'I'm total y celibate.'

'That's what they al say,' said Sherry darkly.

And that, thought Zoe, is what I have to believe, and keep to. At al costs.

The hill up to the main square was steep, and narrow enough to force her to

leap into doorways as cars and scooters roared heedlessly past.

By the time she reached the top, she was hot and breathless, but she had to

admit that the square with its Venetian-style colonnade and small Byzantine

church was wel worth the effort.

There were tables in the middle of the square under the trees, and benches,

but, as yet, they were unoccupied. Perhaps the games of backgammon

didn't take place at weekends, she reflected, disappointed. Wel , there

would be other days.

She took some photographs, then, pul ing on her shirt, went into the cool,

incense-laden atmosphere of the church. A bearded priest in dark robes

replacing candles in tall holders gave her a lightning glance, then made her

a slight bow of unsmiling approval.

She trod round slowly, her sandals noiseless on the stone flags, looking at

the murals that depicted scenes from the life of Christ, which she

recognised, and various angular, wistful-eyed saints, which she didn't.

There were numerous icons in niches round the wal s, all of them apparently

venerated, so she had no idea which one to avoid.

In any case, she thought, her mouth twisting, it was a real man she needed

to shun, not a gilded representation painted on wood.

The heat was like a blow from a clenched fist as she emerged into the

sunlight She ordered an iced drink made from fresh lemons at a
kafeneion

under the colonnade, and settled down under its striped awning to look

around her.

One of the tables under the trees was occupied now by a group of elderly

men hunched round a board, their hands moving with incredible speed as

they threw dice and moved counters. But which of them, if any, was Uncle

Stavros? And she could hardly interrupt their concentration in order to ask,

she decided wryly.

She retrieved from her bag the small guide book she'd bought on her way

up the hill, and began to flick through it.

But apart from extol ing the wondrous peace and quiet of the island, and the

fact that it was used as a retreat by some of the rich and famous, there was

not a great deal the author could say.

There was a bay where Odysseus might or might not have paused for

breath on the last leg of his epic journey back to Ithaca, and which bore his

name on the off chance. There was a ruined monastery, and a couple of tiny