The Innocent's Surrender (22 page)

What did they imagine she was planning? she wondered as she turned away, defeated. To send a scream for help so that the SAS would drop out of the sky and snatch her away?

Being denied contact with the outside world really did make her feel like a prisoner, yet she could not pretend she was completely unhappy in her surroundings.

Alyssos was indeed a very small island, with a rocky interior that made no attempt to aspire to be a mountain. It possessed a tiny port bearing the same name, where the chief excitement, it seemed, was the daily arrival of the one ferry.

Not that she was allowed to observe it at first-hand in case, she supposed, she decided to hop on board, and be gone. But how far would she get without her passport, which she?d discovered was missing the first day on the
Selene
? And which was still, presumably, in Alex?s possession. Which meant she was going nowhere.

And, apart from the ferry, it seemed that watching the olives and other fruit ripen appeared to be the island?s main pastime. And, in different circumstances, probably a perfect way to de-stress.

As was lying in the shallows of the Aegean, letting slow gentle wavelets wash slowly over her body as tiny fish darted unafraid among the fronds of weed around her.

It could, she thought, be paradise. If only?

The Villa Elena itself, named, Josefina told her, for Kyrios Alexandros?s late mother, was a large single-storey residence, painted white with a green-tiled roof. Its rather stark lines were softened by the masses of pink and purple bougainvillea sprawling over its walls. There were two substantial wings jutting out like strong arms reaching to the sea, one containing the lavish bedroom accommodation, and the other holding the kitchens, store rooms and staff quarters.

The floors were pale marble, the d?cor muted and the furniture sleek and modern, apart from the deeply cushioned and gloriously comfortable sofas and chairs in the
saloni
.

And all of it, according to the all-knowing Josefina, designed by Kyrios Alexandros himself.

In the lawned gardens there was a large freshwater swimming pool, surrounded by a tiled sunbathing terrace with changing cabins, and screened by tall hibiscus hedges.

Natasha found it a little daunting for solitary use and preferred the simple privacy of the beach two hundred yards away. And once this had been established, unseen hands set out a sun lounger and parasol for her use each morning together with a cold box containing bottled water.

There was a small dinghy moored at the jetty and further out in the bay an elderly caique painted brown, its tan sails neatly furled, rode sedately at anchor.

The
Selene
, however, had sailed almost as soon as Natasha had come ashore, giving her the uncomfortable feeling that she?d been marooned. It also meant that Mac, the one person who might have been privy to Alex?s plans, had gone too. Nor could she ask him any of the questions still teeming in her brain.

Now, as she finished her careful application of sunblock to her exposed skin, and stretched out on her lounger for another solitary day, she found herself wondering once more why and where the yacht had gone. Certainly not to fetch Alex because, according to the helpful Josefina, he invariably flew in by helicopter.

She had even been shown the area at the side of the villa where he would land. So she could be waiting, no doubt, with a posy of flowers and a curtsy for the visiting celebrity, she thought with faint bitterness, then paused with an impatient sigh. What was the earthly use in pretending she wasn?t living for the moment when she would see him again?

Not that he appeared to share her sentiments. Not when ten whole days had now passed without a solitary word from him.
Ten!
And her pride would not allow her to enquire if anyone at all knew when he would be arriving.

Nor could she prevent herself from speculating where he might be. And, more damagingly, with whom?

Not that it took much working out, she thought, a fist clenching in her chest. He?d even mentioned her rival?s name. Domenica.

?His latest squeeze?, she recalled, had been Molly?s description just before she?d set off for Athens, but Domenica was far more than that. She was the Italian rock chick whose first album sizzling with dark sexuality had taken the charts by storm only a few months before, helped along by the inevitable demands that it should be banned.

And the album cover, where only that beautiful, sultry little face had been highlighted, leaving the rest of her obviously naked body in shadow, had been advertised everywhere.

My rival, Natasha told herself, grimacing. And another golden opportunity for Alex to practise his language skills.

And stopped abruptly, knowing that such flippancy was out of place. That she must not let herself think like that ever again, even for a moment, because it hurt her to the point of destruction.

She could only hope that by the time she did return to London, there would be some new sensation in the music world, so she wouldn?t be haunted by the image of all that sensual allure purring her pleasure in Alex?s bed.

Sighing, she picked up the book she was reading, one from the box of recent bestsellers which Mac had arranged to be sent ashore with her, and tried to revive her interest in the story, knowing just the same that she was too restless and on edge today to allow it the concentration it deserved.

If and when Alex returned he would probably find her on the verge of a nervous breakdown, she thought wryly, and paused as she heard in the distance the unmistakable sound of an approaching helicopter.

She sat up abruptly, shading her eyes as she looked up into the cloudless sky, peering to see the direction it was coming from. It might not be Alex, she reminded herself. After all, there were other millionaires with hideaways on Alyssos, who probably used similar forms of transport.

But that would not explain why, in spite of the heat, she was suddenly shivering with excitement. With desire. And?with fear. That possibly most of all when she remembered how they?d parted, and the fact that there?d been silence between them ever since, she thought, sinking back on her cushions.

The helicopter appeared, flying low over the adjoining headland, then turning inland.

Natasha stared down at her book, the printed words swimming before her gaze, as she told herself that she would not?
not
?under any circumstances look up.

Neither look up, get up, nor walk to the house. Instead, she would stay exactly where she was and wait until he sent for her.

It turned out to be a very long wait, and she spent much of it in the sea, trying to ease her tension and frustration by swimming up and down as if she were practising for the next Olympics.

In the end, her summons came only from the prosaic and distant beating of the gong with which Zeno announced mealtimes.

Lunch, it seemed, was served.

She picked up her sarong and tied it over her damp bikini, then stood for a moment running her fingers through her tangled, salty hair to loosen it a little. God forbid that she should look as if she was trying too hard, she thought with irony as she found a colour-less lip salve in her beach bag and applied a little to her mouth. Then, swallowing past the hard knot in her throat, she started up the track back to the villa.

She usually ate outside on the wide paved terrace, and saw that the table had been set as usual under the awning outside the
saloni
.

But for one place only.

Her steps faltered, and she was suddenly far more breathless than could be justified by that relatively gentle climb up from the beach.

As she reached the terrace, Zeno emerged through the double glass doors, carrying a carafe of water and a plate of salad.

Natasha couldn?t pretend indifference any longer. She said, ?I?I thought Kyrios Mandrakis would be here.?

?He has a meeting of business,
thespinis
,? Zeno informed her with faint hauteur. ?Therefore he eats in his dining room with his guests.?

She said, ?I see.? And so she did. She was being quietly but definitely shown her place in the scheme of things. And that was not as any kind of hostess. At best, her role would be as the provider of his after-hours amusement.

So she sat alone and ate her salad, and the grilled lamb chops that followed, and told herself she should be glad that Alex had no longer any wish to exhibit his trophy mistress to his visitors.

But the real shock came with the coffee, when Zeno placed an envelope on the table beside her cup and silently departed.

She picked it up with fingers that shook.

What?s this? she wondered, feeling a bubble of hysteria rising inside her. Dismissal? A month?s salary in lieu of notice?

But instead she found another envelope with her name scrawled across it in Molly?s distinctive writing.

She tore it open, and began scanning the letter inside.

?Nat, darling,? it began.

?I hate to drop this on you when you clearly have problems of your own, but I don?t have much choice, because my life is about to change hugely. You see, Craig has had a terrific offer to stay on in Seattle for the next two years, and he wants us to bring the wedding forward so that I move out there as his wife. And obviously I want this too, although it?s the last thing I expected. I thought we?d settle in the UK and life would go on as usual.

However I need to know what your plans are. Although I?m not the only one, as Neil keeps calling to ask when you?re coming home too.

On top of all this, right out of the blue we?ve had a really good offer to buy Helping Out from The Home Service, which under the circumstances?you in Greece, me in America?we should consider.?

The figure she mentioned made Natasha gasp before she hastily read on.

?I planned to write to your Athens address,? the letter continued, ?but Mr Stanopoulos, your lovely Greek lawyer, who?s been overseeing everything this end, tells me you?re travelling, and he?ll see my letter?s delivered. He also thinks The Home Service?s offer is too good to miss.

I just hope it?s not all a horrible shock, especially when you?ve had to cope with the shipping lines being sold off.

Let me know what you think, and also that you?re all right. In spite of assurances from Mr Stanopoulos, I?m starting to worry. And pretty soon I?m going to need a bridesmaid too. And the letter was signed, ?From Molly, with love.?

Natasha went back to the beginning and reread the whole thing, feeling her first confusion turning to suspicion. Closely followed by anger.

Although she wasn?t angry with Molly. She and Craig were made for each other, so of course she?d want to be with him, and Natasha wished them both nothing but everlasting happiness.

The Home Service, and its offer, was a different matter. It was a very large network of companies, offering every aspect of household maintenance, repairs, plumbing, electrics, small building works, decoration and design, and domestic cleaning. And now, apparently, it wanted to extend its activities into the kind of individual care and support that Helping Out provided.

And with Molly going to America and herself temporarily out of the picture, they?d certainly picked the right moment to step in.

As if, she thought, her heart thudding, they?d known?

My entire life?just signed away
.

As her own words came back to her, she pushed her coffee away so abruptly that it spilled across the white tablecloth.

Because she?d spoken them, she thought angrily, to that same Mr Stanopoulos who was apparently in London, purporting to act on her behalf. And, in spite of his past assurances, this was exactly what was happening.

If she allowed this, she?d be going home to nothing. No job, an empty flat, and an uncertain future to add to the inevitable heartbreak of being Alex?s discarded mistress.

The edifice of her existence totally dismantled, forcing her to start again?somehow?completely from scratch.

Well, it wasn?t going to happen. She had to have something to provide a diversion from the desperation of love and loss.

This is my business, she thought stormily, pushing back her chair and rising, the letter clutched in her hand. My livelihood and my future. All I?m going to have in the world. And I won?t let it go. I can?t?

She marched into the house, making straight for the dining room. Iorgos was standing outside in faithful sentinel mode, and he gave her a startled look. ?Kyrios Mandrakis does not wish to be disturbed,
thespinis
.?

?Tough,? said Natasha, and ducked under the arm intended to bar her way. She flung open the door and walked into the room beyond.

The meal had been cleared away, and the coffee and brandy stage had been reached, the table littered with paperwork and cigar smoke heavy in the air.

As Natasha walked in, six heads swivelled to look at her in silent astonishment. Then, as their eyes absorbed her bikini-clad figure under its thin veiling of black and silver, she saw the growing smiles, and the amused murmurs of, ?
Po, po, po
,? from all of them except Ari Stanopoulos, who looked faintly anguished, and Alex, whose face wore no expression whatsoever.

He rose to his feet, and the other men followed suit.

He said quietly, ?Natasha
mou
. I am involved in a business meeting.?