The Power of the Legendary Greek (15 page)

‘Pillow talk?’

He shook his head. ‘Vital, important talk.’

Isobel disliked the sound of this; her misgivings intensified when Luke opened the bedroom door for her, but remained outside. ‘I will join you in a few moments,’ he said, surprising her. ‘Tonight, it is better you undress yourself.’

His tone left Isobel so uneasy that, after undressing quickly, she put a nightgown over her head. Nudity was inappropriate for a serious talk. She went back to sit on the bed, and while she waited for Luke sent a text to Joanna to confirm that she was returning tomorrow on schedule, and would ring just before boarding the plane.

Luke arrived as she closed her phone. ‘Who were you telephoning?’ He was wearing a towelling robe for once, and added to Isobel’s misgivings by taking the chair beside the bed instead of joining her on it.

‘Just a text to Joanna, to confirm the travel arrangements.’ Isobel eyed him narrowly. ‘Is something wrong, Luke?’

He scowled. ‘You are leaving tomorrow and you ask me if something is wrong?’ When she said nothing, he leaned forward, his face urgent. ‘It is necessary that I talk to you like this, without touching, so you know that my words are not said in the heat of the moment.’

She stiffened. ‘Could you just get on and say these words, Luke. You’re worrying me.’

His eyes softened. ‘That was not my intention. In fact,’ he added heavily, ‘I think I have made a mistake. It would have been better to talk after making love.’

‘For heaven’s sake, Luke,’ she said in desperation. ‘Tell me what’s wrong!’

‘Nothing wrong,
agapi mou
. If we had more time together I would have waited longer to lead up to this, but you are leaving tomorrow. What I have to say is very simple. I want so much more of you than your holiday has allowed me,’ he said with emphasis, his eyes urgent on hers. ‘Listen to my plan, Isobel. I shall buy you a house in Athens, or Thessaloniki, whichever you prefer. You can paint there as much as you like. I will give you anything your heart desires, and spend as much time with you as I can.’ He leaned nearer. ‘Think of all the happy days—and nights—we could enjoy together, Isobel.’

She thought of them in silence so prolonged he grew restive. ‘Are you serious?’ she said at last.

Luke’s eyebrows shot together. ‘The idea does not please you?’

Isobel took in a deep breath. ‘Luke, we come from different cultures, so I don’t know quite where I stand on this. Are you asking me to be one of your pillow friends?’

‘No! There will be no one else in my life when you come to me, Isobel.’

‘So my official job description would be mistress?’

He smiled indulgently. ‘Not my mistress, Isobel—my lover!’

Same thing. ‘And what would happen when you marry?’

‘There is no fear of that. Like you, I do not want marriage. But I want
you
so much it is agony to part with you,
hriso mou
.’ His eyes locked with hers. ‘Say yes, Isobel. Say you will come to me.’

She sighed and shook her head. ‘I’m sorry. The answer’s no.’

Luke leapt to his feet, his eyes incredulous, as though he couldn’t believe she’d refused. Then they hardened as his face set into the familiar blank mask. ‘I have made a most humiliating mistake. I believed you had come to care for me, and shared my pain at the thought of parting. Neither of us desires marriage; therefore my plan seemed the perfect solution. I was obviously wrong.’ His mirthless smile sent shivers down her spine. ‘In time I shall be able to laugh at myself for such hubris. But not yet. Goodnight, Isobel.’

She stared in anguish as the door closed behind him, then burrowed into the pillows feeling as though her world was breaking in pieces around her. At last she went into the bathroom to wash her tear-stained face. She had expected to spend their last night in bed together but, as that wasn’t going to happen, she might as well pack. She took her bags from the wardrobe and began folding clothes and rolling up underwear, putting shoes in what polythene bags she had left, and reminded herself that her drawing materials were downstairs and would have to be packed in the morning.

She worked like an automaton, her brain still reeling from the shock of Luke’s proposition. She might be madly in love with him, but Luke’s offer—or demand, more like it—would mean uprooting herself from her life, and parting from her friends and everything familiar. And for what? Marriage was
a tricky enough relationship, but the insecurity of living as Luke’s mistress, lover, or whatever, was out of the question. He obviously intended her to lack for nothing, which probably meant an allowance of some kind. And, with money involved, the whole idea left a nasty taste in her mouth. Besides, what would happen when the arrangement came to an end? She might love Luke with a depth and passion which almost frightened her, but she valued her independence—and her self-respect—too highly to agree to such a dubious arrangement. Even with Lukas Andreadis.

Not that there was any point in beating herself up about it because none of that was going to happen. Right now, she just had to go home, back to her old life, and learn to live without Lukas Andreadis as part of it. But to part from him this way, like enemies instead of lovers, was cutting her to the heart. If they were never going to see each other again she desperately wanted—needed—one last memory to look back on when she was home, alone and lonely.

Before she could change her mind, Isobel limped as fast as she could out onto the landing to knock on Luke’s door. When there was no answer she turned away blindly but ran into a hard, familiar body and Luke snatched her up in his arms, kissing her tears away as he carried her back to her room.

‘What did you want, Isobel?’ he demanded as he laid her on the bed.

No point in lying. ‘I couldn’t bear to leave without making up.’

‘Nor could I.’ He shrugged off his robe, took her nightgown over her head and covered her body with his, devouring her with hot, desperate kisses she responded to with such impassioned fervour they surged together at once, their emotions running so high after their quarrel they achieved cul
mination so swiftly Isobel shook in Luke’s arms with the force of it.

Luke looked down into her swollen eyes. ‘Does this mean you have changed your mind?’ he panted.

‘No.’ She sucked in a deep breath. ‘Though you could be forgiven for thinking I had by the way I—I—’

‘Participated so joyously in our loving?’

She gave a choked little laugh. ‘Shamelessly, you mean.’

‘There is no shame in a man and a woman giving each other such rapture,
agapi mou
,’ he assured her and held her close, rubbing his cheek against hers. ‘Think of the joy we can give each other in future, Isobel. You may run away tomorrow, but I shall not give up. We were created to be together. When you were stolen from me I was in hell thinking I had lost you.’ He kissed her fiercely. ‘Fate sent you to me, and what I find I keep. It is useless to fight fate,
hriso mou
. You are mine.’

A
S THE
first light of dawn appeared Luke propped himself on one elbow to look down into Isobel’s face.

‘I will give you six weeks,’ he said imperiously. ‘At the end of that time you will come back to me, or I will fetch you.’

‘You’re very sure of yourself, Lukas Andreadis.’

‘It is the way I succeed in life.’ His eyes glittered. ‘I want you, Isobel. You are clear on this?’

She smiled wryly. ‘Yes. But what happens if I say no again at the end of six weeks?’

‘You will not,’ he said simply, and drew her down into his arms. ‘I will not allow it.’

It was a day of painful partings, starting with Eleni and Spiro, and even Milos, who came to say goodbye. Before boarding the boat there was a brief stop at the clinic for Isobel to say her goodbyes to Dr Riga, then more at the taverna, to Alyssa and her parents. By the time Luke carried her bags onto the boat, Isobel was desperate for him to leave her alone with her misery. But, to her surprise, Luke sat beside her, his arm very firmly around her waist.

‘I shall come to the airport with you,’ he said in a tone that told Isobel not to argue.

‘But how will you get back?’

‘I shall stay in Athens.’ He tightened his arm as the boat moved out to sea. ‘I will need much work to fill my days once I am without you,
kardia mou
.’ He smiled crookedly. ‘Did you really think I’d let you go to the airport alone? You need someone to carry your bags,
ne
?’

Isobel leaned against him, her heart already wanting her to change her mind and tell him she would come back and do, and be, anything he wanted. But in the end her head took over and kept her emotions firmly under wraps, even through the torment of parting with Luke at the airport.

The flight home gave Isobel much-needed time to think. Although Luke had given her six weeks to get used to the idea, she already knew that she could never agree to the role of part-time playmate. If he’d simply asked her to live with him, share his life in his Athens flat, or in Thessaloniki, or anywhere else, she would have said yes without hesitation. But languishing alone in some house in either city, waiting for him to spare time for her, was out of the question, no matter how much she loved him. Which she did, passionately. The wrench of parting from Luke had been so painful she felt as though she’d left her heart behind with him.

Isobel’s spirits rose at the airport as she saw Joanna waiting for her. Glowing and vital, chestnut hair gleaming, her friend was waving madly as Isobel steered a luggage trolley towards her. After a brief explanation of the walking stick, Isobel stayed put as ordered while Jo fetched the car.

‘Now then, Isobel James,’ said Jo, once they were on the motorway heading for home. ‘The one time you cut loose on your own on holiday you come back injured. Give me every last detail, please.’

But Isobel shook her head. ‘I’d rather you weren’t driving when I do. Are you in a hurry to get back to Arnborough?’

‘No.’ Jo shot her a worried look. ‘March knew we’d want to catch up. I’m yours for the evening.’

‘Great. Let’s buy some food on the way home and talk over supper.’

The gallery was closed for the day by the time they arrived. Isobel unlocked her private side door, gritting her teeth as she confronted two flights of steep stairs. She hooked the walking stick through the straps of her backpack and picked up her tote, but Jo insisted on making two trips to carry the shopping and the rest of the luggage up to the flat. She even took over the unpacking while Isobel first sent a text message to Luke to announce her arrival, and then sat down at the kitchen table to make sandwiches. When they were ready Jo planted herself in the chair opposite and fixed Isobel with a steely eye.

‘Right. Talk,’ she ordered.

Isobel told her tale as dispassionately as possible. Other than the occasional exclamation, Joanna heard her out in silence, then sat staring at her friend, stupefied.

‘What a
story
,’ she said faintly and reached out a hand to touch the ragged lock of hair beside her friend’s ear. ‘Thank God I didn’t know what was happening.’ She looked Isobel in the eye. ‘And this man—’

‘Lukas Andreadis.’

‘Yes, him. He wants you to be his
mistress
?’

‘Don’t sound so shocked!’

‘Well, it’s a hell of a cheek,’ said Jo impatiently. ‘I thought only married men had mistresses. So what was your reaction?’

Isobel smiled ruefully. ‘When he first brought it up I turned him down flat, and he stormed off in a temper. Luke is used
to women throwing themselves at him, so to have one say no to him was quite a shock.’

‘That type, is he! So is your answer still no now you’ve had time to get used to the idea?’

‘He’s given me six weeks. After which I am to overcome my qualms about leaving everything familiar and dear to me, and let him install me in some love-nest in Athens or Thessaloniki, my choice. There I am to paint my pictures and wait around until he has time to visit me.’

Joanna’s jaw dropped. ‘Which century is he living in? So what happens if you say no again?’

Isobel heaved a sigh. ‘He has this Greek thing about fate. Because he found me stranded on his beach he believes fate handed me to him on a platter, so to speak. He’s so certain of this he swears he’ll never give up on me.’

‘Wild!’ said Jo, impressed. ‘So, if women throw themselves at him, I take it the man’s no turn-off in the looks department?’

Isobel smiled as she took the portrait of Luke from her luggage. ‘There he is. Like no other man I’ve ever met. And I’m so much in love with him it’s going to be hell to say no when he wants his answer.’

The weeks that followed Isobel’s return home were taxing in multiple ways, over and above the almost physical pain of missing Luke. Working in the busy gallery was tiring enough normally, even with the help of the art student who came in part-time, but with a weak ankle still in the mix she was exhausted by the end of her working day. And before her holiday she had thought nothing of living in a flat over a gallery full of valuable paintings. But now, even though the high-end security system was allegedly burglar-proof, she was nervous at night and found it hard to sleep. Even when she did she
sometimes woke in fright from a new nightmare, fighting to remove an imaginary cloth from her face. With no Luke in the flesh to keep her safe in the night, his phone calls were the high points of her life. And, as he never ceased to remind her, the six weeks he had given her would soon be up.

Luke passed on messages from Alyssa, who ordered him to give Isobel all the news of the island and to do his utmost to persuade her to come back there for her wedding. Strange, thought Isobel, how she could be homesick for a place where she’d spent such a short time. She gave Luke messages to pass back to Alyssa and felt a pang when she heard that he was returning to Chyros for Eleni’s birthday, which, he said with significance, would also mark the end of the six weeks.

Isobel posted off a cashmere shawl to Eleni as a birthday gift. Then, after spending hours over composing a painful letter to Luke, she sent it off, got rid of her mobile phone and bought a new one.

‘Why on earth have you done that?’ demanded Joanna.

‘My time’s up, but I just couldn’t face telling Luke my answer’s no, so I wrote to him instead. I left the address off the letter and then ditched the phone so he can’t contact me,’ she said wearily.

‘You’ve made up your mind, then?’

‘Yes. It was never on, really.’ Isobel gave a mirthless little chuckle. ‘Deep down, it seems, I’m the product of my grandparents’ upbringing.’

Having made her decision, Isobel hid Luke’s portrait away, but she hung the watercolour of his beach in the gallery with a ‘sold’ sticker on it. The painting aroused such interest it resulted in new commissions Isobel welcomed with open arms, both from an extra income point of view and as a means to fill time, which hung heavy since her return from holiday.

Jo came into town once a week to take her out to a meal, a ritual she’d kept up since her marriage. One evening her husband March came with her, and on another occasion Isobel managed to catch Josh and Leo Carey with rare matching time off from the hospital, which resulted in a hilarious evening, as always when the four of them were together. Jo also passed on an invitation from her parents to spend an entire day at their home one Sunday. ‘March is coming, too, and you can play with the children as much as you like,’ she said firmly.

Isobel accepted only too happily, glad of the chance to see young Kitty and Tom, Jo’s irresistible little siblings. The working week she could manage. But when the gallery was shut on Sundays she had too much time for the burning question of whether she had made the biggest mistake of her life in cutting herself off from Luke.

Two months after her return from Greece, Isobel was about to lock up for the day when a car drew up right outside the gallery. She went out to say that it was a no parking zone, then froze, the colour draining from her face as the driver got out and stood looking at her over the top of the car.

Oh, God. Isobel’s mouth dried and her heart began to pound as the familiar black eyes locked with hers. Her gut reaction was to run inside and lock the door. Instead, she stood her ground and smiled brightly. ‘Why, hello. This is a surprise.’

‘And not a pleasant one, I think,’ said Luke, locking the car. He wore beautiful suede boots, heavy sweater and jeans, all very different from his usual garb on Chyros. But his face was the handsome mask she remembered only too well. Whatever Luke was thinking, he was giving nothing away as he crossed the kerb to join her. ‘But surely you expected this after the letter you wrote, Isobel?’

‘No, I didn’t,’ she said truthfully. How on earth had he found her?

‘Have you finished for the day?’

‘Yes. I was just about to lock up. Would you like to come in?’

Luke followed her inside, watching as she closed the door. Conscious of the black eyes following her every move, Isobel punched in the numbers on the security pad beside it and shot bolts home at the top of the door and again at the base.

‘Perhaps you’d care to look round the paintings while I make coffee,’ she said brightly. ‘Or would you prefer a drink? I have some wine—’

He shook his head. ‘I would like to look at the paintings. Is any of your work here, Isobel?’

‘Yes. I have a little section all to myself.’ When she made no move to direct him, Luke strolled away on a tour of the artwork she prided herself she displayed to the best advantage with subtle lighting against the contrast of the gallery’s dark red walls.

Luke paused when he reached the far end of the room and looked in silence at a collection of Isobel’s watercolours. ‘You have sold your painting of my beach.’

‘No. I put a sold sticker on it to show it wasn’t for sale.’

‘You intend to keep it?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

She looked at him steadily. ‘As a souvenir of my holiday. I once told you—though you didn’t believe me at the time—that where others take holiday snaps, I sketch or paint.’

Luke’s mask slipped a fraction as he walked back to her. ‘Spiro showed me the drawing you made of my face. It flatters me.’

She shrugged. ‘I thought it was pretty accurate, myself.
Though I rarely do portraits. Not my field.’ Lord, this was painful. Why didn’t he yell at her, or at least tell her why he’d come?

‘Your hair is shorter,’ he remarked. ‘I prefer it long.’

Her eyes flashed. ‘So do I. Losing a chunk of it was hardly my fault.’

‘No, it was mine,’ he agreed grimly and moved closer, his eyes softening. ‘You look tired, Isobel.’

‘I’ve been busy today.’

‘You have no help here?’

‘I have an assistant, but he left a short while ago.’ Tired of small talk, Isobel cut to the chase. ‘I didn’t put an address on my letter, so how did you find me?’

Luke’s smile set her teeth on edge. ‘For a while I was so furious I had no wish to find you. But, after seeing your painting of my pool, my faithful Andres, who found working with me very difficult after I received your letter, suggested that you might sell your work through a website. The rest was easy. Had you forgotten the power of the Internet, Isobel?’

‘No. I just took it for granted that once you received my letter you’d be so angry you’d just put me out of your life and forget me.’

‘It was my first reaction,’ he admitted. ‘Out of all the emotions that besieged me, the most violent was anger because you were a coward, Isobel. You rejected me by letter. But my fury soon gave way to a desire to hear you say no to me, face to face. And to give me your real explanation.’ He moved closer. ‘So here I am.’

Isobel looked at him in silence for a moment, then crossed to the control panel. ‘I leave the security lights on for the paintings in the windows, but at this hour I switch off the rest.’ She turned with a polite smile. ‘Perhaps you’d like to come
up to my flat. I’m desperate for a cup of tea.’ Inane, but the truth. Her mouth was so dry it was hard to swallow.

‘
Efcharisto
, Isobel. Then later I will take you out to dine.’

She made no response to that and opened the private door leading to her stairs. ‘Two flights up, I’m afraid.’

‘Is your ankle better? These stairs must have been difficult for a while when you first returned,’ he commented, following her up.

A lot of things had been difficult. Most of them still were. ‘My ankle’s fine now,’ she said politely. When she reached the small landing at the head of the stairs she opened the door of her sitting room and waved him inside. ‘Do sit down while I make tea.’

Left alone to inspect them, Luke eyed his surroundings with interest. The artist in Isobel had a flair for the dramatic. A peacock-blue throw draped a jade velvet couch, and ruby and gold silk cushions glowed on a leather armchair. At strategic points around the room small tables of varying design held piles of books and lamps with vivid shades.

A jewel box of a room, thought Luke, then turned as the jewel who lived in it backed into the room with a tray. ‘Let me,’ he said, and took the tray from her. ‘Where shall I put it?’