Table of Contents

Cover Page

Excerpt

About the Author

Title Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

Endpage

Copyright

“How dare you speak to me like that?”

His voice was molten.

Camilla met his gaze. Eyes dark as obsidian, she thought with a strange clarity, and as hard as flint. But with a small flame burning…

Just as she was burning inside.

She drew a deep angry breath. “Because it wasn’t me that you…seduced and abandoned in Athens. It was my sister, Katie.” A sob rose in her throat. “And you can’t even remember what she looks like.”

SARA CRAVEN was born in South Devon, England, and grew up surrounded by books, in a house by the sea. After leaving grammar school she worked as a local journalist covering everything from flower shows to murders. She started writing for Harlequin Mills & Boon in 1975. Apart from writing, her passions include films, music, cooking and eating in good restaurants.

Dark Apollo
Sara Craven

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

‘BUT he loves me.’

‘I wouldn’t count on it.’ Camilla Dryden spoke more brusquely than she’d intended, and repented instantly as she saw her sister’s eyes cloud with bewildered hurt.

‘Katie, love,’ she went on more gently, ‘you hardly know each other. It was a holiday romance. Just—one of those things.’

She could hardly believe her own ears. One cliché” was following another, and she wasn’t surprised to see Katie shaking her head.

‘It wasn’t like that. I knew as soon as I met Spiro that there would never be anyone else. And he feels just the same about me.’

Camilla winced inwardly. ‘Then why wasn’t he on that flight? Or any of today’s other flights, for that matter?’

‘I don’t know. Something must have happened to prevent him—delay him.’

Camilla could make a cynical guess what that ‘something’ might be. Spiridion Xandreou had probably remembered, just in time, that he had a fiancée—or even a wife—already.

This is what comes, she thought seething, of allowing an impressionable eighteen-year-old to spend Easter in Greece.

It had seemed a perfectly acceptable invitation at the time. Lorna Stephens, Katie’s best friend, was going to Athens to visit her aunt, married to a Greek businessman. The two girls had been working hard for their public examinations, and deserved a break from their studies.

How could Camilla have guessed that Lorna’s aunt was the kind of irresponsible idiot who’d allow her niece and her niece’s friend to be chatted up by personable Greek waiters?

If only it had stopped at chat, Camilla thought with a silent groan. Or if Katie had been sophisticated enough to realise she was being spun a line by an experienced charmer.

On her return, she’d informed her elder sister that, although she was still prepared to take her A levels, they no longer mattered because she was engaged to be married.

Camilla had taken a deep, steadying breath, and done some gentle probing.

What had emerged was hardly reassuring. Spiro, it seemed, worked in a marvellous and famous restaurant where Katie had gone for a meal with the family party. Spiro had served at their table, and the following evening Katie and Lorna had managed to return to the restaurant alone.

‘Of course, he’s not really just a waiter.’ Katie’s eyes had been full of stars, and a new womanly awareness which had struck a chill to Camilla’s heart. ‘His family own the restaurant, and masses of other things beside—hotels, even a shipping line. From what Spiro says, they must be amazingly wealthy. Isn’t it incredible?’

‘It certainly is,’ Camilla had agreed, but Katie had been oblivious to the irony in her voice.

‘When my exams are over, Spiro’s flying over to meet you, and ask formally if he can marry me.’ She had smiled tenderly. ‘He’s very old-fashioned.’

Well, he’d certainly chosen the right route to Katie’s heart, Camilla had thought savagely. Katie was old-fashioned too, a shy, gentle girl, who before that Athenian spring had had her heart set on university and an academic career. First love should have come gently to her too, not force-fed under a Greek sun by some plausible Lothario.

She’d thought, She’s going to be so hurt.

But, to her surprise, letters with Greek stamps had begun to arrive regularly and frequently.

Perhaps Spiro Xandreou knew Lorna’s rich uncle, and assumed Katie came from the same kind of background.

Little does he know, she’d thought, looking round their small flat. When he realised that Katie’s only relative was an older sister working for a busy secretarial agency to keep a roof over their heads, this so-called engagement would be a thing of the past.

Camilla had never been to Greece, but she had a shrewd idea that marriages there were still very much tied up with property, and the size of a bride’s potential dowry. Katie had no financial qualification to recommend her to the family of a young waiter on the make.

For a time, it had seemed as if Katie was having second thoughts about her romance as well. She had been silent and preoccupied, and spent a lot of time alone in her room. She’d lost weight too, and there were shadows under her eyes.

But then another letter arrived, and Katie, bubbling with renewed happiness, had revealed that Spiro was flying to London at the end of June.

But his flight had landed without him, and Katie had eventually returned to the flat alone, almost distraught with worry.

And now Camilla had to make her see reason.

‘Surely he’d have sent word if he’d been delayed,’ she said. ‘I think,’ she added carefully, ‘we’re going to have to accept, darling, that he’s simply changed his mind…’

‘He can’t have done.’ Bright spots of colour burned in Katie’s cheeks. ‘We’re going to be married. He—he has to come here. Oh, Camilla, he’s simply got to.’

Camilla looked at her in sudden horrified understanding. She didn’t have to ask why, she thought. It was all there in Katie’s tear-bright eyes and trembling mouth, in the curious blend of dignity and shame in her face as she looked back at her sister.

Her voice broke. ‘Oh, no, Katie. For God’s sake—not that.’

‘It’s quite true. I’m going to have Spiro’s baby. But it’s all right, because he loves me, and we’re going to be married as soon as it can be arranged.’

Camilla’s voice was weary. ‘You’ve actually told him you’re pregnant?’ She gave a mirthless smile. ‘And you wonder why he wasn’t on that plane.’

‘You’re not to say that.’ Katie’s voice shook with intensity. ‘You don’t know him. He’s decent and honourable.’

‘So decent, so honourable he couldn’t wait to seduce a girl on her first trip abroad.’ Camilla shook her head, her throat aching with grief and bitterness. ‘Oh, Katie, you fool.’ She sighed. ‘Well, now we have to decide what to do for the best.’

‘I know what you’re going to say.’ Katie’s face was suddenly pale. ‘Don’t even think it, Milla. I’m having this baby.’

‘Darling, you haven’t thought it through. You’ve got your university course—your whole life ahead of you. You can’t imagine what it would be like trying to cope with a baby as well…’

‘But that isn’t what I’ve chosen. I’m going to marry Spiro. It isn’t the life I’d planned, I agree, but it’s the life I want—the only one, now and forever.’

‘Katie—you can’t know that.’

‘Mother knew it, when she met Father. And she was younger than me,’ Katie said unanswerably. ‘And you can’t say they weren’t happy.’

No, Camilla thought. She couldn’t say that. Her parents had loved each other deeply and joyously until a jack-knifing lorry had brought that love to a premature end, leaving her at nineteen with the sole responsibility for a vulnerable adolescent.

And what a hash I’ve made of it, she castigated herself. She needed her mother’s wisdom to tell her how to support Katie through this crisis. I don’t know what to do, she thought, and felt a hundred years old.

She felt even older when she woke the next morning. It had been a terrible evening. Katie had managed to telephone the restaurant in Athens, only to be told with polite but impersonal regret that Spiro no longer worked there. Nor could they say where he’d gone.

I bet they can’t, Camilla had thought, seething. They’re probably inundated with calls like this.

All night long, Camilla had heard the sound of Katie’s desolate sobbing through the thin partition wall. She’d tried to go to her, but Katie’s door was locked. Besides, what could she do, or say—she who had never been even marginally tempted to fall in love herself? She was the last person in the world to know what comfort or advice to offer, she’d told herself unhappily.

To her surprise she found Katie already up, and making breakfast in the tiny kitchenette. Her sister looked wan and red-eyed, but her face was set with determination.

‘I’m going to find him, Milla,’ she said.

‘But you can’t trail round every restaurant and taverna in Athens asking for him. It would be like searching for a needle in a haystack.’ Dismayed, Camilla took the beaker of coffee Katie handed her.

‘Not Athens.’ Katie shook her head. ‘Spiro comes from an island called Karthos. It’s in the Ionian Sea, south of Corfu. I shall go there. His family must know where he is.’

Camilla took a wary sip of the strong black brew. ‘Katie,’ she said hesitantly, ‘has it occurred to you that Spiro may not—want to be found?’

‘That’s not true,’ Katie said calmly. ‘If it were, I’d know it here.’ She put her hand on her heart.

The simplicity of the gesture and the profound trust it implied made Camilla’s throat ache with unshed tears.

He’s not worth it, she thought savagely.

There were a thousand arguments she ought to be able to use to stop Katie embarking on this crazy and probably fruitless quest, but somehow she couldn’t think of one.

Instead, she said, ‘Then I’m going with you.’

‘Milla, do you mean it?’ Katie’s face was transfigured. ‘But what about the agency? Will Mrs Strathmore give you the time off?’

‘I’ve a whole backlog of leave I haven’t taken.’ Camilla gave her a reassuring smile. ‘And Mrs Strathmore can lump it. She won’t sack me. She relies on me to handle the ghastly clients the others won’t work for. I’ll call in and explain on the way round to the travel agency.’ She tried to sound positive and encouraging, but her heart was in her boots.

What the hell will we do if we don’t find him? she wondered. Or, even worse, supposing we find him and he doesn’t want to know?

She sighed silently. They would cross that bridge when they came to it.

‘We’ll find him.’ Katie seemed to have read her thoughts. Her voice and face were serene. ‘It’s fate. The Greeks have always believed in fate.’

And in the Furies, Camilla thought grimly. The so-called Kindly Ones inexorably pursuing the erring, and wreaking their vengeance on them.

Well, she would be a latter-day Fury, trailing Spiro Xandreou, no matter how well he might have covered his tracks.

She said, ‘There’s no such thing as fate,’ and surreptitiously crossed her fingers under the kitchen table.

* * *

The Hotel Dionysius was small, fiercely clean, and frankly basic. Camilla sat at a plasticcovered table in a corner of the outside restaurant area, a tall glass of freshly squeezed orange juice in front of her. She was sheltered from the glare of the midday sun by a thatched roof, interwoven with a sprawling and healthy vine. Beyond the hotel’s tiny garden with its hibiscus hedge lay the main square of Karthos town.

The island was only a remote dot in the Ionian Sea, but it was bustling with tourists. So far Camilla had heard French, German and Dutch being spoken, as well as English, and she and Katie had been lucky to get the last two vacancies at the hotel.

She’d left Katie sleeping in their whitewashed shuttered room on the first floor. She was beginning to feel the effects of her pregnancy, and had been miserably sick on the flight to Zakynthos, and the subsequent long ferry trip. The temperature on Karthos was already up in the eighties, and she’d agreed with little fuss to Camilla’s suggestion that she should rest and leave the initial enquiries for Spiro to her sister.

Camilla had been sorely tempted to cancel this whole wild-goose chase after a reluctant telephone call to Lorna Stephens’ Greek uncle. She’d explained, without going into detail, that she was anxious to trace a young waiter from the restaurant Clio, and wondered if he could help.

To judge by the cynical sigh, and muttered, ‘Po, po, po,’ no further explanation was needed. ‘You know the name of this man, thespinis?’

‘He’s called Spiro Xandreou.’

‘Xandreou?’ Across the miles, she heard the sharp intake of breath. Then, ‘I regret I cannot assist you. But I advise you most strongly, thespinis, to proceed no further in this.’ A pause. ‘Most strongly.’ And he’d rung off, leaving Camilla with a host of unanswered questions.

She’d been warned off, she realised uneasily. She could only hope that Spiro wasn’t some kind of thug—a member of the Greek mafia, if there was such a thing. Maybe he wasn’t on Karthos at all, but in gaol somewhere.

But how could she tell Katie her suspicions, and burst the bubble of optimism and anticipation which encircled her? Maybe she just had to let her find out for herself, she concluded resignedly.

Camilla sighed silently as she finished the iced fruit juice.

But where on earth should their search start?

‘You enjoy?’ Kostas, the hotel’s burly proprietor, arrived to clear the table. He had a thick black moustache, a booming laugh, and he smoked incessantly. But the warmth of his welcome had been quite unfeigned, and to Camilla’s relief he spoke better than rudimentary English. The questions she needed to ask were omitted from the usual phrase books.

She nodded vigorously. ‘It was delicious, thank you. Just what I needed.’

‘To travel in this heat is not good.’

As he turned away, she said, ‘Kostas, do you know a family called Xandreou—with a son named Spiro?’

The genial smile vanished as if it had been wiped away. He looked startled, and almost apprehensive. ‘Why do you ask?’

She said lightly, ‘Oh, our families used to be—acquainted. I believe they come from here, and I’d like to see them again. That’s all.’

There was a silence, then, ‘Xandreou, you say?’ Kostas shook his head. ‘I don’t know the name. You have come to the wrong place, I think, thespinis.’

‘I don’t think so.’ She gave him a level look. ‘You’re sure you haven’t heard of them?’

‘Certain.’ He paused. ‘You are on holiday, thespinis. You should relax. Go to the beach—enjoy the sun—drink some wine. Make other friends—and don’t waste time looking for these people.’

And if that wasn’t an oblique warning, she’d never heard one, Camilla thought, watching him walk away between the tables, which were already filling up for lunch.

It was the same message she’d got from Athens: keep away from the Xandreou clan.

Everyone knows them, but they don’t want to talk about them, she thought, a prickle of wariness running down her spine. Yet, somehow, for Katie’s sake, she had to penetrate this wall of silence.

She picked up her bag, and walked to the steep outside stairway which provided an alternative access to the bedrooms.

There’d been some cards on the reception desk advertising car and motorbike hire. She’d rent a scooter and take a preliminary look round. The brochure on the island had warned that most of the best beaches were out of town, and it might be pleasant to find some deserted cove and laze around for a while before the real business of their trip began.

‘Journeys end in lovers meeting’, she thought. I only hope it’s true.

She was halfway up the steep outside staircase that provided an alternative access to the bedrooms when a voice below her said urgently, ‘Thespinis.’

Glancing down, she saw one of the hotel waiters, who’d been serving an adjoining table while she spoke to Kostas. He gave her an ingratiating smile. ‘You want Spiro Xandreou?’

‘Why, yes.’ Her heartbeat quickened in swift excitement. ‘Do you know him?’

‘Since boys.’ He touched a fist theatrically to his chest. ‘I too am a man of Karthos.’

‘Then can you tell me where to find him?’

The young man shrugged, sending a slightly furtive glance back over his shoulder. ‘Is not easy for me, you understand…’

Camilla understood perfectly. She extracted a thousand-drachma note from her wallet, and handed it over.

He whispered hoarsely, ‘He is at his house—the Villa Apollo.’

‘Is that near here?’

‘Ochi.’ He gestured towards the craggy hills which formed the island’s hinterland. ‘Is long way.’

‘Is there a bus?’

‘No bus. Nothing there—only villa. You get car, or motorbike.’ He handed her one of the cards displayed in Reception. ‘My cousin rent—very cheap.’

With you on commission, no doubt, she returned silently. But she thanked him politely, and went on up the steps.

‘Thespinis,’ he hissed again, and she paused. ‘Thespinis, whatever occur, you don’t say to boss I told you, ne?’

‘Not a word,’ she said, and watched him vanish into the hotel.

Katie was still out for the count. Camilla wrote her a brief note saying she was going to explore, and replaced the simple button-through dress she’d worn for the journey with white shorts and a sleeveless top, with her initial in red and gold embroidery over the left breast. She gathered her thick chestnut hair into a barrette at the nape of her neck for coolness, and slid her feet into comfortable canvas shoes.

She found the rental place easily enough. It was basically a dirt yard, with chickens pecking round between the scooters. Andonis, the owner, wore a grubby singlet and a three-day growth, and had the kind of gleam in his eye which made Camilla regret she hadn’t changed into something less revealing.

She was able to hire a scooter with a disturbing lack of formality, although the actual cost was rather more than she’d bargained for. She enquired about a safety helmet, and Andonis stared at her as if she were mad, then spat on the ground.

‘Karthos roads are good,’ he said flatly. Her request for a map of the island met with more luck, however. A photocopied sheet, dog-eared and much folded, was produced.

Camilla stared at the web of roads, wondering where she would find the spider.

‘I’m looking for a particular house—the Villa Apollo,’ she said. ‘Can you mark it for me?’

He whistled through the gap in his teeth. ‘You want Xandreou?’ He gave her another lascivious look. ‘So do many women. He’s lucky man.’

Well, his luck’s about to change, Camilla thought grimly. Andonis’s remark, and the grin that accompanied it, had only confirmed all her worst fears. Katie’s honourable lover was nothing more than a practised Casanova, she realised with disgust.

Andonis made a laborious pencil cross on the map. ‘Villa Apollo,’ he said. He gave her another openly appraising stare. ‘You should tell me before. Maybe I make special price for Xandreou’s woman.’

Presumably they arrived in convoys, Camilla thought with distaste.

She distanced Andonis, who was disposed to help her on to the scooter, with an icy look.

‘You’re mistaken, kyrie. I’m not—what you say.’

The grin widened, unabashed. He shrugged. ‘Not now, maybe, but who knows?’

‘I do,’ Camilla said curtly, and rode off.

This was obviously what they’d all been trying to warn her about, she thought, as she headed out of town on the road Andonis had indicated.

Innocent Katie had given her heart and her body to a worthless piece of womanising scum. Well, he wasn’t going to get away with it.

‘Xandreou’s woman’, she thought with contempt. What a tag to be branded with.

But I’ll make him pay for it, she vowed under her breath, if it’s the last thing I do.

‘Whatever occur’. The waiter’s words sneaked unexpectedly back into her mind.

An odd thing to say, she thought. Almost like another warning. And, in spite of the intense heat, she felt suddenly, strangely cold.

CHAPTER TWO

CAMILLA brought the scooter gingerly to a halt on the stony verge, and wiped the sweat from her forehead.

Much further, and she would run out of road. Already the surface had dwindled to the status of a track, yet there was still no sign of the Villa Apollo. Had Andonis deliberately sent her to a dead end?

She eased the base of her spine with a faint grimace. He’d certainly given her the maverick of his scooter collection. The steering had a mind of its own, and the brakes barely existed. If she had to do an emergency stop…

Not that there seemed much chance of that. So far she hadn’t passed another living thing, except for a donkey, a couple of tethered goats, and a dog on a chain who’d barked at her.

The road, rising steeply, was lined on each side with olive groves, and their silvery canopy had protected her from the worst of the sun. Some of the trees, with their gnarled and twisted trunks, seemed incredibly old, but they were still bearing fruit. The netting spread on the ground beneath to catch the olives bore witness to that.

Camilla turned and looked behind her, as if to remind herself that civilisation did exist. Below her, in the distance, glimpsed in the gaps between the clustering olives, were the multicoloured roofs and white walls of Karthos town, topped by the vivid blue dome of a church. And beyond that again, azure, jade and amethyst, was the sea.

I could be on a beach now, she thought wistfully, if I weren’t riding this two-wheeled deathtrap up the side of a mountain.

She sighed, as she eased the clinging top away from the damp heat of her body, imagining herself sliding down from some convenient rock into cool, deep water, salty and cleansing against her skin.

One more bend in the road, she told herself. Then I go back.

She coaxed the scooter back to life, and set off, trying to correct its ferocious wobble on corners. In doing so, she nearly missed the Villa Apollo altogether.

She came to a halt, dirt and gravel flying under the tyres, and stared at the letters carved into the two stone gateposts ahead of her. And beneath them the emblem of the sun—the sign of the god Apollo himself, who each day, according to legend, drove his fiery chariot through the heavens.

Camilla dismounted with care, propping her machine against the rocky bank. With luck, someone terminally insane with a death wish might just steal it.

Beyond the gateway, more olive trees shadowed a steeply lifting driveway.

Right, she thought, tilting her chin. Let’s see this irresistible Adonis who causes such havoc in people’s lives. Hands in pockets, she set off up the gradient, moving with a brisk, confident stride that totally masked her inner unease. Knowing she had right on her side did little to calm her nerves, she discovered.

And when the man stepped out in front of her, she only just managed to stifle a yell of sheer fright.

One glance told her that he wasn’t the one she’d come to find. He was stocky and grizzled, with a walkie-talkie in his hand, and a gun, she noted, swallowing, in a holster on his hip. His face was unwelcoming, his stance aggressive as he barked a question at her in Greek.

Camilla stood her ground. ‘I don’t understand,’ she said. ‘My name is Dryden, and I have come from England to see Mr Xandreou.’

An armed security man, she thought. What am I getting into here?

The man stared at her for a moment, then spoke into his radio. He listened, then jerked his head at Camilla, indicating that she should follow.

The drive curved away to the right and Camilla saw that the olives gave way to lawns of coarse grass, and flowerbeds bright with colour.

And beyond them was the house itself, the Villa Apollo, large and sprawling, its white walls dazzling in the sunshine. It was surrounded by a colonnaded terrace, festooned in purple and crimson bougainvillaea, and a smoky pink flowering vine.

Camilla slowed, staring round her. What did a waiter in an Athens restaurant have to do with this frankly glamorous background? she asked herself. Unless Spiro Xandreou was merely an employee, and she was being shown to the tradesman’s entrance.

The security man looked back, gesturing impatiently, and she moved forward reluctantly. Ahead of her, she saw the clear turquoise sparkle of a large swimming-pool. Around the edge were tiles in an intricate mosaic pattern, and loungers and chairs stood waiting under fringed sun umbrellas. There was a table with a tray of drinks, and on the edge of the pool a twin of the radio device carried by the security man.

Otherwise, the place seemed deserted.

As she stared round her in bewilderment, a man’s dark head suddenly broke the surface of the water. Camilla felt her heart beating slowly and unevenly as he pulled himself athletically from the pool, and stood for a moment, shaking the excess water from his mane of black curling hair.

He was well above average height, she saw, broad-shouldered and narrow-hipped, his bronzed body lean, muscular and perfectly proportioned.

He was good-looking too, she recognised dazedly, his almost classical beauty of feature redeemed by the inherent toughness and strength of his mouth and chin. A man to be reckoned with.

‘Like a Greek god.’ She’d heard the phrase many times, but never expected to see it brought to life in front of her.

Especially as, like most of the ancient classical statues of the Olympians and heroes, he was completely naked.

Moving with the lithe grace of a jungle animal, he walked over to one of the loungers, picked up a waiting towel, and began to dry himself, casually and without haste, ignoring the presence of the new arrivals.

Camilla knew that displaying himself like this in front of her—a woman, and a stranger—was a calculated insult. But if he expected her to blush or faint, or run off screaming like some frightened nymph from mythology, he’d be disappointed, she told herself, and stood waiting in stony silence, refusing to let the deliberate affront get to her.

Eventually, he draped the damp towel round his hips, securing it with a knot. He reached for the thin, elegant platinum watch on the table, and clasped the bracelet on to his wrist, allowing his gaze, at last, to rest coolly and dispassionately on Camilla. His eyes were dark, long-lashed, holding an odd glitter.

Like cold fire, she thought.

He said, ‘Who are you, and what do you want here?’

His voice was low and drawling, the accent only slightly marked. But then Katie had told her his English was excellent.

Katie, she thought with a kind of despair. No wonder she’d fallen for him hook, line and sinker. But why should a sophisticated man of the world like this have encouraged her inexperienced sister, even for a moment? It made no sense at all. Unless he still wasn’t the one she sought.

‘Well?’ His voice prodded at her impatiently. ‘You have forced your way in here. Why don’t you speak?’

She said slowly, gauging his reaction, ‘I want to talk about—Xandreou’s woman.’

He filled a glass with mineral water from one of the bottles, and drank. The security man, she realised, had discreetly faded away.

He said, ‘I think you flatter yourself, Kyria…?’

‘Dryden,’ she supplied again. ‘Please don’t pretend you’ve forgotten the name.’

He shrugged. ‘It is vaguely familiar.’ He sounded bored. The brilliant eyes went over her, lingering on her breasts and thighs and long, slim legs, making her uneasily aware that the heat had made her scanty garments into a second skin.

His gaze met hers again. ‘So, what do you want, Kyria Dryden? Or do you plan to spend the whole afternoon staring at me in silence?’

‘I’m sorry.’ What am I apologising for? she asked herself in disbelief. She pulled herself together with determination. ‘You aren’t exactly what I expected, Kyrios Xandreou.’

‘Nor are you. But it isn’t important.’ His tone was dismissive. ‘Say what you must, and go.’

All her worst forebodings were confirmed. He didn’t care about Katie, or the baby. Her sister’s sole attraction for him had been her innocence. Now it was gone, he didn’t want to know. Katie was just another notch on a welldented bedpost.

She said stonily. ‘You know why I’m here. I think some kind of—reparation is called for.’

‘For what? A pleasant interlude like so many of your countrywomen expect to enjoy in Greece?’ The contempt in his voice lashed her.

Just because other girls might behave like sex-crazed idiots, there was no need to tar Katie with the same brush, she thought in furious anguish. Hadn’t he realised that she was different—that she’d actually believed whatever corny seduction line he’d handed her?

‘Unfortunately, this particular interlude has had consequences.’ She hated the smile which twisted his mouth. ‘Or had you forgotten there’s a baby on the way?’

‘There is nothing wrong with my memory,’ he said. ‘It is more a question of credulity, perhaps. A child with Xandreou blood might have a claim on Xandreou money. Is that what you think?’ He shook his head. ‘I am not a fool, Kyria Dryden. I am prepared to subject the paternity of this child to every test available to medical science. But can you afford to fight me?’ The studied insolence of his gaze scorched her again. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘No,’ she said curtly. ‘Nor would I dream of it. Obviously your responsibilities mean very little to you.’

‘You are wrong. They mean a great deal. Which is why I will not submit to pressure from a girl who has behaved like a slut, and now wishes to benefit from her indiscretion.’ His drawl intensified. ‘Perhaps you are not aware that in Greek the name Catherine means “purity”. It is something to consider—for the future, ne?’

Her hands curled into fists at her sides, and her voice shook a little.

‘You’ve more than made your point, Mr Xandreou. I’d hoped you might have some shred of decency in you, but clearly I was mistaken. However, you won’t be troubled again. The baby may not be brought up in the lap of this kind of luxury——’ she gestured scornfully round her ‘—but it will be welcomed, looked after and loved, and that’s far more important. It wasn’t money I came for, but something more fundamental. Something you wouldn’t understand.’

She paused, struggling to control her voice. ‘And, hopefully, although the baby will be illegitimate, it will grow up without knowing what a complete bastard its father was.’ She drew a deep and shuddering breath. ‘I wonder how many more lives will be ruined before you get your well-deserved come-uppance?’

‘You have the insolence to talk about ruined lives?’ He flung his head back, and she felt his anger touch her like a blast of lightning. ‘How dare you say such a thing—speak to me like this?’

‘It’s quite simple,’ she said. ‘I just tell the truth.’

She turned and walked away from him, back rigidly straight, fighting the storm of angry tears which threatened to overwhelm her.

Of all the hateful, disgusting things he’d said, it was the gibe about Katie’s name which, ridiculously, had got to her most.

He must have known she was untouched, yet he’d set out deliberately to deflower and destroy, using all the potent virility and sexual charisma he possessed in such abundance to undermine her resistance.

My God, I was aware of it myself, she thought, shame mingling with anger. And I was only with him for a few minutes. If I’d met him in different circumstances—if he’d been charming, or even marginally polite…

She blotted out that line of thinking instantly. Spiro Xandreou clearly regarded himself as some latter-day Apollo, a sun god to whom every woman was a potential victim for conquest, and she disgraced herself by even acknowledging his attraction.

But what had he been doing, working in that restaurant? she asked herself. Waiting on tables for a bet—or some other kind of sick joke?

If so, why go on with the pretence once Katie had returned to England? Promising to come over—claiming they were going to be married. All those letters—all those lies.

Unforgivable, she thought as she dragged the despised scooter upright, and kicked it into grumbling life. She wanted to get away from the Villa Apollo, and its owner, as fast as she could—breathe some untainted air.

And decide what she could possibly tell Katie, she thought despondently as she steadied her temperamental machine for the first bend.

The open-topped sports car was upon her instantly, racing up the hill on the wrong side of the road. Camilla caught a stunned glimpse of a girl’s face, olive-skinned and pretty behind the designer sunglasses but transfixed by sheer horror. Then she pulled the bike over in a kind of desperation, striving to avoid the inevitable collision.

The scooter hit the loose stones on the verge, and went out of control, running up the bank. Camilla was thrown off, landing painfully on her side. She lay still for a moment, feeling sick and dizzy with shock.

She heard the sound of running feet, and the girl bent over her. ‘O Theos.’ There was panic in her voice. ‘You are hurt. Are you broken anywhere?’

Into several pieces by the feel of it, Camilla thought, as she pulled herself to her feet. There were no actual fractures, she was sure, but there was a deep graze on her bare leg, and another on her arm, blood mingling with the dirt on her torn blouse.

‘I did not expect anyone else on this road.’ The girl was practically wringing her hands.

‘So I gathered,’ Camilla forced from her dry throat.

‘You need a doctor.’ The girl took her uninjured arm, urging her towards the car. ‘With me, please. Come.’

Camilla shook her head. ‘It’s all right.’ Her voice sounded very small and far-away suddenly. ‘I—I’ll be fine.’ She saw the road, the car, and the newcomer’s anxious face dip and sway, then everything descended into a dark and swirling void.

Somewhere, a storm must be raging. Camilla could feel the splash of rain on her face and hear a distant rumble of thunder. But she herself seemed to be floating on some kind of cloud.

She opened unwilling eyes, and stared up at a face she’d never seen before, female, elderly and wrinkled with concern. Nor was it raining. She was simply having her face bathed with cool water.

I hurt, she thought, wincing, as she looked around her. She was in a large room, lying on a vast luxurious sofa the colour of rich maize.

And the sound of the storm was Spiro Xandreou, who was standing a few feet away conducting a low-voiced but furious argument with the girl from the car.

Oh, my God, Camilla thought with horrified alarm. She’s brought me back here—to his house. I can’t bear it.

She tried to sit up, only to be vociferously restrained by the old woman attending to her.

Spiro Xandreou swung round, frowning, and came striding over. He’d exchanged the towel, Camilla noticed, for a pair of white shorts almost equally revealing. Still competing for the Stud of the Year award, no doubt, she thought, hating him.

‘My sister has told me what happened,’ he said harshly. ‘You must remain where you are—keep still until the doctor has made his examination.’

‘I’ll do nothing of the kind.’ Camilla’s head swam as she put her feet gingerly to the floor. But she was becoming more aware of her surroundings. One entire wall of the room was made from glass, a series of sliding doors pushed open to admit the sunlight, and a breeze bringing a hint of flowers and citrus.

The floor was tiled in creamy marble, veined in blue and gold, and the same blue was echoed in the colour of the walls, which were bare except for a few modern abstract paintings, clearly original and probably valuable.

Ironically, the one thing Spiro Xandreou hadn’t lied about was his wealth, Camilla thought sourly. She was in the lap of luxury here. The sofa she was lying on was one of a pair flanking a wide marble fireplace, which was presumably for use in the winter months but was now screened by a large bronze sculpture of a sunburst.

The whole effect was airy and spacious, yet somehow welcoming, so presumably the owner had had no hand in the décor.

She glared up at him. ‘There’s no need for all this fuss. I want nothing from you, Mr. Xandreou. I thought I’d made that clear.’

‘Unfortunately, neither of us has a choice. You are not leaving here, thespinis, without medical attention.’

‘What are you afraid of? That I’ll sue?’ His autocratic tone needled her. She tried to smile past him at the girl, who was standing looking sullen, her arms crossed defensively in front of her. ‘I shan’t. I’ve a few grazes, that’s all.’

‘You cannot know that. And in the circumstances we can afford to take no risks,’ he said grimly. He issued some low-voiced instructions to the old woman who left the room instantly.

‘Arianna tells me you were riding a scooter,’ he went on. ‘Are you quite crazy?’

‘Only on a part-time basis,’ Camilla said wearily. ‘Look—just get me a taxi, and I’ll go back to my hotel. My sister will be wondering where I am, and I don’t want to cause her unnecessary worry,’ she added pointedly.

‘She knows of your activities, then—and she permitted them?’ Spiro Xandreou raised clenched fists towards the ceiling. ‘Unbelievable.’

‘No,’ Camilla said, with a sigh. ‘This was all my own idea. And clearly a bad one.’

‘At least we agree on something,’ he said silkily.

The old woman in her black dress and snowy apron came back into the room, carrying a bowl of steaming water, a bottle of antiseptic, and some cotton wool.

Camilla eyed them with misgiving. ‘There’s no need…’

‘There is every need,’ he contradicted flatly. ‘This is not England, Kyria Dryden. Grazes such as this carry a risk of infection, and need immediate attention.’

He knelt beside the sofa, his face coolly intent, soaking a swab of cotton wool in the antiseptic solution.

Camilla wanted to draw away. He was altogether too close for comfort, she thought, dry-mouthed, as she absorbed the clean, fresh scent of his sun-warmed skin. His bare shoulder brushed against her knee, and she felt a sharp pang deep inside her that had nothing to do with pain.

She said huskily, ‘No—please…’

He gave her a look of withering contempt and began to swab the dirt and grains of gravel from her leg. She bit her lip, her body tautening instinctively at his touch.

He looked up at her, his mouth slanting sardonically. ‘If it’s only a graze, thespinis, you’re not being very brave about it.’

She said between her teeth, ‘Maybe I’d prefer to wait for the doctor.’

He shrugged. ‘The Hippocratic oath is not needed for simple first aid,’ he returned. ‘I am not enjoying this either, Kyria Dryden.’

The oath, she thought, that the medical profession still used. ‘I swear by Apollo…’ And Apollo himself was here, or so it seemed, kneeling at her feet.

He was deft enough, and even quite gentle, she was forced to admit, but some of the dirt was deeply embedded, and there were tears in her eyes before he’d finished, although she kept her teeth firmly fastened in her bottom lip.

But the smarting was only part of it, she realised. The truth was she didn’t want to accept this kind of intimate service from him.

When he had cleaned her arm, he hesitated. ‘The shirt is already ruined, I think, so…’ He put two fingers in the jagged tear at the side, and ripped it completely down to the hem.

Camilla gasped, dragging the torn edges together. ‘How dare you…?’ Her voice was unsteady. For one brief instant, his fingers had brushed the curve of her bare breast, and his touch had scalded her.

‘So modest?’ His voice taunted. ‘Your fellow-tourists show more on our beaches every day.’

‘But I don’t,’ she said huskily.

The old woman stepped forward, gesturing him imperatively out of the way. With another shrug, he got to his feet, and walked to the window, turning his back while Camilla’s scraped ribs were bathed.

‘Arianna,’ he tossed over his shoulder, ‘you will provide Kyria Dryden with a blouse from your wardrobe as a temporary measure.’

‘Of course, I shall be pleased. She can come upstairs to my room, and choose. Petros can examine her there too.’

He frowned. ‘Is that necessary?’

‘But of course.’ Arianna Xandreou looked scandalised. ‘Such a procedure requires privacy.’

His frown deepened. ‘Then stay with her—all the time, you understand?’

He’d spoken in English, so presumably Camilla wasn’t to be left in any doubt either.

‘What the hell are you implying?’ she demanded.

‘I intend to ensure you do not turn this accident to your advantage, thespinis.’

‘What do you think I’m going to do—steal something?’ Camilla pulled away from the old woman’s restraining hand, her eyes blazing. ‘God, you’ve an almighty nerve.’

‘And I think the same of you, thespinis. You will play no tricks in this house.’

Her lips were parting to tell him unequivocally what she thought of him, when the door opened and a young man, swarthy and stockily built, wearing glasses, walked in. He paused, surveying the tableau in front of him.

‘I understand I have a new patient,’ he remarked. ‘A road accident, ne? Thank you, Eleni.’ The old woman stepped back, and he inspected her handiwork critically, and nodded. ‘You are lucky, thespinis. I have known similar incidents where skin grafts have been needed. But you, I think, will be left without a scar. A shot, maybe, to protect against infection and you will be as good as new.’

Spiro Xandreou took him to one side, and said something softly in Greek.

‘Po, po, po.’ The doctor’s brows lifted sharply. ‘Then I should examine without delay. Eleni can act as chaperon.’

‘This is ridiculous,’ Camilla protested. ‘I’m fine.’

The doctor smiled at her. ‘I’m sure that is true. You seem a perfectly healthy young woman. But your pregnancy is in its early stages. We need to establish that all is well.’

‘Pregnancy?’ Camilla stared at him stupidly. ‘What are you talking about? I’m not pregnant.’

‘So you lied.’ Spiro Xandreou’s voice was almost gloating. ‘I knew it.’ He walked to the door of the saloni, and threw it wide, his face a mask of icy anger. ‘You will leave my house, thespinis, and not come back.’

His voice dropped to pure menace. ‘And you will never trouble me or mine again. That is, if you know what’s good for you. Now go.’

CHAPTER THREE

CAMILLA stared at him.

She said quietly, ‘I think you must be insane, Kyrios Xandreou. Or has your womanising now reached such proportions that you can’t even tell one girl from another?’

‘How dare you speak to me like that?’ His voice was molten. ‘How dare you…?’

Camilla met his gaze. Eyes dark as obsidian, she thought with a strange clarity, and as hard as flint. But with a small flame burning…

Just as she was burning inside.

‘Oh, I dare.’ She drew a deep angry breath. ‘Because it wasn’t me that you—seduced and abandoned in Athens a few months ago. It was my younger sister, Katie.’ A sob rose in her throat. ‘And you can’t even remember what she really looks like—you bastard.’

Her words fell into a silence so profound it was almost tangible.

It was broken by the doctor, his face expressionless. ‘I think, my dear Nic, there has been some misunderstanding. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I will go up to my other patient.’

As he turned away, Camilla caught his arm. ‘Just a moment—please. You called this man—Nic?’

‘Ne, thespinis. Is something wrong?’

She swallowed. ‘You mean—he’s not—Spiro?’

The doctor looked astonished. ‘Spiro is Kyrios Xandreou’s younger brother, thespinis. He was also injured in an accident, a short while ago, rather more seriously than yourself. In fact, I should be with him now. If you will call at the clinic in town tomorrow morning, I will prescribe some medication for you—as a precaution only, you understand,’ he added kindly, misunderstanding the sudden pallor of her face. ‘Infection breeds fast in our climate.’

He nodded briskly, and left the room, Arianna sliding after him.

Camilla found herself alone with Nic Xandreou.

She ran the tip of her tongue round her dry lips. ‘You thought I was Katie,’ she said. ‘I thought you were Spiro. We’ve been at cross purposes from the start.’

‘So it would seem.’ His voice was even.

‘But Katie’s only just eighteen,’ she protested. ‘You must have known I was older than that.’

He shrugged. ‘I thought Spiro had been deceived.’ His glance flicked over her. ‘There was also the initial on your shirt—a C, presumably for Catherine.’

She said quietly, ‘My name is Camilla.’ She looked down at the tiled floor. ‘I’ve said some pretty harsh things. I’m sorry, but I was just so upset for Katie.’

‘You are loyal to your family,’ he returned flatly. ‘I don’t blame you for that. It’s a quality I share.’

‘Was Spiro badly hurt in the accident?’ she asked in a low voice.

He shrugged again. ‘He has a broken leg and a bump on the head. Time and rest will cure them both.’

She tried a small smile. ‘Well, it could have been very much worse.’ She paused. ‘That’s why he never turned up at the airport. I just wish someone had let us know. Katie will be so relieved when she knows the truth.’ She waited, but he said nothing.

She tried again. ‘I’ll go straight back to the hotel, and explain.’

‘Not,’ he said, ‘like that, I think.’

She realised where his gaze was directed and dragged the torn edges of her top together again, flushing.

‘Well, perhaps not.’

He said curtly, ‘I will take you to my sister’s room. Come.’

Camilla took a step forward and faltered, her legs shaking under her.

He turned at the door, staring back at her. ‘What now?’ he demanded impatiently.

‘Just reaction, I think.’ She tried to force a smile. ‘If you could—give me a moment.’

He muttered something succinct and angry under his breath, and came striding back. Before she could guess what he intended, he had swung her off her feet into his arms, and was carrying her across the saloni and out into a large hall.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ Camilla gasped furiously. She braced her hands against his chest, but it was like trying to overturn a brick wall. Except no wall had ever been so warm—so smooth—so sensuous to the touch. She could feel, she realised with an unnerving tingle of awareness, his heart beating under her fingers…

She said breathlessly, ‘Put me down at once.’

‘Be still,’ he snapped back.

He was very strong. She was slim, but no featherweight, yet he went up the wide, shallow sweep of the marble staircase without a pause.

In the gallery above, he shouldered open a door and went in. It was a large, light room, all pale wood and floating pastel drapes. Arianna was not there, and Nic Xandreou clicked his tongue in sharp annoyance before depositing Camilla without particular gentleness on the edge of the wide, soft bed.

She watched him walk to the tall wardrobes which lined one wall, and fling open a door. He took a shirt, classic in heavy white silk, from a hanger and tossed it to her.

‘You can use this,’ he ordained.

‘I think I’ll stay as I am,’ she returned quickly. The shirt was clearly very expensive, and the thought of having to struggle to remove her ripped top over her sore shoulder and arm didn’t appeal at all. There were some pins in her bag, she remembered. She could make herself decent until she had Katie to help her change.

Nic Xandreou frowned slightly. ‘You are in pain?’ he guessed.

‘Stiffening up a little,’ she admitted.

Nic extended his arms in front of him. ‘Can you still do this?’

‘I think so.’ Camilla raised her own arms slightly in imitation.

Nic leaned down, and in one swift movement whipped the torn top over her head and off, baring her to the waist.

‘Oh.’ Camilla snatched up Arianna’s shirt, and held it as a shield in front of her naked breasts, as a wave of frantic embarrassed colour engulfed her. ‘How—how dare you?’

‘There was no question of daring.’ He sounded almost bored. ‘You needed assistance, and there was no one else.’

‘But that doesn’t give you the right…’

A faint smile twisted the corners of the firm mouth. He said softly, ‘In my house, Kyria Camilla, I assume whatever rights I choose. Now, I will await you downstairs.’

At the door, he paused, looking back at her, the smile deepening with disturbing mockery.

He said, ‘I am glad to know you will not be scarred. Your body is very beautiful.’

And he walked out of the room, leaving Camilla, lips parted in shock, staring after him.

It took her a while to recover her composure. She had never been treated like that in her life before—never been made to feel so vulnerable—so frighteningly aware of her womanhood.

Nic Xandreou wasn’t just a powerful and attractive man, she decided grimly. He was dangerous in all kinds of ways she’d never envisaged.

She might have said some harsh things to him, but he’d more than redressed the balance with that parting shot of his, she thought as she struggled into Arianna’s shirt, her fingers fumbling the silk-covered buttons into their holes.

From now on she would be ultra-careful in any dealings she had with him.

There was a tiny tiled shower-room opening from the bedroom, which also contained a washbasin. Looking in the mirror, Camilla realised for the first time that her face was smeared with dirt from her fall, and her hair was tangled and dusty, and she found that she wanted very much to burst into tears.

But that was just foolish weakness, she told herself as she washed swiftly and dragged a comb through her hair. For a moment, she was half tempted to leave it loose on her shoulders. It framed her face appealingly, making her look softer—more relaxed, she thought, lifting some of the heavy chestnut strands in her fingers.

She stopped right there. What on earth was she thinking of? She wasn’t there to relax, or make any kind of impression—particularly on someone like Nic Xandreou, she thought with self-disgust. She pulled her hair back severely, securing it almost savagely with the barrette.

She came out on to the gallery, and stood for a moment, looking around her. There were a number of other doors on both sides of her, all inimically closed, and between them alcoves had been carved into the walls to display special ceramics and other precious objects.

Camilla’s eye was caught by one figurine in particular, and she walked down the gallery to take a closer look. It was a bronze, about three feet high, of a young man with a face as proud and beautiful as an eagle’s.

The god Apollo, she wondered, or just the owner of the house, and could anyone tell the difference anyway? But it was a powerful and arresting piece, to say the least.

In fact, the whole villa was quite magnificent, she thought, and maybe that was the trouble—because it was more a showplace than a home, expensive but oddly cold and empty.

She heard the sound of an opening door, and turned to see Arianna and the doctor emerging together from one of the rooms. They walked away from her towards the stairs, too absorbed in conversation to notice her, and disappeared downstairs and out of sight.

So that must be Spiro’s room, she realised, swallowing. Spiro whom she’d never even seen.

Impulsively, she went to the door, and knocked. There was a pause then a weary voice said, ‘Peraste,’ and she went in.

Spiro Xandreou was lying on a couch near tall windows opening on to a balcony. He was a younger, gentler version of his brother, his good looks muted by pain and shock. He was leaning back, his eyes closed, and the snowy cast on his leg, coupled with the greyness beneath his tanned skin, gave him an air of acute vulnerability.

She said quietly, ‘Spiro?’ and he opened dazed dark eyes and stared at her.

‘Pya iste?’ he demanded.

‘I’m Camilla—Katie’s sister.’ She smiled at him. ‘We arrived on Karthos today to look for you.’

He went on staring at her, his brows drawing together. ‘Then sas katalaveno,’ he said. ‘I do not understand,’ he added in English. ‘What do you want?’

‘I’ve come here with Katie,’ she said. ‘She must have mentioned me.’

He shook his head, his anxious look deepening. ‘I do not know you. I do not know any Katie.’

Camilla’s heart sank. ‘Of course you do.’ She tried to sound encouraging. ‘You met her in Athens at Easter, and you were coming to London to see her. Only you had this accident, so we’ve come to you instead.’

‘What are you saying?’ His voice rose. ‘Who are you?’

As Camilla hesitated, uncertain how to proceed, the door behind her was flung open, and Nic Xandreou’s voice, molten with anger, said, ‘This is intolerable, thespinis. My brother must have peace. How dare you intrude on him?’

He took her sound arm, and urged her out of the room, not gently.

Camilla tried to hang back as she was hustled towards the stairs.

‘I’m sorry if I’ve trespassed in some way,’ she said. ‘But it was Spiro, after all, I came here to see in the first place.’

‘In my house you see no one without my permission.’

Camilla lifted her chin. ‘And, if I’d asked for permission, would it have been given?’

‘No,’ he said curtly. ‘I only hope your intervention has done no actual harm.’

‘I fail to see how a few words from me could affect a broken leg,’ she said angrily. ‘I know you’re concerned about him, but I have my sister to think of.’ She paused. ‘I also thought Spiro might appreciate some news of her.’

‘And did he?’

‘Well, no.’ Camilla found herself being escorted swiftly and inexorably out of the house, with no chance of saying goodbye to Arianna or asking the doctor about Spiro’s condition, she realised with vexation. ‘He seemed—confused.’

Nic’s firm mouth tightened as he assisted her without particular finesse into the passenger seat of a serviceable-looking Jeep waiting at the front entrance. Her bag, she saw, was waiting for her on the seat, depriving her of any excuse to return. He seemed to think of everything.

‘Spiro’s recovery will not be assisted by any kind of harassment,’ Nic Xandreou said as he started the engine.

Camilla sighed. ‘I truly didn’t intend that. I just wanted to say—hello.’

‘Well, now you have done so,’ he said dismissively. ‘So let that be an end to it.’

But it couldn’t be the end, Camilla thought as the Jeep swung down the drive. It was only the beginning…

She stiffened as she caught sight of the scooter at the side of the road. ‘Oh, what am I going to do about that?’

‘You will do nothing,’ he said grimly. ‘I have examined the machine, and it was not fit to be on the road even before the accident. Where did you get it?’

‘From someone called Andonis.’ She produced the card from her bag. ‘I got this from the hotel.’

He shot it a frowning glance. ‘Ah, yes, the Dionysius. Of course.’ He hit the steering-wheel with an exasperated fist. ‘I should have known. How many times has he been warned in the past?’ He shook his head. ‘Never again.’

‘I’ll go along with that. No matter what it costs, I’ll rent a car.’

‘You intend to remain on Karthos?’ He shot her an unsmiling look.

‘Of course. Katie will naturally want to spend every moment with Spiro, and I can enjoy a normal holiday.’

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