“You want a simple divorce. Which you can have—at a price.”

“That’s blackmail.” Kate’s voice shook.

“Is it?” he said. “But perhaps I do not agree that our marriage has ‘irretrievably broken down,’ as you allege.”

Kate drew a deep breath. “You’re bluffing. You don’t wish to stay married any more than I do.”

His mouth twisted. “You’re mistaken, agapi mou. I am in no particular hurry to be free.”

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. She now lives in Somerset.

Sara Craven has recently become the latest (and last ever) winner of the British quiz show Mastermind.

Smokescreen Marriage
Sara Craven

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Endpage

CHAPTER ONE

THE room was in deep shadow. Moonlight pouring through the slats of the tall shuttered windows lay in thin bands across the tiled floor.

The whirr of the ceiling fan gently moving the warm air above the wide bed was barely audible against the ceaseless rasp of the cicadas in the garden below the room.

Once, she’d found these sounds alien. Now, they were the natural accompaniment to her nights in this house.

As was the firm masculine tread approaching the bed. The warm, husky voice, touched with laughter, whispering ‘Katharina mou.’

And she, turning slowly, languidly, under the linen sheet that was her only covering, smiling her welcome, as she reached up to him with outstretched arms, her body alive with need—with longing…

With a gasp, Kate sat up in the darkness, throat tight, heart pounding violently.

She made herself draw deep calming breaths as she glanced round the room, seeking reassurance. Her bedroom, in her flat. Curtains masking the windows, not shutters. And, outside, the uneasy rumble of London traffic.

A dream, she thought. Only a bad dream. Just another nightmare.

At the beginning, they’d been almost nightly occurrences, as her stunned mind and bruised senses tried to rationalise what had happened to her.

She had never really succeeded, of course. The hurt, the betrayal had cut too deep. The events of the past year were always there, in the corner of her mind, eating corrosively into her consciousness.

But the bad dreams had been kept at bay for a while. It was now almost two weeks since the last one.

She had, she thought, begun to heal.

And now this…

Was it an omen? she wondered. Tomorrow—the next day—would there be some news at last? The letter—the phone call—that would bring her the promise of freedom.

God knows, she’d made it as easy as she could, going right against the advice of her lawyer.

‘But, Mrs Theodakis, you’re entitled…’

She’d stopped him there. ‘I want nothing,’ she said. ‘Nothing at all. Kindly make sure the other side is—aware of that. And please don’t use that name either,’ she added constrainedly. ‘I prefer Miss Dennison.’

He had assented politely, but his raised brows told her more loudly than words that no amount of preference could change a thing.

She had taken off her wedding ring, but she couldn’t as easily erase the events of the past year from her tired memory.

She was still legally the wife of Michael Theodakis, and would remain so until she received his consent to the swift, clean-break divorce she had requested.

Once she was free of him, then the nightmares would stop, she told herself. And she could begin to put her life back together again.

That was the inner promise that had kept her going through these dark days and endless nights since she’d fled from Mick, and their charade of a marriage. From the images that still haunted her, waking and sleeping.

She drew her knees up to her chin, shivering a little. Her cotton nightgown was damp, and clinging to her body. She was tired—her job as a tour guide escorting parties of foreign tourists round the British Isles was a demanding one—but her body was wide awake, restless with the needs and desires she’d struggled so hard to suppress.

How could the memory of him still be so potent? she wondered despairingly. Why couldn’t she forget him as easily as he seemed to have forgotten her? Why didn’t he answer her solicitor’s letters—or instruct one of the team of lawyers who served the mighty Theodakis clan to deal with them for him?

With all his money and power, it was the simplest thing in the world to rid himself of an unwanted wife. He was signing papers all day long. What would one more signature matter?

She lay down again, pulling the covers round her, in spite of the warmth of the August night. Cocooning herself so that the expanse of the bed beside her would not seem quite so empty—so desolate.

And knowing that nothing would ever make any difference to the loneliness and the hurt.

It was nearly eight when she reached home the following evening, and Kate felt bone-weary as she let herself into the narrow hall. She had spent the day showing a party of thirty Japanese tourists round Stratford-on-Avon. They had been unfailingly polite, and interested, absorbing information like sponges, but Kate was aware that she had not been on top form. She’d been restless, edgy all day, blaming her disturbed night for her difficulties in concentration.

Tonight, she thought grimly, she would take one of the pills the doctor had prescribed when she first returned from Greece.

She needed this job, and couldn’t afford to lose it, even if it was only temporary, filling in for someone on maternity leave.

All the winter jobs for reps with tour companies had already gone when she came back to Britain, although her old company Halcyon Club Travel were keen to hire her again next summer.

And that’s what she planned to do, although she’d stipulated that she would not return to any of the Greek islands.

On her way to the stairs, she paused to collect her mail from the row of rickety pigeon-holes on the wall.

Mostly circulars, she judged, and the gas bill—and then stopped, her attention totally arrested as she saw the Greek stamp.

She stared down at the large square envelope with its neatly typed direction, her eyes dilating, a small choked sound rising in her throat.

She thought, ‘He’s found me. He knows where I am. But how?’

And why was he making contact with her directly, when she’d made it clear that all correspondence was to be conducted through their lawyers?

But then, when had Mick Theodakis ever played by any rules except his own?

She went up the stairs slowly, aware that her legs were shaking. When she reached her door, she had to struggle to fit her key into the lock, but at last she managed it.

In her small living room, she dropped the letter on to the dining table as if it was red-hot, then walked across to her answerphone which was blinking at her, and pressed the ‘play’ button. Perhaps, if Mick had written to her, he’d also contacted her lawyer, and the message she was hoping for might be waiting at last.

Instead Grant’s concerned voice said, ‘Kate—are you all right? You haven’t called me this week. Touch base, darling—please.’

Kate sighed inwardly, and went across to the bedroom to take off the navy shift dress, and navy and emerald striped blazer that constituted her uniform.

It was kind of Grant to be anxious, but she knew in her heart that it was more than kindness that prompted his frequent calls. It was pressure. He wanted her back, their former relationship re-established, and moved on to the next stage. He took it for granted that she wanted this too. That, like him, she regarded the past year as an aberration—a period of temporary insanity, now happily concluded. And that when she had gained her divorce, she would marry him.

But Kate knew it would never happen. She and Grant had not been officially engaged, when she’d gone off to work as a travel company rep on Zycos in the Ionian Sea, but she knew, when the season was over, he would ask her to marry him, and that she would probably agree.

She hadn’t even been sure why she was hesitating. He was good-looking, they shared a number of interests, and, if his kisses did not set her on fire, Kate enjoyed them enough to look forward to the full consummation of their relationship. And during her weeks on Zycos she had missed him, written to him every week, and happily anticipated his phone calls planning their future.

Surely that was a good enough basis for marriage—wasn’t it?

Probably Grant thought it still was. Only she knew better. Knew she was no longer the same person. And soon she would have to tell him so, she thought with genuine regret.

She unzipped her dress, and put it on a hanger. Underneath she was wearing bra and briefs in white broderie anglaise, pretty and practical, but not glamorous or sexy, she thought, studying herself dispassionately.

And totally different from the exquisite lingerie that Mick had brought her from Paris and Rome—lacy cobwebby things that whispered against her skin. Filmy enticing scraps to please the eyes of a lover.

Only, there was no lover—and never had been.

She slipped on her pale-green gingham housecoat and tied its sash, then put up a hand and removed the barrette that confined her red-gold hair at the nape of her neck during the working day, letting it cascade down to her shoulders.

‘Like a scented flame,’ Mick would tell her huskily, his hands tangling in the silky strands—lifting them to his lips.

She stiffened, recognising that was a no-go area. She could not afford such memories.

She wanted to move away from the mirror but something kept her there, examining herself with cold critical attention.

How could she ever have imagined in her wildest dreams that she was the kind of woman to attract and hold a man like Mick Theodakis? she asked herself bleakly.

Because she had never been a classic beauty. Her nose was too long and her jaw too square for that. But she had good cheekbones, and long lashes, although the eyes they fringed were an odd shade between green and grey.

‘Jade smoke,’ Mick had called them…

And she was luckier than most redheads, she thought, swiftly refocusing her attention. Her creamy skin didn’t burn or freckle, but turned a light, even gold. The tan she’d acquired in Greece still lingered. She could see quite plainly the white band of her finger where her wedding ring had been. But that was the only mark, because Mick had always encouraged her to join him in sunbathing nude beside their private pool.

She froze, cursing inwardly. Oh, God, why was she doing this to herself—allowing herself to remember these things?

Well, she knew why, of course. It was because of that envelope ticking away like a time bomb in the other room.

Her throat tightened uncontrollably. She turned away from the mirror and went into the kitchen and made herself a mug of coffee, hot, black and very strong. If she’d had any brandy, she’d have added a dollop of that too.

Then, she sat down at the table, and steeled herself to open the envelope.

It was disturbing to realise how easily he’d been able to pinpoint her whereabouts—as if he was demonstrating his power over her from across the world. Showing her that there was nowhere she could run and hide. No refuge that he could not find.

Only he had no power, she told herself fiercely. Not any more. Not ever again. And she tore open the envelope.

She found herself staring down at an elegantly engraved white card. A wedding invitation, she thought in total bewilderment, as she scanned it. And the last thing she’d expected to find. She felt oddly deflated as she read the beautifully printed words.

So—Ismene, Mick’s younger sister was marrying her Petros at last. But why on earth was she being sent an invitation?

Frowningly, she unfolded the accompanying note.

‘Dearest Katharina,’ it read. ‘Papa finally gave his permission and I am so happy. We are to be married in the village in October, and you promised you would be there for me on my wedding day. I depend on you, sister. Your loving Ismene.’

Kate crumpled the note in her hand. Was Ismene crazy, or just naïve? she wondered. She couldn’t really expect her brother’s estranged wife to be part of a family occasion, whatever rash commitment Kate might have made in those early days when she was still living in her fool’s paradise.

But I’m not that person any more, Kate thought, her face set, her body rigid. I’ll have to write to her—explain somehow.

But why had Mick ever allowed the invitation to be sent? It made no sense. Although the wilful Ismene probably hadn’t bothered to seek his permission, she acknowledged with a faint sigh.

And she was astonished that Aristotle Theodakis, the all-powerful patriarch of the family, had agreed to the marriage. While she’d been living under his roof at the Villa Dionysius, he’d been adamantly opposed to it. No mere doctor was good enough for his daughter, he’d roared, even if it was the son of his old friend and tavli opponent. And slammed doors, furious scenes, and the sound of Ismene’s hysterical weeping had been almost daily occurrences.

Until Mick had flatly announced he could stand no more, and had insisted that he and Kate move out of their wing of the main building, and out of earshot, down to the comparative seclusion of the beach house. Where they’d remained…

She drank some of the scalding coffee, but it did nothing to melt the ice in the pit of her stomach.

Those weeks, she thought, had been the happiest of her life. Day had succeeded sunlit day. Night followed moonlit night. Raised voices were replaced by birdsong, the whisper of the breeze in the pine trees, and the murmur of the sea.

And, above all, Michael touching her—whispering to her, coaxing her out of the last of her natural shyness, teaching her to take as well as give in their lovemaking. And to be proud of her slim, long-legged body with its narrow waist and small high breasts.

And she’d been an eager pupil, she thought bitterly. How readily she’d surrendered to the caress of his cool, experienced hands and mouth, sobbing out her breathless, mindless rapture as their naked bodies joined in passion.

So beguiled, so entranced by the new sensual vistas that Mick had revealed to her, that she’d mistaken them for love.

Whereas all she’d really been to him was a novelty—a temporary amusement.

The smokescreen he’d cynically needed to divert attention from his real passion.

The coffee tasted bitter, and she pushed it away from her, feeling faintly nauseous.

She couldn’t afford to tear her heart out over Ismene, she told herself curtly. They’d become close over the months, and she knew that the younger girl would be missing her company with only Victorine to turn to. In fact, the note had almost sounded like a cry for help.

But she couldn’t allow herself to think like that. And in particular she couldn’t permit her mind to dwell on Victorine, the Creole beauty who now ruled Aristotle Theodakis, without releasing any of her hold over his son.

She would write a brief and formal expression of regret, and leave it there. Keep it strictly impersonal, although Ismene might be hurt to have no response to her note.

But then, Kate thought, I also have the right to some reaction to my request for a divorce. After all, it’s been a month since my lawyer sent off the papers.

Impatiently, she pushed the invitation away and rose. It was no wonder she was feeling flaky. She ought to have something to eat. She’d only had time to grab a sandwich at lunch time, and there was cold chicken and salad in the fridge, only her appetite seemed to have deserted her.

And she had a hectic day tomorrow—a group of reluctant French schoolchildren to chivvy around the Tower of London.

Perhaps she would just have a warm shower, wash her hair, and go to bed early. Catch up on some of that lost sleep.

Her bathroom was small, and the shower cubicle rather cramped, not tempting her to linger. She towelled down quickly, and resumed her housecoat before returning to the living room with her hair-drier.

She was just plugging it in when, to her surprise and irritation, someone knocked at the door.

Kate sighed, winding a towel round her wet hair. It was bound to be Mrs Thursgood, the elderly widow who lived on the ground floor, and accepted parcels and packets intended for other tenants who’d left for work before the mail arrived.

She was a kindly soul but gossipy, and she would expect a cup of tea and a cosy chat in return for her trouble of trailing up to the top floor with Kate’s book club selection, or whatever.

I really, truly, don’t want to talk, Kate thought grimly, as she pinned on a smile and flung open the door.

And stood, lips parting in a soundless gasp, eyes widening in shock, feeling the blood drain from her face.

‘My beloved wife,’ Michael Theodakis said softly. ‘Kalispera. May I come in?’

‘No,’ she said. Her voice sounded hoarse—distorted above the sudden roaring in her ears. She was afraid she was going to faint, and knew she couldn’t afford any such weakness. She took a step backwards.

‘No,’ she repeated more vehemently.

He was smiling, totally at ease, propping a dark-clad shoulder against the doorframe.

‘But we cannot conduct a civilised conversation on the doorstep, agapi mou.’

She said thickly, ‘I’ve got nothing to say to you—on the doorstep or anywhere else. If you want to talk, speak to my solicitor. And don’t call me your darling.’

‘How unkind,’ he said. ‘When I have travelled such a long way at such inconvenience to see you again. I’d hoped some of our Greek hospitality might have rubbed off on you.’

‘That isn’t the aspect of my life with you that I remember most clearly,’ Kate said, her breathing beginning to steady. ‘And I didn’t invite you here, so please go.’

Mick Theodakis raised both hands in mock surrender. ‘Easy, Katharina mou. I did not come here to fight a war, but negotiate a peaceful settlement. Isn’t that what you want too?’

‘I want a quick divorce,’ she said. ‘And never to see you again.’

‘Go on.’ The dark eyes glinted down at her from beneath hooded lids. ‘Surely you have a third wish. All the best stories do, I believe.’

Kate drew a quick, sharp breath. ‘This,’ she said gratingly, ‘is not a fairy story.’

‘No,’ he said. ‘To be honest, I am not sure whether it is a comedy or a tragedy.’

‘Honest?’ Kate echoed scornfully. ‘You don’t know the meaning of the word.’

‘However,’ he went on as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘I am quite certain I am not leaving until you have heard what I have to say, yineka mou.’

‘I am not your wife,’ she said. ‘I resigned that dubious honour when I left Kefalonia. And I thought I’d made it clear in my note that our so-called marriage was over.’

‘It was a model of clarity,’ he said courteously. ‘I have learned every word of it by heart. And the fact that you left your wedding ring beside it added extra emphasis.’

‘Then you’ll understand there is nothing to discuss.’ She lifted her chin. ‘Now, go please. I have a heavy duty tomorrow, and I’d like to go to bed.’

‘Not,’ he said softly. ‘With wet hair. That is something that I remember from our brief marriage, Katharina.’ He stepped into the room, kicking the door shut behind him.

There was no lock on her bedroom door, and one dodgy bolt on the bathroom. With nowhere to run, Kate decided to stand her ground.

‘How dare you.’ Her face was burning as she glared at him. ‘Get out of here, before I call the police.’

‘To do what?’ Mick asked coolly. ‘Have I ever struck you—or molested you in any way, agapi mou, that you did not welcome?’ He watched the colour suddenly deepen in her shocked face, and nodded sardonically. ‘Besides, all police are reluctant to intervene in domestic disputes. So, why don’t you sit down and dry your hair while you listen to what I have to say?’

He paused, then held out his hand. ‘Unless you would like me to dry it for you,’ he added softly. ‘As I used to.’

Kate swallowed convulsively, and shook her head, not trusting her voice.

It wasn’t fair, she raged inwardly. It wasn’t right for him to remind her of all the small, tender intimacies they’d once shared.

The way she’d sat between his knees as he blow-dried her hair, combing it gently with his fingers, letting the soft strands drift in the current of warm air.

And how her efforts to perform the same service for him had always been thwarted, as he loosened the sash on her robe, and drew the folds slowly apart, pressing tiny sensuous kisses on her naked body as she stood, flushed and breathless, in front of him. Until her attempt at hairdressing was forgotten in the sweet urgency of the moment.

Oh, she did not need to remember that.

Her cotton housecoat was long-sleeved and full-skirted, buttoned chastely to the throat, but she was still blazingly aware that she was naked under it—and that he knew it too, and was enjoying her discomfort.

The room seemed suddenly to have shrunk. His presence dominated it, physically and emotionally. Invaded her space in the worst way. Dried her throat and made her legs shake under her.

Even as she turned away and walked across to the dining table, every detail of him was etched on her mind, as if she’d touched him with her fingers.

Yet she did not have to do that—to remember.

She knew that the black curling hair was brushed back from his face with careless elegance. That his dark eyes were brilliant, but watchful beneath their heavy lids, or that the cool, firm mouth held a hint of sensuality in the slight fullness of the lower lip.

It was a proud face, strong and uncompromising, but when he smiled, its charm had twisted the heart in her body.

He was formally dressed, the charcoal business suit accentuating the tall, lean body which moved with such arrogant grace. His olive skin looked very dark against the immaculate white shirt. His tie was silk, and there were discreet gold links in his cuffs matching the narrow bracelet on his watch and, she noticed with a sudden painful thud of her heart, the plain band on the third finger of his right hand.

The ring which matched hers, inscribed inside with their names and the date, which she had slipped on to his finger on their wedding day…

How could he still be wearing it? How could he be such a hypocrite? she asked herself numbly.

He said, ‘Aren’t you going to ask me to sit down—offer me some coffee?’

‘You’re not a guest,’ Kate said, keeping her voice level with an effort. ‘And this is not a social call.’ She frowned. ‘How did you get in, anyway?’

‘A charming lady on the ground floor.’ He paused. ‘She seemed pleased you were having a visitor.’

Mrs Thursgood, Kate thought, grinding her teeth. Who normally guarded the front door like Cerberus at the gates of Hell.

She said, ‘She allows her imagination to run away with her sometimes.’

She loosened the towel that was swathed round her head, and her damp hair tumbled on to her shoulders. Then she switched on the drier, and picked up the brush.

Mick stood by the old-fashioned fireplace watching every movement, his whole body very still, except for a muscle flickering at the side of his mouth.

He said at last, ‘You’ve received Ismene’s invitation.’ His tone was abrupt, and it was a statement rather than a question.

‘It came today.’

‘So you haven’t had time to reply.’

‘It won’t take much time,’ Kate said shortly. ‘Naturally, I shan’t be going.’

‘Ah,’ Mick said gently. ‘But that is what I came to discuss with you. It would mean a great deal to my sister to have you present, so I hope you will reconsider.’

Kate switched off the drier and stared at him, pushing her hair back from her face. ‘That’s impossible.’

‘I hope not. Ismene has missed you very badly, and this is a special time for her.’ He paused. ‘I would regard your attendance as a favour.’

Kate gasped. ‘And that’s supposed to make all the difference?’ she demanded furiously.

‘I thought it might.’ He leaned an arm on the mantelshelf, looking hatefully assured and relaxed. ‘In fact, I believed we might exchange favours.’

There was an uncertain silence, then Kate said, ‘What do you mean?’

‘You want a simple, consensual divorce.’ He smiled at her. ‘Which you can have—at a price.’

There was another tingling silence.

She said, ‘And if the price is too high?’

He shrugged. ‘Then I refuse to consent, and we let the legal process run its course.’ He added casually, ‘I understand it can take several years.’

‘That’s—blackmail.’ Her voice shook.

‘Is it?’ he said. ‘But perhaps I do not agree that our marriage has “irretrievably broken down” as you allege in that document.’

‘But you must. It has.’ Kate drew a deep breath. ‘And you’re bluffing. I know you are. You don’t wish to stay married any more than I do.’

His mouth twisted. ‘You’re mistaken, agapi mou. I am in no particular hurry to be free.’

No, she thought, with a stab of anguish. Not while your father is still alive, and Victorine is nominally his…

She said slowly, ‘So I have to attend Ismene’s wedding if I want a quick divorce.’

‘Is it really such a hardship? Kefalonia is very beautiful in September.’

‘Kefalonia is beautiful all the year round.’ Her tone was curt. ‘It’s only some of the people there who make it ugly.’

‘A word of advice, pedhi mou.’ His smile was mirthless. ‘It is better to win an opponent over than to antagonise him.’

Kate lifted her chin. ‘I think it’s a little late to worry about that.’ She hesitated. ‘But everyone must know by now that our marriage is over. Won’t they find it strange if I’m at the wedding?’

‘I am not interested in what people think.’ His voice was suddenly harsh. ‘Besides, they only know that we have been separated for a short time. You might simply have come back to this country to attend to some family business.’

‘Is that what you’ve been telling people?’ She shook her head. ‘My God, you can’t even be honest about our marriage breaking down.’

‘They will know soon enough, when the wedding is over.’

‘Well, I hope you don’t expect me to take part in some spurious reunion,’ Kate said acidly. ‘I’m not that good an actress.’ She paused. ‘Why do you want me there?’

‘Did I say wanted?’ Mick drawled. ‘Don’t flatter yourself, my sweet one. I am here on Ismene’s behalf, not my own.’

She did not look at him, staring instead at her gingham-covered knee. ‘Then I’d be there—just as an ordinary guest? Nothing more?’

He said mockingly, ‘Why, Katharina, did you think you had left me all these weeks to sleep alone? That I’ve been burning for your return. What an innocent you are.’

‘Not,’ she said, ‘any more.’ She was silent for a moment. ‘I need time to think about this.’

‘You have twenty-four hours. I am staying at the Royal Empress Hotel. You remember it?’

‘Yes.’ It was a painful whisper.

He nodded. ‘You can contact me there with your answer.’

He walked to the door, and paused for a final swift look round the room.

He said, ‘So this is what you left me for. I hope it is worth it.’

‘I don’t have to live in the lap of luxury to be happy,’ Kate said defiantly.

‘Evidently,’ he said. ‘If happy is what you are.’ He looked her over, slowly and thoroughly, a smile curling his mouth.

He said softly, ‘Eyes like smoke and hair like flame. What a waste agapi mou. What a tragic waste.’

And was gone.

CHAPTER TWO

FOR several long moments Kate stood like a statue, staring at the closed door, pain and disbelief warring within her for supremacy.

Then she gave a little choked cry and ran to her bedroom, flinging herself face down across the bed, her hands gripping the covers as if they were her last hold on sanity.

She said aloud, ‘Fool.’ And again, more savagely, her voice breaking, ‘Fool.’

Had she really thought she could escape so easily? That Michael Theodakis would simply allow her—the girl he’d taken from nowhere—to walk away from him?

Not that he cared about her, or their marriage, as she had bitter cause to know, but the fact that she’d chosen to expose the hypocrisy of their relationship by leaving, had clearly damaged his pride. And that, of course, was an unforgivable sin.

Her own pride, naturally, didn’t count.

He hadn’t even asked her why she had left, but then he didn’t have to. He already knew. He would have been told…

Nor had he offered one word of apology or explanation for the actions which had driven her away.

No, she was clearly the one who was at fault because she’d failed to turn a blind eye to his cynical infidelity.

After all, she’d had the Theodakis millions to enjoy, and she could not deny Mick had been generous. There’d been the house outside Athens, and the sumptuous apartments in Paris and New York as well as the clothes and jewellery he’d given her, all of which she’d left behind when she fled.

But that had been her choice, and Mick, no doubt, felt he had bought her silence—her discretion, and, in his eyes, she had reneged on their unwritten bargain.

A bargain she had not realised existed until that terrible afternoon…

She shuddered, pressing her face deep into the bed until coloured sparks danced behind her closed eyelids.

But nothing could drive the image from her brain. Mick sprawled naked and asleep across the bed—their bed. And Victorine sitting at the dressing table combing her hair, clad in nothing but a towel.

And now, in spite of that, he required her to stand meekly at his side during Ismene’s wedding celebrations, playing the dutiful wife. As if she owed him something.

But she’d only have to role-play by day, she reminded herself. At least she would not be asked to pretend at night.

And neither would he. Not any longer.

How could a man do that? she wondered wildly. How could he make love to one woman, with his heart and mind committed to another?

And all those precious passionate moments when the dark strength of his body had lifted her to the edge of paradise and beyond—how could they have meant so little to him?

But perhaps sexual fulfilment had also been part of his side of the bargain along with the designer wardrobe and the money he’d provided. One of the assets of being Mrs Michael Theodakis.

But it wasn’t enough. Because she’d wanted love. And that was something he’d never offered. At least he’d been honest about that.

Probably, he’d found her inexperience—her naïvete amusing, she thought, lashing herself into fresh anger against him.

Because anger was good. Safe. It kept the frantic tears of loneliness and betrayal at bay. And she couldn’t afford any more tears. Any more heartbreak.

She’d wept enough. Now, somehow, she had to move on.

But she couldn’t begin to build a new life while her brief marriage still existed, trapping her in the old one. She needed it to be over, and left far behind her. But for that, of course, she had to have Mick’s co-operation. Oh, it would be so good to tell him to go to hell. That she would die sooner than return to Kefalonia and play at being his wife again for however short a time.

Because that meant she would become once more the smokescreen against his father’s jealous and totally justified suspicions. And how could she bear it?

Or stand seeing, yet again, the triumph and contempt in Victorine’s beautiful face? The look she’d turned on Kate, standing ashen-faced in the doorway that afternoon only a few agonised weeks ago.

‘How tactless of you, chère.’ Her honeyed drawl was barbed. ‘Perhaps in future you should knock before entering your husband’s bedroom.’

Kate had taken two shaky steps backwards, then run for the bathroom down the passage, her hand over her mouth as nausea churned inside her.

She was violently, cripplingly sick, kneeling on the tiled floor while walls and ceiling revolved unsteadily around her. She had no idea how long she’d stayed there. But eventually some firm purpose was born out of the sickness and misery, making her realise that she had to get out. That her brief marriage was over, and that she could not bear to spend even another hour under any roof that belonged to the Theodakis family.

She had to force herself to go back into that bedroom, bracing herself for another humiliating confrontation, but Victorine had gone.

Mick was still fast asleep. Exhausted by his labours, no doubt, she thought, rubbing salt into her own bitter wounds. And how dared he sleep while her heart was breaking?

She needed to confront him, she realised. To accuse him and see the guilt in his face.

She put her hand on his shoulder, and shook him.

‘Mick.’ Her voice cracked on his name. ‘Wake up.’

He stirred drowsily, without opening his eyes. ‘S’agapo,’ he muttered, his voice slurred. ‘I love you.’

Kate gasped, and took a step backwards, a stricken hand flying to her mouth. At last he’d said them—the words she’d yearned to hear ever since they’d been together.

Only they were not meant for her, but his secret lover—the woman he’d been enjoying so passionately in her absence. The mistress he’d never actually discarded. It was the final—the unforgivable hurt, she thought as she turned painfully and walked away.

She packed the minimum in a small weekend case, then scribbled him a note which she left on the night table with her wedding ring.

‘I should never have married you,’ she wrote. ‘It was a terrible mistake, and I cannot bear to go on living with you for another moment. Don’t try to find me.’

No one saw her go. She drove to the airport, and managed to get a seat on a plane to Athens, and from there to London.

She had sworn that she would never go back.

And I can’t, Kate thought, a shudder crawling the length of her body. I can’t do it. It’s too degrading to have to face her. To see them together, knowing what I know.

But what real alternative did she have?

She couldn’t wait for years in limbo until Mick finally decided to let her go.

And, while his father lived, he had no real reason to end the marriage.

She had humiliated him by her precipitate departure, and she was being punished as a consequence. That was what it was all about. She had to be returned to the scene of her anguish—her betrayal—and made to endure all the memories and misery that it would evoke.

She burrowed into the quilt like a small wounded animal seeking sanctuary, her mind rejecting the images forcing themselves relentlessly on her inner vision.

Oh, how could he do this? How dared he simply—appear in her life again and start making demands?

Because he’s without shame, she told herself, bitterly. And without decency. He’s rich enough to do without them.

But I’m not. And somehow I have to find my way through this, and keep my own integrity in the process. And lying here with my eyes shut isn’t going to change a thing.

She sat up slowly, pushing her still-damp hair back from her face with a slight shiver.

Meanwhile she had a job to do tomorrow, and preparations to make for that. Normal life was there to be got on with, even if the safe wall she’d thought she’d built around herself had suddenly come crashing down.

She trailed back into the living room, and switched on her hair-drier, staring unseeingly into space as she dealt with the tangled red waves, restoring them to some kind of order.

As, in the fullness of time, she would restore her life. Find a new calm—a new security.

There had never been any safety with Mick, of course. He’d appeared on her horizon like some great dark planet, and she’d been the moon drawn helplessly into his orbit. And by the time she’d realised the danger she was in, it was already too late.

But from the first time she’d seen him, she’d been in too deep, out of her depth and sinking.

As the drier hummed, Kate let her tired mind drift back over the months to where it had all begun…

‘Oh, come on, Katie, don’t let me down. It’ll be a laugh.’ Lisa’s tone was cajoling. ‘After all, when do we get a chance to get inside a hotel like the Zycos Regina? Don’t you want to see how the other half live? Besides, I really need you to make up the foursome.’

Kate bit her lip. It had been a long season on the Greek island of Zycos, and, although on the whole she’d enjoyed being a tour rep for Halcyon Club Travel, she felt bone-weary now that it was over.

All she wanted to do that evening was complete her packing for the following day’s flight, have a hot shower, and an early night. But Lisa, the fellow rep with whom she’d shared a small apartment all summer, wanted a night on the town.

She said cautiously, ‘Who did you say was going?’

‘His name’s Stavros,’ Lisa said. ‘And he’s the disc jockey at the Nite Spot down on the waterfront.’

‘Oh,’ Kate said. ‘That place.’

Lisa tossed her head. ‘You’re such a snob,’ she accused.

Kate sighed. ‘Not at all. It just hasn’t got a very good reputation, and you know it. It’s always being raided.’

‘Well, we’re not taking clients there,’ Lisa said. ‘And Stavros just plays the music. He’s gorgeous.’ She rolled her eyes lasciviously. ‘The other guy’s his cousin Dimitris from Athens.’

Kate began, ‘I don’t think…’ but Lisa cut across her.

‘Oh, come on, Katie. Let your hair down for once. It’s an evening out, not a lifetime commitment, for God’s sake. And we’ll be out of here tomorrow.’

Well that was true, Kate acknowledged. It was just one evening, and she could always invent a diplomatic headache if things got heavy.

Besides, if she was honest, she’d always had a sneaking curiosity about the Zycos Regina, the largest but also most exclusive hotel on the island, and set in its own private grounds well away from the lively coastal resorts favoured by the majority of tourists.

She knew that it was part of a chain of equally prestigious hotels dotted round the Mediterranean, their standards of luxury and service putting them out of the reach of the package tour market.

It might be fun, she thought, not just to see how the other half lived, but join them too for a brief while.

She smiled at Lisa. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘You talked me into it.’

She chose carefully from her limited wardrobe that evening, opting for a black linen shift, knee-length, sleeveless and discreetly square necked. Lisa, blonde and bubbly, favoured the outrageous look out of uniform, and would be wearing something skimpy and cut-off, but Kate felt that restraint was her best bet.

For that reason, she twisted her hair into its usual tidy pleat instead of leaving it loose on her shoulders, as she’d originally intended. And she applied just a modicum of makeup, darkening her long lashes, and applying a light coral glow to her mouth.

She slipped on a pair of strappy sandals, then stood back to view herself in the mirror.

The evening was warm and still, but she suddenly found herself shivering as if a small chill wind had penetrated the shutters of her room.

And heard a warning voice in her head say quietly, ‘Be careful.’

Oh, for God’s sake, she thought impatiently as she turned towards the door. What can possibly happen in such a public—and eminently high-class—place?

Stavros, she disliked on sight. His coarse good looks might attract Lisa, but held no appeal for her. He looked her up and down smilingly, and she felt as if she’d been touched by a finger dipped in slime.

And Dimitris, with his flashy clothes and abundance of gold jewellery, set her teeth on edge too. As did the way he looked at her, as if he was mentally stripping her.

Oh, well, she thought with a mental shrug. The evening won’t last forever. It will just seem like it.

The club at the Zycos Regina impressed her immediately with its understated elegance, and subdued lighting. The clientele, mostly couples expensively dressed, were seated at tables set round an oval dance floor, and, on a corner dais, a quartet was playing soft dance music interspersed with interesting jazz.

‘It’s not very lively,’ Lisa complained loudly, twisting round in her chair to survey the other patrons. ‘If they’re all so rich, why aren’t they happier?’

Kate, uncomfortably aware of raised eyebrows and disapproving glances from adjoining tables, winced as she took a sip from the lurid cocktail that had been served to them all by an impassive waiter, and thought how much she’d have preferred a glass of wine.

It embarrassed her to see Dimitris flourishing a wallet full of notes, and clearly believing an extravagant tip allowed him to treat the staff like dirt.

It crucified her too to see Stavros stroking Lisa’s exposed skin with a proprietorial hand and leering into her cleavage, then finding Dimitris leaning towards her, murmuring throatily with a suggestive smile, and reaching for her hand.

Deliberately, Kate edged her own chair away, feeling as if she’d woken to find herself in the middle of her worst nightmare.

We don’t belong here she thought, with a sigh, as she began to plan her own strategic withdrawal. And we’d better leave before they ask us to go.

She wasn’t sure of the moment when she knew she was being watched, but she felt the impact of the glance like a hand on her shoulder.

She drank some more of the unpleasant cocktail, then risked a swift look round, wondering resignedly if the management had already been summoned.

It was a corner table, set slightly apart from the others, and occupied by three men.

And the man watching her sat in the middle. In his early thirties, he was clearly younger than the other two, and, equally obviously, he was the one in control.

Even that first lightning assessment told her that he was good-looking, although not classically handsome. The dark face was strong, the lines of nose and jaw arrogantly marked. But more than that he exuded power, a charismatic force that could reach across a crowded room and touch its object like the caress of a hand.

She knew she should look away, but it was already too late. For an electrifying moment their eyes met, and locked, and Kate felt her breathing quicken and her throat tighten in an odd excitement.

But there was no warmth in his gaze. His expression was cool and watchful, his brows drawn together in a slight frown, as if something had displeased him.

And no prizes for guessing what that was, Kate thought, as she turned back to her companions, her face hot with embarrassed colour.

‘Who’s that?’ Lisa had noticed the direction of her gaze, and was staring herself with open interest. ‘Do you know him?’ She giggled. ‘Have you been holding out on me, Katie?’

‘Not in the least,’ Kate said crisply. ‘Nor do I want to know him. I think he feels we’re lowering the tone of the establishment.’

The fact that she thought exactly the same herself seemed paradoxically to increase her resentment.

‘But I know him.’ Stavros leaned forward, eyes gleaming. ‘That is Michalis Theodakis. His father owns the whole Regina chain of hotels, and a great deal more, but the son now runs the company.’

Kate’s brows lifted. ‘Really?’ she asked sceptically. ‘What’s he doing here?’

‘He visits all the hotels,’ Stavros explained. ‘Checking them at random.’

‘So who are the guys with him?’ Lisa questioned.

‘Who knows?’ His minders probably.’ His tone was envious. ‘He is already a multi-millionaire in his own right, but he will be even richer when he gets control of all the Theodakis holdings. If he ever does,’ he added, grinning. ‘They say he and his father have quarrelled and Aristotle Theodakis would do anything to prevent him stepping into his shoes.’

He sent Kate a sly glance. ‘Do you want him, kougla mou? Many women do, and not just for his money. He is quite a stud. You would have to stand in a long line, I think.’

‘Don’t be absurd,’ Kate said coldly, aware that her flush had deepened. ‘And do keep your voice down. I think he’s planning to have us thrown out.’

That icy considering look had thrown her badly. He had seen her companions and judged her accordingly, so naturally she was honour bound to prove to him that his low opinion of her was entirely justified.

Teeth gritted, she reached for her drink, only to find the whole nasty concoction cascading down the front of her dress as her arm was jogged by a passing waiter.

She gasped and jumped up, shaking her skirt. Stavros and Dimitris were on their feet too, shouting angrily and gesticulating at the waiter, who was apologising abjectly and proffering a clean napkin.

‘I’d better go to the powder room,’ Kate interrupted, embarrassed at the attention the accident was attracting.

She turned, and cannoned into a tall figure standing behind her. As his hands grasped her arms to steady her, she realised it was Michael Theodakis.

‘Allow me to make amends for the clumsiness of my staff, thespinis.’ He spoke excellent English, she thought, with just a trace of an accent which, allied to his low-pitched drawl, some women would undoubtedly find sexy. ‘If you will come with me, my housekeeper will attend to your dress.’

‘There’s really no need.’ She freed herself, and took a small step backwards, her face warming. Because, close to, he was formidably attractive—over six feet in height, broad shouldered and lean-hipped. And prudence suggested she should keep her distance.

‘But I think there is.’ Somehow, he had repossessed her hand, and was leading her between the tables towards the exit.

‘Will you let go of me, please?’ Kate tried to tug her fingers from his grasp. ‘I can look after myself.’

‘You are deluding yourself, thespinis, especially when you keep company like that,’ he added with a touch of grimness.

She lifted her chin. ‘It’s not for you, kyrie, to criticise my friends.’

‘They are old and dear acquaintances perhaps?’ The sardonic note in his voice was not lost on her.

She bit her lip. ‘Not—exactly.’

‘I thought not.’ He walked her across the hotel foyer to the row of lifts and pressed a button.

‘Where are we going?’ she asked in alarm, as the lift doors opened.

‘To my suite.’ He steered her inexorably inside. ‘My housekeeper will join us there.’

‘Take me back to the ground floor, please.’ Kate was shaking suddenly. ‘I want to go home—now.’

‘It will be safer for you to remain at the hotel tonight.’ He paused. ‘I have a confession to make to you, thespinis. I sent Takis to spill your drink deliberately.’

‘You must be crazy.’ Kate felt dizzy suddenly. ‘You can’t hope to get away with this—even if you do own the place.’

‘Ah,’ he said softly. ‘So you know who I am.’

‘Your fame goes before you. But I’m not interested in being added to your list of conquests.’

He laughed. ‘You flatter yourself, my red-headed vixen. My motives, for once, are purely altruistic.’

The lift doors opened, and Kate found herself being marched along a wide corridor towards a pair of double doors at the end.

‘No.’ There was real panic in her voice. ‘I want to go home.’

‘So you shall,’ he said. ‘In the morning when I am sure you have suffered no lasting ill effects.’

‘Ill effects?’ Kate echoed, as another wave of dizziness assailed her. ‘What are you talking about.’

He said flatly, ‘Your drink was spiked, thespinis. I saw your companion do it.’

‘Spiked,’ Kate repeated. ‘You mean—drugged? But—why?’

He shrugged. ‘To make you more amenable, perhaps.’ He opened the door, and guided her into the room beyond. ‘There is something called the date-rape drug. You may have heard of it.’

She said numbly, ‘Heard of it—yes. But you must be mistaken. It can’t be true…’

His mouth twisted. ‘If the man you were with had asked you to sleep with him tonight, would you have agreed?’

She gasped. ‘God—no. He’s repulsive.’

‘But might not take rejection well, all the same,’ he said drily. ‘Which is why you must not return to your apartment tonight.’

‘But I have to.’ Kate was shaking. She put a hand to her forehead, trying to steady herself. Collect her thoughts. ‘My—my things are there. I’m going back to England tomorrow. Besides, they may have drugged Lisa too.’

His mouth curled. ‘I doubt they would need to.’

She said hotly, ‘You have no right to say that. You don’t know her.’

He smiled faintly, ‘I admire your loyalty, thespinis, if not your judgement. Now, I think you should lie down before you fall down,’ he added with a slight frown.

‘I’m—fine,’ Kate said thickly.

‘I don’t think so,’ he said, and picked her up in his arms.

She knew she should protest—that she should kick and fight, but it was so much easier to rest her head against his shoulder and close her eyes, and let him carry her.

She could feel the warmth of his body through his clothing. Could smell the faint muskiness of some cologne he wore.

She sensed a blur of shaded light, and felt the softness of a mattress beneath her. Dimly she was aware of her zip being unfastened and her dress removed, and tried to struggle—to utter some panicked negation.

A woman’s voice spoke soothingly. ‘Rest easily, little one. All will be well.’

Kate felt the caress of clean, crisp linen against her bare skin, and then the last vestiges of reality slid away, and she slept.

She dreamed fitfully, in brief wild snatches, her body twisting away from the image of Dimitris bending towards her with hot eyes and greedy hands, her voice crying out in soundless horror.

Once, there seemed to be a man’s voice speaking right above her in Greek. ‘She could solve your immediate problem.’

And heard a cool drawl that she seemed to recognise in the wry response, ‘And create a hundred more…’

She wondered who they were—what they were talking about? But it was all too much effort when she was tired—so tired.

And, as she drifted away again, she felt a hand gently touch her hair, and stroke her cheek.

And smiled in her sleep.

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