The Power of the Legendary Greek. CATHERINE GEORGE
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‘It is by no means unusual for journalists of both sexes to invade my beach, nor for young women to arrange to be stranded there.’
‘In the hope that you’ll come to the rescue?’
‘Their hopes are usually higher—or lower—than that,’ he said, his mouth twisting in distaste. ‘I do not,’ he added sardonically, ‘delude myself that they are attracted to me in person. Only to my money.’
‘And the power you used to amass it. Isn’t power supposed to be the ultimate aphrodisiac?’ Isobel smiled politely. ‘You Greeks have a word for everything.’
He inclined his head. ‘The rest of the world owes much to us.’
‘What happens to trespassers when you’re not here?’
‘Milos deals with them. He is ex-army, and officially works as my gardener. But his main function is security. He had time off yesterday; otherwise you would have been removed before I arrived.’
‘Which would have saved a lot of trouble.’ One way and another.
Luke gave her the unsettling smile again. ‘But it would also have deprived me of the pleasure of meeting you.’
Isobel dismissed that with a shrug. ‘You speak very good English.’
‘Thank you. I had a very good English teacher in school and, due to his influence, I studied for my MBA in London.’ He got up. ‘It is good you are not a journalist. I am not usually free with my personal details.’
‘I shan’t pass them on to anyone,’ she assured him.
He looked surprised. ‘They are not secrets. I was born here on Chyros. My background is known to everyone.’
‘Even so, I don’t speak Greek so I’m not likely to talk to anyone about you.’
‘Not even to Alex Nicolaides? He speaks English.’
‘He hardly knows me! Though he was very helpful,’ she added.
‘Which cannot surprise you.’
She raised an eyebrow in silent query.
‘A look in the mirror will answer your question,’ he informed her.
She sighed. Same old, same old. ‘I seriously doubt that. I have a black eye, in case you haven’t noticed, Mr Andreadis.’
‘I could hardly help notice, but it is already fading and detracts very little from your looks, Miss James.’
‘Thank you,’ she said shortly, and bent to pick up her handbag. ‘Here are the keys. Will you let me know your verdict as soon as possible?’
Luke took them, his eyes amused. ‘You are so eager to leave my house?’
Her chin lifted. ‘I really can’t trespass on your hospitality any longer.’
‘You throw the word at me like a missile!’ He chuckled. ‘I shall see you at lunch.’
Isobel scowled as he strolled from the room, feeling all at sea. Lukas Andreadis in friendly mode—if you could call it that—was deeply unnerving. Yet hearing something of his background had whetted her curiosity to know more. But Eleni was the only one she could ask, so there was no way she was going to find out any more unless he told her himself. And, since she was hopefully moving out today, and it wasn’t a question she could ask anyway, that was unlikely. But she couldn’t leave until Luke Andreadis drove her to the cottage, so she would do what she always did with time on her hands—and far too often when she should have been doing other things entirely.
Isobel established herself at the balcony rail, propped one of her larger pads against it and began to sketch the pool. In the bright morning light it shone like a blue jewel in its setting of palms, oleander and feathery pink tamarisk. And as usual her concentration was soon so intense that Eleni had to clap her hands loudly to gain her attention.
‘Lunch, Isobel.’
Isobel closed the sketchbook hastily and turned to smile at Eleni. ‘I hadn’t realised it was so late.’
‘You wash now,’ said the woman. ‘Food nearly ready. You need help?’
‘No, I can manage, thank you.’ Isobel spent a few minutes in the bathroom, then went back into the bedroom to find Luke standing outside on the landing.
‘Eleni says you must come immediately or the food will spoil,’ he informed her. ‘I will carry you down.’
Isobel flushed, taken aback. ‘I thought I was eating up here again.’
‘While I thought you would enjoy lunch on the terrace. Even with the disadvantage of my company,’ he added slyly.
Isobel eyed him irritably. If she’d had prior knowledge of the arrangement, out of sheer pride she might have gilded the lily a bit—or as much as she could in her present condition. The swelling on her face had gone down, the bruise was fading slightly below her eye, which she could now open fully, but it was still no pleasure to look in a mirror. ‘You don’t have to carry me. I can manage with the crutch.’
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