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She thrust the phone into his hand and swallowed hard. She wasn’t going to cry. ‘She was in love with you and she was happy. The next text was sent the night she fell. Read it, why don’t you?’
‘“Just discovered truth about N. Hate him.”’ He read the words aloud, staring at the phone in his hand, his tension visible. ‘So it was true then. She did expect marriage,’ he breathed and Angie gave a humourless laugh.
‘And why would that come as a shock to you? Because she should have known better than to believe you when you promised to marry her? Tiff was a young girl and like all young girls her head was full of romance and happy endings.You ought to remember that next time you contemplate having some fun with a teenage girl. She was no match for a man like you and you broke her heart! Presumably that was why she was drunk that night. She’d discovered the sort of man you really are!’
Something dangerous flared in his eyes. ‘You know nothing about the sort of man I am, Dr Littlewood.’
‘I know that my sister shouldn’t have been anywhere near you! Every time I open a newspaper you’re with another woman.’ A beautiful, glamorous woman. ‘It’s obvious that you see the female sex as entertainment and nothing more.’
The tension in his powerful frame increased significantly. ‘And you always believe what you read in newspapers?’
‘Not all the detail, of course not. I’m not stupid. But the stories have to come from somewhere.’
‘Is that right?’
‘Which brings us back to the question of what a man like you was doing with a girl like Tiffany.’
‘I’m sure you’ll tell me, given that you know so much about me from such a reliable source.’ There was a biting edge to his tone that made her stiffen.
‘Don’t play games with me and don’t ever joke about my sister’s death!’
‘Believe me, I don’t consider anything about your sister to be funny, least of all her death.’ There was something about his excessive stillness that made her increasingly uneasy and suddenly the fight drained out of her and she just wanted him to leave.
She sank on to her chair and rubbed her hands over the fabric of her plain, practical navy trousers. ‘Please go.’ Her voice was husky and she removed her glasses and looked up at him. ‘I don’t know why you came here, but I want you to leave now. And I want you to promise not to go anywhere near my mother.’
That cold gaze rested on her face and a faint frown touched his dark, sculpted brows. ‘Why do you wear glasses?’
‘I’m sorry?’ The irrelevance of the question threw her and she blinked in astonishment as she stared up at him. She noticed for the first time that his lashes were very thick and very dark and softened the otherwise hard lines of his handsome face. ‘I need them for very close work, for seeing detail, but I don’t understand why you—’
‘You should wear contact lenses. It won’t compensate for your unfortunate personality but it would at least soften your appearance and make you appear more feminine.’
She gave a gasp of outrage, just mortified by the personal nature of his less than flattering comment. She shouldn’t care, she reminded herself. All her life her mother had been making similar comments about her appearance. Angie, wear a dress. Angie, have a haircut. Angie, wear make-up. She didn’t seem to understand that dressing up wouldn’t make a difference. Her eldest daughter was plain. She’d been born plain and she’d die plain. And it didn’t matter to her. All that mattered at the moment was that she’d lost her little sister.
Feeling emotions that she didn’t entirely understand, she immediately fumbled for her glasses and slipped them back on to her nose. ‘I’m not interested in your opinion on anything, Mr Kyriacou.’ Her voice trembled as much as her fingers. ‘The only thing that interests me is the reason for your visit. Clearly you didn’t come to apologise, so why did you come? Or do you take pleasure in viewing other people’s distress? Are you one of those people who slow down on the motorway to view an accident on the opposite carriageway?’
There was a long silence while he studied her, a silence during which she grew more and more uncomfortable. Why was he looking at her like that? Was he ever going to speak?
Finally he drew breath and something in the depths of his dark eyes made her stomach flip with nerves. Instinctively she sensed that she wasn’t going to like what he was about to say.
‘Why did you come here?’ Her voice cracked slightly and his mouth hardened.
‘Have you ever heard of the Brandizi diamond?’
His question was so unexpected that she frowned. ‘Why would I?’
He gave a faint smile and waved a hand around the room she worked in, gestured to the various artefacts that surrounded her. ‘Because you’re interested in history and legend, Dr Littlewood, and the Brandizi diamond is surrounded by both.’
‘As you’ve already pointed out, my speciality is Greek art and pottery of the classical era. I know very little about jewellery. ’ She straightened her shoulders. ‘I fail to understand the relevance of this conversation.’
‘The Brandizi diamond is one of the most valuable stones ever documented. It is a flawless pink diamond. The exact date of the piece is unknown, but it is believed to have been commissioned by an Indian prince as a gift for his first wife as a symbol of eternal love. Apparently he believed in such things.’ His faint smile of derision revealed his thoughts on that topic. ‘Great superstition surrounds the diamond.’
Even though she would have walked on broken glass sooner than admit it, something in his cool, cultured tones had caught her imagination. Angie’s eyes slid to the fragments of pottery that lay on her desk. ‘Myth and legend are always closely aligned with ancient artefacts. Much can be learned about people’s beliefs by studying the art of the time.’
‘The stone came into the possession of my family several generations ago. It has traditionally been passed down to the eldest son to offer as a gift to the woman of his heart. It is of incalculable value in both monetary and emotional terms.’
Her own heart started to beat faster and she felt the rush of excitement that she always felt when discussing the past. But then she reminded herself that Nikos Kyriacou wasn’t another academic and she couldn’t afford the luxury of conversation with this man, however stimulating the subject.
‘I fail to see what any of this has to do with my sister.’
He looked at her for a long moment and then strolled over to a cabinet and examined one of the pots on display, leaving Angie to stare at his glossy dark hair and broad shoulders with increasing frustration.
She took a deep breath and tried again. ‘What does this diamond have to do with my sister?’
‘Everything.’ He turned then, a muscle flickering in his hard jaw, his eyes glinting Mediterranean-dark. ‘Your sister was wearing the Brandizi diamond on the night she fell from my balcony, Dr Littlewood. I suspect that it was amongst her belongings when they were returned to you. And now I want it back.’
Chapter Two
ANGIE stared at him in astonishment. ‘My sister was wearing this rare diamond the night she died? The Brandizi diamond? The one that’s worth gazillions?’
She saw the tension ripple through his powerful frame. ‘That is correct.’
‘The same diamond that is given by the men of your family to the women as a symbol of eternal love?’ She gave a disbelieving laugh, finally appreciating the true irony of the situation. ‘Did my sister know that story?’
His strong jaw was clenched. ‘Very possibly.’
‘So the fact that she was wearing the diamond would have supported her genuine belief that you loved her and intended to marry her, wouldn’t