IT WAS late afternoon when they arrived at the sea house. It had been a largely silent journey. Camilla, huddled on her side of the Jeep, had tried to concentrate on the scenery, which was spectacular enough to warrant it, and not Nic Xandreou’s profile, which she found even more disturbing. And Katie was equally quiet, lost in her own thoughts.
Her first meeting with Nic had been formal on his side and composed on hers. She’d shown little of the hurt and indignation she must be feeling, and Camilla had felt both surprised and proud at her forbearance, and the maturity of her reaction.
On one side of the narrow pot-holed road, hillside covered in scrub soared upwards towards the unclouded arc of the sky to become, in time, a tall bleached mountain, all jagged silver and violet peaks and deep agate corries. High above them a solitary bird hovered, motionless and predatory.
On the other side, there was an almost sheer drop to the sea, sparkling like a brazen mirror under the sinking sun.
It seemed very remote, but wasn’t that the idea? she thought bitterly. They were to be hidden away in this inaccessible place, and forgotten there until their money ran out and they were forced to leave.
Money, she thought with a stifled gasp of distress. In the scramble to be ready she’d forgotten to get the money for their room back from Kostas.
‘There is something wrong?’
He didn’t miss a thing.
She hunched a shoulder. ‘No.’ He was the last person in the world who needed to know they had a cash shortage. That would be playing right into his hands. ‘It’s just—very beautiful,’ she added, gesturing around her.
He nodded. ‘Every man sees his island as the loveliest place on earth. I only wish I could spend more time here, but our business interests are worldwide and expanding.’
He said it quite casually. Money, and the power it bestowed, were things he took for granted. And, with so much under his control, the destinies of two young lovers would seem an annoying triviality to be disposed of between one deal and the next. Spiro s and Katie’s happiness wouldn’t feature on any of Nic Xandreou’s balance sheets.
That was something she needed to remember—to build up the flame of her anger and resentment against him, and keep it burning. She couldn’t afford any more weakness where he was concerned. No more aching yearning to feel his mouth exploring hers, or his hands spinning a web of sensual delight on her skin.
The kind of spell he knew so well how to weave. The way he’d enthralled other fools.
But not me, she vowed with passion. Never again.
The Jeep swung off the road, and began to wind its way down a track so narrow that the shrubs and bushes which bordered it reached out to brush the sides of the vehicle. Pollen, heavy and golden, showered down on to Camilla’s bare knee.
The Jeep turned a corner, and there in front of them, occupying its own headland, was the sea house. It was small by the standards of the Villa Apollo—single-storey, and roofed in faded terracotta tiles, their colour repeated in the shutters that hid the windows—and surrounded by a tangle of overgrown garden.
Camilla thought, It looks lonely, and instantly derided herself for being sentimental. Of course it was lonely—that was the whole point. They were being dumped in the back of beyond for the duration. She hadn’t seen another hamlet, let alone a village within walking distance, during the entire journey.
Soula was waiting at the entrance as Nic brought the Jeep to a halt. She was small and plump, clad in the inevitable black dress and headscarf, but her wrinkled face was wreathed in smiles, as she took Camilla’s hand in both of hers.
‘Welcome,’ she said. ‘You are welcome, Kyria Camilla, and you too, Kyria Catherine.’
‘I’m afraid we’re causing a great deal of trouble,’ Camilla said haltingly as Nic, his face set, unloaded their cases.
‘No problem.’ Soula gave a gusty sigh. ‘At last life returns to this place.’ She took both girls by the hand, tugging them forward. ‘Come look.’
The house had been designed, Camilla realised, to capitalise on the views of the sea. Each room had its own superb vista, and the windows stood open to catch the breeze from the water, and the soft murmur of the waves.
A terrace had been built along the entire length of the house, overlooking the water, and from this a flight of steps led down, Soula told them, to a cove with a small sandy beach.
‘Very private for the sun,’ she added. ‘Also good for swimming.’
The interior of the house was like walking straight into the heart of the sun. The floors were tiled in deep amber, the walls colourwashed in a paler shade of the same colour. The main living area was equipped with a sofa and several armchairs covered in a vibrant geometric print in shades of blue, gold and rust, with a separate raised dining area.
The room to which Camilla was shown opened directly on to the terrace, and was the largest of the bedrooms. She looked around slowly, assimilating the patina of the wood of the built-in furniture, and the enormous wallhanging in rich earthy shades of bronze, copper and gold which supplied a dramatic background to the wide bed with its linen the colour of warm cream.
‘You like?’ Soula demanded anxiously.
‘Like’ was hardly the word, Camilla thought, drawing a breath. She said, ‘It’s—magnificent.’
Soula nodded her satisfaction, missing the touch of uncertainty in Camilla’s voice. ‘I bring you coffee,’ she said. ‘Kyria Catherine will rest until dinner. She has a little headache, I think.’
No, Camilla thought with an inward sigh. She has one enormous headache, which I share.
This had to be the master bedroom, she told herself tautly, when she was alone. This was where Nic Xandreou had brought his bride. And in that bed he’d made her his wife.
For a moment her mind ran riot, then she closed off the clamorous, disturbing images, her nails scoring the soft palms of her hands. Well, she couldn’t—wouldn’t sleep there. She’d swap with Katie, on whom all the implications of the room would be lost.
She felt stifled suddenly, and headed for the windows, pushing open the shutters as she sought the fresh air of the terrace.
But under the heavy canopy of bougainvillaea she paused.
Because he was there, she realised tautly, seated on the low parapet, his figure darkly silhouetted against the glitter of the sea, as he stared out at the horizon.
As if some silent signal had alerted him to her presence, he turned his head and looked at her, his expression starkly, almost bitterly arrested.
She knew of course what he must be seeing—another girl emerging from the room they had once shared, standing for a moment, framed by flowers. That girl would have smiled, evoking memories of the night that had just passed, promising more pleasure to come. She would have held out her hands—walked across the terrace, and into his arms.
They said time healed, she thought, but judging by his face Nic Xandreou’s bereavement must have inflicted a wound as deep as the whispering sea around them.
She moved hurriedly away from the bedroom window, and its connotations, forcing a smile, hastening into speech to conceal her own sudden pain.
‘I can see why it’s called the sea house.’
He nodded. ‘My father built it. He loved the sea, and always kept a caique moored in the cove below. Later, when Arianna and Spiro were born, he sold our house in Karthos town, and started on the Villa Apollo. But this place was always a refuge for him—for all of us.’ His fleeting smile mocked her. ‘Quite separate from the main house.’ He pointed across the small bay to the adjoining headland and to where the sun highlighted white walls amid a cluster of encircling greenery. ‘Which is there.’
‘So close?’ Camilla was taken aback. ‘I—I didn’t realise.’
‘But only by sea,’ he said laconically. ‘There is no direct road between the two properties. One must go a considerable way inland, as you must have realised, and this has proved an inconvenience—in the past.’ His brief pause told her the present was a different matter.
He picked a loose stone off the parapet, and tossed it down into the rippling dark blue water. ‘Spiro and I used to swim from one house to another,’ he went on almost musingly. A faint smile twisted his mouth. ‘How strong a swimmer are you, Camilla?’
‘Good enough,’ she said shortly. ‘But not so expert as to risk that distance.’
‘I’m glad you are so conscious of your safety.’ His smile widened, mocking her. ‘It is always best, I think, to know one’s limitations, and abide by them,’ he added silkily.
‘Oh, I’ve got the picture.’ Camilla glanced round. ‘Here we are, and here we’ll stay. Isn’t that it?’
‘You are hardly prisoners,’ he said sardonically. ‘You are free to leave whenever you wish.’
‘But on whose terms?’ Camilla met his glance levelly.
He laughed. ‘Again, I am sure you have the picture.’ He paused. ‘You should at least listen to my offer, Camilla. I am prepared to be generous—within reason.’
Camilla shook her head. ‘No deal.’
‘I am sure that is not your final word.’ Nic’s voice was silky. ‘Here you will have leisure and tranquillity to think. And when you are ready to talk, you have only to let me know.’
‘You’ll wait a long time,’ she said tersely.
‘But I think my resources will outlast yours.’ He paused again. ‘Which reminds me.’ He reached for his jacket, flung across the parapet beside him, and extracted a bulky envelope from an inside pocket. ‘This is for you.’
The envelope was crammed with Greek drachmae in a variety of denominations. Camilla thrust it back at him. ‘What is this? A down-payment on my ultimate co-operation? No way, Mr Xandreou.’
‘Actually, the money is yours, Kyria Dryden.’ His tone jeered at her own formality. ‘The refund on your hotel room. Fortunately Kostas has a conscience as well as a bitch of a wife.’ He closed her fingers round the envelope, and, despite herself, a swift burning tingle ran up her arm at the brush of his hand on hers. ‘Take it,’ he urged softly. ‘You will need all the cash you can get if you seriously mean to prolong this battle between us.’
She looked down at the envelope. ‘You didn’t have to hand it over. You’d be quite entitled to keep it—as rent.’
The dark eyes flashed. ‘Please do not insult me by such a suggestion,’ he said. ‘You are my guest here—you and your sister.’
‘But I’d rather we paid our way,’ she said stubbornly. ‘You—you can’t pretend we’re welcome here.’
‘Perhaps not, but it provides an opportunity to settle matters between us before you go home.’
She took a breath. ‘You’re really so sure you’ll win?’ she said bitterly.
‘Oh, yes.’ His voice was soft. ‘One way or another.’
His glance seemed to touch her, lingering on her mouth, then sweeping down to the swell of her breasts, reminding her that his most lethal armament in this conflict was his virile, charismatic sexuality.
Whereas she had nothing to fight with but her own convictions and determination. Could they ever be enough?
Nic lifted himself lithely from the parapet, glancing at his watch. ‘I must get back, I’m expecting a call from New York.’
‘A personal call?’ some demon prompted her to ask.
His mouth twisted. ‘My sister has been busy,’ he commented with a touch of grimness. ‘But I don’t think, matia mou, that is any concern of yours.’ He paused. ‘Think about what I have said, and remember I am prepared to reopen negotiations at any time.’
‘I’ll negotiate,’ she said steadily. ‘But only on condition that you let Katie see Spiro. Can’t you see that she might be able to jog his memory? Isn’t it at least worth trying—to have him cured—restored to the way he used to be with no blank spots in his mind?’
His face hardened. ‘Spiro will recover in time. And if there are blanks—’ he shrugged ‘—well, your sister’s intervention in his life is best forgotten anyway.’
‘That’s cruel.’ Camilla’s voice shook.
‘It is also practical.’ His smile held no amusement. ‘When you realise, finally, that you do not make conditions, you will be free to concentrate solely on the terms of our eventual bargain. There is no other real alternative, I promise you.’
He absorbed, with irony, the stricken look on her face. ‘And now I wish you goodnight, Camilla.’ The dark eyes glittered at her. ‘Sleep well in my bed, agape mou—if you can.’
He inclined his head to her almost formally, and was gone, his parting words smarting like the lash of a whip across her consciousness.
‘No problem,’ Katie said cheerfully, tucking into her helping of Soula’s delicious chicken in lemon sauce that evening.
Camilla stared at her. ‘I wish I shared your confidence,’ she said wearily. ‘We’re here, and Spiro might as well be at the end of the universe.’
Katie shook her head. ‘He’s not that far away,’ she said firmly. ‘Arianna says we must just be patient for a while—bide our time.’
‘Really?’ Camilla queried drily. ‘Just remember, darling, that Arianna’s a Xandreou as well. And it was her idea to strand us here, out of harm’s way. Are you quite sure you can trust her?’
‘Absolutely. Nic’s trying to rule her life too—push her into marrying a man she doesn’t love.’
‘Oh.’ Camilla digested this. ‘And Arianna presumably has other plans?’
‘Of course,’ Katie said serenely. ‘She’s in love with Petros—Dr Deroulades.’
‘My God,’ Camilla said faintly. The young doctor seemed the unlikeliest of targets for someone as glamorous and worldly as Arianna. Yet there was great kindness in his face, she thought slowly, and integrity in the gaze behind his spectacles.
I knew she was up to something, she thought, but not this.
‘And he loves her too,’ Katie went on. ‘They’ve known each other all their lives. In fact the Xandreou family paid for Petros’s medical training. But he’s not rich or powerful, of course, so Nic wouldn’t even consider him as a suitable husband for Arianna.’ She sighed. ‘Arianna says if he had the least idea they were in love he would be terribly angry. Petros would lose his job at the clinic and be sent away from Karthos altogether, and she would never see him again. And Nic’s vengeance would follow him wherever he went,’ she added.
‘I can imagine,’ Camilla said grimly.
Katie pushed away her empty plate. ‘So, they have to pretend when they meet in public, and see each other properly in secret.’
‘She told you all this today?’ Camilla asked, frowning.
Katie nodded. ‘It’s a mutual pact,’ she said. ‘She helps reunite me with Spiro, we do what we can for Arianna and Petros in return.’
‘I don’t like the sound of this.’ Camilla shook her head. ‘We have enough problems already. And Nic Xandreou may actually have a point,’ she added grudgingly. ‘Arianna seems an expensive proposition for someone on a doctor’s salary. Maybe she needs a convenient millionaire.’
‘Camilla.’ Katie was shocked. ‘You’re surely not on his side?’
‘I’m not taking sides,’ Camilla said defensively. ‘Just trying to be realistic. If we interfere, we could have Nic Xandreou’s vengeance following us as well, and we don’t need that.’
‘You forget,’ Katie said gently. ‘We’ll have Spiro to protect us.’ Her eyes shone. ‘Everything’s going to be fine. I know it.’
Camilla could find nothing to say in the face of such sincere and passionate conviction.
Later, alone in her room, she found herself hoping that Katie was right—about all of it.
She looked around her with dissatisfaction. Her plan to swap accommodation with Katie had been forestalled firstly by Soula who had unpacked for her, and put all her things away. Any attempt at change now would inevitably become some kind of big deal, and might even get to the ears of Nic Xandreou, who would draw his own all too accurate conclusions.
And I don’t need that, she muttered to herself.
And then Katie had disclosed, starry-eyed, that she could see the lights from the Villa Apollo from her window, which made her feel that Spiro was close to her.
And after that, of course, there was nothing more to be said.
I shall have to bear it, Camilla thought. Even if I can’t manage the usual grin.
She took the passports and the envelope of money Nic had given her, and looked round for a safe place to put them. The drawer in the night-table beside the bed seemed the obvious repository, but that was easier said than done, she realised with vexation, when the drawer refused to budge.
At first, she thought it might be locked, then she realised that something bulky had been put into the drawer and become wedged. After some manoeuvring with her steel comb, she managed to free the obstruction, and open the drawer.
She found herself holding a photograph in an ornate but tarnished silver frame.
It was the picture of a girl, the face radiant, almost flawlessly beautiful. Blonde hair tumbling on to bare shoulders. Full lips parting in a smile to reveal perfect teeth. Violet eyes, glowing a provocative invitation.
And all of it oddly but elusively familiar, Camilla thought wonderingly.
There was a scrawl of writing across the bottom left-hand corner. The words seemed to leap up at her. ‘To Nic, on our wedding-day. Forever, Rachelle.’
Camilla drew a sharp breath. Of course, she thought. It was Rachelle Morgan, the actress. She’d blazed across the cinema world in a brief, stormy career, which had included an Oscar nomination as well as rows with leading men, and an eventual sacking from a film. She’d never made another, and Camilla remembered reading some years before of her death from a drugs overdose in some Los Angeles motel.
She sank down on the edge of the bed. This—this was the girl Nic Xandreou had married, she thought faintly. A far cry from the docile Greek heiress of her imagination. And clearly a very different marriage from the ideal he’d outlined to her. Perhaps she could now understand, if not condone, his reasons.
Rachelle Morgan had died alone a long way from Karthos, and the sea pavilion. In fact, Camilla could recall in all the attendant publicity about her career no mention of any marriage, or any husband left to mourn in the tragic aftermath.
No wonder Nic was bitter, nor that the scars of his loss had gone so deep.
For him, ‘forever’ had been over too soon. If it had even existed at all…
Nic Xandreou was no all-conquering god. Just a man, as Arianna had said, who’d been burned and now feared the fire in consequence.
Or was it Rachelle Morgan who’d been scorched instead? The thought struck her like a blow from a clenched fist. Had she, like some latter-day Icarus, flown too near the Xandreou sun, not comprehending its power, only to drop like a stone to earth in the ruin of her wings?
Who could say what demons had driven all that beauty and talent to destruction?
Hands shaking, Camilla put the photograph down beside her bed. She would keep it there, she thought, shivering, as a timely reminder. A warning even.
She felt suddenly cold. ‘Dear God,’ she whispered. ‘He could destroy me too—so very easily.’