CAMILLA waited for him on the small wooden jetty built out from the beach, standing slim and straight in the sleeveless, button-through sundress, with its deep scooped neck, which matched, and now covered, her jade-green bikini. Chin tilted slightly to conceal her nervousness, she watched him bring Calliope expertly alongside.
‘Kalimera.’ He tossed a rope to her, then swung himself lithely ashore. He was wearing brief white shorts which hugged his lean hips, topped by a sea-island cotton shirt striped in red and navy. ‘I hope I haven’t kept you waiting.’
‘I wasn’t aware that I’d sent for you,’ she retorted, and caught herself. That wasn’t the persuasive note Arianna had suggested.
He shrugged. ‘But I knew it would only be a matter of time.’ He was half smiling, the dark eyes narrowed and speculative.
‘How?’
‘Because whatever wrongs you feel your sister has suffered, you have to go back,’ he said. ‘You have a life to return to—a job which you need because times are hard.’ His glance travelled with cool deliberation down her body. ‘Maybe even a man.’
The inflexion in his voice made it a question rather than a statement.
‘That,’ Camilla said quietly, ‘is none of your business.’
‘Then let us discuss the real business between us. That is why you are here, ne? Because you are ready to negotiate a settlement?’
‘I—I don’t seem to have a choice.’ Camilla avoided the intensity of his gaze.
‘At last you see reason.’ There was satisfaction in his tone. ‘I will call on you this evening after dinner with details of my proposals.’
‘Oh, no.’ That was the wrong plan altogether, Camilla thought with alarm. ‘I mean—I’d hoped to talk things over with you—privately, first—before I break the news to my sister.’
He shrugged. ‘Very well—when?’
Camilla took a deep breath. ‘There’s no time like the present.’
‘Now?’ The dark brows lifted. ‘That is not possible. I have only called to see Soula, to pay her some money for the house. Then I am going to Marynthos, a village on the other side of the island.’
Camilla’s nails dug into the palms of her hands. ‘Couldn’t I come with you?’ She saw a flare of surprise in his face and hurried on. ‘Now that I’ve made up my mind, I don’t want to let things—drag on. And, anyway, I’ve hardly seen anything of Karthos, and this could be my last chance. That is if you don’t mind a passenger,’ she added, challenging his lengthening silence.
‘No,’ he said at last, his smile crooked. ‘I do not—mind. But you, matia mou—are you prepared to take the risk?’
‘Risk?’ Camilla glanced around her and shrugged. ‘The weather seems set fair, and I’m a good sailor anyway.’
‘That is not,’ Nic said quite gently, ‘what I meant.’ As their eyes met, a faint shiver went through her, mingling fear and excitement. He laughed suddenly, and held out a hand to help her into the caique. ‘Ela tora. Come on, then, Kyria Camilla.’
So far, so good, Camilla told herself as he manoeuvred the boat away from the jetty and turned the bow towards the open sea. She risked one fleeting glance back at the sea house. Which, of course, he saw.
‘Should you have left a message for your sister? Will she be concerned?’
‘Katie’s resting,’ she said briefly. ‘And I mentioned I might go out today—find out what the island has to offer.’
‘Then I shall have to make sure you are not disappointed.’ There was a vein of amusement underlying the courteous words that wasn’t lost on her.
He thought she was a pushover, she realised with a swift smart of shame. That she’d come with him for a brief sexual adventure, although that was what she needed him to think, of course. She had to use all that superb male confidence against him, to bolster her own resolve not to fall into that sensual, charismatic web he knew so well how to weave, and become just another of Xandreou’s women.
I’ll be the one that got away, she assured herself. Oh, God, I’ve got to be…
‘Would you like to steer?’ His voice broke across her uncomfortable reverie.
‘Is it safe?’ she asked doubtfully, and Nic laughed.
‘I won’t let you sink us, matia mou.’
‘Why do you call me that? What does it mean?’ Camilla asked as she gingerly took the tiller.
‘It means “my eyes”,’ Nic said, after a pause. ‘When a woman allows a man to look into her eyes, Camilla mou, she offers him a key to the secrets of her heart.’ He paused. ‘Or so it is said.’
Her pulses quickened. She said flippantly, ‘No wonder so many people wear sunglasses, in that case.’
‘You do not.’
‘Well.’ Camilla shrugged. ‘Perhaps I have nothing to hide.’
‘No?’ He took her chin in his hand, turning her gently but inexorably to face him. For a startled moment, she found his dark gaze burning into hers. ‘I see anger, Camilla, and defiance, and anxiety, and behind these a mystery as deep as the sea.’ He paused again. ‘What I have never seen is laughter.’
‘That’s hardly surprising.’ She freed herself with a swift jerk of her head. ‘After all, I haven’t found a great deal to laugh about since I got here.’
‘Or before that, either, I think.’ His voice was reflective. ‘How long have you had the sole responsibility for your sister?’
‘Three—nearly four years.’ Her voice shook as she told him briefly about the accident. ‘But—please,’ she added hurriedly, ‘you mustn’t think it’s been some kind of burden. Katie’s a wonderful girl. She’s never given me a moment’s worry…’ She stopped, feeling foolish.
‘Until now,’ he said drily.
Camilla shrugged. ‘I didn’t bargain for her falling in love.’
‘No?’ His smile was faintly cynical. ‘Have you forgotten the power of a warm night under the moon?’
‘No.’ She wouldn’t admit that she’d never experienced it. ‘I just thought Katie was more—level-headed, that’s all.’
She needed to find a less personal topic—defer any discussion about Katie for as long as possible, she reminded herself.
‘Why are we going to Marynthos?’ she asked brightly. ‘Is there something special there?’
‘Very special—a new baby—the son of my friend Dimitris Ioannides. He’s asked me to be godfather.’
‘And you’ve agreed?’ She couldn’t hide her surprise.
‘Of course,’ he said with slight hauteur. ‘We Greeks take such a responsibility very seriously.’
‘Oh.’ Camilla swallowed. ‘I didn’t realise I’d be intruding on such a private occasion. I’m sorry.’
‘If I thought you would intrude, you would not be here.’ His tone was matter-of-fact.
‘Oh.’ She could easily, she realised, have been left standing on the jetty. ‘Thank you—I think.’
‘Parakalo.’ His grin was swift, and oblique. His hand covered hers on the tiller. ‘You have strayed a little off course,’ he cautioned. ‘Take care.’
Yes, Camilla thought grimly, feeling her flesh warm and tingle at the contact with his. I certainly will.
She removed her own hand, and said coolly, ‘Perhaps you’d better take over. I don’t want to end up on the rocks.’
‘As you wish. Relax, then, and enjoy the trip. Feel the sun on your face.’ He reached out and released the barrette which confined her hair at the nape of her neck. ‘And the wind in your hair,’ he added, tossing the barrette casually overboard.
‘Why the hell did you do that?’ Camilla demanded furiously, trying to control her chestnut mane with her fingers, and failing as the breeze gleefully whipped it into a tangle.
‘Because today, agape mou,’ Nic drawled, ‘you are not the tied-back, buttoned-up, oh, so responsible sister. She is consigned to the oblivion she deserves. Today you will drink wine and taste life.’ He paused. ‘And your eyes will smile at me. Is it agreed?’
Camilla looked down at the vivid sea, sparkling and dancing round the boat, feeling its restless excitement thrill suddenly through her own veins.
Today. The thought was like a prayer to placate the ancient envious gods. One day out of all eternity. Was it so much to ask?
She flung back her head recklessly. ‘Agreed,’ she said.
An hour later, they reached Marynthos. It was only a small village—a straggle of white buildings with coloured roofs round a natural inlet where fishing boats bobbed. And a welcoming committee, Camilla noted, with an inrush of shyness.
She said, ‘Shall I stay on Calliope?’
‘By no means. Dimitris would be most offended if you failed to admire his son.’
He took her arm, urging her on to the narrow quay, responding to the noisy babble of greetings, putting names unerringly to the crowd of smiling faces which surged round them.
They were almost lifted off their feet on a wave of goodwill which carried them up the steep and narrow street. Here the women were waiting more decorously, the youngest children playing in the dust at their feet. The two grandmothers, wearing the inevitable black dresses and headscarves, offered a formal welcome, and then Dimitris Ioannides himself appeared, a neat, bright-eyed man, his teeth gleaming in a grin of pure delight under his heavy moustache.
The two men shook hands, then embraced, slapping each other on the back. Then Nic beckoned Camilla forward.
Her hand was taken and held for a moment by Dimitris. ‘Welcome,’ he said in careful English. ‘You are welcome, thespinis.’
She was given a glass of wine, heavy and rather sweet, made, Nic told her, from Dimitris’s own grapes, then was conducted into the house to see the baby.
Hara Ioannides was sitting up in bed, holding him in her arms. She was a pretty girl, her face wearily contented as she crooned to her child.
She greeted Nic shyly but with composure, and put the baby into his arms amid applause from the rest of the family clustering in the doorway.
Clearly a visit from such an important and respected figure as Nic Xandreou was an event in their lives, Camilla realised. The fact that he had agreed to be godfather was an additional honor.
And he talks of my responsibilities, she thought, when he’s central to so many people’s lives—the chief man of this island, quite apart from his business ventures.
He wasn’t awkward with the baby, she saw. He handled the small bundle with complete assurance, instantly soothing an experimental wail of protest, lifting the baby to a more comfortable position against his shoulder, his smile softening to tenderness as the tiny angry face relaxed back into slumber.
She thought, with a pang, He should have children of his own, then paused, her throat constricting in self-derision. He was playing the part expected of him, that was all.
Nic Xandreou had already tried the obligations of marriage, and found them not to his taste, she reminded herself with an effort. His life belonged now in boardrooms and penthouses, and wherever else there was money to be made and pleasure to be enjoyed.
She glanced back, and found him looking at her, one eyebrow raised interrogatively. He said laconically, ‘Hara wants you to hold him now.’
‘Oh, no.’ Camilla took an alarmed step backwards. ‘I’d really rather not. I might drop him. I’m not used to small babies.’
‘Then start accustoming yourself.’ His quiet voice brooked no opposition. ‘Sit on the bed, if you feel safer that way. You cannot hurt Hara by refusing.’
He pushed her down gently on to the edge of the mattress, and put the baby into her reluctant arms amid another chorus of approval.
She looked down at the shawl-swathed cocoon. One small starfish hand had emerged from the wrappings, and moved to splay against her breast. A tiny bubble escaped the pursed lips as the baby’s head turned—seeking.
Strange anguish lanced through her as she wondered for the first time in her life what it would be like to bear a child to the man you loved. To be the focus, as Hara was, of his pride and adoration.
She thought, I wish—oh, God, I wish…and stopped dead, transfixed by the realisation of precisely what she wished.
As if magnetised, she looked up at Nic, her eyes widening, her parted lips tremulous. His face was sombre and aloof, a muscle working beside his mouth as if he was trying to control some angry emotion.
He probably resented the way she, a stranger, and an unwanted outsider at that, had been drawn into this intimate family moment, she thought painfully. Nor could she blame him, considering the deception she was practising on him.
He said softly, ‘You are supposed to say something.’
She bit her lip, and turned to Hara. ‘The baby’s very handsome,’ she said. ‘Like his father.’
Judging by Hara’s delighted beam as Nic translated, and the shout of laughter and acclaim from the others, she’d managed to find the right comment, outsider or not.
Hara bent forward, speaking rapidly in Greek, and Camilla shook her head in incomprehension.
Dimitris supplied the cheerful explanation. ‘My wife hopes that Xandreou’s woman also bears many fine sons.’
Camilla felt a wave of helpless colour sweep up into her face. She did not dare look at Nic as he bent and took the baby from her, restoring him to his mother. But, to her relief, the room began to empty, and they were conducted outside where tables had been set with platters of bread, salad and sliced fruit, and jugs of red wine.
Nic was escorted ceremoniously to the place of honour, but Camilla was surrounded by the women, and pulled away to another table where she was subjected to a friendly but thorough scrutiny, everything from the colour of her hair to the material of her dress being examined and exclaimed over.
Her throat taut with embarrassment, Camilla managed to smile as she swallowed some grapes, and drank a glass of the wine, aware that Nic was watching ironically.
But she had only herself to blame, she thought. If she hadn’t gone along with Arianna’s suggestion and pushed herself on to him for the day, she’d have been saved all this discomfiture. She could only pray that back at the Villa Apollo everything had worked out, and that the end would, somehow, justify the means she’d chosen.
The celebration seemed endless, although she supposed she should be grateful for that. The longer it extended into the afternoon, the less time she would have to spend on her own with him, and the less opportunity there would be for the kind of self-betrayal she dreaded, she thought constrictedly.
She was conscious of him all the time. Above the laughter and chatter of the women there seemed to be a silent zone where the two of them existed alone. A place where she could look at him, and smile, and say the words of love and desire she dared not even think. Where his kisses burned on her parted lips, and her body bloomed under the touch of his hands. A secret place, she thought, which would haunt her for the rest of her life, tormenting her with all kinds of unfulfilled yearnings.
When she felt his hand curve round her shoulder in reality, she almost cried out in longing, but when she looked up at him his face was remote, his eyes guarded.
‘It is time we went.’ His tone was crisp, formal. ‘Please say your goodbyes.’
Mechanically, Camilla began to assemble her few Greek phrases of thanks and farewell.
A stranger, she thought, not a lover. That was what he was, and that was how he must remain for her sanity’s sake.
They were escorted back to the harbour, and helped enthusiastically on board Calliope. As they headed out of the bay, Camilla waved until the figures on the quay became mere dots.
‘You enjoyed that?’ Nic asked quietly from the tiller.
‘Of course,’ Camilla said with slight constraint. ‘I felt very—privileged to be made so welcome.’
He was silent for a moment. ‘They are simple people,’ he said at last. ‘I hope their—lack of inhibition didn’t distress you.’
‘No.’ Her face warmed again. ‘I suppose they were bound to draw the obvious conclusion.’ She tried to laugh. ‘Everyone else has.’
‘Yes.’ The monosyllable was clipped and curt, and she ventured no other comment.
The breeze had dropped, and the afternoon was still, the horizon a shimmer of heat. Camilla felt a trickle of sweat run down between her breasts. She put her hands to the nape of her neck, lifting away the heavy fall of hair.
It occurred to her suddenly that Nic had not turned Calliope back the way they’d come, but that they were sailing on round the island.
She looked at him. ‘Where are we going?’
‘I know a small bay where the swimming is good,’ he returned. ‘I thought we could anchor there for a while.’ He paused again. ‘And also—talk.’ He slanted a smile at her, his eyes flicking over her breasts, and down to where the thin cotton dress clung to the line of her thigh.
‘About what?’ Camilla hunched a defensive shoulder, aware that her pulses had begun to thump erratically.
‘We have negotiations to conduct,’ he reminded her silkily. ‘Or had you forgotten?’
‘By no means,’ she retorted. ‘But I thought this was the time of day when all business stopped.’
His smile widened. ‘That, agape mou, rather depends on the nature of the business—and its urgency.’ He left the words tingling between them, and turned Calliope towards the shore again.
Camilla found herself staring blankly at the small horseshoe of pale sand sheltered by two stony outcrops that they were approaching. From the beach, the ground rose into a wilderness of bleached rock smudged by the occasional olive tree. It was very quiet—very lonely.
She swallowed. Keep him talking, she thought, touching her dry lips with the tip of her tongue. Make it formal—a discussion of terms. The problem was she hadn’t had time to do her homework—to find out the kind of hypothetical sum she’d be expected to ask for on Katie’s behalf. She had no real idea what bargaining power she could command.
But Nic Xandreou knew, down to the last drachma, and could call her bluff whenever he chose.
But what else did he know—or suspect? That was the real risk—the danger she needed to be on her guard against.
‘Matia mou,’ he had called her. And she must never let him look into her eyes again in case he saw the pitiful truth she needed at all cost to conceal: that, against all logic, reason or even sanity, she was in love with him.