Luke looked her in the eye. ‘But they are—or were—just pillow friends, Isobel. I always make my views on marriage—or even commitment—very clear.’
Her hackles rose. Why did he think it necessary to tell her that? She had no designs on him. Or on any other man for the foreseeable future. ‘I thought a man like you would want a son to inherit this empire of yours. Not that it’s any business of mine,’ she added hastily.
‘Do you want a husband and family, Isobel?’ asked Luke, surprising her.
‘Not right now, no.’
‘You have never met a man you wish to marry?’
‘No,’ she said shortly, and smiled as Eleni appeared with a bowl of fruit. ‘That was absolutely delicious,’ she told her, indicating her empty dish.
The woman looked pleased as she cleared away.
‘I saw Dr Riga when I was down in the town,’ said Luke casually, once they were alone. ‘He thinks it best you remain here at the villa for a few days, rather than manage alone at the cottage.’
Isobel stared at him in astonishment. ‘But why? There’s nothing wrong with me now, except for the foot. And with my crutch and this wonderful stick I’ll be fine on my own.’
‘Nevertheless, he advises you stay here until completely recovered.’ He shrugged. ‘After a fall on the head there can be complications.’
She frowned. ‘What kind?’
‘A clot of blood on the brain, for one. There was a case only recently of a young boy complaining of head pains after a fall. Lacking the necessary equipment, the doctor performed emergency surgery with an ordinary power drill to release the pressure on the brain and saved the boy’s life.’
Isobel blanched, beginning to regret the prawns.
Luke smiled in reassurance. ‘Since there was no fracture to your skull, Dr Riga said there is no risk of this in your case. But he thinks you should stay here for a while. So do I.’ Though for a quite different reason. ‘Eleni thinks so, too.’
Isobel drew in a deep breath, deeply shaken by the idea of blood clots. ‘Poor Eleni. I’ve given her so much extra work.’
‘She does not think of it that way, Isobel,’ he assured her, peeling an orange. ‘In fact, Eleni thinks you are a very lovely young lady, so does Spiro.’ The dark, compelling eyes met hers for a moment. ‘I agree with them.’
Isobel’s eyes fell. ‘Thank you. If I had to have an accident I was very lucky to land on your beach for it. You’ve all been so kind.’
‘Including me?’ he said, eyes gleaming.
Her chin lifted. ‘Once you found I wasn’t a journalist, yes, you were—are—kind. Autocratic, too, but I suppose that’s second nature to you.’
‘If I were truly autocratic,’ he said very deliberately, ‘I would simply demand that you stay here. But, even on such short acquaintance, Miss Isobel James, I realise that this would work against me. So, I repeat my invitation. Stay a little while longer.’
Isobel sighed. ‘Now you’ve planted the idea of electric drills in my head, solitude at the cottage has no appeal right now. So thank you. I will stay for a day or so.’
‘Very wise. And when you do leave the villa I shall arrange for someone to check on you at regular intervals,’ he stated, then arched an eyebrow as she smiled wryly. ‘What is so amusing?’
‘You were in touch with your inner autocrat again, Mr Andreadis.’
‘I cannot help who—and what—I am.’ Luke smiled. ‘I return to Athens shortly, so you may convalesce here in peace, Isobel. And when you are ready to leave, Spiro will drive you to the cottage.’
CHAPTER FOUR
ISOBEL was much cheered by this piece of news. It would be a lot more peaceful at the Villa Medusa without the formidable presence of its owner. But she would miss him from a transport point of view.
‘What is going on behind those beautiful blue eyes?’ Luke asked, startling her. ‘I can almost hear your brain working.’ His eyes gleamed. ‘Is it possible you might miss my help in carrying you downstairs?’
‘Yes,’ she said frankly.
‘I had thought of that,’ he informed her. ‘I considered asking Milos to carry you when necessary. But I decided against it.’
‘Why?’
Luke looked at her in silence for a while. ‘Not a suitable solution,’ he said at last. ‘Instead, we shall transfer you to a room down here.’
Isobel eyed him curiously. ‘May I ask why you didn’t put me there in the first place?’
‘It had no bed. Now it does. It will be much better for Eleni,’ he added. ‘It will save her from constant running upstairs to check on you.’
‘A definite plus,’ agreed Isobel meekly. ‘Thank you.’
‘Would you like to see the room now?’
‘Yes, please.’ She picked up the crutch and manoeuvred herself away from the table.
‘It would be easier if I carried you,’ he said, joining her.
‘Unnecessary down here. I’m pretty nippy already with my trusty crutch,’ she assured him. ‘So lead on, Mr Andreadis.’
He conducted her back into the house and along the hall into a sitting room with glass doors leading on to the terrace and an awning outside to shield the room from the sun. Furniture had obviously been rearranged to allow for the bed to be placed with the best view of the garden.
Isobel looked round doubtfully. ‘It’s lovely, but isn’t this where you sit at night?’
‘Rarely. I prefer the conservatory, or my study on the other side of the hall. Sometimes I stay out on the terrace until I go to bed.’ Luke smiled. ‘Use the room as long as you wish, Isobel. The ground floor bathroom is close by. Eleni and Spiro have one of their own, so you are assured perfect privacy.’
Isobel examined her new quarters in silence. Her belongings were already arranged on the desk, and her clothes hanging on a dress rail beside it. ‘I booked my holiday on the recommendation of a client who came here to recover from a divorce,’ she said at last. ‘She told me that Chyros was the perfect place for peace and quiet, but in my case she was wrong.’
Luke opened the doors onto the terrace. ‘Why did you need peace and quiet? A love affair gone wrong?’
‘No,’ lied Isobel. ‘My boss recently gave the gallery a huge makeover, and I had my work cut out to make sure it was business as usual during the alterations. At the same time I was working on a commission for a series of watercolours, and setting up an exhibition of paintings by an artist friend at the gallery for its ceremonial reopening.’ She smiled wryly. ‘Not quite the same high octane stuff as your takeovers, but I was glad of some time off once everything was sorted.’
‘Then it is far better you stay here for a while and let Eleni and Spiro take care of you. You have a phone?’ he added.
‘Yes. At least I hope so.’ She limped over to the desk and looked in her bag. ‘Still here, thank goodness. In all the excitement yesterday it’s a wonder I didn’t lose that, too.’
‘Give me your number,’ he ordered, taking his phone from a pocket. He keyed the number into it, then held out his hand for hers. ‘I shall enter mine in yours.’
‘I shan’t need it,’ she said quickly.
‘You might. I shall charge this before I give it back.’ He gave her a searching look. ‘Your head is aching?’
‘Yes.’
‘I can tell. I shall send Eleni with tea. Take some medication and rest for a while. I shall see you later at dinner,’ he added as he left.
When Eleni came with the tea, Isobel asked directions to the bathroom and later, when she was propped up on the comfortable bed, looking out on the garden through the open doors, admitted that now the owner was leaving she had no objection to spending another day or two here. Talk of blood clots had given her quite a fright. On her own in the cottage, the slightest pain in her head would have sent her imagination into overdrive.
She leaned back with a sigh. Here at the Villa Medusa it would be dangerously easy to laze away the days of her holiday in true lotus-eating style, whereas part of her
original intention for her trip to Greece had been to produce some watercolours she could put up for sale at the gallery on her return. Joanna had dismissed that idea out of hand, arguing that the idea of a holiday was to have fun as well as take a rest. But to Isobel painting was fun. So tomorrow, once Luke Andreadis had left for Athens, she would set up her watercolours, paint the pool in its frame of lush greenery and, if she considered the result good enough, leave it for him as thanks for his help. The help had been hostile and reluctant at first but he’d given it just the same, even though he’d mistaken her for a journalist, or worse. And, unless she was much mistaken, he still suspected her of stranding herself on his beach like some party girl after a good time. But the fact remained that he had rescued her, arranged medical attention and taken her into his home to recover. She owed him.
Isobel slept a little, and when she woke just lay there, savouring the pleasure of simply feeling better. But after a while she sat up and stealthily eased herself out of bed. With the help of the crutch she would go exploring. Moving with care, she went out onto the terrace, wishing she had her sunglasses. Hers, presumably, were still down on that beach somewhere. Pity. With growing confidence Isobel made her way along the marble flags edging the pool and stood looking into the water in longing for a minute or two, then with a sigh turned back towards the arcaded terrace surrounding the house. But, as she turned, the tip of the crutch stuck in a crack and with a shriek she fell onto the grass.
Instantly she was swept up in strong, unfamiliar arms and a flood of anxious Greek poured into her ears. Deeply embarrassed, Isobel tried to reassure Milos she was unhurt. Her face flamed as Luke strode out of the house, holding out imperious arms, and Milos hastily surrendered Isobel to his employer and picked up the crutch. He confirmed there was no damage to it and, with a brief word of thanks to Milos, Luke carried Isobel along the terrace and out of the sun.
She eyed his stern face warily. ‘Sorry for the disturbance,’ she said at last.
‘Tell me the truth. Are you really unhurt?’ he demanded.
‘Yes. I fell on the grass—soft landing this time.’ Her smile met with a stony look.
‘And yet you are determined to go back to the Kalypso to manage alone!’
‘But when I’m there I’ll stay in the house,’ she protested, and sighed. ‘I just wanted to look at your beautiful garden.’
‘You could have fallen in the pool!’
She shrugged. ‘No problem. I’m a strong swimmer.’
‘Excellent,’ he said grimly. ‘At least I shall not worry that you drown while I am away.’ He turned away to the table to pour a glass of fruit juice for her, then perched on the edge of the table, scowling down at her while she drank it.
‘Please apologise to Milos for me,’ said Isobel.
Luke’s mouth curved in a sardonic smile. ‘No apology is necessary. Milos was no doubt grateful for the chance to hold you in his arms.’
Isobel eyed him incredulously. ‘You think I fell on purpose?’
He gave a cynical shrug. ‘Did you?’
She drank the rest of her ice-cold juice to calm down. ‘No,’ she said when she could trust her voice. ‘I did not. Thank you for the drink. Now, if you’ll excuse me?’ She stood up and limped off to her new room, filled with a burning desire to assault Luke Andreadis with her crutch as he kept pace with her. She gave him a cold little smile as he opened the door for her. ‘Thank you. Would you be kind enough to ask Eleni to see me when she has a moment?’
‘Of course. Unless there is something I can do for you instead?’ Luke eyed her challengingly when she shook her head. ‘You are angry?’
‘Not in the least,’ she lied.
‘No?’ He arched a disbelieving eyebrow. ‘I will fetch Eleni.’
‘Thank you so much.’
Isobel stared out into the garden, fuming. Did Luke really imagine she’d fallen over just so that brawny Milos could pick her up? Or, even worse, so that the lord and master himself could come to her rescue again. She ground her teeth impotently. Luke had grabbed her away from Milos as though she were a parcel. Or baggage, from his point of view. She smiled reluctantly, her sense of humour reasserting itself as Eleni came rushing in.
‘Isobel? You ill?’
‘No, no, nothing like that. I feel fine.’
‘Milos said you fell.’
‘My crutch stuck in a crack and tripped me up.’
Eleni tutted disapprovingly. ‘So what you need?’
‘I hate to make extra work for you, but could I possibly have my supper in here on my own tonight?’
The woman looked anxious. ‘You did hurt!’
‘No, no. I’d just rather eat alone. Please?’
Eleni plumped up the pillows on the bed, eyeing her narrowly. ‘You rest. Not time to eat yet.’
‘Efcharisto, Eleni.’
Although she’d opted out of dining with the lord and master of Villa Medusa, an encounter with him later was no doubt inevitable. To armour herself for it, Isobel washed carefully in the bathroom and zipped herself into a cool cotton shift in her favourite cornflower-blue. With even more care, she combed out her hair, then subsided gratefully against the pillows on the bed. The crutch was a huge help, but getting around with it was tiring just the same. She longed to ring Joanna, but if she did Jo would immediately sense something wrong and keep nagging until Isobel confessed. Time enough for that when she went home. She closed her eyes against a sudden wave of homesickness. When she opened them again she saw Luke on the terrace, watching her through the open doors.
‘May I come in?’ he asked.
‘It’s your house.’
‘But this is your room.’
She shrugged indifferently. ‘Come in, if you want.’ A pity to waste the primping.
Luke came to stand by the bed, looking down at her. ‘Eleni says you refuse to join me for dinner.’
‘Yes. I’d rather eat alone in here.’
‘Why?’
She raised a disdainful eyebrow. ‘You were insulting, Mr Andreadis.’
‘It was a shock to see Milo holding you in his arms,’ he said harshly. ‘I thought you were hurt.’
‘No,’ she corrected. ‘You thought I’d engineered a fall just so he’d pick me up.’
‘Only for a second.’ He smiled persuasively. ‘Am I forgiven?’
In his dreams! ‘Of course.’
‘Then you will dine with me?’
‘No, thank you.’
To Isobel’s annoyance, Luke drew up a chair and sat down. ‘Then I shall also eat here.’
This was silly! ‘Eleni wouldn’t approve of that,’ she told him crossly.
‘So join me on the terrace.’ He was silent for a moment. ‘I apologise, Isobel. My only excuse is my reaction to seeing you in Milos’s arms.’ His eyes locked on hers with a look which set alarm bells ringing again. ‘I was angry when I saw him touching you.’
‘How utterly ridiculous,’ she said scornfully. ‘Milos was just being kind.’
‘You will discourage him from such kindness in future!’
Isobel glared at him. ‘I will certainly make sure that neither he, nor you, Mr Andreadis, will be forced to pick me up again.’
‘No force is necessary,’ he assured her, his eyes gleaming, and took her hand. ‘To hold you in my arms is a great pleasure, Isobel. Even though you make it so clear the pleasure is not mutual.’ He smiled persuasively. ‘Change your mind. Dine with me tonight. Otherwise, poor Eleni must serve a meal in two places. Three, if you count the one she shares with Spiro.’
Isobel gave in, defeated. Eleni had been so kind it was hardly fair to cause her extra work. And Luke would be gone soon. Even if he returned to Chyros while she was here, she would be at the cottage, not the villa. She detached her hand very deliberately.
‘Oh, very well,’ she said at last. ‘But only to save Eleni.’
Luke smiled victoriously. ‘Good. Rest until dinner time. I shall come for you later.’
Alone
again, Isobel lay deep in thought as she gazed through the open doors at the sunlit garden. Luke was giving out signals she identified with misgivings. Was he expecting some kind of return for her bed and board? He was a dangerously attractive man, not least for the inner force so plainly burning behind the impressive physical exterior. But she had no intention of indulging in anything remotely like a fling with him. Or any other man. Had he really been jealous just because Milos fielded her when she fell? She ground her teeth impotently. A very good thing he was leaving tomorrow. Otherwise, he might take her consent to stay on here as willingness to be his ‘pillow friend’, whatever that meant. It was not impossible. She was far from looking her best at the moment, but in her normal state men were usually attracted to her. With disastrous results in one instance. She shivered. That there was no significant male presence in her life right now was entirely her own choice. And she was going to keep it that way.
Isobel would have given much to wash her hair, but instead settled for a careful session with a hairbrush, and application of eye-shadow and concealer that worked wonders on her rapidly fading bruise. In spite of all the drama, her headache was surprisingly absent, her ankle less painful and for just moving around the room she could manage with the walking stick. But she would play safe with the crutch to make for the terrace rather than wait for Luke to fetch her.
When he joined her at the dinner table, spectacular in dark linen trousers and a shirt in a shade of pink which looked outrageously good on him, Luke raised a quizzical eyebrow.
‘I went to your room, but my little bird had flown away.’
Isobel smiled smugly. ‘I needed the exercise.’
‘While I had hoped for the pleasure of carrying you,’ he assured her suavely, and seated himself beside her. ‘Is your headache better?’
‘Touch wood,’ she said, tapping the table, ‘it seems to have gone.’
‘Excellent. In that case, will you have a glass of wine? A local label, but I think you will like it.’
‘I’m sure I will. Thank you.’
‘Thank you,’ he said very deliberately, ‘for joining me tonight after I made you so angry this afternoon.’
The Power of the Legendary Greek Page 5