The Power Of The Legendary Greek

Eleni picked up the bikini. ‘I wash this. You rest,’ she said firmly and went out, closing the door behind her.

The session in the bathroom had rocketed Isobel’s headache to hammer-blow dimensions, which almost blotted out the pain of her ankle but only accentuated her raging thirst as she tried to make sense of her accident. She remembered some idiot on a Jet Ski coming straight at the beach from the sea, then hitting her head and nothing else until she opened her eyes on the angry, handsome face of a stranger and assumed he was the culprit. Which had infuriated him. She tensed as the door opened and her hostile rescuer approached the bed.

‘How do you feel?’ he asked curtly.

‘Not too well.’ She swallowed. ‘I’m so sorry to be a nuisance, but could I possibly have some water?’

Cursing silently for not thinking of it first, Luke nodded stiffly. ‘Of course.’

Isobel watched him as he strode out of the room. He was tall, with a fabulous physique, and in a better mood would be very good-looking. Not that she was concerned with his hostility, or with anything else other than how in the world she was going to get herself out of here—wherever ‘here’ was—and get back to the little cottage she’d paid good money for. And one day of her holiday was already ruined. Tears leaked out of her eyes at the thought, but she knuckled them away, impatient with self-pity as her host returned with her backpack, followed by Eleni with a tray. The woman poured water into a glass and handed it to Isobel, then, at a look from her employer, went from the room, leaving the door wide open.

‘Eleni has looked after my family for years,’ he stated.

Desperate to gulp the water down, Isobel forced herself to sip cautiously. ‘She’s very kind.’

‘I am not?’

‘Of course.’ Her face grew even hotter. ‘I’m extremely grateful to you. And very embarrassed for causing so much trouble.’

Luke shrugged negligently. ‘Tell me your name.’

‘Isobel James.’ She drank the rest of the water and held the cold glass to her cheek, eyeing him questioningly. ‘And you are?’

He laughed scornfully. ‘You do not know?’

She stiffened. ‘I’m afraid not. I only arrived on the island yesterday.’

His dark eyes narrowed to a cynical glitter. ‘So why were you on my beach? You paid someone to take you there by boat?’

Isobel’s knuckles clenched on the glass. ‘No. I went down the path nearest the cottage to the beach adjoining yours. But by mid-morning it was crowded, so when I spotted the gap in the rocks I went to explore.’

‘That way is blocked!’

‘Not quite. I managed to squeeze through.’

‘You were so determined to invade my privacy?’ His eyes flamed with distaste, which touched Isobel on the raw.

‘Certainly not,’ she snapped. ‘I had no idea it was a private beach, nor who it belonged to. I apologise—humbly—for trespassing. And now, if you’ll be kind enough to call a taxi, I’ll get dressed and leave.’

He raised a cynical eyebrow. ‘And how do you propose to walk?’

‘I’ll manage,’ she snapped, praying she was right.

Eleni knocked at the open door and ushered in a familiar figure armed with a medical bag. The two men embraced each other and exchanged greetings before Alex Nicolaides moved to the bed, his eyes wide in consternation as he recognised his patient. ‘Miss James! What happened?’ He turned to her glowering rescuer, obviously asking him the same question in his own language.

‘The lady,’ Luke informed him in very deliberate English, ‘was trespassing on my private beach when she suffered a fall. She was unconscious when I found her. Thank you for coming, Doctor. Please examine her injuries and tell me what must be done for her.’

‘I need Eleni to stay, please,’ said Isobel urgently.

Luke motioned the woman to the bed, but stayed at the foot of it, obviously determined to monitor the proceedings.

Eleni patted Isobel’s hand comfortingly as Alex bent over her.

‘This is very bad luck for you, Miss James,’ he said gently.

His sympathy was so genuine tears welled in Isobel’s eyes, burning as they trickled down her flushed cheeks. Eleni produced tissues to dry the patient’s face so Alex could examine the wound, then he shone a torch in her eyes, held up a finger and told her to follow it with each eye in turn.

‘You have vomited?’

‘Yes.’

‘Does your head hurt very badly?’

‘Yes.’

‘Examine her foot; she hurt that, also,’ Luke said, sounding bored.

Alex frowned as he eyed the swollen ankle. ‘It is necessary to examine for fracture,’ he told Isobel. ‘I will be quick.’

‘Careful,’ warned Luke. ‘She faints a lot.’

A lot? Until today, she’d never fainted before in her life! Isobel clenched her teeth, determined not to faint again as Alex probed gently, though at one point it was a near thing.

‘The ankle is badly sprained only, not broken, Miss James,’ Alex assured her. ‘I will apply temporary bandage, then report to Dr Riga, who will take X-rays to confirm. I will also put a dressing on your face, and give you mild painkillers. Take with much fluid.’

‘Thank you.’ She tried to relax as he strapped her ankle. ‘Did you come here in a car, Doctor?’

He looked up in surprise. ‘No, on back of Milos’s motorbike. Why?’

‘I was hoping for a lift back to the cottage,’ she said, disappointed, and eyed him in appeal. ‘Would you be kind enough to arrange a taxi for me?’

Alex shot a startled look at Luke, who showed his teeth in a cold smile.

‘Miss James may stay here as long as she wishes.’

Not one second longer, if she could help it. ‘How kind,’ said Isobel frostily. ‘But I wouldn’t dream of inconveniencing you. So will you sort out a taxi for me, Doctor?’

Alex looked so uncomfortable Luke took pity on him.

‘I will drive you myself, Miss James,’ he said impatiently. ‘But only when you can manage alone. Demonstrate this for us.’

Isobel summoned every scrap of willpower she possessed to sit up straight. She paused for breath, swivelled round until she could put her good foot on the floor and then took the hand Eleni held out to help her as she struggled to stand. ‘You see?’ she said through her teeth. ‘If you gentlemen will kindly leave, I’ll get dressed.’

‘Miss James, this is not a good idea,’ said Alex, plainly expecting her to collapse in a heap at any second.

‘I must try. The cottage is all on one floor. I have food there, so if Mr—’

She glanced at her host. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know your name.’

‘No?’ He raised an eyebrow in scornful disbelief. ‘I am Lukas Andreadis.’

‘How do you do?’ She turned to Alex. ‘If Mr Andreadis will drive me, I’ll be just fine.’ She swallowed hard on rising nausea and wavered slightly, her hand tightening on Eleni’s.

Luke shook his head. ‘I will drive you when you are fine, Miss James, but that is most obviously not today. Put her back, Eleni.’

‘That is best, Luke,’ said Alex, relieved.

Isobel gave up. She let Eleni make her comfortable, then turned her face into the pillows in despair. Her longed-for odyssey had come to a grinding halt before it had even started. She ignored the hushed interchange in their own tongue between the men, wishing they’d just go away and leave her to wallow alone in her misery.

‘Miss James,’ said Alex, coming back to the bed.

Isobel opened her eyes. ‘Yes?’

‘If you allow me to have your keys, I will take my sister to your house to pack for you.’

‘How kind,’ she said unsteadily. ‘The keys are in my backpack.’

‘I am most happy to do this, but it was Luke’s idea,’ he added.

She turned unsmiling eyes on her host. ‘Then thank you, too, Mr Andreadis.’

‘Here in Greece we believe in helping travellers,’ he informed her indifferently.

‘Unless they invade your beach.’

‘True.’ He unbent enough to smile faintly. ‘Come, then, Alex. I will drive you.’

Eleni closed the door behind them, poured iced fruit juice into a glass and gave Isobel two of the tablets. ‘Drink, kyria,’ she said firmly.

Isobel obediently swallowed the painkillers and drank some of the juice. ‘Efcharisto, Eleni.’ She managed a smile. ‘But please call me Isobel’

Eleni repeated the name shyly, put the glass on the table, then opened the carton of yoghurt.

Isobel eyed it in alarm. ‘I’m so sorry, but I really can’t eat anything right now.’

‘Ochee, not for eating. For your face. It is burning, ne?’

‘Oh, yes,’ sighed Isobel, and submitted to an unexpected beauty treatment. Eleni smoothed the blessedly cool, creamy yoghurt over her face, left it there until it warmed up, then gently cleaned it off with tissues.

‘I will do it more later,’ she promised, ‘but now you sleep, Isobel.’ She smiled and went from the room, leaving the door ajar.

Eventually the pills took enough edge off her aches and pains to let Isobel take interest in her surroundings. Filmy white curtains stirred at glass doors which led on to a balcony, and the room itself was furnished with the type of elegant simplicity that cost the earth. She groaned in sudden despair. She’d come all this way to Chyros to regain her normal perspective on life, yet one day into her holiday and here she was, stranded in a wealthy—and hugely unfriendly—stranger’s house, with no way of escaping until she was more mobile. But why had the man been so sure she’d known who he was? And felt so ticked off about it, too. Perhaps he was some kind of celebrity here in Greece. Her mouth twisted. He needn’t worry where she was concerned. He was good-looking enough in a forceful kind of way, but his personality was so horribly overbearing it cancelled out any attraction he might have had for her as a man…

When Isobel opened her eyes again they widened when she found another stranger looking down at her.

‘Dr Riga, Isobel,’ said Eleni, hurrying to help her to sit up.

The large, bespectacled man gave her a reassuring smile. ‘Kalispera. How do you feel?’ he asked in heavily accented English, and took her pulse.

‘Not too well,’ she admitted.

He nodded, his eyes so sympathetic her own filled with tears again.

‘I’m so sorry, Doctor,’ she said huskily, and took the tissue Eleni had ready.

‘You suffer much pain; you are also in shock and alone in a strange country, Miss James. Tears are natural,’ he assured her. ‘I must take X-ray at my clinic. Eleni will help you dress.’ He smiled reassuringly and went from the room.

‘Eleni,’ said Isobel urgently, ‘will you help me wash again? Did Mr Andreadis bring my clothes?’

The woman nodded and helped Isobel out of the bed, supporting her as she hopped awkwardly to the bathroom. ‘I used iron,’ she said severely. ‘Alyssa Nicolaides packed too quick.’

‘You’re an angel, thank you, Eleni.’ Isobel tried to hurry. ‘I mustn’t keep the doctor waiting.’

Eleni shook her head. ‘He is gone. Kyrie Luke will drive you. Not rush,’ she warned.

After the hurried bathroom session Isobel felt relatively presentable in a white denim skirt and blue T-shirt, though the effect was marred by wearing only one sandal. Otherwise she felt horribly queasy still, and her head was pounding like a war drum. Eleni helped her to the stool in front of the dressing table, anointed her face with more yoghurt, then wiped it away and handed Isobel her zippered travel pack. Resigned to see faint bruising under her eye, Isobel used a comb gingerly, decided against lip gloss and smiled wanly at Eleni.

‘I’m ready.’

The woman nodded. ‘I tell him.’

Isobel would have given a lot to walk downstairs on her own two feet when Luke Andreadis appeared in the doorway in a crisp white shirt and jeans which were obviously custom made by their fit.

‘How do you feel now?’ he asked, his eyes on the bright hair curling loosely on her shoulders.

‘Cleaner.’

‘But you are still in pain.’ ‘Yes.’

He picked her up with exaggerated care. ‘I will strive not to cause you more.’

‘Likewise, Mr Andreadis,’ she returned, holding herself rigid, face averted, as he carried her from the room.

He frowned. ‘Likewise?’

‘Carrying me around can’t be doing your back much good.’

He laughed sardonically as he descended the curving staircase into a marble-floored hall with an alcove containing a striking half-size statue of Perseus brandishing the severed head of the gorgon Medusa. ‘I will survive. You are not heavy.’

‘As soon as humanly possible, I’ll get back to the cottage.’

‘When Dr Riga says you are fit to do so,’ he said dismissively and carried her through a large plant-filled conservatory to put her in the passenger seat of the Cherokee Jeep parked at the back of the villa. Which, now she had attention to spare for it, Isobel could see was a dream of a house.

‘You have a beautiful home,’ she said politely as Luke got in beside her.

‘Efcharisto. I bought it years ago, and altered it to suit my taste. I look on it—and the beach that came with it—as my private retreat.’

‘Is that why you were so furious when you found me down there?’

He lifted a shoulder. ‘Trespassers are a common occurrence.’

She clenched her teeth. ‘Once again, I apologise.’

It was no surprise to find that Luke Andreadis drove with panache. They swerved at speed round one dizzying bend after another on the tortuous descent until at last Isobel had to beg him to stop.

Luke came to a screaming halt, raced round the Jeep and hauled her out, then, to her hideous embarrassment, supported her as she retched miserably over a clump of bushes at the roadside.

‘Can you continue now?’ he demanded as she straightened.

‘Yes,’ she gasped, sending up a prayer that she was right.

He put her back in the Jeep and handed her bag over. ‘I will drive slowly the rest of the way,’ he said stiffly.

‘Thank you,’ she managed, the pain in her head now so unbearable again she could hardly speak.

The doctor hurried out of the modern clinic building as they arrived, his face anxious.

‘You are late. I was worried.’

‘We had to stop on the way because Miss James was sick,’ Luke informed him. ‘I am so used to the road I drove too fast.’

‘Ah, poor child. Bring her in, Lukas. My radiologist is waiting, and also Nurse Pappas with a wheelchair.’

Luke lifted Isobel out of the car to transfer her to the wheelchair, his mouth tightening as he felt her shrink from him. ‘You will obviously prefer this.’

You bet, thought Isobel, as the friendly nurse wheeled her away. Later, after X-rays and a trying episode while her wound was thoroughly cleaned and dressed again, she was given painkillers and water, then wheeled back to the reception area.

‘There is no fracture to the skull or the ankle, but you are suffering from mild concussion,’ Dr Riga reported and smiled encouragingly at Isobel. ‘You need light nourishment and much rest. I will give you more medication for the headache, but take no more until bedtime. And Nurse Pappas has a crutch for you.’

‘Thank you,’ said Isobel gratefully, smiling at both of them.

‘Are you ready?’ Luke tossed the crutch in the back of the Jeep, then installed Isobel in the passenger seat. His face was so grim as he took the wheel; the drive back to the villa was accomplished in silence so tense until Isobel felt obliged, at last, to break it.

‘I’m very grateful for all your help, Mr Andreadis,’ she said formally. ‘Would you give me Dr Riga’s bill, please?’

‘I have settled it,’ he said dismissively.

‘Then I will pay you,’ she persisted.

Luke Andreadis, accustomed to women who expected him to foot bills far more expensive than Dr Riga’s, shot her a scathing look. ‘I require no money from you, Miss James.’

Isobel had no energy to argue, even though the mere thought of owing this man anything at all acted like fire on her skin—which was hot enough already.

Once back at his house, Luke lifted Isobel out, then handed her the crutch. ‘Welcome back to the Villa Medusa,’ he said formally. ‘You can manage with this?’

‘Yes, thank you.’ Even if it killed her. But, by the time they made it through the conservatory, Isobel felt too exhausted to protest when Luke handed Spiro the crutch and picked her up to carry her upstairs.

CHAPTER TWO

ELENI and Spiro hurried behind, listening closely as Luke reported in their own language on Dr Riga’s treatment.

‘Eleni asked when you last ate,’ he reported, letting Isobel down in the armchair.

‘This morning on your beach,’ she gasped. No point in mentioning that grapes had been the only thing on the menu. Nor that she’d parted with them and everything else in her system in the guest bathroom, with an encore on the way down to the clinic.

‘I bring food to you very soon, Isobel,’ promised Eleni.

Relieved to have her catering arrangements decided for her, Isobel smiled wearily. ‘Efcharisto, Eleni. But I’m not at all hungry.’

Luke took the crutch from Spiro and propped it against Isobel’s chair. ‘You have everything you need?’

Heartily sick of being heaved around by a man who made it so plain it was a tiresome chore, Isobel made no attempt at a polite smile. ‘Yes. Thank you. I shan’t trouble you again.’

Luke’s smile set her teeth on edge. ‘You were trouble from the moment I first saw you, on my flight over the beach.’

‘Flight?’

‘In my helicopter. It is my habit to scan the beach as I come in to land.’

‘To scope out trespassers!’ She looked him in the eye—or as well as she could with one of her own half closed. ‘At the risk of boring you, I apologise once again for my intrusion, Mr Andreadis.’ Her mouth twisted. ‘Lord knows, I suffered such swift retribution I’ll never do it again.’

‘Even though you failed in your aim?’

Isobel frowned, her thought processes fighting a losing battle with her headache. ‘I don’t understand.’

Luke eyed the motionless Spiro, who obviously intended standing his ground until his employer was ready to leave. ‘With your permission, Miss James,’ continued Luke, ‘I will return after you have eaten. I wish to talk to you.’

Isobel inclined her sore head gingerly. As if she could say no!

Alone, she sagged for a moment in relief, then pulled herself together and tried putting her crutch through its paces. To her intense satisfaction she found that, headache and sprained ankle or not, she was now mobile, if not agile. Hallelujah! After the talk with the hostile Mr Andreadis, a lift back to the cottage was all the help she would need from him.

When Eleni came in, followed by Spiro with a tray, Isobel smiled persuasively and pointed to the balcony doors. ‘Could I eat out there, please?’

‘It is dark,’ said the woman, astonished.

‘Not with the stars and the light from the lamps in here.’

‘Whatever you wish, kyria,’ said Spiro, and took the tray out to the small table on the balcony. He rearranged the chairs, opened the other door to make it easier for her and bowed to her, smiling.

‘Efcharisto, Spiro,’ said Isobel gratefully and limped out onto the balcony to sit at the table, smiling in such triumph at Eleni as she parked the crutch that the woman laughed and patted her shoulder.

‘You are better. Good, good. Now, eat.’ She took a silver cover from an inviting omelette and left Isobel to her solitary meal.

To her surprise, Isobel’s taste buds sprang to life with the first mouthful. Once it seemed her stomach meant to behave, she ate all the omelette and some of the salad and bread that came with it, finding that eating alone, with only the stars for company, did wonders for her appetite. Isobel drank some water and then sat back to gaze out over the garden, her eyes fixed in longing on the floodlit pool. She’d love a swim in it before she went back to her cottage. But fond hope of that with Mr Congeniality on the premises.

A knock on the bedroom door brought her out of her reverie. She picked up the crutch and went slowly into the room, smiling at Eleni. ‘It was a lovely supper. I’ve taken some pills and I feel much better now.’

‘Good, good,’ said the woman, beaming. ‘I bring more yoghurt for face. Use before bed. I help you to bathroom now?’

‘No, thank you. I can manage myself.’

The woman frowned. ‘Then I come back later when time to sleep.’

‘All right, Eleni,’ sighed Isobel, knowing when she was beaten. ‘Before you go, could you put the big chair near the veranda doors? Efcharistopoli.’

Isobel eyed her reflection critically in the large bathroom mirror. Her eye was ringed with interesting shades of plum, but at least it was now almost open again, and her sunburn had toned down, thanks to Eleni’s yoghurt. Pleased with her new mobility, Isobel limped back into the room to sit in the big, comfortable chair, content just to look out into the night while she waited for her visitor.

‘Come in,’ she called later, in answer to the expected knock.

Luke strolled in, his eyes on her face. ‘Kalispera. You look better. Eleni tells me you ate most of your supper.’

‘Yes. It was delicious.’ Isobel sat still and tense, wondering what he wanted to talk about.

‘May I sit down?’

‘Of course.’

Luke drew the dressing table stool nearer Isobel and stood by it for a moment. ‘Shall I fetch your notebook? Since you suffered so much to achieve it, I have decided to grant your interview.’

Isobel stared at him blankly. ‘Interview?’

‘I collected your belongings on the beach,’ he informed her. ‘There was a notebook, also several pencils in your bag. Do you deny that you are a journalist, Miss James?’

Isobel took in a deep calming breath, then took the pad from the backpack on the floor beside her and handed it over.

‘Look for yourself.’

Luke’s mouth tightened as he turned over pages of drawings. ‘What are these?’

‘I would have thought that’s obvious, Mr Andreadis. I drew the boats from the veranda of the cottage when I first arrived, and the other sketch this morning on the beach next to yours. Ideally, I would have used watercolour, but I had no way of getting the materials down such a steep path.’ Isobel looked at him coldly. ‘Other people take holiday snaps. I make sketches.’

‘Which,’ he said slowly, leafing through them again, ‘are most accomplished.’

‘Thank you.’

Luke ran a hand through his thick curls, then looked up, surveying her in silence for so long that Isobel grew restive. ‘It is now I who must make apology,’ he said at last, as though the words were drawn out of him with pincers.

‘Accepted.’ She eyed him curiously. ‘You dislike journalists and guard your privacy very fiercely, Mr Andreadis, so are you some kind of celebrity here in Greece?’

He shook his head. ‘No, just a successful businessman, Miss James. I am in shipping, but also much in the news lately, due to a successful takeover of a private airline.’ His mouth turned down. ‘And I have no wife. This also attracts interest from the press.’

‘About whether you’re gay?’ she said, secretly delighted by the look of outrage on his face.

‘Ochee! I may lack a wife, but it is common knowledge that I enjoy the company of women. Did you think I was gay?’ he demanded.

‘Not easy to tell on such brief acquaintance.’

His eyes narrowed to a glitter, which put her on the alert. ‘Even though we have been in enforced physical contact from the first moment of our meeting?’

Isobel’s face heated. ‘I wasn’t conscious for most of it. And, now that I am, no further contact is necessary. Not,’ she added hastily, ‘that I’m ungrateful for your help.’

He shrugged. ‘I had no choice but to give it, Miss James.’

She eyed him in disdain. ‘You made that very clear—but I’m grateful just the same.’

His eyes softened. ‘It has been a bad start to your holiday.’