The Greek Tycoon's Achilles Heel

CHAPTER FOUR

‘I’M SORRY,’ Lysandros said quietly. ‘This is me; it’s who and what I am.’

‘You don’t let anyone in, do you?’ Petra said.

He shook his head with an air of finality. Suddenly then he said, ‘But I will tell you one thing. It may only be a coincidence, but it’s strange. After I’d taken you back to your room I returned to the tables and suddenly started winning back everything I’d lost. I just couldn’t lose, and somehow that was connected with you, as though you’d turned me into a winner. Why are you smiling?’

‘You, being superstitious. If I’d said all that you’d make some snooty masculine comment about women having overly vivid imaginations.’

‘Yes, I probably would,’ he admitted. ‘But perhaps you just exercise a more powerful brand of magic.’

‘Magic?’

‘Don’t tell me you’ve studied the Greek legends without discovering magic?’

‘Yes,’ she conceded, ‘you meet it in the most unexpected places, and the hard part is knowing how to tell it from wishful thinking.’

She spoke the last words so softly that he barely heard them, but they were enough to give him a strange sensation, part pleasure, part pain, part alarm.

‘Wishful thinking,’ he echoed slowly. ‘The most dangerous thing on earth.’

‘Or the most valuable,’ she countered quickly. ‘All the great ideas started life as wishful thinking. Wasn’t there an ancestor of yours who thought, I wish I could build a boat? So he built one, then another one, and here you are.’

‘You’re a very clever woman.’ He smiled. ‘You can turn anything around, just by the light you throw on it. The light doesn’t just illuminate; it transforms all the things that might have served as a warning.’

‘But perhaps they should be transformed,’ she pointed out. ‘Some people become suspicious so quickly that they need to come off-guard and enjoy a bit of wishful thinking.’

‘I said you were clever. Talking like that, you almost convince me. Just as you convinced me back then. Maybe it really is magic. Perhaps you have a brand of magic denied to all other women.’

There was a noise behind him, reminding him that they were in a public place. Reluctantly he released her hand, assuming a calm demeanour, although with an effort.

A small buzz came from his inner pocket. He drew out his phone and grimaced at the text message he found there.

‘Damn! I was planning to go to Piraeus tomorrow in any case, but now I think I’d better go tonight. I’ll be away for a few days.’

Petra drew a long breath, keeping her face averted. Until then she’d told herself that she wasn’t quite sure how she wanted the evening to end, but now she had to be honest with herself. An evening spent talking, beginning to open their hearts, should have led to a night in each other’s arms, expressing their closeness in another way. And only now that it was being denied to her did she face how badly she wanted to make love with him.

‘Will you be here when I get back?’ he asked.

‘Yes, I’m staying for a while.’

‘I’ll call you.’

‘We’d better go,’ she agreed. ‘You have to be on your way.’

‘I’m sorry-’

‘Don’t be,’ she said cheerfully. ‘It’s been a long day. I was fighting to stay awake.’

She wondered if he would actually believe that.

When they reached the Lukas villa the great gates swung open for them, almost as though someone had been watching for their arrival. At the house he opened the car door and came up the steps with her. She looked up at him, curious about his next move.

‘Do you remember that night?’ he asked gently. ‘You were such an innocent that I made you go to bed and saw you to the door.’

‘And told me to lock it,’ she recalled.

Neither of them mentioned the other thing he’d done, the kiss so soft that it had been barely a whisper against her lips-a kiss without passion, only gentle concern and tenderness. It had lingered with her long after that evening, through days and weeks, then through years. Since then she had known desire and love, but nothing had ever quite erased the memory of that moment. Looking at him now, she knew why, and when he bent his head she longed for it to be the same.

He didn’t disappoint her. His lips lay against hers for the briefest possible time before retreating, almost as though he’d found something there that disconcerted him.

‘Goodnight,’ he said quietly.

He left her before she could react, going down to the car and driving away without looking back, moving fast, as though making his escape.

‘Goodnight,’ she whispered.

It was only when he was out of sight that she remembered she hadn’t asked him how he’d known her phone number.

Petra soon found that her hours were full. Her reputation had gone before her, ensuring that several societies contacted her, asking her to join their excursions or talk to them. She accepted as many invitations as possible. They filled the hours that passed without a word from Lysandros.

One invitation that particularly attracted her came from The Cave Society, a collection of English enthusiasts who were set on exploring an island in the Aegean Sea, about twenty miles out. It was a mass of caves, some of which were reputed to contain precious historical relics.

Nikator was scathing about the idea, insisting that the legend had been rubbished years ago, but the idea of a day out in a boat attracted her.

‘Mind you, the place I’d really like to see is Priam House, on Corfu,’ she told him. ‘Is it true that Lysandros owns it?’

He shrugged. ‘I think so.’

She was mostly free of Nikator’s company. He spent much time away from home, leaving her free to explore Homer’s magnificent library. Sometimes she would take out a tiny photograph she kept in her bag and set it on the table to watch over her.

‘Like you watched over me when you were alive, Grandpa,’ she told the man in the picture, speaking in Greek.

He was elderly, with a thin, kindly face and a hesitant smile. When he was alive that smile had always been there for her.

He had told her about her father, which Estelle hadn’t been able to do very fully. And he’d shown her pictures, revealing her own facial likeness to the young man whose life had been cut short.

But there had been another likeness.

‘He had a hasty temper,’ Grandpa had said sadly. ‘He didn’t mean to be unkind, but he spoke first and thought afterwards.’ He’d looked at her tenderly. ‘And you’re just the same.’

It was true. She was naturally easy-going, but without warning a flash of temper would come streaking out of the darkness, making her say things she afterwards regretted. She’d fought to overcome it and had succeeded in dampening it down to the point when few people ever detected its existence. But it was still there, ready to undermine her without warning.

In the final months of her marriage it had made her say things that would have made a reconciliation impossible, even if she’d wanted one. Right now it was probably a good thing that Lysandros wasn’t there to hear the thoughts that were bouncing around like Furies in her brain, demanding expression.

One evening Nikator returned home suddenly and locked himself in his room, refusing to open to anyone, even Petra.

‘Perhaps Debra will come to see him,’ she suggested to Aminta, the housekeeper.

‘No, she’s gone back to America,’ Aminta said hurriedly.

‘I thought she was here until next week.’

‘She had to leave suddenly. I should be getting on with my work.’

She scuttled away.

It might mean anything or nothing, Petra thought, and she would probably never know. But for a while Aminta avoided her.

Nikator finally emerged, with a slight swelling on his lips which he refused to discuss beyond saying he’d had a fall. Petra didn’t feel like pursuing the subject, but she made a mental note to spend as much time out of the house as possible.

Since the evening of the wedding she’d seen Lysandros only once and that was by chance at a grand banquet given by the city authorities. He’d made his way over to her and said courteously that he hoped she was enjoying Athens. He’d mentioned contacting her again in the next few days, but made no specific plans.

He seemed to be alone. No lady had been invited to accompany him to this occasion, just as her own invitation had made no mention of a guest. She was left wondering at whose behest she had been invited.

After their evening together she had been in turmoil. Behind Lysandros’s civilised veneer she sensed a man who was frighteningly alone, locked in a prison of isolation, seeking a way out, yet reluctant to take it. It didn’t matter that their first meeting had been so long ago. It had left them both with the sense that they knew each other, and under its influence he’d begun the first tentative movements of reaching out to her. Yet he’d been able only to go so far, then no further. Try as he might, the prison bars had always slammed shut at the last moment.

Her heart ached for him. The pain he couldn’t fight had affected her, and she would have rescued him if she could. But in the end it was his own nature that stood in the way, and she knew she could never get past that unless he allowed her.

At night she would relive the brief kiss that he’d given her. Any other man would have seized her in his arms and kissed her breathless, which, truth to tell, she’d half hoped he would do. Instead, he’d behaved with an almost Victorian propriety, caressing her lips in a way that called back that other time when he’d thought only of protecting her. And in doing so he’d touched her heart more than passion would ever do.

But there was passion, she knew that. She couldn’t be so close to him without reading the promise of his tall, hard body, the easy movements, the power held in check, ready to be unleashed. Nor could she misunderstand the look in his eyes when they rested on her, thinking her unaware. Some day-and that day must come soon-she would break his control and tempt him beyond endurance.

But gradually her despondency gave way to annoyance. Now she could hear the strange woman at the wedding again, warning her that she was one of many and would yield as easily as the others.

‘No way,’ she muttered. ‘If you think that, boy, have you got a shock coming!’

Briskly she informed the household that she would be away for few days, and was in her room packing a light bag when her phone rang and Lysandros’s voice said, ‘I’d like to see you this evening.’

She took a moment to stop herself exploding at his sheer cheek, and managed to say calmly, ‘I’m about to leave for a few days.’

‘Can it wait until tomorrow?’

‘I’m afraid not. I’m really very busy. It’s been a pleasure knowing you. Goodbye.’ She hung up.

‘Good for you,’ Nikator said from the doorway. ‘It’s about time somebody told him.’

‘It’s kind of you to worry about me, Nikki, but I promise you there’s no need. I’m in charge. I always have been. I always will be.’

The phone rang again.

‘I know you’re angry,’ Lysandros said. ‘But am I beyond forgiveness?’

‘You misunderstand,’ she said coolly. ‘I’m not angry, merely busy. I’m a professional with work to do.’

‘You mean I really am beyond forgiveness?’

‘No, I-there’s nothing to forgive.’

‘I wish you’d tell me that to my face. I’ve been inconsiderate, but I didn’t…that is…help me, Petra-please.’

It was as though he’d thrown a magic switch. His arrogance she could fight, but his plea for help reached out to touch her own need.

‘I suppose I could rearrange my plans,’ she said slowly.

‘I’m waiting by the gate. Come as you are; that’s all I ask.’

‘I’m on my way.’

‘You’re mad,’ Nikator said. ‘You know that, don’t you?’

She sighed. ‘Yes, I guess so. But it can’t be helped.’

She escaped his furious eyes as soon as she could. Now she could think of nothing but that Lysandros wanted her. The thought of seeing him again made her heart leap.

He was where he’d said he would be. He didn’t kiss her or make any public show of affection, but his hand held hers tightly for a moment and he whispered, ‘Thank you,’ in a fervent voice that wiped out the days of frustrated waiting.

Darkness was falling as Lysandros took her into the heart of town, finally stopping at a small restaurant that spilled out onto the pavement. From here they could look up at the floodlit Parthenon, high on the Acropolis, dominating all of Athens.

The waiter appeared, politely enquiring if they were ready to visit the kitchen. Petra was familiar with this habit of allowing customers to see the food being prepared, and happily followed him in. Delicious aromas assailed them at once, and it took time to go around trying to make a choice. At last they settled on fried calamari followed by lamb fricassee and returned to the table.

For a while the food and wine occupied her. Sometimes she glanced up to find him watching her with an intense expression that told her all she wanted to know about the feelings he couldn’t put into words. For her it was enough to know that he had those feelings. The words could wait.

At last he said politely, ‘Have you been busy?’

‘I’ve been doing a lot of reading in Homer’s library. I’ve had some invitations to go on expeditions.’

‘And you’ve accepted them?’

‘Not all. How has your work been?’

‘No different from usual. Problems to be overcome. I tried to keep busy because…because…’ his voice changed abruptly ‘…when I was alone I thought of you.’

‘You hid it very well,’ she pointed out.

‘You mean I didn’t call you. I meant to a thousand times, but I always drew back. I think you know why.’

‘I’m not sure I do.’

‘You’re not like other women. Not to me. With you it has to be all or nothing, and I-’

‘You’re not ready for “all”,’ she finished for him. Without warning her temper gave a sudden, disconcerting flare. ‘That’s fine, because neither am I. Are you suggesting that I was chasing you?’

‘No, I didn’t mean that,’ he said hastily. ‘I was just trying to apologise.’

‘It’s all right,’ she said.

In fact it wasn’t all right. Her contented mood of a moment ago had faded. The strain of the last few days was catching up with her, and she was becoming edgy. She’d wanted him and he’d as good as snubbed her.

Suddenly the evening was on the verge of collapse.

‘Can I have a little more wine?’ she asked, holding out her glass and smiling in a way that should have warned him.

He took the hint and abandoned the apology, making her feel instantly guilty. He was doing his best, but these were uncharted seas for him. It was she who held the advantage. Resolutely, she worked to lighten the atmosphere.

‘Actually,’ she said between sips, ‘the most exciting thing that’s happened to me is an invitation from The Cave Society.’

She told him about the letter. Like Nikator, he was sceptical.

‘I’m not swallowing it hook, line and sinker,’ she assured him. ‘I’m too much of an old hand for that.’

‘Old hand,’ he murmured, regarding her appreciatively.

‘Very old. In terms of my reputation, I’m ancient. This-’ she pointed to her luxuriant golden mane ‘-is just dye to hide the fact that I’m white-haired. Any day now I’m going to start walking with a stick.’

‘Will you stop talking nonsense?’

‘Why?’ she asked, genuinely puzzled. ‘Nonsense is fun.’

‘Yes, but-’ He retired, defeated. It wasn’t possible to say that the contrast between her words and the young, glorious reality was making him dizzy.

‘Oh, all right,’ she conceded, ‘I don’t think there’s anything to be found in those caves. On the other hand, I’ll usually go anywhere and do anything for a “find”, so perhaps I should.’

‘But what are you going to find that thousands of others have failed to find?’

‘Of course they failed,’ she teased, ‘because they weren’t me. Something is lying there, waiting for me to appear from the mists of time-knowing that the glory of the discovery belongs to me, and only me. Next thing you know, they’ll put my statue up in the Parthenon.’

She caught sight of his face and burst out laughing.

‘I’m sorry,’ she choked, ‘but if you could see your expression!’

‘You were joking, weren’t you?’ he asked cautiously.

‘Yes, I was joking.’

‘I’m afraid I’m a bit-’ He shrugged. ‘It can be hard to tell.’

‘Oh, you poor thing,’ she said. ‘I know you can laugh. I actually heard you, at the wedding reception, but somehow-’

‘It’s just-’

‘I know,’ she said. ‘You think too great a sense of humour is a weakness, so you keep yours in protective custody, behind bolts and bars, only to be produced at certain times.’

Lysandros tried to speak, to make some light-hearted remark that would pass the matter off, but inwardly he felt himself retreating from her. Her words, though kindly meant, had been like a lamp shone into his soul, revealing secrets. Not to be tolerated.

‘Are you ready for the next course?’ he asked politely.

‘Yes, please.’

It was definitely a snub, yet she was swept by tenderness and pity for him. He was like a man walking a path strewn with boulders, not knowing they were there until he fell and hurt himself.

And she had a sad feeling that she was the only person in the world who saw him like this, and therefore the only person able to help him.

If only she could, she thought with a qualm of self-doubt. She was still feeling her way tentatively. Suppose she persuaded him to trust her, then faltered and let him down, abandoning him again to mistrust and desolation? Suddenly that seemed like the greatest crime in the world.

As the waiter served them she became aware that a man and a woman were hovering close, trying to get a look at her. When she looked straight at them, they jumped.

‘It is her,’ the woman breathed. ‘It is you, isn’t it?’ Then, pulling herself together, she said, ‘You really are Petra Radnor?’

‘Yes, I am.’

‘I saw you on a talk show on television just before we left England, and I’ve read your books. Oh, this is such a thrill.’

There was nothing to do but be polite. Lysandros invited them to sit at the table. His manner was charming, and she wondered if he secretly welcomed the interruption.

‘I’m just learning that Miss Radnor is a celebrity,’ he said. ‘Tell me about her.’

They plunged in, making Petra groan with embarrassment. They were Angela and George, they belonged to The Cave Society and had only just arrived in Athens.

‘Our President told us that he’d written to you,’ Angela bubbled. ‘You will accept our invitation to come to the island, won’t you? It would mean so much to us to have a real figure of authority.’

‘Please,’ Petra said hastily, ‘I am not a figure of authority.’

‘Oh, but you-’

It went on and on. Petra began to feel trapped. Vaguely she was aware that Lysandros’s phone had rung. He answered and his face was instantly full of alarm.

‘Of course,’ he said sharply. ‘We’ll come at once.’ He hung up. ‘I’m afraid there’s a crisis. That was my secretary to say I must return immediately, also Miss Radnor, whose presence is essential.’

With a gesture he summoned the waiter, paying not only for his meal and hers but whatever their guests had consumed.

‘Good evening,’ he said, rising to his feet and drawing her with him. ‘It’s been a pleasure meeting you.’

They made their escape, running until they were three streets away. Then, under the cover of darkness, he pulled her into his arms.

‘Now!’ he said.