The Lost Labyrinth

IV

Sokratis drove in silent umbrage to the centre of Athens, wanting Nadya to know he resented the way she'd treated him. Traffic was light, they were soon at her hotel. He dropped her outside, popped his trunk so that she could take out her overnight bag and laptop, then sped off without a backward glance.

His anger was only a facade, however; he needed it to conceal his guilt. He drove around the block, parked two hundred metres up the street, then watched the hotel's front door. It wasn't long before his suspicion was vindicated. A taxi pulled up and Nadya reappeared with her bags, looking furtively around as she limped down the steps.

The bitch! He'd known she'd try something.

He gave her a healthy head-start. She was clearly on her guard. The taxi headed into Plaka, the network of narrow tourist streets at the foot of the Acropolis, then stopped outside another hotel. Sokratis pulled in behind a van to avoid being spotted. He watched as a hotel porter helped her with her bags. She paid off her driver then limped inside.

When he settled on his plan, Sokratis felt a twinge of shame, but he stamped down hard on it. A roof for his head, food for his table, a little money to show a woman a good time, once in a while. That was all he asked. Besides, his website made it quite clear he was a divorce specialist. It was her own damned fault for putting him in such an intolerable situation. Yes. It was her own damned fault.