‘Are you familiar with traditional Greek cuisine?’
‘I’m afraid my only experience comes from tsipourádika or tavernas.’
‘The food served in those places is designed to please the ignorant masses,’ he said with a dismissive gesture. He spooned small mounds of the appetizers on to Oriel’s plate and passed her the bread before helping himself.
Oriel found herself watching him as he started to eat. Damian’s mouth was so sensuously sculpted that it gave her a jittery feeling deep inside.
He looked up and flinty sparks of amusement lit his eyes. He waved a hand. ‘Come, eat! I thought you were famished? We can’t have you wasting away now, can we?’
Mortified he’d caught her staring, to cover her awkwardness Oriel picked up a piece of bread and dipped it in some hummus.
‘I’d like to talk about the job, if you don’t mind,’ she said, almost abruptly.
‘Yes, of course.’ Damian’s face instantly assumed a blank professionalism. ‘There’s plenty to brief you on. It’s an exciting wreck. We’ve had full cooperation from the Minister of Culture in Athens. In fact, I may have to travel a bit to the mainland while you’re here. There’s another site on land that my colleague, Vassilis, is in charge of. A joint project with the Ministry to uncover a Minoan temple.’ He took another forkful of food. ‘As for the underwater excavation, I’d like to take you down to the wreck in the next day or two. So far, progress has been slower than I’d have liked. As soon as there’s a storm out at sea, it can throw the whole project for a few days. With all the debris and silt, you can’t see a thing. The currents can be treacherous too.’
‘How did you find it?’ asked Oriel, relieved to be once more on safe ground.
‘The usual story,’ said Damian. ‘It’s almost always fishermen who tip off divers about wreck sites.’
‘Yes, of course. Wrecks make rich feeding grounds for fish.’ Oriel skewered a morsel of the krasomezédhes with her fork, appreciating the delicious food that was far superior to anything she’d tasted elsewhere in Greece.
‘Exactly. For that reason, a fisherman will often keep the information close to his chest. After all, knowing the best places to fish makes the difference between having a family fed and clothed or not.’ Damian gestured at the food in front of them. ‘We’re a self-sustaining community on Helios and we all work together. Still, life can sometimes be tough on the island, especially in winter. You can’t afford to have a rival vessel encroaching on your patch.’
‘So how did you discover this wreck in the end?’ Oriel asked.
‘A tongue loosened by too much ouzo in the bar one night,’ Damian smiled. ‘Although I’ve known the fisherman in question since I was a boy and I think he felt honour-bound to reveal what he’d seen. He’d been bringing up pieces of amphorae in his nets for quite a while, you see. Those earthenware pots were clearly ancient and the islanders are well aware how passionate I am about preserving our heritage.’ He jutted his chin, the hard and autocratic look returning to his face. ‘They certainly don’t want to cross me.’
Oriel shifted her gaze uneasily from Damian, aware once again just how powerful a force this man wielded. Perhaps if she didn’t look at him, she could behave normally.
‘That was what attracted me to this job,’ she explained, determinedly fixing on the bowl filled with red roses in the centre of the table. ‘So many dive teams behave like pirates, smashing and grabbing the moment they find a wreck. Most of them have such callous disregard for history and heritage.’ Her voice became heated. ‘They couldn’t care less about preserving a site, so long as they can get their hands on the spoils.’ She took a gulp of water, as if to douse the fire in her cheeks – whether caused by Damian’s proximity or her own righteous outrage, she wasn’t quite sure.
Her next words were still impassioned, but there was a wistful quality to them. ‘Just think what we’ve lost, the provenance of these ancient relics. All those clues as to how people lived and worked thousands of years ago.’
She placed her glass down and moved it distractedly in a slow circle in a bid to settle back to the calm professional once more, failing as she did so to notice how Damian’s expression had softened during her tirade.
‘Do you know how old it is?’ Oriel raised her eyes to his again.
‘I think it’s Roman, but we haven’t brought anything to the surface yet so I can’t give you a precise age. It must have been a big argosy, though. There are numerous amphorae littered about the area.’
‘Thank goodness for that.’ Oriel shoulders relaxed a little. ‘I was terrified that you’d already been cutting into the wreck and sucking everything up with an air-lift. I don’t suppose a cartographer has made a map of the site?’
‘Oh, doubting Calypso!’ Damian grinned. ‘Don’t worry, it’s all been done. There’s a floating grid secured over the whole area and the map has been drawn. You’ll be able to plot your finds accurately, never fear.’
He paused, contemplating Oriel for a moment, his eyes roving over her lazily. She felt an answering warmth suffuse her, infuriated at the way her body stirred whenever he turned that penetrating gaze in her direction.
‘… Although I’m half wishing I had done something to annoy you,’ he continued sardonically, then lowered his voice as his gaze held hers. ‘The way those emerald eyes of yours flash like sharp jewels when your blood’s up … your chest heaving in righteous indignation …’ Oriel’s heart jumped into her throat as he looked her up and down almost insolently. ‘Have you any idea, Calypso, just how alluring that whole schoolmistress act is?’ He gave a smoky laugh and her heart almost stopped. ‘In fact, I almost wish I’d used some explosives on the wreck. That way you might have told me to stay behind after class.’
His eyes were hooded, with an almost sleepy leonine quality, but Oriel wasn’t fooled for one moment. This man was alert to every move she made, every word she said. Her new employer was determined to have the upper hand. If before, just for a moment, Damian had forgotten himself – lost in his passion for Helios and its history – he was back again now. A cat with a mouse.
She sensed – with a ripple of excitement mixed with dread – that he was intent on subduing her; but before he did, he wanted the pleasure of toying with her. Well, she refused to be intimidated by him. Oriel’s pulse skittered but she willed it to calm. ‘If I were to reprimand you, something tells me that you’re hardly the kind of man who accepts being told he’s made a mistake. Not by a woman, anyway.’
‘That depends on the woman … and the reprimand.’ His mouth gave that little twist of a smile as he faced her. He had deliberately misinterpreted her words.
Oriel’s eyes met the slits of glittering steel watching her between dark lashes, reminding her of what had passed between them on Aegina. She felt the hot colour rise in her cheeks.
Could she really do this job? She wanted it so badly. Her own Roman wreck, what archaeologist wouldn’t welcome this opportunity? But she was fearful too. She intuited the iron control, the strange pleasure he took in her discomfiture, and she quailed at the thought of what her total subjugation might bring. If she were to let her guard down, what then? Damian was different in so many ways to the man she had met all those years ago and there was indeed a cruel edge to him now. Yet he was drawn to her, that she could tell. He had hired her, after all. But she sensed in every bone of her body that his fascination was something to be afraid of, to avoid if she valued her peace of mind, her career … her own self.
Knowing that the conversation needed deflecting as soon as possible, Oriel grasped wildly at the first thing she could think of. ‘Is that taramasalata?’ she asked, pointing to a dish in front of Damian.
‘Here, taste it,’ he said, tearing a piece from the large oval of flatbread and spreading it with a dollop of the dark pink paste. ‘It is carp roe, but what you’re likely to have tasted is a poor substitute. This dip is the real thing, the way Greek families eat it in their home. It’s made with roe, pota
to, olive oil and lemon.’
‘Thanks.’ Oriel took the canapé from him and popped it in her mouth. ‘Delicious! You’re right, quite different from what I’ve had before. This seems to have bits in it,’ she said after a pause.
‘Yes, it is our family’s own method of preparing it, borrowed from the Turkish recipe where the roe must remain substantially intact.’
‘I’ve just noticed, the other mezedes we’re eating are mostly vegetable or cheese based. The ones served up in restaurants are often primarily meat.’
He nodded. ‘We don’t eat much meat on Helios. The land is hard here. Men live close to the earth, and even today they exist very much as they did in ancient times. Our milk, cheese and meat come from our black goats. Our fishermen provide the fish, and the land gives us plenty of olives, figs and grapes. The islanders trap birds in nets and still look for wild honey but they are mostly vegetarians, like our ancestors who only ate meat when a sacrifice of an animal was made to the gods. Some would say that Helios is a very primitive island.’
Oriel remembered Irini’s bizarre superstitions that still clung to a belief in the ancient gods. ‘I hope that doesn’t mean the primitive custom of sacrifice is still practised on the island?’ she asked wryly, lifting her wine glass and putting her lips to the rim.
Damian watched her, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips. ‘Only occasionally, I assure you, though we do call this wine you’re drinking the Rapture of the Virgins.’ His gaze sparked with amusement and intensity. It held her as if it were meant to magnetize her. ‘The sacrifice, in those cases, is the most primitive of all.’
Oriel’s eyes shot to his face, hot awareness flaring in her at this deliberately provocative remark, then suddenly the door opened and Hassan came in with the main course and started clearing away the appetizers.
In the shadows of the candlelit room, Damian’s and Oriel’s eyes locked over the blood red of the wine in the glass she was holding.
Don’t look at me like that, she thought. Dear God, I must forget that night if this is going to work.
Yet forgetting him hadn’t worked in all those years. However hard she tried, Oriel had never been able to surrender herself to another man. Whether it was the cruel desertion by two men in such quick succession that had shocked her into celibacy, or no man had thrilled her sufficiently to succumb since Damian, she wasn’t entirely sure. Meanwhile, she travelled the world, seeking one exciting assignment after another, partly because it was in her nature but also because she needed to channel her restless energy. That night, she had to acknowledge, had released something in her and she had been running from it ever since.
Perhaps now it had found her.
Had this dinner been set up before her arrival, before Damian even realized that she was the one – his one-night stand of six years ago – whom he had employed? Or had he recognized the photograph she had attached to her résumé? Yes, that was it: he had known all along who she was. Perhaps Yorgos Christodoulou had some inkling about this and had tried to protect her, in his own way, by putting her off the job. But what was Damian’s game?
‘Are your thoughts private or can anyone join in?’ Damian’s lightly bantering voice broke the silence.
‘Sometimes I find it best to keep my thoughts to myself, don’t you?’ she countered.
‘Usually, yes,’ he shrugged. ‘But you look as though you have something on your mind.’ Then, uncovering the earthenware pot Hassan had placed on the table, he continued without waiting for her answer. ‘Katsíka youvetsi is a real Greek speciality, usually made with beef, though sometimes with arni, lamb, but on Helios we make it with katsíka, goat, which gives it a much stronger flavour. Here, give me your plate.’
Damian stood up and served her a spoonful of the aromatic dish. The wick of the candle flared and threw his imposing shadow on to the dining-room wall. She tensed as if this Greek god towering over her as he piled food on to her plate might suddenly bend his head and brush her skin with his lips. Or was that merely wishful thinking? She shook off the thought, struggling for equanimity.
Damian helped himself and sat down. A benign smile quirked at the edges of his mouth but his eyes were darkly intent behind the half-lowered lashes. ‘Relax,’ he said in a deep voice that sent an involuntary wave of heat rushing through Oriel, and she found with dismay that she couldn’t prevent the sudden languorous melting between her thighs at its caress and the innuendo it conjured up.
‘We have good food and wine, and this is a perfect Helios night. What else is important, agápi mou?’ He filled her empty glass with more of the Rapture of the Virgins elixir and topped up his own. Oriel noted once again the strong grace of his well kempt hands, the subdued ripple of muscle as he poured the vermilion liquid.
‘You like to shock, don’t you?’ she murmured. The question came out of the blue, surprising even her. The wine must have made her bold, or foolish – she wasn’t sure which it was.
He didn’t miss a beat. ‘In my experience, people like to be shocked. Besides, one is usually shocked by the truth, eh?’
Damian was suddenly turning on the charm and she was finding it hard to keep up with his lightning changes in mood. The surroundings were beautiful, the food was delicious and the wine had a velvet, moreish quality. He was right: nothing else was important. Her gloomy thoughts were being gradually dispelled and replaced by a wonderful languor that was taking over her senses.
She could hear the distant whisper of the waves and the subtle rustle of the leaves in the breeze that had just come up. They were both silent for a while. Outside, all sounds were similarly muted and there was hardly a breath of wind coming through the wide-open windows. Oriel could see the mass of starlight shining in the distance. How far away England seemed to her tonight, even though she had only left it that morning.
The candlelight flickered on Damian’s face and Oriel’s eyes skimmed the fearful scar which, in the shadows of the room, appeared then disappeared as he moved his head, one minute giving him the semblance of a god and the next of a devil. She wondered how he had come by it. Perhaps the shark attack that Yorgos Christodoulou had told her about?
Now as she studied him she saw other alterations. There was a fine network of crow’s feet around his eyes. Deeper creases were etched between his nose and the corners of his mouth, making him seem older than he was. Every feature of his face suggested pride and dominance and a hard, unyielding will, she thought; everything but his mouth, which was oddly gentle, with its full lower lip. His jaw was more set than she recalled, and only his eyes remained as brilliant and arresting as she remembered them.
She was looking at the scar when Damian turned and caught her eye. His brows arched derisively, his teeth flashing white against the dark bronze of his skin.
‘Why not ask if you’re curious?’ he said softly.
Oriel flushed. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare.’
‘I don’t mind … Do disfigurements have a fascination for you?’
‘No, of course not,’ she said quickly. ‘Anyway, yours isn’t a disfigurement. It gives you a rather … piratical look.’
Damian chuckled. ‘Pirate indeed!’ He tilted his head back a little and looked at her directly. ‘And you like pirates?’
Her eyes dwelt on the dark head and the broad shoulders of the man sitting beside her. The deep gash on the side of Damian’s face didn’t bother her in the least – she barely noticed it now. She was only aware of his fiercely masculine appeal – it made her tingle from neck to toe as if she had been numb for a long time and every limb, every nerve in her body, was just beginning to come alive.
She smiled enigmatically, taking another sip of wine and feeling the beneficial warmth of the liquid trickle through her veins, then gave her undivided attention to the goat stew.
‘This is delicious,’ she said, deliberately ignoring his question. Her gaze meandered around the elegant room. ‘Tell me about this house. It seems enormous, a real labyrinth.’
&nbs
p; Damian took a swig of wine. ‘Gjergj Lekkas, my ancestor, built this mansion in the first quarter of the nineteenth century over the imprint of a Roman palace, which had been almost burnt to the ground. The site was enormous. He was able to save parts of the central area. Some of the frescoes and all the statues that decorate the front of the house are nearly as vivid as the day they were created.’
‘Who inhabited the island before your ancestor took possession of it?’
‘It was abandoned. There were rumours about it that frightened the people away.’
‘Rumours?’
‘Stories about people disappearing on the island, never to be found again.’
Oriel’s eyes widened slightly. Disappearing? Shadowy thoughts of the murders crept into her mind again.
Damian shrugged. ‘But there’s a very logical answer to that. The terrain on this island is mostly clay, and some sandy parts, like many of our beaches, are treacherous. Boards have been placed over areas where quicksand might be a hazard,’ he shook his head and spread his hands, palm upwards, in a gesture entirely Greek, ‘but unfortunately there are still accidents. Especially when twigs and leaves gather on the surface.’
Oriel looked apprehensive. ‘Helios is a dangerous place, then.’
‘Of course, but doesn’t danger have its fascination?’ he said, giving her a long, hard look.
Her brows drew together in an irritated frown. ‘Can you ever say anything without it having a double meaning?’
Damian looked at her over the rim of his glass. ‘And can you never take my words at face value?’ he countered, apparently unruffled.
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