When his mouth had touched those fresh soft lips, their kiss had blotted out everything that had gone before, everything that could happen in the future; there had been no time or place or boundary to the fullness of the moment. Damian had felt Oriel trembling in his arms like a frightened fawn, afraid of some unknown power, and he had sensed her inexperience. Yet, by looking into those enormous green eyes that reflected the depths of the sea, he had also known that she was as enthralled by the chemistry between them as he was.
He would have prolonged his stay to get to know her better, not to mention try to satiate his body’s endless hunger for this exquisite, sensual woman, had it not been for the photograph he had found lying on the beach. She was smiling into the eyes of a young man with fair hair and a goatee, who had his arm around her. Damian had turned the snapshot over and had read: Night of Rob’s proposal in Venice. His opinion of the female gender had already taken a knocking – this had added the decisive blow. So she was one of the hordes of Northern European women who flocked every year to Greek beaches looking for a holiday adventure. He knew the type; he had bedded many since the age of sixteen. Still, that hadn’t stopped him thinking about her over the years that followed and wondering if he might have been too hasty in his judgement of her, too quick in his decision to leave her that night.
And then Stavros had brought him Oriel’s résumé, with her photograph attached, and his whole body had frozen. Surprise and incredulity had then morphed into something else: hope had flared in his heart. The status on her details showed she was single. Had she never married this ‘Rob’? Had she married anybody else? And if not, why not? Was fate giving him another chance? Of course he was not the man he had been when they first met, but somehow he had felt in his heart that it wouldn’t matter: their bodies spoke the same language. It had been true then – why not now?
Tonight he had been proved right. The chemistry between them was as potent as ever. On the terrace, despite her protests during the few moments he had held her, Oriel had shuddered with the same abandoned passion she had demonstrated on that one night in Aegina. The moans and delicate sighs were the same sounds she had made in his arms all those years ago; and yet alongside the intensity of her responses, he had detected an almost shy, restrained element that was at odds with her instinctive sensuality. He remembered thinking at the time that maybe she always limited the expressions of her pleasure that way.
Damian was sure that Oriel’s rebuff had been half hearted; he had felt her need blossoming under his touch. She still wanted him but she wasn’t going to give in to him without making him work for it. Of course not. Did he expect she’d just fall into his arms? After all, he had left like a thief in the night, without a word, and how was she to know that his pride had been too wounded to stay when he’d discovered she was attached? Still, why had he lost control of himself in the first place? He cursed inwardly, his hands scrubbing over his face as he lay on the bed. Oriel had only just got here and already he was acting like a weak schoolboy. No woman had ever got under his skin like this, he needed to pull himself together before he became too distracted.
He would let her be for now. Besides, they had work to do; although, he admitted, the fact that Oriel stimulated him intellectually as well as physically merely stoked his desire. Working side by side with her would be hard, and he would have to fight the urge to drag her into his arms every time she came within an inch of him. Still, he knew enough about her that to try his luck again might end in disappointment.
His thoughts turned to Helena … jealous, possessive, uncompromising Helena; the cousin he had vowed always to look after despite her deeply troubled nature. She would not make this easy.
Damian sighed. Why was it that at every turn in his life the gods seemed to be set against him?
* * *
Oriel wasn’t sure what time of night it was when something woke her. The silver-white moon spilled its beams through the window opposite her bed. Half-caught in slumber, she opened her eyes. Someone was there, she was sure of it. The pattern of light and shadow had changed disturbingly in the room.
Focusing her sleepy gaze, she peered at the French doors that led on to the terrace. She thought she had shut them, but they were wide open and the flimsy curtains were gently lifting in the breeze.
It was then that she looked down and saw a shadow stretched across the floor – the figure of a man or a woman, she couldn’t tell. She tried to smother a soft cry of terror but it slipped through her lips and the dark shape moved at once. There was a faint sound, no more than a shuffle, yet it had a frightening reality, and then the shadow vanished and the band of moonlight lay unmarred upon the floor. Horror washed through her body and for a moment she was paralyzed, her heart thudding with sickening speed. Then, with a sudden jarring movement, Oriel reached for the light and switched it on, which made the canary suddenly fly up in its cage with a loud chirrup. She instinctively flinched at the noise and then stared wildly around, but there was nothing there.
The canary settled on its perch and the room seemed quiet and peaceful again; the only sounds were the low nocturnal clicking of cicadas and the distant gentle murmur of the sea. Oriel breathed deeply, then she got up and closed the windows and went to the bathroom to wash her face and drink a glass of water. Perhaps she had been dreaming. The unsettling atmosphere of Helios – beautiful though it might be – was clearly getting to her more than she expected.
Oriel slipped back in bed and sighed: she was becoming too jumpy, she told herself, it was not like her. She settled down, pulling a pillow up under her cheek. Before she knew it, she had fallen back into a deep and exhausted sleep.
* * *
To her surprise, Oriel slept extraordinary well for the rest of the night. The bed was comfortable and the silk sheets were a pleasurable new experience – a nice change from the continental quilt she had just bought at home, whose practicality appealed to her busy lifestyle and lack of time for making beds. She awoke to the song of the canary, hopping and chirping away happily in its gilded cage. Oriel found that it didn’t overly bother her now morning had come; perhaps it was that the little creature seemed to fit in well with the extraordinary exotic surroundings, or that she was simply getting used to its presence. Either way, her attention was now drawn to the sight of the distant horizon through her window, where the pale blueness of the sky met the intense azure of the Ionian Sea. She had forgotten to close the shutters last night and was now glad of it: this was a view to which she could grow accustomed.
She lay for a while listening to the sound of distant waves whispering outside her window, just savouring the sense of wellbeing the sound produced, so different from the familiar London noises. Oriel glanced at her watch; it wasn’t yet eight o’clock. Damian had set their meeting for nine-thirty; she had time to relax a little longer.
The night before, tiredness and the shock of seeing Damian again had overwhelmed her. The strain on her nerves had caused a kind of mental and physical exhaustion that no doubt explained why she’d been seeing things in the middle of the night, but this morning her mind was rested and she had a more rational view of her situation and was now, in fact, relishing the task ahead.
A knock at the door jolted her out of her reverie and she sat upright, instinctively pulling the sheet up to her chest to cover the curve of her breasts that the deep V in her nightdress revealed. ‘Ella mesa, come in,’ she called out.
To Oriel’s relief, it was Irini with her breakfast.
The maid smiled cheerfully. ‘Kaliméra, Kyria,’ she said, proceeding to set out an extensive set of dishes on the round table.
‘Kaliméra, Irini.’ Oriel pushed back the covers, slipped out of bed and grabbed her dressing gown.
‘I hope the Kyria slept well. It is always difficult to sleep in a new place.’
Oriel laughed. ‘I’ve never slept in a place like this before, I must admit. I have no complaints.’ Her mind fleetingly conjured up an image of the shadow in her room but she
decided to make nothing of it. After all, she’d probably been dreaming. She smiled at the kamariera. ‘I was very comfortable and I slept like a baby till the morning. It must be the sea air.’ Her eyes then took in the mountain of food that Irini had placed before her.
‘This is not a Greek breakfast,’ the maid explained, seeing Oriel’s surprised look at the bacon, sausage and egg. ‘The Kyrios thought that you would feel less homesick if you were greeted this morning with an English breakfast.’
‘It smells delicious and I’m ravenous. That is very thoughtful of Kyrios Lekkas. I will thank him when I see him this morning.’
Irini looked at her apologetically. ‘The Kyrios has left this morning for the mainland. Some business in Athens. He will be back tomorrow, but he has set up a meeting for you with Kyrios Stavros. Stavros Petrakis, the Kyrios’s right-hand man.’ Irini tapped the folded sheet that was lying on the tray. ‘It is all outlined on this piece of paper, which Kyrios Yorgos asked me to give you.’
Oriel nodded at the maid’s words, although was it a tinge of disappointment she felt pinching her heart? Had she secretly been looking forward to seeing Damian this morning and starting over on a friendlier footing? ‘Thanks, Irini,’ she replied, forcing a bright smile.
‘Kyrios Stavros will be over from the staff house at nine-thirty. He said not to bring any diving gear today, as you will not need it. I’ll come and get you five minutes before, otherwise you might get lost. This house is big and you are not used to it yet.’
‘Efharisto. I’ll be ready.’
‘Parakaló. Enjoy your breakfast.’ Irini left the room, closing the door behind her.
Oriel looked down at the copious breakfast set in front of her. Orange juice, cereal, egg, bacon, sausage, grilled mushroom and tomato, steaming coffee, toast and marmalade – it had all been prepared as though by an English chef. What luxury! She had been ravenous when Irini brought it in, so why was she suddenly not at all hungry? She poured herself a cup of coffee and went to the window. The night before she hadn’t noticed the small terrace adjoining her bedroom, which had steps leading down to an area of flat rocks. It was a blue morning and the air was still fresh.
Leaning over the parapet, Oriel glanced down at the narrow sandy beach that seemed to border the edge of the property uninterruptedly; from here she could see the crystalline water and the uneven seabed visible beneath it, diapered with long weedy patches, fragments of fallen rock and brighter patches of sand. She inhaled the pungent odour of sea wrack on the sand and listened to the breathing of the waves, which lapped softly against the shore like a herd of nodding mythological beasts emerging from the deep.
To her right, Oriel could see the garden in which she had walked last night. In daytime, the clumps of tall trees with their glossy green foliage and colourful flowers stood motionless in the warm air, with that peculiar entranced appearance leaves and blossoms take on under the sunshine. Beyond the garden was the terrace with its steps that led to a stone wharf, where a long quay jutted out into the sea. The view in front of her held a vision of mythological splendour; here was a landscape where one could imagine the omniscient acts of divine beings, the spilling of golden plenty and the thunderbolt of punishment. This was a legendary sea, steeped in age and tales of heroic voyages. It was difficult not to look around and think: anything can happen here …
Oriel showered and dressed casually for a working day in a pair of dark-blue jeans and a plain navy cotton shirt that unconsciously drew attention to her extreme fairness. Picking up the paper that Irini had left behind, she glanced at the schedule, which confirmed they would not be diving today. She put away her diving gear in the walk-in cupboard, chiding herself for being upset at the idea of not seeing Damian that morning. She was an employee and she had demanded – yes, demanded – to be treated as such, and his whereabouts were really none of her business. She would just do as she was told; follow the schedule.
Oriel was ready to go when Irini knocked on her door just before nine-thirty, and together they walked through the cool house with its closed shutters to the hall. A tall man in jeans and a white T-shirt was waiting at the bottom of the marble stairs, a welcoming smile lighting his weathered face.
‘Welcome to the island of Helios, Despinis Anderson,’ he said, shaking Oriel’s hand. ‘I am Stavros Petrakis, Kyrios Lekkas’s head of works. He sends his apologies for not being here himself but he is seeing the Minister for Culture in Athens, who could only meet with him today.’
Oriel gave an imperceptible start as she met the steel-grey gaze of the man that had just covered her hand with his two large palms and was regarding her with evident pleasure. Greek eyes were usually jet black, like those of Yorgos Christodoulou and most Mediterranean people, or sometimes blue – but rarely grey. In other countries, she had often encountered grey eyes, but they were almost always rather dull and had left her cold. Before coming to Helios, only once had she come across steel irises with such cutting brilliance that they had taken her breath away, and that was six years back on Aegina. Was Stavros Petrakis related to the Lekkas family somehow? Although now she looked more closely, Kyrios Stavros’s eyes were less vibrant than those of either Damian or Helena, and not as large, but they still had that strange luminous glitter.
Oriel smiled. ‘Kaliméra.’
‘We’ll drive down to the temple site where we are still finishing the digging and reconstruction. It will be a good opportunity to introduce you to some of the crew,’ Petrakis told her as they walked down the steps together.
Her face lit up with interest. ‘Ah yes, the Minoan temple excavation. Kyrios Lekkas mentioned the other dig. Is it far?’
‘No, only a few kilometres north. One of the team left yesterday, but we don’t need so many for the underwater job that you’ve joined us for. We’re very lucky to have found someone with your credentials, I was very impressed.’
‘Efharisto.’
They climbed into the waiting Lekkas Jeep and the inner gates of Heliades closed behind them as they made their way down the long drive. ‘We’ll visit the underwater excavation site tomorrow. It’s further down the island, not far from the marina.’
‘Not close to the shark-infested reef then?’ Oriel innocently put in, remembering Helena’s parting bombshell of the night before.
Stavros pulled a face. ‘Sharks? No sharks, Despinis Anderson. I see that you are familiar with the geography of Helios.’
‘It’s the only privately owned island in the Ionian Sea, isn’t it? How come the Lekkas family manage to own it?’
‘Ah, through hard work and determination,’ said Stavros. ‘Gjergj Lekkas was originally an Albanian who lived in Greece. He was a shipbuilder by trade and a soldier who fought many wars under the Ottoman Empire. Badly injured at the beginning of the nineteenth century, he couldn’t fight any more and so he roamed the seas on a boat he built, selling goods from island to island.’
Oriel remembered something Damian had said about Helios being abandoned, stories of people vanishing that gave the place an eerie reputation. ‘Was the island completely uninhabited?’ she asked.
‘Almost. Originally monks lived here, although their numbers were dwindling by the time Gjergj happened upon Helios. Funnily enough, the walls of the old monastery are still standing and the Kyrios’s grandfather turned part of it into an olive press, and the other into offices. Damian now runs the olive oil business as well as his archaeology projects.’
‘So how was the island populated?’
‘Gjergj appropriated Helios gradually, first becoming a successful shipping owner and then rebuilding the island. The Ionian Islands at that time were more or less independent, which made them popular with Greek intellectual exiles, freedom fighter politicians fleeing the country, and foreigners.’
‘And Helios became one of the places the settlers chose?’ Oriel thought about those agricultural workers she had seen on the way to Heliades the day before and wondered what the rest of the islanders were like and where they
had hailed from originally.
Stavros nodded. ‘This place flourished under the Lekkas dynasty. Gjergj was a great visionary and, with the aid of these men and women, he made something of the island. You could say with his ideas and their labour Helios really began to develop. Because Gjergj was a mariner, he shipped the produce of his island to markets more distant than Athens: ports in Egypt and especially Albania, from where his ancestors came.’
Oriel’s mind conjured an image of Damian’s face, with its mixture of strength and arrogance; one could see the unending line of his forebears and imagine a similar man in Gjergj Lekkas, a bold and reckless soldier, sailing his ship through perilous waters to build the glory of his island. Oriel smiled to herself. A fanciful view, she realized, but it was so easy here to get caught up in the romance and storybook feel of Helios.
Unaware of Oriel’s meandering thoughts, Stavros continued: ‘Under British rule, your country used part of the island as a naval base. Then, when Britain decided to transfer the islands to Greece, sometime in the 1860s, I think, Gjergj bought Helios from the British government and officially registered the rights to the island, changing his original Albanian surname, Leka, to the Greek Lekkas. Just before he passed away in 1870, he bought his Greek nationality. The family have been here for almost two centuries and they continued to prosper up until the death of Damian’s grandfather. When he passed away, the island’s fortunes deteriorated somewhat under Damian’s father, Konstantin, until Damian himself took over and built them up again.’ Stavros glanced at her as he drove. ‘I tell you, Damian Lekkas is the best thing that could have happened to this island. You’ll find him a dedicated and brilliant man to work with.’
Oriel’s gaze flickered to him before her eyes returned to the view. ‘He’s certainly an impressive figure,’ she said, choosing her words carefully.
Aphrodite's Tears Page 11
