She had hesitated before trying on a chunky Zolotas necklace, sculpted as a twenty-two carat gold undulating collar of stylized horns. Oriel had bought it three years ago for a bargain price at an auction in New York with the bonus she had received for a difficult job well done on a Spanish wreck in Florida. It was part of a set, comprising a necklace, a bangle and a pair of earrings and, though she hadn’t had the chance to wear it often, she really loved it. The necklace fitted perfectly over her slender décolletage and the warm colour of the gold reflected in her eyes, giving their greenness an almost amber sparkle. The horns on the earrings were designed as wings, covering a great part of her earlobes. The bangle was equally heavy, its simple classic lines tasteful and chic. Oriel had wondered if she might be overdressed, yet no one could be called overdressed in Greece.
She placed down her glass. ‘Once I was invited spontaneously to an embassy dinner in Italy while I was on a job with a colleague and, luckily, my self-indulgent packing served me well as I had this very dress rolled up in my case at the time. Since then, I’ve never regretted being prepared. Besides, you said this nightclub was frequented by VIPs from all over the world.’
‘Indeed it is, Calypso, and you outshine all of them in both sophistication and glamour,’ Damian said, his voice almost a purr.
In a silver flurry, a star fell out of the sky, breaking his gaze. ‘Look, a shooting star. They’re rare around here, it’s a good omen.’ He tried to take her hand, but Oriel moved it away before he had a chance to touch her.
‘In that dress, omorfiá mou, you look like those stars, so striking and mysterious,’ he murmured. ‘Unreachable, untouchable.’ His eyes returned to her face, scrutinizing it intensely. ‘Is that what you really want?’
His predatory gaze made Oriel’s pulse skitter but she tilted her chin slightly. ‘You know the score. I agreed to stay on the job on certain conditions and I was happy to come here with you tonight, knowing we had laid down a set of rules that I hoped you would respect,’ she said in a calm, even voice that belied the heartbeats she could feel in her chest like warning drums as she looked at him.
He was so handsome in his dark suit, white silk shirt and burgundy tie. It was the first time Oriel had seen Damian formally dressed and the animal grace that made him stand out among all other men was never so potent. He was beautiful. Somehow the scar on his face, instead of diminishing his appeal, enhanced that masculine beauty by disturbing the symmetry of his features and giving them a stronger, primitive sexiness. Just as the scars on his body made him seem like some warrior from the ancient past, she thought, and then berated herself inwardly for such wistful romanticism.
‘Rules were made to be broken.’ Damian smiled with his lips but his eyes, so astoundingly silver, had an inscrutable look behind soot-thick lashes.
Oriel went utterly still. It was as if every nerve in her pulsating body had gone into emergency red alert. The reality of her situation confronted her with painful force. Suddenly she was afraid that if he did step over the line, she wouldn’t be able to resist. She was flying too close to his heat like some foolish Icarus with wings of wax and feathers. There would only be herself to blame if she plummeted into the sea.
Was he determined to have his way with her before the end of the project? Would she have the strength to reject him? Her eyes held a silent plea for him to understand as she said softly: ‘Please don’t make me regret that I trusted you.’
The gasp of awe that rose from the crowd, which had gathered outside the nightclub a few metres down the cliff to watch the sunset, kept Damian from answering her, and Oriel turned her attention to the incredible view that stretched endlessly as far as the eye could see.
Long tongues of fire spread from the sun’s dazzling rays over the twisted rocks, the houses of the beautiful white town ablaze with a transparent copper glow that reminded her of barley sugar. Smouldering, the molten flames in the sky moved further, changing its smooth azure to violet streaked with apricot, to apple green blending into scarlet, bright yellow and cobalt blue. Within this veil of complex, glorious colour, the golden globe seemed alive with a magnificent sort of agony. Suddenly it faltered, tumbling down behind the horizon – a burning death. The drama and the splendour of it all filled Oriel with a wistful emotion and she sighed.
‘It takes your breath away … really,’ she murmured. ‘Even the Caribbean, which is famed for its sunsets, can’t compare to this.’ She knew now why Kallísti was decorated in such a starkly minimalistic fashion; even the large prints adorning the wall inside were imbued with the same subdued monochromatic character. The star here was the sunset.
‘Our island sunsets are legendary and Santorini’s are particularly spectacular. There’s hardly anything to rival their beauty.’ Damian’s voice dropped lower, a brush of rich velvet against her ear. ‘Fire and beauty, they often go hand in hand. I know that you don’t want to hear it, agápi mou, but I learnt that in Aegina. I’ve searched for what we had together ever since.’
Oriel turned to face him again. His irises were like smoke: grey and full of heat as they slid over her features. Their eyes locked and it seemed to her that a strange hypnotic spell had been cast over the two of them, as if memories of yesteryear suddenly filled their universe. Without thinking, she put a hand to her cheek and felt its warmth. Damian’s stare held a silent, intense communication: yes, she had no doubt now – that night in Aegina haunted them both. Everything about Damian – his provocative words, his masculine presence – was reawakening her to a wild, strange ecstasy that could not be called love but was certainly hunger: a driving need that annihilated any coherent thought.
She was grateful for Demetris’s interruption, which put an end to this dangerous conversation.
‘Yassou, Damian, ti kánete? How are you? Keró éhume na ta púme! Long time, no see.’
‘I know, but I’ve been very busy. Not enough hours in the day.’
Demetris was a short, rotund man with a thick moustache and balding head, whose face seemed relentlessly jovial. ‘So who is your beautiful companion? Scandinavian this time, eh?’ The restaurateur winked at Damian, obviously not realizing that Oriel spoke Greek.
She flashed Damian a pointed look and smiled thinly at Demetris. ‘I’m English, actually.’
‘Despinis Anderson is an English archaeologist well versed in Greek language and literature.’
Undaunted, Demetris beamed at her. ‘So you are acquainted with our language. You’ve lived in Greece a long time, eh?’
‘No, I studied Greek at university.’
‘Polý entyposiakó! Very impressive!’ the man exclaimed, while ogling Oriel’s décolletage quite unashamedly.
‘So, now that we’ve made the introductions, let’s move on,’ said Damian curtly. ‘What are you recommending tonight?’
Oriel observed the note of irritation in Damian’s voice and, looking at him, she could see that his colour had risen under the copper tan.
Demetris seemed oblivious. ‘Our soupia me melani, squid in ink, tonight is especially good as our chef has tried a new recipe and the soupia is really fresh … brought in by the fishing caiques this evening. We serve it with bread as a starter and with pasta as a main dish. The sauce is nóstima, delicious.’ Demetris bunched his fingers together and brought them to his mouth, smacking his lips.
‘The mydia, mussels, have just arrived this evening, too. Then, of course, the house speciality this week is our ortikia se klimatofila, quail in vine leaves. The quail is Hydra wild quail, the best, of course. I am sure the beautiful Despinis here would enjoy this delicate dish served with our pilaf rice and pomegranate sauce.’
‘And fish?’
‘Psari plaki. Our snapper is exceptionally large tonight. Depending on your appetite it can serve one or two people, and we cook it with a tomato and herb crust and serve it with rice cooked in aromatic herbs.’
‘And meat-wise?’
‘Our usual vithelo me melitzana ke elies, veal with eggplant and olives, and kleftiko,
which is always a favourite with foreigners.’
‘It all sounds delicious. Calypso?’
‘I think I’ll have the squid in ink and the Hydra wild quail with rice.’
Demetris grinned. ‘I must congratulate you on your choice, Despinis. That is what I would have recommended.’
‘I’ll also have the squid to start, and then psari plaki to follow.’
‘Ah yes, good choice, large portion.’ Demetris winked at Damian again and gave him a meaningful look. ‘A man needs his strength, eh?’
No one could have missed the vulgar innuendo and a forbidding look passed over Damian’s face. ‘We’ll have the wine list now, please.’
His expression was enough to make the restaurateur’s smile drop. Demetris clearly realized that he’d overstepped the mark on this occasion and he cleared his throat. ‘I will recommend Sigalas Barrel Santorini, which has had a particularly good year.’
‘Calypso? White or red?’
‘White please, but what about you?’
‘I’m piloting, remember? I’ll have just half a glass, to taste it.’
The restaurateur hastily moved away and Damian shook his head. ‘I apologize for Demetris’s manners. He is a vulgar man, always has been.’
‘Human nature … I wouldn’t worry about it.’
Damian almost growled his annoyance. ‘I can’t bear it when men look at you like that.’
‘Trust me, I don’t like it either. But men will be men, driven by their baser instincts.’ She glanced at him meaningfully.
‘Not all men, agápi mou.’
His expression turned to seriousness and she knew he was trying to hold himself in check now, to prove to her that she could trust him.
A question that still needled Oriel swam into her head. Her gaze sharpened. ‘You never did tell me why the Frenchwoman left the team so suddenly. And the Dutch student the previous year.’ Stavros had said Damian was not to blame, but he had avoided her question before. Now she wanted to hear the truth.
He gave her an arrested glance. ‘No, I didn’t. What of it?’
‘Did you have problems with them?’
‘You think my baser instincts were the issue, is that it, eh?’
She looked uncertain. ‘Well, I …’
He crossed his arms over his chest. ‘Ah, Calypso, I see you have been listening to island gossip too much. You really want to know what happened?’
Oriel held his gaze. ‘I’ve said so before, yes. We are working together after all.’
Damian made a gruff noise in his throat and sat back in his chair. ‘All right. The woman, Chantal Hervé, who left just before you joined, was perfectly competent and I had no problem with her at all. I was perplexed and a little annoyed when she suddenly handed in her notice. Things were really busy at the olive press, you see, and she’d been a great help in the office. A natural with numbers, and kept the accounts up to scratch. She seemed upset about something but she didn’t want to talk about it, so I took her to Athens myself.’ His dark lashes looked down as he searched in his pocket for his cigarettes. ‘Whatever her reason for leaving, I assumed it was probably the same as the Dutch student’s.’
Oriel listened attentively, relief and curiosity mingling. ‘And what reason was that?’
He fixed her with a look. ‘Like I’ve said before … men.’
‘You think she got mixed up with one of the team?’
Damian lit a cigarette, the flame illuminating his scarred cheek as he regarded her evenly. ‘I can’t be sure, unpleasant things can occur anywhere. It’s unfortunate that this time it might have involved one of our employees. I wouldn’t be surprised if one of the men had gone after her in a heavy-handed way.’
‘And you think the same thing happened to the Dutch student,’ Oriel summarized.
‘They wouldn’t be the only foreign students who didn’t have a clue how to conduct themselves on the more conservative of the Greek islands.’ His mouth curved sardonically. ‘Your women’s lib doesn’t work here.’
Her brow creased into a frown. ‘By that, I suppose you mean they deserved whatever unpleasant experience they got, is that it?’
‘That’s not what I said, no. Look, some of them get drunk in our tavernas, they flirt quite openly with the married men of the island, who are dazzled by their forward ways. You can’t behave on Helios as you would in your own country.’ Damian gestured with outstretched hands.
‘The community on Helios is conservative … most of the islanders have never left its sanctuary. The people here are simple folk who lead uncomplicated lives, and for the most part are happy. This is the main reason why Helios has never welcomed tourism. Like my ancestors, I don’t want to corrupt the island.’
‘Corrupt?’ Oriel’s brows lifted.
‘Let’s just say it’s a conservation island, an island of notable environmental and historical importance that I’m protecting against undesirable change, like any other conservation area in the world.’
She nodded, considering. ‘Somehow, I can understand that. The island feels so remote, it’s like living in another world. But my concern is that you’re not giving your people a choice. Your attitude is almost feudal.’
‘Feudalism is a negative label. Paternalism would be a better word to describe what we have on Helios. Stay a while, and you will understand. But you’re right, it is another world, in so many ways.’
Something in the way he spoke made Oriel search his face. There was no change in his expression and she didn’t feel like questioning him further. It was enough to know that Yorgos’s insinuations had been misplaced. She could see it in Damian’s eyes, which now watched her intently; there was honesty there, even though part of him was still guarded.
The questions perched on the tip of her tongue: How and why was your poor brother, Pericles, murdered? How did your wife die? It was so tempting to ask him but she sensed tonight was not the time. The way he was looking at her was making her whole body languid and the night was too beautiful for talk of such dark and tragic matters. The waiter came over and lit the candle that stood in a globe on the table. He poured half a glass of wine for Damian, and filled Oriel’s glass. Damian met her gaze ‘Yassas!’
They clinked glasses and Oriel smiled shyly as she sipped the crisp aromatic white wine. She looked around her at the dimly lit room with its atmospheric white spotlights in each discreet, curved alcove holding tables of diners. ‘This place is very stylish.’
‘Demetris, for all his faults, has a nose for business. He used to be a merchant seaman but came into an inheritance ten years ago and opened a small taverna down on the beach, here at Santorini. His wife is a good cook and his restaurant gradually became well known. Five years ago he capitalized on the taverna by selling it in an auction at a considerable price, and he opened this place.’
‘It’s stunning.’ She gazed at the groups of chattering people who were a mix of young couples, glamorous partygoers and older, wealthy-looking Greeks out for dinner. All, she noticed, had one thing in common: they were expensively dressed in eveningwear, and gold and diamonds didn’t seem an issue. This was a place frequented by the rich and famous, and everything about it – the silverware, the eggshell chinaware and the Baccarat glasses – bore witness to this. She hadn’t been given a menu so she could only imagine the price of the food here. ‘It’s clearly the place to be seen.’
Damian nodded. ‘The name of the restaurant, Kallísti, the beautiful one, had originally been that of Santorini itself. It’s a name that’s easy to remember,’ he said, with a suggestive smile that Oriel didn’t miss. ‘Demetris had already gained a substantial clientele from his taverna and decided this nightclub would have a limited number of members, which immediately put it on the map. There is a two-year waiting list to join, and now anyone who is anybody in Greece wants to become a member.’
The moon shone clear, almost white in colour, a full round orb of splendour. The sea was light green, the stars above glistening as if they had b
een specially polished, Oriel thought fancifully. Their table overlooked the cliffs with a view right down to the beach, where the sea lay darkly gleaming, whispering like silk, and though the very air breathed romance, there was now a distance and restraint about the night that seemed to touch them both, making them subdued.
Oriel studied Damian in the candlelight. In his classic dinner jacket, tailored to fit him to perfection, and with his strong, unique face, marred down the right side of his profile, he seemed to her suddenly unapproachable. His eyes appeared dark in the shadow of his brow, just as the sea darkened when night fell.
Apollo carved in teak, she thought.
What was this man about? What did she know about him? So much was rumour and hearsay, or shreds of information, hinted at and unsubstantiated. What was that secret magnetism about him she seemed unable to escape? She had slept with him once, a long time ago, but the close acquaintance with his body hadn’t given her access to his mind; he was a stranger from a foreign land who was taking control of her emotions and thoughts. Many women she knew had one-night stands and managed to walk away unscathed. Yet she didn’t seem able to do that …
As if reading the questions in her mind in his usual uncanny way, Damian answered, his voice soft and caressing: ‘You and I have never needed words to communicate, agápi mou. Our eyes speak to each other before our lips have had time to utter a sound.’
At once, Oriel felt the pink rise to her cheeks and she could not control it. She saw a glint beneath his lashes, like flickers of fire seen way back in a forest clearing. Something had re-emerged in his gaze, as though he could no longer keep his distance.
Her finger traced the rim of her glass. ‘We’re almost strangers and, even if we hadn’t been, I guess you’re far too shrewd to disclose yourself to anyone.’
‘To you, if you wanted, I would bare my soul.’ Their gazes locked. ‘As I have my body.’
His provocative words were intoxicating, bringing a wave of heat to her body. ‘Stop it,’ she murmured, lifting her glass and swallowing her wine deeply. ‘You’re deliberately …’
Aphrodite's Tears Page 19
