by Sara Wood
It was hard, leaving. His feet were unwilling—his whole body, too. But he got out eventually, her words still ringing in his head. ‘If I was innocent.’ He sucked in a shuddering breath, every muscle in his body screaming as he tried to get that idea out of his mind. Because the implications were too alarming to contemplate.
CHAPTER TEN
EMMA rested. She would need all her strength if she was to fight for what she wanted: to clear her name and to be accepted as Lexi’s mother. And then…she shut her mind to that. But Leon’s jealousy had given her hope.
Later, she rang John and he came over. They went out to a taverna in the nearby beach resort of Alikes and she thought how much Lexi would enjoy being here, with a different pony and trap clip-clopping and rumbling past every few minutes.
John seemed pleased that she was leaving the villa and arranged to pick up her things in the morning. He wasn’t so pleased when she said she was going to lay siege to Leon’s house till he let her see her daughter.
‘Abduct her and let’s get home,’ he advised.
Emma stared at him in shock. ‘I couldn’t possibly,’ she protested, putting down a forkful of red mullet. ‘She doesn’t know me. She’d be terrified—’
‘Oh, she’ll soon get used to you,’ he said airily.
‘No, John. I’m not doing that to my daughter. How can you suggest that?’
He took her hand and looked into her eyes. ‘To save you distress,’ he said gently. ‘Poor Emma. This must be awful for you. You must be at your wits’ end—’
‘Don’t make me a victim, John,’ she said with a frown, suddenly sensing that he’d always done that. ‘I’m determined to see this through properly.’
‘But why?’ he argued. ‘When we can be up and off in twenty-four hours? You with your kid, just as you wanted it? She’ll be OK. Kids can get used to anything—’
‘No.’
She removed her hand, suddenly disliking his sweaty touch. How could he be so insensitive to Lexi’s needs?
‘So you’re going to camp outside Kyriakis’s place, hoping to catch a glimpse of her as they drive out—and you think that’s going to bring you and her closer together?’ he said sarcastically.
‘It won’t come to that,’ she said firmly. ‘Leon won’t be able to cope with the scandal of his sister-in-law parked on his doorstep like a lost parcel.’
‘I thought I was here to give you advice?’ John said sulkily.
‘You are.’ She patted his arm consolingly, feeling bad that she’d dragged him over and had taken no notice of him since. He had devoted an extraordinary amount of time to her. ‘I’m terribly grateful for what you’ve done. But John, I did make it clear that I’d never take Lexi until she was happy in my company.’
He caught her hand and kissed it, holding it fast when she tried to retrieve it. ‘Emma, I wish you’d listen to me. Let’s do it. If you won’t take your daughter now, then you must see she’ll never be yours. From what you tell me, Kyriakis has established himself in Lexi’s heart. Isn’t that true?’
‘Ye-e-es,’ she said slowly.
‘He’s going to make this as difficult as possible. And my enquiries here suggest that you won’t make much headway legally. You’d be condemned to flying over here once, perhaps twice, a year and being faced with a child who doesn’t want to be with you. I know this is painful, but I think you should give up. Come back to England and start a new life. Emma,’ he declared, his eyes shining, ‘let me take care of you. I can heal your pain. I’d do anything for you.’
Her eyes widened. Leon had been right! Appalled that she’d given out the wrong messages to John, she searched for a gentle let-down. And in searching she let her gaze swing absently to the taverna opposite.
Where Leon sat, glaring. She gulped. Of course. She was constantly being watched—in case she did something to ruin the wretched Kyriakis name. Like steal a child’s ice cream or something, she thought waspishly.
John’s eyes narrowed. Following her glance, he saw Leon and let her hand drop. ‘Now, that’s an opportunity I can’t miss. I’ll go and have a word,’ he said casually.
Emma blinked. He’d always been edgy about meeting Leon before. ‘About what?’
‘Oh, tell him you’re leaving the villa, where you’ll be, that kind of thing.’
He seemed to take a long time about it. She’d worked her way through a rolled filo pastry pudding and a chocolate ice cream before he came back. Leon had listened to John without moving a muscle, his dark eyes menacing.
‘That’s done,’ her lawyer said with satisfaction. ‘Ready to go back?’
She would have liked a walk along the beach perhaps, but presumed he must have things to do. ‘Sure. I’ll have an early night.’
‘Me too.’
It wasn’t until she was fighting off John’s attentions on the doorstep of the villa that she realised he’d expected her early night to include him.
‘No, John,’ she cried in panic, grappling with him. ‘Don’t spoil everything—’
‘Come on. We’re great together. When you were in my arms the other night—’
‘You were comforting me,’ she protested, leaning back till she felt her spine would crack. This was like Taki all over again. She felt herself weaken as terror struck through her, fuelled by the terrible memories of her husband’s abuse. ‘Please, John,’ she whimpered desperately.
‘Leave her alone, Sefton,’ came Leon’s quiet and ominously calm voice.
Emma breathed a sigh of utter relief as John’s vice-like grip eased. She would be all right. Surveillance had its advantages after all.
‘Keep out of this,’ snarled John, his face distorted with rage.
Leon came right up to them. ‘Let her go, or you’ll find yourself on the next plane to England. With your own personal resuscitation team,’ he said pleasantly.
Emma was immediately released. She moved away, rubbing her arms.
‘Goodnight, Sefton,’ murmured Leon. Muttering, John stalked to his car and Leon turned his hooded eyes on her. ‘All right?’ She nodded dumbly. He held out his hand. ‘Key.’
Trembling, she fumbled uselessly in her bag. And dropped it, and its contents onto the path. They both bent to gather everything up. Leon, inches away, looked into her eyes.
‘Are you really all right, Emma?’ he asked huskily.
‘Shaken up. Disappointed,’ she admitted. ‘I know. You told me so.’ She stood up. ‘But thank you. It saved an ugly scene.’ She shuddered.
Leon put an arm around her shoulder. ‘And Sefton’s manhood is intact,’ he observed with a wry smile, unlocking the door and switching on the lights for her.
She allowed herself a faint smile too. ‘I would definitely have kneed him,’ she agreed jerkily.
‘Can you manage or do you want me to stay?’ he asked neutrally.
‘I’ll be fine once I’ve got my breath back. It—it happened to me once before, that’s why I panicked. I wasn’t so lucky that time.’
Leon’s jaw clenched. He hesitated for so long that her heart began to beat erratically, and then he turned away and began to walk down the path, giving a brief wave of his hand as he did so.
Awake early, she tidied and cleaned the villa and left her stuff in an empty shed which she’d seen when they’d been feeding the animals. She stuck a note on the door to her lawyer that was brief and to the point. ‘Will be in touch. Have found accommodation. Emma.’
She hadn’t, of course, but she’d do that later, once she’d wrung concessions from Leon.
It wasn’t till she’d almost reached his house that she remembered he was having a heart-to-heart with Marina that morning, and wouldn’t thank her if she turned up in the middle of it.
So she sat down in the orchard amongst the wild fennel and oats and daisies, and idly watched clouded yellow butterflies flitting about. After a while she felt a little restless and set off for a walk.
Ahead, half veiled in a mist, sprawled the mountains, grey-green from th
e thousands of olives which clad their sides. Small hills rose from the flat valley floor in front, their tops crowned with pencil cypress and low white buildings.
This was all of Leon’s land. Each plant irrigated, tended lovingly, the cherry, fig, apricot and almond trees making little islands in the sea of currant vines and small hay fields. She came across a field of melons and, beside it, a field of scarlet poppies. Lizards basked on a stone well-head and chickens—chittens, she thought with a lump in her throat—ran about the undergrowth.
She leaned against the trunk of an olive tree whose girth suggested it must be several centuries old and felt a love for the island steal over her, catching her unawares. She tried not to love it, tried to find flaws. Wrong language. Strange letters unlike any alphabet she’d ever known and hadn’t yet mastered. Miles from home, the culture she knew.
That was all she could come up with. Not a lot. Could she live here? Her heart and her head told her that Lexi would be happier on the island. And she… She inhaled slowly and let the breath out again. She wanted to be Lexi’s mother properly, not just for weekends.
There was something more. She wanted Leon too. But she’d already realised that, since he held her responsible for destroying his family, their relationship could only be based on sexual attraction. Though that was a start. And it was the only thing she had going for her.
Her pulses raced at the very thought. He hadn’t been shocked by her damaged breast—hadn’t even mentioned it. He must want her very much to have ignored the scar.
Maybe, as her lover, he’d listen to her when she tried to explain about Taki and her role as financial director. Her brow furrowed. Problem was, there wasn’t any evidence for that. It would be her word against that of a Kyriakis. Not much hope there, she thought gloomily. Her eyes glinted. But she had to try.
When she checked her watch and found it was lunch-time she decided to head back. She’d walked a long way and by the time she arrived at the front of Leon’s house—it had to be the front, for maximum embarrassment to him—she was not only very tired but the sky had clouded over and drops of rain were beginning to fall.
She took a deep breath and knocked on the door. It was opened not by Natasa but by Leon.
‘Yes?’
‘I’ve come to see Lexi,’ she said humbly.
‘Not today, thank you.’
‘OK.’ She sat down as the door was closing and prepared for a long wait. But the door opened almost immediately.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Waiting,’ she said over her shoulder.
‘For?’
‘You to change your mind.’
‘It’s raining.’
‘I’ve noticed,’ she said gravely.
The door closed. Emma muttered something to the Fates who’d chosen to make today of all days the time they let the heavens open, and she put her bag on her head in a vain attempt to keep the rain off. It didn’t help. The water ran over it and onto her knees.
Thunder cracked, making her jump. And almost immediately there was a lightning flash. The Fates then decided to make a good job of washing the island and instead of rain they produced a wall of water which hit her with such force that she was reduced to crouching in a miserable heap while the torrent beat the ground ferociously and thus flung red soil up at her.
She was soaked through in minutes. And then suddenly the rain ceased. She looked up cautiously and saw a giant coloured umbrella above her.
‘Get inside,’ yelled Leon above the pyrotechnics of the storm which was still raging beyond the umbrella.
Oh, hurray, she thought gleefully. And scuttled in.
‘You look appalling.’
‘Thanks,’ she said ruefully, her face glistening with water.
He glared. ‘Every time I decide something, you sabotage it.’
‘I’m very sorry,’ she said, doing her humble bit again.
‘Upstairs with you,’ he growled. ‘Have a bath and get warm.’
‘Thank-you-very-much,’ she murmured.
‘Not funny.’
It was, she thought. Her first goal had been achieved. Shivering, she meekly followed him up the stairs though she was so weary that he reached the top long before she did and he waited impatiently, his fingers drumming on the banister.
‘Look at you,’ he scolded.
She did. Drenched, her body shedding cinnamon-coloured mud and water, her hair plastered to her head, she knew she must look a sight. The carpet must be in a similar condition too. Guiltily she turned to check and saw the wet red earth trail leading back to the front door.
‘Oh, crikey.’
‘Wait there.’
He clamped his lips together and turned on his heel while she slumped and dripped. Returning, he held out an enormous bath sheet and wrapped it around her like a cocoon. And then he picked her up, carrying her mummified body through a vast and breathtakingly beautiful bedroom and into a bathroom beyond where he deposited her on the sea-blue tiles.
‘I’ll find some clothes for you. They’ll be in the bedroom. Come down when you’re done.’
She nodded, not daring to say anything in case it offended him. She felt shattered but peculiarly perky and her mouth was liable to run away with her for sheer elation. Wriggling out of the bath sheet she locked the door, ran the bath and peeled off her wet things.
After selecting some expensive-looking herbal bath oil, she emptied a prodigious amount of it into the deepening water, turned off the taps and slid in with a sigh. Her head nestled back against a padded headrest. The bath was wide enough for two people side by side, she thought muzzily.
Her eyes closed as her brain considered that fact. Perhaps this was the moment when she’d fall asleep and Leon would break the door down and come crashing in, afraid she’d drowned.
She stayed soaking for ages, half hoping he might do just that but eventually common sense told her that he hadn’t had that grumpy face for nothing and he wouldn’t break that lovely panelled door anyway.
So she got out, dried herself slowly, wishing someone else could do that for her, and padded into the bedroom to see what delectable item he’d pinched from Marina’s wardrobe. It was a man’s shirt and jeans.
Ignoring them, she prowled around looking for a hairdryer but didn’t find one and had to content herself with wrapping a small towel around her wet hair like a turban.
There was a rap on the door. It was sharp and imperious and she knew it must be him.
‘Are you dressed?’
She hoicked the bath sheet around her more securely. ‘Near enough,’ she replied, and sat down heavily on the bed, her limbs far too tired to help her to stand.
He came in and sat in an easy chair. ‘I thought you ought to know. Marina’s left with Soula and Natasa. She spoke to her father and he was happy to have his daughters and granddaughter back in the family home.’
‘And his wife?’
‘She says she can cope if Natasa is there, exercising her calming influence. Anton Christofides is turning a wing of his house into a large, self-contained apartment so they won’t move in immediately.’
Emma blinked, not knowing what she should say. ‘Was there a scene?’
‘Not when I told her I’d settle a large sum on her,’ he said cynically.
‘Generous.’
‘She’s irritating and difficult but I feel great sympathy for her,’ he muttered. ‘She had a child when she was just a frightened kid herself, and a husband who didn’t love her.’
‘Where’s she gone in the meantime?’ Emma asked, touched by his compassion.
‘To the villa—temporarily. It was her design. I told her she ought to take that up professionally. She’s talented. Natasa thinks so too. Marina was quite excited at the prospect.’
‘Good,’ Emma said warmly.
‘Where are you staying?’ he barked.
Emma shifted, longing to curl up properly on the bed but she was worried that he might think she was issuing an invitation.
‘Nowhere. Yet.’
He looked out of the window where the storm was still raging. ‘You can’t go out in this.’ She remained mute. There wasn’t much she could say and the warmth of the bath was making her sleepy. ‘What are your intentions, Emma?’ he snapped.
‘Go to sleep,’ she mumbled and let herself fall back to the pillow.
Somewhere in the dim recesses of her mind she heard him muttering under his breath and the cool whisper of linen being draped over her tired body. And then she fell into a dark and deep well of sleep.
It seemed a few moments later when she woke. The rain was still falling in torrents outside and it seemed to be night. She yawned and stretched, then froze. A pair of eyes were looking at her.
A light snapped on and the eyes turned into Leon. ‘Hungry?’ he muttered, looking wonderfully tousled and grumpy.
She wondered if he’d been there all the time and gave a little shiver. ‘Umm…yes, I am, Leon.’
‘I found a hairdryer for you. Come down when you’ve used it,’ he said curtly. ‘And stop being Miss Meek and Mild. I prefer you to shout and laugh.’
She grinned and sat up, prepared to do either of those if necessary, but he’d gone.
It took ages to sort her hair because it had dried in coiled lumps inside the towel. But eventually it looked good enough. She couldn’t say that for the rest of her.
Leon’s shirt needed the sleeves turned up till there was a huge roll of material at her elbows. If she fastened the top button then the collar dug into her neck every time she looked down and if she left it open the shirt gaped a bit. She opted for gaping.
Beneath the knee-length shirt, the jeans collected in sad folds above her bare feet and it had taken all her efforts to make the belt hold up the weight of all that unsupported denim.
‘Hallo? Here I am,’ she called, standing uncertainly in the empty hall.
Leon appeared after a moment, looked her up and down, did his famous scowl and turned back, indicating she should follow him with a curt flip of his hand.
