Falling For Dr Dimitriou

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

PROLOGUE (#ulink_ab87df56-c96d-5119-bb2b-6cba70b7971d)

IT WAS THAT moment before dawn, before the sky had begun to lighten and the moon seemed at its brightest, when Alexander saw her for the first time. On his way to the bay where he kept his boat, his attention was caught by a woman emerging like Aphrodite from the sea.

She paused, the waves lapping around her thighs, to squeeze the water from her tangled hair. As the sun rose, it bathed her in light adding to the mystical scene. He held his breath. He’d heard about her—in a village this size it would have been surprising if the arrival of a stranger wasn’t commented on—and they hadn’t exaggerated when they’d said she was beautiful.

The bay where she’d been swimming was below him, just beyond the wall that bordered the village square. If she looked up she would see him. But she didn’t. She waded towards the shore, droplets clinging to her golden skin, her long hair still streaming with water. If the village hadn’t been full of gossip about the woman who’d come to stay in the villa overlooking the bay, he could almost let himself believe that she was a mythical creature rising from the sea.

Almost. If he were a fanciful man. Which he wasn’t.

CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_e8acde9f-261f-53b2-a6b5-2f0628ddc5ce)

KATHERINE PLACED HER pen on the table and leaned back in her chair. She picked up her glass of water, took a long sip and grimaced. It was tepid. Although she’d only poured it a short while ago, the ice cubes had already melted in the relentless midday Greek sun.

As it had done throughout the morning, her gaze drifted to the bay almost immediately below her veranda. The man was back. Over the last few evenings he’d come down to the little bay around five and stayed there, working on his boat until the sun began to set. He always worked with intense concentration, scraping away paint and sanding, stopping every so often to step back and evaluate his progress. But today, Saturday, he’d been there since early morning.

He was wearing jeans rolled up above his ankles and a white T-shirt that emphasised his golden skin, broad shoulders and well-developed biceps. She couldn’t make out the colour of his eyes, but he had dark hair, curling on his forehead and slightly over his neckline. Despite what he was wearing, she couldn’t help thinking of a Greek warrior—although there was nothing but gentleness in the way he treated his boat.

Who was he? she wondered idly. If her friend Sally were here she would have found out everything about him, down to his star sign. Unfortunately Katherine wasn’t as gorgeous as Sally, to whom men responded like flies around a honey pot and who had always had some man on the go—at least until she’d met Tom. Now, insanely happily married to him, her friend had made it her mission in life to find someone for Katherine. So far her efforts had been in vain. Katherine had had her share of romances—well, two apart from Ben—but the only fizz in those had been when they’d fizzled out, and she’d given up on finding Mr Right a long time ago. Besides, men like the one she was watching were always attached to some beautiful woman.

He must have felt her eyes on him because he glanced up and looked directly at her. She scraped her chair back a little so that it was in the shadows, hoping that the dark glasses she was wearing meant he couldn’t be sure she had been staring at him.

Not that she was at all interested in him, she told herself. It was just that he was a diversion from the work she was doing on her thesis—albeit a very pleasing-to-the-eye diversion.

Everything about Greece was a feast for the senses. It was exactly as her mother had described it—blindingly white beaches, grey-green mountains and a translucent sea that changed colour depending on the tide and the time of day. She could fully grasp, now, why her mother had spoken of the country of her birth so often and with such longing.

Katherine’s heart squeezed. Was it already four weeks since Mum had died? It felt like only yesterday. The month had passed in a haze of grief and Katherine had worked even longer hours in an attempt to keep herself from thinking too much, until Tim, her boss, had pulled her aside and told her gently, but firmly, that she needed to take time off—especially as she hadn’t had a holiday in years. Although she’d protested, he’d dug his heels in. Six weeks, he’d told her, and if he saw her in the office during that time, he’d call Security. One look at his face had told her he meant it.

Then when a work colleague had told her that the Greek parents of a friend of hers were going to America for the birth of their first grandchild and needed someone to stay in their home while they were away—someone who would care for their cherished cat and water the garden—Katherine knew it was serendipity; her thesis had been put to one side when Mum had been ill, and despite what Tim said about taking a complete rest, this would be the perfect time to finish it.

It would also be a chance to fulfil the promise she’d made to her mother.

The little whitewashed house was built on the edge of the village, tucked against the side of a mountain. It had a tiny open-plan kitchen and sitting room, with stone steps hewn out of the rock snaking up to the south-facing balcony that overlooked the bay. The main bedroom was downstairs, its door leading onto a small terrace that, in turn, led directly onto the beach. The garden was filled with pomegranate, fig and ancient, gnarled olive trees that provided much-needed shade. Masses of red bougainvillea, jasmine and honeysuckle clung to the wall, scenting the air.

The cat, Hercules, was no problem to look after. Most of the time he lay sunbathing on the patio and all she had to do was make sure he had plenty of water and feed him. She’d developed a fondness for him and he for her. He’d taken to sleeping on her bed and while she knew it was a habit she shouldn’t encourage, there was something comforting about the sound of his purring and the warmth of his body curled up next to hers. And with that thought, her gaze strayed once more to the man working on the boat.

He’d resumed his paint scraping. He had to be hot down there where there was no shade. She wondered about offering him a drink. It would be the neighbourly, the polite thing to do. But she wasn’t here to get to know the neighbours, she was here to see some of her mother’s country and, while keeping her boss happy, to finish her thesis. Habits of a lifetime were too hard to break, though, and four days into her six-week holiday she hadn’t actually seen very much of Greece, apart from a brief visit to the village her mother had lived as a child. Still, there was plenty of time and if she kept up this pace, her thesis would be ready to submit within the month and then she’d take time off to relax and sightsee.

However, the heat was making it difficult to concentrate. She should give herself a break and it wouldn’t take her a moment to fetch him a drink. As it was likely he came from the village, he probably couldn’t speak English very well anyway. That would definitely curtail any attempt to strike up a conversation.

Just as she stood to move towards the kitchen, a little girl, around five or six, appeared from around the corner of the cliff. She was wearing a pair of frayed denim shorts and a bright red T-shirt. Her long, blonde hair, tied up in a ponytail, bobbed as she skipped towards the man. A small spaniel, ears flapping, chased after her, barking excitedly.

‘Baba!’ she cried, squealing with delight, her arms waving like the blades of a windmill.

An unexpected and unwelcome pang of disappointment washed over Katherine. So he was married.

He stopped what he was doing and grinned, his teeth white against his skin.

‘Crystal!’ he said, holding his arms wide for the little girl to jump into them. Katherine could only make out enough of the rest of the conversation to know it was in Greek.

He placed the little girl down as a woman, slim with short blonde hair, loped towards them. This had to be the wife. She was carrying a wicker basket, which she laid on the sand, and said something to the man that made him grin.

The child, the cocker spaniel close on her heels, ran around in circles, her laughter ringing through the still air.

There was something about the small family, their utter enjoyment of each other, the tableau they made, that looked so perfect it made Katherine’s heart contract. This was what family life should be—might have been—but would likely never be. At least, not for her.

Which wasn’t to say that she didn’t love the life she did have. It was interesting, totally absorbing and worthwhile. Public health wasn’t regarded as the sexiest speciality, but in terms of saving lives most other doctors agreed it was public-health doctors and preventive medicine that made the greatest difference. One only had to think about the Broad Street pump, for example. No one had been able to stop the spread of cholera that had raged through London in the 1800s until they’d found its source.

When she next looked up the woman had gone but the detritus of a picnic still remained on the blanket. The man was leaning against a rock, his long legs stretched out in front of him, the child, dwarfed by his size, snuggled into his side, gazing up at him with a rapt expression on her face as he read to her from a story book.

It was no use, she couldn’t concentrate out here. Gathering up her papers, she went back inside. She’d work for another hour before stopping for lunch. Perhaps then she’d explore the village properly. Apart from the short trip to Mum’s village—and what a disappointment that had turned out to be—she’d been too absorbed in her thesis to do more than go for a swim or a walk along the beach before breakfast and last thing at night. Besides, she needed to stock up on more provisions.

She’d been to the shop on the village square once to buy some tomatoes and milk and had had to endure the undisguised curiosity of the shopkeeper and her customers and she regretted not having learnt Greek properly when she’d had the chance to do so. Her mother had been a native Greek speaker but she had never spoken it at home and consequently Katherine knew little of the language.

However, she hated the way some tourists expected the locals to speak English, regardless of what country they found themselves in, and had made sure she’d learnt enough to ask for what she needed—at the very least, to say please, thank you and to greet people. In the store, she’d managed to ask for what she wanted through a combination of hand signals and her few words of Greek—the latter causing no small amount of amusement.

She glanced at her papers and pushed them away with a sigh. The warm family scene she’d witnessed had unsettled her, bringing back the familiar ache of loneliness and longing. Since her concentration was ruined, she may as well go to the village now. A quick freshen-up and then she’d be good to go. Walking into her bedroom, she hesitated. She crossed over to her bedside drawer and removed the photograph album she always kept with her. She flicked through the pages until she found a couple of photos of Poppy when she was six—around the same age as the little girl in the bay.

This particular one had been taken on the beach—Brighton, if she remembered correctly. Poppy was kneeling in the sand, a bucket and spade next to her, a deep frown knotting her forehead as she sculpted what looked like a very wobbly sandcastle. She was in a bright one-piece costume, her hair tied up in bunches on either side of her head. Another, taken the same day, was of Poppy in Liz’s arms, the remains of an ice cream still evident on her face, her head thrown back as if she’d been snapped right in the middle of a fit of giggles. Katherine could see the gap in the front of her mouth where her baby teeth had fallen out, yet to be replaced with permanent ones. She appeared happy, blissfully so. As happy as the child she’d seen earlier.

She closed the album, unable to bear looking further. Hadn’t she told herself that it was useless to dwell on what might have been? Work. That was what always stopped her dwelling on the past. The trip to the village could wait.

* * *

Immersed in her writing, Katherine was startled by a small voice behind her.

‘Yiássas.’

Katherine spun around in her chair. She hadn’t heard anyone coming up the rock steps but she instantly recognised the little girl from the bay. ‘Oh, hello.’ What was she doing here? And on her own? ‘You gave me a bit of a fright,’ she added in English.

The child giggled. ‘I did, didn’t I? I saw you earlier when I was with Baba. You were on the balcony.’ She pointed to it. ‘I don’t think you have any friends so I thought you might want a visitor. Me!’ Her English was almost perfect, although heavily accented.

Katherine laughed but it didn’t sound quite as carefree as she hoped. ‘Some adults like their own company.’ She gestured to the papers in front of her. ‘Besides, I have lots of work to do while I’m here.’

The girl studied her doubtfully for a few moments. ‘But you wouldn’t mind if I come and see you sometimes?’

What could she say to that? ‘No, of course not. But I’m afraid you wouldn’t find me very good company. I’m not used to entertaining little girls.’

The child looked astounded. ‘But you must have been a little girl once! Before you got old.’