Won by the Wealthy Greek: The Greek's Seven-Day Seduction / Constantinou's Mistress / The Greek Doctor's Rescue

The man had definitely seen something. The way he was standing now, hands planted on his hips, staring up towards the terrace, proved it. And though he was too far away for her to be able to read the expression on his face, she didn’t have to.

‘Ah, you have not eaten your breakfast.’

Charlotte turned around, relieved to hear Marianna’s reproachful voice. It brought a welcome gust of normality into a situation that was growing increasingly uncomfortable. ‘I’m sorry.’ She smiled into Marianna’s raisin-black eyes. ‘Here, let me help you with that,’ she insisted as Marianna began collecting up the dishes. She was in no mood for playing Russian roulette with the fisherman’s intentions, and would feel a lot safer inside the house.

‘You will fade away,’ Marianna declared once they were back in the kitchen. ‘You must eat.’

‘Fade away? Me?’ Glancing in the mirror, Charlotte viewed herself critically. She had always been on the generous side of average, as far as weight was concerned, but a healthy diet, as well as plenty of exercise in the Greek sunshine, had stripped away much of the excess. She was surprised at how fit she looked. No amount of pounding rubber in the gym had managed to achieve such a firm body back in England.

Altogether her looks had undergone something of a transformation. Her hair had paled to a rich golden red, and even that was streaked with lighter strands around her hairline. Just as well, she mused wryly, since the tip of her nose was bright red. She needed the contrast. But her freckles… Charlotte groaned as she wiped her hands across her nose and cheeks, and sighed with frustration.

‘Do you eat at all when I leave here?’ Marianna persisted, breaking into her cogitations. ‘No, I thought not,’ she said disparagingly, without giving Charlotte a chance to speak. ‘But tonight you shall.’

‘I shall?’ Charlotte said with surprise.

‘Yes,’ Marianna said decisively. ‘Tonight you shall come with me to the taverna and eat a proper meal.’

‘But—’ Charlotte bit back the words she had been about to say. Anticipating a refusal, Marianna looked crestfallen. ‘That’s very kind of you,’ Charlotte said hurriedly, ‘but I don’t—’

‘Don’t eat? Yes, I know,’ Marianna said, rolling her eyes. ‘That’s why I’m suggesting you come along with me tonight. There is delicious food at the taverna. And there will be music, and dancing too.’

Raising her arms above her head, she clicked her fingers rhythmically, with such a look of mischief in her eyes that it didn’t take much for Charlotte to imagine the woman Marianna must have been maybe fifty years before. It would be churlish to refuse, she realised. ‘You’re very kind Marianna. Thank you for asking me. I’d love to come.’

‘In that case, I will collect you at nine o’clock,’ Marianna said briskly. ‘And you will wear a pretty party dress.’

‘A party dress?’ Charlotte’s mind stalled for a moment, and then she remembered the fabulous designer dresses still languishing at the bottom of her suitcase. ‘Will everyone be dressed up?’ she asked dubiously, hoping to avoid the toe-curling possibility that she might be overdressed if she wore one of them.

‘Of course,’ Marianna declared passionately. ‘Tonight is a special night—a panagiria. There will be traditional folk music, good food, and dancing. Everyone will be wearing their best clothes.’

‘Everyone—’ Charlotte bit the word back guiltily. Of course he wouldn’t be there. It was crazy to expect the hard man of the island to grace such an event with his presence. He might have felt at home yelling the odds at a boxing match, or even stripped to the waist taking part—She quickly pulled the shutters down on that disturbing thought. No, the occasion Marianna had just described would not appeal to the steely individual she had encountered on the beach.

Feeling reassured, Charlotte agreed with a smile. ‘I’ll be ready for you at nine o’clock,’ she promised Marianna, already looking forward to her first night out on the island.

‘There’s just one more thing,’ Marianna added haltingly.

‘And what’s that?’ Charlotte prompted with surprise. It wasn’t like Marianna to be anything other than forthcoming.

‘It would be better if you left your camera behind. The men don’t like it.’ Marianna gave an open-armed shrug.

‘The men don’t like it?’ Charlotte repeated, wrinkling her brow, not sure whether to laugh or not.

‘It’s better to conform.’

‘Do you conform?’ Charlotte said, still uncertain of her ground. Up to now she would have suspected that a strong character like Marianna would set the rules, rather than have them imposed upon her.

‘Yes,’ Marianna said with some emphasis. ‘It is not for me or for anyone to upset centuries of tradition.’

Consider yourself reprimanded, Charlotte thought. The one thing she didn’t want to do was cause offence. ‘I’m sorry—you’re quite right,’ she said quickly. ‘I won’t take anyone’s photograph without asking their permission first—’

‘No,’ Marianna said firmly, holding up her hand. ‘It would be better if you did not bring your camera at all. People can be…’

‘Yes?’ Charlotte pressed when the older woman fell silent.

Marianna only shrugged. ‘It would be better if you did not bring your camera,’ she repeated doggedly.

‘In that case, I won’t,’ Charlotte promised. Maybe that was what was wrong with the fisherman on the beach—he had suspected there was someone taking photographs. Marianna’s reference to centuries of tradition made Charlotte wonder if there was some superstition-based prejudice on Iskos that forbade the use of photography. ‘See you at nine,’ she said, returning to the present as she waved Marianna off with a smile.

Charlotte felt a rush of excitement as she contemplated the evening ahead. Her glance flew to the opposite side of the shore. She could just make out the white tops of the outdoor tables at the taverna, waiting for their traditional blue and white checked tablecloths to decorate the Formica surfaces.

There was no sign of the fisherman or his boat, and she turned her attention instead to the wooden jetty extending out on stilts into the sea. It was lit by twinkling lights at night, and from her eyrie on top of the cliff she had often thought it the most romantic place on earth. On several occasions haunting music had floated up to her in waves, and she had just been able to make out couples dancing close together, watch the tiny figures forming into a line to dance the kalamatiana, the traditional dance of Greece. And now, tonight, in just a few hours, she would be there!

Without a partner, Charlotte remembered wryly. But she was looking forward to all the good food Marianna had mentioned. Just the thought of the freshly caught fish and delectable mezedhes, the hors d’oeuvres of Greece, was enough to make her mouth water. And, who knew? She might even be invited to dance.

She would write all day, Charlotte decided, remembering the article still awaiting her attention. But then, as a reward, she would dance all night…

She hadn’t realised there was quite so much Lycra in the designer dresses, and with just half an hour to go before Marianna arrived Charlotte was still trying to make up her mind which one to wear. Would it be the skin-tight red dress with the plunging neckline, or the backless eau-de-nil number?

From the front at least the pale green dress looked quite respectable—except that it made her breasts look like melons and her backside—Thankfully, her head refused to go any further round to get a proper look, so she was going to overlook that problem. But at least the shade was subtle, Charlotte told herself, and she made her final decision.

If she draped a shawl around her shoulders she would be pretty well covered up. And it was either that or shorts and a tee-shirt—and Marianna had stipulated party dress. She couldn’t disappoint, could she? Charlotte mused, reverently lifting out the dainty Jimmy Choos her chums had insisted she pack along with the dresses. Irresistible! Charlotte held up the sandals to admire them. Goodbye flat sandals, hello stiletto heaven. She eased her slim, tanned feet beneath the fragile, beaded straps.

She was beginning to feel like Cinderella, Charlotte realised as she gathered up her long sun-streaked hair. Holding it with a discreet tortoiseshell clip, she dragged down a few tendrils to soften the effect.

Finally she attended to her freckles, using make-up with an unusually heavy hand. They certainly disappeared, but under a thick coating of foundation that left her face looking like a mask, so then she had to add some rouge to lift the effect.

The transformation was startling, to say the least. And it wasn’t quite what she was used to. She could always hide behind the shawl, Charlotte consoled herself. But the slash of bright red lipstick helped to boost her confidence, as did the layers of black mascara she’d applied to her lashes. But there wasn’t much of her old self left by the time she had finished, she realised, pulling a face at herself in the mirror. But as this was ‘new’ Charlotte—the one with all the confidence—that was good, wasn’t it?

Marianna arrived on the dot of nine, dressed in her finest black regalia, consisting of a voluminous ankle-length skirt, sensible shoes, and an all-concealing top, with the ubiquitous headscarf arranged to allow just a peep of sleek, centrally parted steel-grey hair.

‘Ready?’ Her thoughts on Charlotte’s appearance were revealed by a drawing together of her brows and a click of her tongue. ‘This is your party dress?’ she demanded uncertainly, giving Charlotte’s outfit a comprehensive perusal.

‘This is it,’ Charlotte agreed with an air of finality. She just couldn’t face the rigmarole of starting over again, trying to decide what to wear.

‘Then we go,’ Marianna said with a shrug, drawing the soft cream-coloured shawl down over Charlotte’s naked back and securing it a little closer around her neck.

CHAPTER FOUR

ANY apprehension Charlotte might have felt about her first night out on the island was quickly dispelled when they arrived at the taverna. Marianna was greeted like an honoured guest, and they were shown to one of the best tables, just where Charlotte had hoped it would be, out on the jetty at the very edge of the dance floor.

Marianna introduced the owner of the taverna to Charlotte as Mikos, and with a click of his fingers he summoned one of the young waiters forward. The good-looking youth quickly lit a candle for them, and provided a basket of freshly baked bread, together with a bowl of olive oil in which to dunk it, as well as a large bottle of fridge-chilled water and some drinking glasses.

‘I invite you both to visit my kitchen and take your pick of the food,’ Mikos announced, turning from Charlotte to Marianna. ‘I want you to have the very best, Kiria Lyknos,’ he said with deference. ‘I caught some excellent fish today.’ And then, turning to Charlotte, he explained with a flourish, ‘Mikos Anglias—part-time restaurateur, full-time fisherman. At least, I am a fisherman in my head,’ he added wryly. ‘Fishing is a state of mind here on Iskos—is that not correct, Kiria Lyknos?’

‘Everyone envies the fishermen of Iskos,’ Marianna agreed, nodding sagely.

Charlotte warmed to the ebullient owner of the taverna immediately. He seemed to validate the theme of her article that here on Iskos people were valued for their inner qualities, rather than for their wealth or position. Her heart thundered on cue as she remembered the source of that idea. And she had tried so hard to avoid any thought of the fisherman, Charlotte berated herself silently. She didn’t want anything to spoil the evening.

Thinking of him now made her look around anxiously. The other tables were filling up rapidly, but of course he was nowhere to be seen. She told herself not to be so jumpy, but still her heart insisted on pounding, as if he was somewhere close by—so much so that Marianna was forced to ask her twice to accompany her to the kitchen before Charlotte even realised that both she and Mikos were standing up and waiting for her to accompany them.