The Greek Tycoon's Achilles Heel

‘But—you’re different—not the same person.’

‘I should hope not, after all this time. I’m the same in some ways, not others. You’re different too, but you’re easier to spot. I was longing for you to recognise me, but you didn’t.’ She

sighed theatrically. ‘Hey ho! What a disappointment!’

‘You didn’t care if I recognised you or not,’ he said flatly.

‘Well, maybe just a little.’

An orchestra was getting into place and the dancing area was being cleared, so that they had to move to the side.

He was possessed by a strange feeling, of having wandered into an alien world where nothing was quite as it looked. She had sprung out of the past, landing in his path, challenging him with memories and fears.

‘Even now I can’t believe that it’s you,’ he said. ‘Your hair’s different—it was cut very short—’

‘Functional,’ she said at once. ‘I was surrounded by film people making the best of themselves, so I made the least of myself as an act of adolescent defiance.’

‘Was that all you could think of?’

‘Consider my problem,’ she said with an expansive gesture. ‘The average teenager goes wild, indulges herself with wine, late nights, lovers—but everyone around me was doing that. I’d never have been noticed. So I cut my hair as badly as possible, bought cheap clothes, studied my school books and had early nights. Heavens, was I virtuous! Boring but virtuous.’

‘And what happened?’ he asked, fascinated.

She chuckled. ‘My mother started to get very worried about my “strange behaviour”. It took her a while to accept the fact that I was heading for the academic life.’

‘Doing what?’

‘I’ve made my career out of ancient Greece. I write books, I give lectures. I pretend to know a lot more than I actually do—’

‘Like most of them,’ he couldn’t resist saying.

‘Like most of them,’ she agreed at once.

‘Is your mother reconciled?’

‘Oh, yes, she’s terribly impressed now. She came to one of my lectures and afterwards she said, “Darling that was wonderful! I didn’t understand a word.” That’s her yardstick, bless her. And in the end it was me who introduced her to Homer.’ She looked around. ‘So you could say I’m to blame for all this.’

It was time for the dancing. Homer and Estelle took the floor, gliding about in each other’s arms until the photographers had all had their fill.

‘Aren’t you taking any pictures?’ he asked.

‘No, mine’s just the personal family stuff. What they’re doing now is for the public.’

Nikator waved as he danced past with Debra in his arms. Petra sighed.

‘He may be in his late thirties but he’s just a silly kid at heart. What it’ll be like when he takes over the firm I can’t—’ She broke off guiltily, her hand over her mouth. ‘I didn’t say that.’

‘Don’t worry. You didn’t say anything the whole world doesn’t already know. It’s interesting that you’re learning already.’

There was a sardonic edge to his voice, and she didn’t have to ask what he meant. The two great families of Greek shipbuilding survived by getting the edge on each other, and inevitably that included spying. The kind of casual comment that others could risk might be dangerous.

The dance ended and another one began. Debra vanished in the arms of a powerful producer, and Nikator made his way in Petra’s direction.

‘Oh, heavens, dance with me!’ she breathed, seizing Lysandros and drawing him onto the floor.

‘What are you—?’ Somehow he found his arms around her.

‘Yes, I know, in polite society I’m supposed to wait for you to ask me,’ she muttered, ‘but this isn’t polite society, it’s a goldfish bowl.’

He felt she couldn’t have put it better.

‘But your fears may be misplaced,’ he pointed out. ‘With you being so boring and virtuous he probably wasn’t going to ask you at all.’

‘He has peculiar tastes.’ She added hurriedly, ‘And I didn’t say that, either.’

She was like quicksilver in his arms, twisting and turning against him, leading him on so that he moved in perfect time with her and had to fight an impulse to tighten his grip, draw her against his body and let things happen as they would. Not here. Not now. Not yet.

Petra read him fairly accurately, and something thrilled in her blood.

‘Don’t you like dancing?’ she asked after a while.

‘This isn’t dancing. It’s swimming around that goldfish bowl.’

‘True. But we annoyed Nikator, which is something gained.’

She was right. Nikator’s expression was that of a child whose toys had been snatched away. Then Lysandros forgot everything except Petra. Her face was close to his and the smile in her eyes reached him directly.

‘What will you do after this?’ he asked.

‘Stay here for a few days, or weeks. It’s a chance for me to do some research. Homer has great contacts. There’s a museum vault that’s never opened for anyone, but he’s fixing it for me.’

He glanced down at the slender, sensual body moving in his arms, at the charming face that seemed to smile more naturally than any other expression, and the blue eyes with their mysterious, tantalising depths, and he knew a sense of outrage. What was this woman doing in museums, investigating the dead, when everything in her spoke of life? She belonged not in tombs but in sunlight, not turning dusty pages but caressing a man’s face and pressing her naked body against his.

The mere thought of her nakedness made him draw a sharp breath. The dress fitted her closely enough to give him a good idea of her contours, but it only tempted him to want more. He controlled his thoughts by force.

‘Is visiting museums really your idea of being lucky?’ he asked slowly.

‘I’m going to see things that other scholars have been struggling to see for years. I’ll be ahead of the game.’

‘But isn’t there anything else you want to do?’ he asked.

‘You mean, what’s a woman doing worrying her little head about such things? Women are made for pleasure; serious matters should be left to men.’

Since this came dangerously near to his actual thoughts he was left floundering for a moment. He wished she hadn’t used the word ‘pleasure’. It was a distraction he could do without.

‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ he managed to say at last, ‘but when life offers you so many more avenues—’

‘Like Nikator? Yes, I could throw myself into his arms, or anything else he wanted me to throw myself into—careful!’