Dark Apollo

His gaze met hers again. ‘So, what do you want, Kyria Dryden? Or do you plan to spend the whole afternoon staring at me in silence?’

‘I’m sorry.’ What am I apologising for? she asked herself in disbelief. She pulled herself together with determination. ‘You aren’t exactly what I expected, Kyrios Xandreou.’

‘Nor are you. But it isn’t important.’ His tone was dismissive. ‘Say what you must, and go.’

All her worst forebodings were confirmed. He didn’t care about Katie, or the baby. Her sister’s sole attraction for him had been her innocence. Now it was gone, he didn’t want to know. Katie was just another notch on a welldented bedpost.

She said stonily. ‘You know why I’m here. I think some kind of—reparation is called for.’

‘For what? A pleasant interlude like so many of your countrywomen expect to enjoy in Greece?’ The contempt in his voice lashed her.

Just because other girls might behave like sex-crazed idiots, there was no need to tar Katie with the same brush, she thought in furious anguish. Hadn’t he realised that she was different—that she’d actually believed whatever corny seduction line he’d handed her?

‘Unfortunately, this particular interlude has had consequences.’ She hated the smile which twisted his mouth. ‘Or had you forgotten there’s a baby on the way?’

‘There is nothing wrong with my memory,’ he said. ‘It is more a question of credulity, perhaps. A child with Xandreou blood might have a claim on Xandreou money. Is that what you think?’ He shook his head. ‘I am not a fool, Kyria Dryden. I am prepared to subject the paternity of this child to every test available to medical science. But can you afford to fight me?’ The studied insolence of his gaze scorched her again. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘No,’ she said curtly. ‘Nor would I dream of it. Obviously your responsibilities mean very little to you.’

‘You are wrong. They mean a great deal. Which is why I will not submit to pressure from a girl who has behaved like a slut, and now wishes to benefit from her indiscretion.’ His drawl intensified. ‘Perhaps you are not aware that in Greek the name Catherine means “purity”. It is something to consider—for the future, ne?’

Her hands curled into fists at her sides, and her voice shook a little.

‘You’ve more than made your point, Mr Xandreou. I’d hoped you might have some shred of decency in you, but clearly I was mistaken. However, you won’t be troubled again. The baby may not be brought up in the lap of this kind of luxury——’ she gestured scornfully round her ‘—but it will be welcomed, looked after and loved, and that’s far more important. It wasn’t money I came for, but something more fundamental. Something you wouldn’t understand.’

She paused, struggling to control her voice. ‘And, hopefully, although the baby will be illegitimate, it will grow up without knowing what a complete bastard its father was.’ She drew a deep and shuddering breath. ‘I wonder how many more lives will be ruined before you get your well-deserved come-uppance?’

‘You have the insolence to talk about ruined lives?’ He flung his head back, and she felt his anger touch her like a blast of lightning. ‘How dare you say such a thing—speak to me like this?’

‘It’s quite simple,’ she said. ‘I just tell the truth.’

She turned and walked away from him, back rigidly straight, fighting the storm of angry tears which threatened to overwhelm her.

Of all the hateful, disgusting things he’d said, it was the gibe about Katie’s name which, ridiculously, had got to her most.

He must have known she was untouched, yet he’d set out deliberately to deflower and destroy, using all the potent virility and sexual charisma he possessed in such abundance to undermine her resistance.

My God, I was aware of it myself, she thought, shame mingling with anger. And I was only with him for a few minutes. If I’d met him in different circumstances—if he’d been charming, or even marginally polite…

She blotted out that line of thinking instantly. Spiro Xandreou clearly regarded himself as some latter-day Apollo, a sun god to whom every woman was a potential victim for conquest, and she disgraced herself by even acknowledging his attraction.

But what had he been doing, working in that restaurant? she asked herself. Waiting on tables for a bet—or some other kind of sick joke?

If so, why go on with the pretence once Katie had returned to England? Promising to come over—claiming they were going to be married. All those letters—all those lies.

Unforgivable, she thought as she dragged the despised scooter upright, and kicked it into grumbling life. She wanted to get away from the Villa Apollo, and its owner, as fast as she could—breathe some untainted air.

And decide what she could possibly tell Katie, she thought despondently as she steadied her temperamental machine for the first bend.

The open-topped sports car was upon her instantly, racing up the hill on the wrong side of the road. Camilla caught a stunned glimpse of a girl’s face, olive-skinned and pretty behind the designer sunglasses but transfixed by sheer horror. Then she pulled the bike over in a kind of desperation, striving to avoid the inevitable collision.

The scooter hit the loose stones on the verge, and went out of control, running up the bank. Camilla was thrown off, landing painfully on her side. She lay still for a moment, feeling sick and dizzy with shock.

She heard the sound of running feet, and the girl bent over her. ‘O Theos.’ There was panic in her voice. ‘You are hurt. Are you broken anywhere?’

Into several pieces by the feel of it, Camilla thought, as she pulled herself to her feet. There were no actual fractures, she was sure, but there was a deep graze on her bare leg, and another on her arm, blood mingling with the dirt on her torn blouse.

‘I did not expect anyone else on this road.’ The girl was practically wringing her hands.

‘So I gathered,’ Camilla forced from her dry throat.

‘You need a doctor.’ The girl took her uninjured arm, urging her towards the car. ‘With me, please. Come.’

Camilla shook her head. ‘It’s all right.’ Her voice sounded very small and far-away suddenly. ‘I—I’ll be fine.’ She saw the road, the car, and the newcomer’s anxious face dip and sway, then everything descended into a dark and swirling void.

Somewhere, a storm must be raging. Camilla could feel the splash of rain on her face and hear a distant rumble of thunder. But she herself seemed to be floating on some kind of cloud.

She opened unwilling eyes, and stared up at a face she’d never seen before, female, elderly and wrinkled with concern. Nor was it raining. She was simply having her face bathed with cool water.

I hurt, she thought, wincing, as she looked around her. She was in a large room, lying on a vast luxurious sofa the colour of rich maize.

And the sound of the storm was Spiro Xandreou, who was standing a few feet away conducting a low-voiced but furious argument with the girl from the car.

Oh, my God, Camilla thought with horrified alarm. She’s brought me back here—to his house. I can’t bear it.

She tried to sit up, only to be vociferously restrained by the old woman attending to her.

Spiro Xandreou swung round, frowning, and came striding over. He’d exchanged the towel, Camilla noticed, for a pair of white shorts almost equally revealing. Still competing for the Stud of the Year award, no doubt, she thought, hating him.

‘My sister has told me what happened,’ he said harshly. ‘You must remain where you are—keep still until the doctor has made his examination.’

‘I’ll do nothing of the kind.’ Camilla’s head swam as she put her feet gingerly to the floor. But she was becoming more aware of her surroundings. One entire wall of the room was made from glass, a series of sliding doors pushed open to admit the sunlight, and a breeze bringing a hint of flowers and citrus.

The floor was tiled in creamy marble, veined in blue and gold, and the same blue was echoed in the colour of the walls, which were bare except for a few modern abstract paintings, clearly original and probably valuable.

Ironically, the one thing Spiro Xandreou hadn’t lied about was his wealth, Camilla thought sourly. She was in the lap of luxury here. The sofa she was lying on was one of a pair flanking a wide marble fireplace, which was presumably for use in the winter months but was now screened by a large bronze sculpture of a sunburst.

The whole effect was airy and spacious, yet somehow welcoming, so presumably the owner had had no hand in the décor.

She glared up at him. ‘There’s no need for all this fuss. I want nothing from you, Mr. Xandreou. I thought I’d made that clear.’

‘Unfortunately, neither of us has a choice. You are not leaving here, thespinis, without medical attention.’

‘What are you afraid of? That I’ll sue?’ His autocratic tone needled her. She tried to smile past him at the girl, who was standing looking sullen, her arms crossed defensively in front of her. ‘I shan’t. I’ve a few grazes, that’s all.’

‘You cannot know that. And in the circumstances we can afford to take no risks,’ he said grimly. He issued some low-voiced instructions to the old woman who left the room instantly.

‘Arianna tells me you were riding a scooter,’ he went on. ‘Are you quite crazy?’