Lucy Gordon - The Greek Tycoon's Achilles Heel

‘You look as if you were brooding about something.’

In fact she’d been brooding about the stranger’s words.

‘When he’s decided that he can fit you in with his other commitments he’ll return and take his pleasure at his own time and his own convenience.’

That was not going to happen, she resolved. If he returned tonight he would find her missing.

‘Do you mind if I come to the port to see you off?’ she asked suddenly.

‘Darling, that would be lovely. But I thought you’d be planning a wild night out.’

‘Not me. I don’t have your energy.’

In the car on the way to the port they drank champagne. Once on board, Homer showed her around the stately edifice with vast pride, finishing in the great bedroom with the bed big enough for six, covered with gold satin embroidered cushions.

‘Now we must find a husband for you,’ he declared expansively.

‘No, thank you,’ Petra hurried to say. ‘My one experience of marriage didn’t leave me with any desire to try again.’

Before he could reply, her cellphone rang and she answered.

‘I’m afraid my manners left something to be desired,’ said a man’s voice. ‘Perhaps I can make amends by taking you to dinner?’

For a moment she floundered. She had her speech of rejection ready prepared but no words would come.

‘I’m not sure-’

‘My car’s just outside the house.’

‘But I’m not there. I’m in Piraeus.’

‘It won’t take you long to return. I’ll be waiting.’

He hung up.

‘Cheek!’ she exploded. ‘He just takes it for granted I’ll do what he wants.’ Seeing them frowning, she added, ‘Lysandros Demetriou. He wants to take me to dinner, and I wasn’t given much chance to say no.’

‘That sounds like him,’ Homer said approvingly. ‘When he wants something he doesn’t waste time.’

‘But it’s no way to treat a lady,’ Estelle said indignantly.

He grinned and kissed her. ‘You didn’t seem to mind.’

As they were escorting her off the yacht Petra suddenly had a thought.

‘How did he know my cellphone number? I didn’t give it to him.’

‘He probably paid someone in my household to find out,’ Homer said as though it was a matter of course. ‘Goodbye, my dear.’

She hurried down the gangplank and into the car. On the journey back to Athens she tried to sort out her thoughts. She was angry, but mostly with herself. So many good resolutions ground to dust because of a certain tone in his voice.

On impulse she took out her phone and dialled the number of Karpos, an Athens contact, an ex-journalist whom she knew to be reliable. When he heard what she wanted he drew a sharp breath.

‘Everyone’s afraid of him,’ he said, speaking quickly. ‘In fact they’re so afraid that they won’t even admit their fear, in case he gets to hear and complains that they’ve made him look bad.’

‘That’s paranoid.’

‘Sure, but it’s the effect he has. Nobody is allowed to see inside his head or his heart-if he has one. Opinion is divided about that.’

‘But wasn’t there someone, a long time ago-? From the other family?’

‘Right. Her name was Brigitta, but I didn’t tell you that. She died in circumstances nobody has ever been able to discover. The press were warned off by threats, which is why you’ll never see it mentioned now.’

‘You mean threats of legal action?’

‘There are all kinds of threats,’ Karpos said mysteriously. ‘One man started asking questions. The next thing he knew, all his debts were called in. He was on the verge of ruin, but it was explained to him that if he “behaved himself” in future, matters could be put right. Of course he gave the promise, turned over all his notes, and everything was miraculously settled.’

‘Did anything bad happen to him afterwards?’

‘No, he left journalism and went into business. He’s very successful, but if you say the name Demetriou, he leaves the room quickly. Anything you know, you have to pretend not to know, like the little apartment he has in Athens, or Priam House in Corfu.’

‘Priam House?’ she said, startled. ‘I’ve heard of that. People have been trying to explore the cellar for years-there’s something there, but nobody’s allowed in. Do you mean it’s his?’

‘So they say. But don’t let on that you know about it. In fact, don’t tell him you’ve spoken to me, please.’

She promised and hung up. Sitting there, silent and thoughtful, she knew she was getting into deep water. But deep water had never scared her.

She also knew that there was another aspect to this, something that couldn’t be denied.

After fifteen years, she and Lysandros Demetriou had unfinished business.

He’d said he would be waiting for her and, sure enough, he was there by the gate to Homer’s estate. As her car slowed he pulled open the door, took her hand and drew her out.

‘I won’t be long,’ she said. ‘I just have to go inside and-’

‘No. You’re fine as you are. Let’s go.’

‘I was going to change my dress-’

‘You don’t need to. You’re beautiful. You know that, so why are we arguing?’

There was something about this blunt speech that affected her more than a smooth compliment would ever have done. He had no party manners. He said exactly what he thought, and he thought she was beautiful. She felt a smile grow inside her until it possessed her completely.

‘You know what?’ she said. ‘You’re right. Why are we arguing?’ She indicated for her chauffeur to go on without her and got into Lysandros’s car.

She wondered where he would take her, possibly a sophisticated restaurant, but he surprised her by driving out into the countryside for a few miles and stopping at a small restaurant, where he led her to an outside table. Here they were close to the coast and in the distance she could just make out the sea, shimmering beneath the moon.

‘This is lovely,’ she said. ‘It’s so peaceful after all the crowds today.’

‘That’s how I feel too,’ he said. ‘Normally I only come here alone.’

The food was simple, traditional Greek cooking, just as she liked it. While he concentrated on the order Petra had the chance to consider him, trying to reconcile his reputation as a ruthless tyrant with the suffering boy she’d met years ago.

That boy had been vulnerable and still able to show it, to the extent of telling a total stranger that a betrayal of trust had broken his heart. Now he was a man who inspired fear, who would deny having a heart, who would probably jeer at the idea of trust.

What had really happened all those years ago? And could it ever be put right for him?

She thought again of dancing with him, the other women with their envious, lustful glances as they relived hours spent in bed with that tall, strong body, yielding ecstatically to skills they’d found in no other man.

‘Are you all right?’ Lysandros asked suddenly.

‘Yes-why do you ask?’

‘You drew a sharp breath, as though you were in pain.’

‘No, I’m not in pain,’ she hurried to say.

Unless, she thought, you included the pain of wanting something you’d be wiser not to want. She pretended to search her bag. When she glanced up she found him regarding her with a look of wonder.

‘Fifteen years,’ he said. ‘So much has happened and we’ve changed, and yet in another way we’re still the same people. I would have known you anywhere.’

She smiled. ‘But you didn’t recognise me.’

‘Only on the surface. Inside, there was a part of me that knew you. I never thought we’d meet again, and yet somehow I was always certain that we would.’

She nodded. ‘Me too. If we’d waited another fifteen years-or fifty-I’d still have been sure that we would one day talk again before we died.’