Robyn Donald - Eligible Greeks - Sizzling Affairs - The Good Greek Wife? / Powerful Greek, Housekeeper Wife / Greek Tycoon, Wayward Wife

‘I was glad to escape to boarding school in England.’

‘How old were you?’

Penny knew that her voice sounded slightly breathless because she was struggling with a tightness in her chest that came from the fact that Zarek had actually opened up about something in his past. When they had married he had always insisted that the past was irrelevant. That it was the here and now that mattered.

‘Seven.’

‘So young!’

At seven she had gone to the small village school just down the road. She couldn’t imagine how it would have felt not to be able to go back home at the end of each long, tiring day.

‘But I suppose you had Jason and Petros for company? No?’ she questioned when Zarek shook his head again.

‘They never went away to school. They had private tutors here on the island.’

Catching the sound of her swiftly indrawn breath, he switched on another smile, one that was totally different from before.

‘I much preferred it that way. And if I could have stayed at school through the holidays I would have preferred that too.’

The words were flat, emotionless, but all the same Penny felt that she saw something of the reasons why Zarek had always been so totally set against his stepfamily, his unyielding resolve that they would never get their hands on Odysseus Shipping.

And that perhaps was some part of the explanation why he had been so determined on having a family—an heir—as soon as possible. But it did nothing to ease the sense of being used, seen not as a wife but as a womb to carry that child, which was how she had ended up feeling in their marriage. And that was why she had resorted to taking the contraceptive pill, the discovery of which had sent Zarek incandescent with rage just before he had left for the Troy .

‘And your father?’ she asked and once more Zarek shook his head.

‘He gave Hermione whatever she wanted. He just wanted a quiet life and, to get that, he had to let her run things the way she wanted them.’

‘Then you’ll understand why I was ready to get out of here. You walk back in and assume that I’ve just been sitting here quietly, waiting for you to return. Perhaps doing a little embroidery to pass the time.’

The realisation that she had in fact been doing something like that made her heart skip a little uneven beat. She didn’t really expect an answer to her question and she didn’t get one. Instead Zarek continued to sit as motionless as a statue, even his eyes hooded and opaque.

‘How do you know that I hadn’t decided I’d had enough long ago and divorced you?’

‘On what grounds?’ Cool and swift, it had a bite as lethal as that of a striking snake.

‘Desertion?’ she parried sharply, refusing to let herself think of the way that he had never meant his marriage vows. Never intended to love and cherish. ‘You haven’t been in contact for two years.’

Something had changed. She couldn’t tell quite what it was, only that something in the atmosphere in the room was suddenly very different. Zarek hadn’t moved or spoken but everything about his long, still body communicated a new and very different form of tension.

‘I believe that we have already established that I was hardly in a position to phone you or to send many text messages.’

The dry, slightly mocking words only added to the already strung-out way she was feeling, knocking her over from irritation into full-blown exasperation.

‘When you were captured originally, perhaps! But you got away from them. That same week, if I have it right. And after that? There are two whole years with not a word, not a message. Nothing to let me know that you were still alive.’

‘Perhaps that’s because I didn’t know that I was.’

‘What…? What do you mean? That doesn’t make sense.’

But even as she asked the questions Zarek moved at last, getting to his feet and prowling restlessly across the room to stand by the window, staring out at the now moonlit waves. And as she saw his hand come up to rub at his head, at the ugly scar that marked his temple, she felt her heart thud just once, hard and cruel, at the reminder that he had been literally just inches away from death. How long it would have taken him to recover from that she had no idea.

‘I mean that for a long time even I did not know who I was,’ Zarek said, still not looking at her so that he didn’t see the way that her hands had gone to her mouth as if she could wish her foolish words back. ‘When I hit the sea I had already blacked out. I have no idea how long I drifted. I was just lucky that I was eventually picked up by a man in his yacht. He took me back to his home in Malta.’

‘Malta!’

Penny felt she might choke on the word. Was that where Zarek had been all this time? When she had been imagining all sorts of horrors, the thought of his lifeless body tossed into the ocean with a bullet in his head, he had been on that beautiful Mediterranean island.

So near and yet so far.

And what had he been doing all that time while she had been left stranded, neither a wife nor a widow? Not knowing whether to mourn him or to wait for him.

‘Don’t they have phones in Malta? Writing paper? Envelopes? A post office?’

That brought Zarek swinging round to face her, a faintly wry smile twisting his beautiful mouth in his shadowed face. That smile twisted a knife in her insides with its memory of how he had once looked, in the early days of their marriage, when he had been smiling at something she had said.

‘I wouldn’t have known who to contact. At the start, when I was unconscious and ill from exposure, I had no identification on me, no way of anyone knowing who I was. And when I did come round, I was no help.’

‘Oh, come on…’ Penny began, but then the full impact of just what he had said hit home to her and the words faded into nothing as her mind reeled in shock. ‘Do you mean…? Are you saying…?’

‘I’m saying I had amnesia—the wound on my head—the shock—exposure—any of it could all have caused it or added to the effect—but I couldn’t remember a damn thing. I knew I was alive—I was male and…’

He threw up his hands in a gesture expressing resigned acceptance of defeat.

‘That was it. So I couldn’t help anyone by telling them who I was or who might be looking for me. I didn’t know if I was married or single. If I had any family and where they were. I spoke English—that was what my rescuer spoke to me—but not Maltese. I also spoke French, Greek, Italian—so in which of those countries did I look for any clues?’

‘Amnesia…’

Penny could only echo the word in a sense of shock and bewilderment. It was so obvious now that she knew. It explained so many things, which was a relief.

And it also took away that feeling of outraged injustice at the thought that she had been left abandoned, suffering the torment of believing him dead when all the time he had been alive and well and living in Malta.

Suddenly it was as if that sense of outrage had been all that had been holding her upright. As if the removal of the indignation had been like tugging a rug from under her feet, throwing her totally off balance. Was it possible that her own lingering anger and hurt at all that she had found out about him just before he had left for the Troy had coloured her judgement, making her see hurts where none was intended, cruelty where he had never planned any?

But all the same he had come back to the island incognito, if not in disguise. He had come in secret, concealed behind the big beard, the long hair. And he had set himself to watch her, to observe what she was doing. For how long? Just how many days—weeks—had he been there?

‘Wh-when did you start to remember things?’