'Et tu, Brute?' said Isobel wryly.
'No use spouting Latin to me, kyria, I'm Greek! And,' she added in sudden inspiration, 'you're a Brit so you're bound to like tea. Shall I ask Eleni to make some for us? I'll mention your change of plan.'
Isobel laughed and threw up her hands. 'All right, all right, I give in, KYRIA Nicolaides. I'll stay on here for a day or two more.'
'Be sure to tell Luke I was the one who persuaded you-he'll owe me!'
By Greek standards they'd eaten early. But, after Alyssa left to drive home with a message of thanks to her father for the wine, Isobel got ready for bed, suddenly exhausted. She settled herself against stacked pillows with a book, the usual tray of drinks left beside her by Eleni. But, instead of reading, she kept thinking of how near Luke had come to death that day, and frowned. Why did that matter so much? Just a short time ago she'd actively disliked him, but somewhere along the line her feelings towards him had undergone a sea change. Whatever the reason, Isobel gave a great sigh of relief when Luke rang.
'Did I wake you, Isobel?'
'No. How are you?'
'In terrible pain,' he said promptly. 'I need a friend to comfort me.'
'No, seriously-'
'I am serious. Are you in bed?'
'Yes.'
'I need a picture of you as I lie in my own, so tell me what you sleep in.'
She chuckled. 'A knee-length blue T-shirt. I go for comfort, not glamour in bed.'
'Glamour enough for me-' He drew in a sharp breath.
'What's wrong?' she demanded.
'My various scrapes and scratches making themselves felt. Sleep well, Isobel.'
She closed her phone slowly, then turned out the light and slid lower in the bed, yawning. For some reason, just hearing Luke's voice had been enough to settle her down to sleep. Hoping it had worked the same way for him, she stretched luxuriously and turned her face into her pillows.
Isobel continued work on her watercolour next day, interrupted at intervals by brief phone calls from Luke.
'I am very glad you decided to remain at the villa. Wait there until I come back. Please, Isobel,' he added, which was so obviously an afterthought she grinned.
'I'll see,' was all she would promise, and said nothing about her intention to complete not only the watercolour of the pool before she left, but another of Luke's beach to go with it. This was more difficult to accomplish when Eleni and Spiro learned what she had in mind, since it meant a lot of argument about working out of doors. But in the end Milos rigged up a canopy to shade Isobel from the sun as she worked at the cliff edge. The study of the pool was for Luke to remind him of her in future. The painting of the beach was for herself, who would need no reminders.
Isobel received a flying visit from Alyssa before the evening rush at the taverna, and added her bit to the concerns voiced by Eleni and Spiro.
'Are you sure you should be doing this? Though it's very beautiful,' said Alyssa, peering over her shoulder. 'Is that for Luke, too?'
'No. This one's for me.'
'How's the ankle?'
'Much better. I'm really speedy with my faithful crutch! It's good exercise, getting in and out of the house for bathroom breaks. And, before you ask, I'm smothered in suncream and I'm drinking gallons of water and eating whatever Eleni puts in front of me. But thank you for coming, Alyssa.'
'My pleasure. Alex sends his regards, by the way. He saw Luke when he was at the hospital and assures you he's fine.'
Isobel raised an eyebrow. 'Why should Alex assure me?'
Alyssa fluttered her eyelashes. 'Who knows? Now, be good and I'll come back tomorrow. We'll have extra help then, so I can stay longer. If you like.'
'I'd like that very much! Thanks a lot, Alyssa.'
After concentrating for hours to make use of the light, Isobel was very tired by the time Spiro helped Milos take down the canopy. 'Time to stop, kyria,' he said severely, taking charge of her painting materials. 'Now you rest, then eat good dinner.'
It was a programme Isobel was only too glad to follow. She had a long shower, but felt so tired halfway through the meal she gave up and let Eleni help her to her room, scolding all the way because Isobel had been too weary to eat.
'I bring tea,' said the woman as they reached the room. 'You go to bed now, ne?'
'Yes, Eleni,' Isobel promised meekly, startled to feel suddenly cold in the evening breeze coming through the veranda doors. Shivering, she searched in her suitcase for a pair of leggings to go with her vest, and even pulled tennis socks over feet that were suddenly icy.
'Too much sun, work too hard,' said Eleni sternly when she returned with the tea. 'You want blanket?'
'No, I'll be fine now, thank you. Goodnight, Eleni.' Isobel drank the hot tea gratefully and settled back against the pillows.
Luke rang before she had time to wonder if he would. 'How are you, Isobel?'
'I'm in bed now, but I've had a busy day. I've been painting.'
'I heard this. Out on the cliff edge,' he said sternly.
'I wanted a painting of the beach to take home as a souvenir.'
'To remind you of Chyros-and me? I need no reminders,' he said softly. 'I shall never forget my beautiful trespasser.'
Good, thought Isobel, who had painted the watercolour with just that end in view. 'How are your scrapes and scratches?'
'Healing fast.'
'Do you know why the man attacked you?'
'Yes.' His voice hardened. 'After much persuasion, he told the police he was paid to wound me but not to kill. He insists he has no idea who paid him, but I refuse to believe this. The man is obviously too frightened to name names. He said the money and instructions were delivered to him by courier, along with threats to harm his children if he refused.'
'Then, for heaven's sake, take care, Luke,' warned Isobel, startled. 'Whoever paid him might find someone else to hurt you even more. Is there good security where you live?'
'The best. The building I live in has every security device known to man. I have excellent security staff, also temporary police protection. But as soon as I can I shall return to Chyros, where no hurt ever comes to me.'
CHAPTER SEVEN
IT WAS a long time before Isobel slept. She felt worried because Luke was in danger, and even more worried because she felt that way. Don't go there, she warned herself forcibly. She was just about getting over the recent hateful episode. Only a fool would lay herself open to more emotional trauma. Especially with a man who lived his life to a very different set of rules from hers. She tossed and turned endlessly, but when heavy, exhausted sleep overtook her at last she was jolted out of it into a waking nightmare by rough hands which dragged her out of bed, her terrified scream smothered by a pungent cloth clamped over her face.
When Isobel opened her eyes again she felt icy-cold as she stared up into a starlit sky. She could hear an insistent put-putting noise, but instead of fear her knee-jerk reaction was sheer bloody-minded anger when she found she was tied up. Other people had nice package holidays, uneventful except for lost luggage, plane delays and sunburn, while so far hers had been one disaster after another. But burning resentment swiftly morphed into the cold chill of fear as she identified the noise. It was an outboard motor and she was not only in the bottom of a boat, but trussed up like an oven-ready chicken. How long had she been unconscious? And where on earth was she being taken? Even more frightening, what would happen when she got there? At least the smothering cloth had gone. Chloroform, probably. She swallowed down on a wave of nausea, thankful she hadn't been gagged, then clenched her teeth in anguish as she prayed hard that nothing had happened to Eleni and Spiro. And, instead of howling in anger at fate, she forced herself to lie perfectly still. Better to pretend she was still unconscious than risk the chloroform treatment again.
But why had she been snatched? If ransom was the motive, she had no money so she was no earthly use to a kidnapper. She shivered, feeling cold for all kinds of reasons. And hideously helpless. Then her heart lurched as the engine died and the boat grated against shingle. Now what? She kept her eyes tightly shut, playing dead as she was heaved over a burly shoulder. Her nostrils were assaulted by unwashed wool and sweat and tobacco as she was carried over what appeared to be rocks, by the way she was jolted. The rough handling had started up the throbbing in her temple again and her ankle was joining in. When I get home, Isobel promised herself bitterly-if I get home-I'll never leave it again.
She heard a door creak, then she was dumped on some kind of bed, pungent with the smell of wet wood and fish. She opened her eyes a crack to see a nightmare shape outlined by the moonlight shining through the small window of some kind of hut, and swallowed a scream as a huge hooded figure bent over her. He spoke to her roughly in Greek very different from Luke's, but when she stared at him in speechless horror he took her by the shoulders, obviously demanding a reply.