The Power of the Legendary Greek(2)

       

She woke early next morning, triumphant to find she'd not only fallen  asleep easily, but passed the entire night without a bad dream to jolt  her awake in the small hours.

After breakfast Isobel dressed in jeans and T-shirt over a pink bikini,  pulled her hair through the back of a blue baseball cap and set out in  the cool morning air to find her way back down to the harbour. She  strolled past the boats on the waterfront and then turned up towards the  town square, returning friendly smiles from ladies in black and from  old men already seated outside their doors. She found a little  kiosk-type corner shop already open and bought postcards, bread, mineral  water and luscious grapes, then retraced her route back to the cottage.  Finally, armed with sunglasses and a few basic necessities in her  backpack, Isobel set off on the path recommended by Alex Nicolaides.

He was right. It was steep enough to make the descent downright scary in  places. But the beach, deserted and utterly beautiful, was well worth  the effort when she finally arrived, panting, on the bone-white shingle  edging the crescent of sand. Isobel gazed, entranced, itching for paint  to capture the way the sea shaded in jewel colours from pale  peridot-green, through aquamarine and turquoise into a deep celestial  blue. Greenery grew surprisingly close to the water's edge, with  tamarisk and something she thought might be juniper among the pines and  aromatic maquis-type vegetation. She sighed, frustrated, as a salt  breeze rustled the pines. The scene cried out for watercolour. But  getting the necessary materials down that path would be tricky. For now  she would settle for just sketching it. Isobel chose the nearest rock  formation as a base, took off her jeans and shirt, slathered herself in  suncream, then pulled the peak of her cap down low, settled herself on a  towel with her backpack to cushion her against the rock and began to  draw.

No one climbed down the path to join her, but after an hour or so of  perfect peace, small boats began discharging passengers at intervals and  soon there were people sunbathing and picnicking, and children playing  ball, shrieking joyfully as they ran in and out of the sea. So much for  peace and quiet. Smiling philosophically, Isobel braced herself for the  climb up the cliff to go in search of an early lunch. But while she  gathered up her belongings she spotted a gap in the rocks on the far  side of the beach and couldn't resist strolling over to investigate. On  closer inspection, the fissure was very narrow and dark with overhanging  shrubbery. But, by taking off her backpack and hugging it to her chest,  she could just manage to squeeze along the rocky passage, which  narrowed so sharply at one point Isobel almost gave up. But when the  passage widened again curiosity propelled her forward, her sneakers  slipping slightly on the wet rock as she emerged at last into a much  smaller cove sheltered by high, steep cliffs. With not a soul in sight.

Isobel surveyed her deserted paradise in delight. She would make do with  grapes and water for lunch, right here. She stripped down to her bikini  again and settled under the overhang of a rock formation shaped so much  like a rampant lion she promised herself to sketch it later. She drank  some water, nibbled on her grapes, then took off her cap and moved  further into the shade of the rock to catnap.

But her newfound peace was soon shattered by the roar of some kind of  engine. Basic survival instinct sent Isobel scrambling up on to the  steep rock as a man on a Jet Ski shot straight towards her. At the very  last minute he veered away, laughing his head off as he went speeding  out to sea again. Heart hammering, Isobel cursed the idiot volubly, so  furious she lost her footing as she turned to jump down and flailed  wildly to avoid falling, her scream cut off as her head met rock with a  sickening crack that turned the world black.



Lukas Andreadis was looking forward to a swim followed by a good dinner  and an entire evening with no discussion of takeovers, air travel,  shipping, or any other form of transport. After working towards it all  his adult life, he would celebrate his triumphant defeat of Melina  Andreadis alone, in the place he loved best. He began to relax as the  helicopter flew over familiar blue waters. When the island finally came  into view his spirits rose as usual at the mere sight of Chyros, which  stood for peace and privacy in a life which held precious little of  either back in Athens. But, as he took the helicopter low on its descent  to the villa, Luke cursed in angry frustration. A naked female was  sunbathing on his private beach. Again.                       
       
           



       

He set the machine down on the helipad at the back of the house,  switched off the engine and jumped out, crouching low until he was free  of the rotating blades. He hurried past the pool to make for the trees  lining the cliff edge, and scowled down at the figure lying motionless  far below. Why, in the name of all the gods, couldn't they leave him  alone? He turned as his faithful Spiro came rushing to greet him, and  exchanged affectionate greetings before pointing down at the beach.

'Someone down in the cove again. Where the devil is Milos?'

'He needed time off. Shall I take the boat?'

'No; leave it to me.' Luke collected his bags and strode past the palms  and oleanders in the lush garden. Instead of going through his usual  ritual of breathing in the peace and welcome of his retreat, he raced up  the curving staircase, threw off his clothes, and pulled on shorts and  T-shirt, thrust bare feet into deck shoes, smiling in reassurance at  Spiro as the man began to unpack. 'Don't worry, I won't hurt the woman.'

'I know that!' retorted the man, with the familiarity of one who'd  known-and loved-his employer from birth. 'Wear your dark glasses-and  don't drive too fast.'

Luke Andreadis collected two sets of keys, stopped in the kitchen for an  affectionate greeting with Eleni, Spiro's wife, then checked again from  the cliff edge, his face grim when he saw the prone figure still frying  down on the beach. The stupid woman was risking a bad case of sunstroke  at the very least-but not for long.

He ran back through the garden, vaulted into the jeep parked behind the  villa and drove up the cypress-lined drive and out on to the road,  taking the twists and turns of the tortuous descent at a speed which  would have given Spiro a heart attack. Forced to slow down as he reached  the town, Luke drove more circumspectly through the main square and on  past the tavernas and coffee shops on the waterfront, then parked well  out of sight at his secluded private mooring at the far end. He leapt  onto the deck of the Athena, cast off and switched on the engine and,  once clear of the marina, sped across the water past the crowded beach  and round the cliffs to his private cove. He moored the boat at a jetty  hidden among the rocks, his eyes smouldering. The woman was still there.

'You're trespassing,' he bellowed, storming across the shingle. But as  he reached her he realised that the woman was unconscious. Sprawled at  an awkward angle, she lay face down and utterly still, a mass of long  fair curls streaming over her shoulders. He reached up to turn her face  towards him, but dropped his hand when she opened pain-filled blue eyes  which darkened in terror at the look of menace on the face close to  hers.

'You had a fall. What are you doing here?' he demanded.

'Sorry-don't understand,' she said faintly, shrinking from him, then  stifled a moan, her face screwed up in pain as she tried to back away.

'You fell. Your head is injured,' he said in English, cursing silently  as her move brought blood trickling from a gash on her temple.

'Ankle, too.' She swallowed painfully. 'I slipped when you came roaring out of the sea at me on that Jet Ski-'

'Jet Ski?' Luke glared at her. 'You are delirious from your fall, kyria.  I do not own such a thing. I came by boat.' Scowling, he examined the  foot wedged tightly in a crack in the rock. 'I must pull it out. But it  will hurt.'

She clenched her jaw stoically and turned her head away.

Luke untied the laces on the blue sneaker but, as he tried to ease the  foot out of it, she gasped in pain, beads of sweat rolling down her  face.

'Please. Just pull!'

He obliged, but as the foot came free the girl passed out cold again.  With a savage curse he yanked his phone out of his back pocket. 'Spiro,  the woman's had an accident. She's unconscious. The clinic will be shut  at this hour so I'll have to bring her up to the house.' He cut off  Spiro's exclamation. 'Find Dr Riga, please. Tell him it's urgent.'

Luke decided against trying to revive the girl. Better she stayed out of  it while he manhandled her. Cursing because she was virtually naked  except for scraps of pink fabric, he found a towel nearby and shook it  free of sand to drape over the girl. He searched in a backpack lying at  the foot of the rock, his lip curling as he found a notebook and  pencils. But otherwise there was only a small purse with some currency,  and a paperback novel in English. No identity. He hooked his arms into  the straps but, as he bent to pick her up, her eyes flew open, wild with  fear again.