The Power of the Legendary Greek(30)

Two months after her return from Greece, Isobel was about to lock up for  the day when a car drew up right outside the gallery. She went out to  say that it was a no parking zone, then froze, the colour draining from  her face as the driver got out and stood looking at her over the top of  the car.

Oh, God. Isobel's mouth dried and her heart began to pound as the  familiar black eyes locked with hers. Her gut reaction was to run inside  and lock the door. Instead, she stood her ground and smiled brightly.  'Why, hello. This is a surprise.'

'And not a pleasant one, I think,' said Luke, locking the car. He wore  beautiful suede boots, heavy sweater and jeans, all very different from  his usual garb on Chyros. But his face was the handsome mask she  remembered only too well. Whatever Luke was thinking, he was giving  nothing away as he crossed the kerb to join her. 'But surely you  expected this after the letter you wrote, Isobel?'

'No, I didn't,' she said truthfully. How on earth had he found her?

'Have you finished for the day?'

'Yes. I was just about to lock up. Would you like to come in?'

Luke followed her inside, watching as she closed the door. Conscious of  the black eyes following her every move, Isobel punched in the numbers  on the security pad beside it and shot bolts home at the top of the door  and again at the base.

'Perhaps you'd care to look round the paintings while I make coffee,'  she said brightly. 'Or would you prefer a drink? I have some wine-'

He shook his head. 'I would like to look at the paintings. Is any of your work here, Isobel?'

'Yes. I have a little section all to myself.' When she made no move to  direct him, Luke strolled away on a tour of the artwork she prided  herself she displayed to the best advantage with subtle lighting against  the contrast of the gallery's dark red walls.                       
       
           



       

Luke paused when he reached the far end of the room and looked in  silence at a collection of Isobel's watercolours. 'You have sold your  painting of my beach.'

'No. I put a sold sticker on it to show it wasn't for sale.'

'You intend to keep it?'

'Yes.'

'Why?'

She looked at him steadily. 'As a souvenir of my holiday. I once told  you-though you didn't believe me at the time-that where others take  holiday snaps, I sketch or paint.'

Luke's mask slipped a fraction as he walked back to her. 'Spiro showed me the drawing you made of my face. It flatters me.'

She shrugged. 'I thought it was pretty accurate, myself. Though I rarely  do portraits. Not my field.' Lord, this was painful. Why didn't he yell  at her, or at least tell her why he'd come?

'Your hair is shorter,' he remarked. 'I prefer it long.'

Her eyes flashed. 'So do I. Losing a chunk of it was hardly my fault.'

'No, it was mine,' he agreed grimly and moved closer, his eyes softening. 'You look tired, Isobel.'

'I've been busy today.'

'You have no help here?'

'I have an assistant, but he left a short while ago.' Tired of small  talk, Isobel cut to the chase. 'I didn't put an address on my letter, so  how did you find me?'

Luke's smile set her teeth on edge. 'For a while I was so furious I had  no wish to find you. But, after seeing your painting of my pool, my  faithful Andres, who found working with me very difficult after I  received your letter, suggested that you might sell your work through a  website. The rest was easy. Had you forgotten the power of the Internet,  Isobel?'

'No. I just took it for granted that once you received my letter you'd  be so angry you'd just put me out of your life and forget me.'

'It was my first reaction,' he admitted. 'Out of all the emotions that  besieged me, the most violent was anger because you were a coward,  Isobel. You rejected me by letter. But my fury soon gave way to a desire  to hear you say no to me, face to face. And to give me your real  explanation.' He moved closer. 'So here I am.'

Isobel looked at him in silence for a moment, then crossed to the  control panel. 'I leave the security lights on for the paintings in the  windows, but at this hour I switch off the rest.' She turned with a  polite smile. 'Perhaps you'd like to come up to my flat. I'm desperate  for a cup of tea.' Inane, but the truth. Her mouth was so dry it was  hard to swallow.

'Efcharisto, Isobel. Then later I will take you out to dine.'

She made no response to that and opened the private door leading to her stairs. 'Two flights up, I'm afraid.'

'Is your ankle better? These stairs must have been difficult for a while  when you first returned,' he commented, following her up.

A lot of things had been difficult. Most of them still were. 'My ankle's  fine now,' she said politely. When she reached the small landing at the  head of the stairs she opened the door of her sitting room and waved  him inside. 'Do sit down while I make tea.'

Left alone to inspect them, Luke eyed his surroundings with interest.  The artist in Isobel had a flair for the dramatic. A peacock-blue throw  draped a jade velvet couch, and ruby and gold silk cushions glowed on a  leather armchair. At strategic points around the room small tables of  varying design held piles of books and lamps with vivid shades.

A jewel box of a room, thought Luke, then turned as the jewel who lived  in it backed into the room with a tray. 'Let me,' he said, and took the  tray from her. 'Where shall I put it?'

Isobel cleared a space on a table alongside the sofa and Luke set the  tray down with care, feeling very male and clumsy in the feminine room.  'Try the chair,' she invited. 'I made coffee for you, by the way.'

'Efcharisto.' He took the cup from her and put it safe on a table  alongside the couch, afraid that if he moved too suddenly he would knock  something over. 'So. Why would you not come to me, Isobel?' he said  baldly.                       
       
           



       

She sipped some tea before she answered. 'I did consider it-I thought  about it long and hard. Then something happened which made it  impossible. So I wrote the letter.'

Luke snatched up his coffee cup, ignoring the sting as the liquid scalded his mouth. 'You met another man?'

'No.' Isobel took in a deep breath, wishing her heart would stop banging  around in her chest. 'I found out I'm pregnant-I'm having a baby,  Luke.'

He looked as though she'd punched him in the stomach. 'Is it mine?' He  sat very still, every muscle in his body tense as he watched the colour  leach from her face.

'No,' she said after a taut pause.

'Whose, then?' he demanded, his pallor outdoing hers.

'Mine.'

His jaw clenched. 'You told me you took care of birth control yourself.'

Isobel stabbed him with a glacial blue glare. 'I did. But I was  kidnapped, remember. The man didn't give me time to pack my pills.'  Suddenly she sprang up to run to the bathroom and stayed there until she  was sure her stomach meant to behave. She would have given much to  remain locked in the bathroom for the foreseeable future, but eventually  she went out in answer to Luke's urgent knock on the door.

He barred her way as she made to brush past him. 'You are sure of this?'

'Yes. But don't worry; I'm not asking you for anything.' Her eyes blazed  like sapphires into his. 'Your knee-jerk reaction to my glad news only  confirms how right I was to finish things between us.'

Luke seized her by the wrists. 'I apologise, Isobel. I said such a bad  thing because the thought of you with another man's child was a stab to  my heart.'

'How melodramatic,' she said dully, and detached her hands. 'Perhaps  you'd be good enough to leave now, and go back to wherever you're  staying. I'm very tired.'

'But we have much to discuss,' he said hotly. 'How do you expect me to sleep after such news?'

She shrugged indifferently. 'Frankly, Lukas Andreadis, I don't care a toss whether you sleep or not. Just go.'

'Of course,' he said stiffly. 'I will burden you with my presence no  longer. But,' he added in a tone which made her toes curl, 'when I  return, Isobel, we shall talk.'



After the menace in Luke's parting shot Isobel decided to postpone  supper for a while. 'I'll eat something later,' she promised, patting  her stomach. 'Sorry about your dad. I'm afraid it's just you and me,  babe.' But even if she managed some supper she had little hope of  getting any sleep later with the prospect of Luke's return visit hanging  over her. Hopefully, he would come at a reasonable enough hour the next  day to allow recovery from her daily date with morning sickness.

The bell on Isobel's door rang later while she was drying her hair after  her bath. She frowned. She wasn't expecting Jo, or one of the Careys.  And her boss, the owner of the gallery, was sunning himself in  Mauritius. When the bell rang again she picked up the receiver on her  intercom.

'Let me in, Isobel,' said Luke's unmistakable tones.

'I didn't expect you back tonight,' she said coldly.

'Nevertheless, I am here. And attracting attention. Open the door,' he ordered.