exception, all the women cast interested and hopeful glances in his direction but he ignored their lingering attention and focused his gaze at the front of the room.
He was waiting for Dr Littlewood.
Their encounter the previous day had left him angrier and more frustrated than he could ever remember feeling.
It wasn’t that he’d ever expected the meeting to be an easy one. He hadn’t. It was more that he was unaccustomed to finding himself questioned or challenged and Angie Littlewood had done both.
In fact she’d goaded him to such a degree that he’d been on the point of revealing the entire truth about her sister and only monumental self-discipline had prevented him from doing anything so foolish. For a start, it was obvious that Angie Littlewood approved of her sister’s behaviour but, most importantly, revealing the truth risked bringing nothing but misery on his family. If Angelina Littlewood took the story to the press then the whole distasteful, sordid mess would be exposed. And that had happened once before with disastrous consequences—
A horrifying vision flashed into his brain and he dismissed it with ruthless determination. It wasn’t going to happen again, he promised himself. He was going to prevent it. This time he was in control of the situation and he had every intention of remaining in control.
Once the Brandizi diamond was back in his possession, the whole ugly chapter could be closed. His contact with the Littlewood family would be over and, as far as he was concerned, that moment couldn’t come soon enough. It was true that the two sisters were entirely different but the elder was every bit as unappealing as the younger, albeit for different reasons.
And, right now, she was late for her own lecture.
As a man who valued and practised punctuality, he was contemplating the clock on the wall with brooding disapproval when the door opened and Angie Littlewood hurried in, juggling a pile of files, wisps of hair escaping from the clip at the back of her head.
She looked flustered and out of breath and he noticed that her hand was shaking as she stepped up to the lectern and switched on the microphone. ‘I apologise for being slightly late—’ Her voice had a smoky, feminine quality that dragged across Nikos’s nerve-endings and sent a stab of elemental lust through his loins.
Irritated and surprised by the strength of his reaction, Nikos shifted in his seat in an attempt to ease the insistent throb of his body. Exactly why he should suddenly experience such a powerful reaction to a woman like Angie Littlewood escaped him. She was so far removed from his usual choice of companion that it was laughable. He was used to women who revelled in their femininity whereas Dr Littlewood seemed totally unaware, even indifferent, to the possibilities of her sex. She was wearing a plain roll-neck top under her jacket and the same plain navy blue trousers that she’d had on the previous day. It was the attire of a woman who dressed for practicality and convenience rather than allure.
If he hadn’t already established her relationship with Tiffany, he would never have believed that they were sisters.
And yet there were similarities, he mused, his eyes resting on the unmistakeably generous swell of her breasts and the dip and curve of her tiny waist. She lifted an arm to emphasise something on a slide and he saw that her wrist was slender and her profile remarkably delicate. Part of Tiffany’s appeal had been her external appearance of fragility and it appeared that her sister shared that essentially feminine characteristic.
Remembering the way she’d challenged him during their previous meeting, he gave a smile of derision. There had been nothing fragile about the way she’d behaved. And her defence of her sister’s indefensible behaviour was nothing short of distasteful.
Realising that the audience around him were listening with rapt attention, he forced himself to listen to what she was saying and found himself surprisingly absorbed in her lecture on classical Greek pottery. She knew her subject, he thought to himself as he watched her breathe life and meaning into the past as she talked.
She had a few artefacts on the table in front of her and she used these and her slides to illustrate her lecture. She spoke fluently, without notes, clearly passionate about her subject, unaware of the passage of time or the slow descent of her hair from the clip. Each time she turned and gestured, the knot slipped a little more until finally her hair escaped its bonds and cascaded over her shoulders. Amazing colour, Nikos thought to himself as he watched her scoop it into her hand and continue to talk, her almost breathless enthusiasm holding the entire auditorium in enraptured silence.
Only as she paused to draw breath did she finally glance at the clock. ‘I’ve run over as usual! That’s it for today—I have notes here if anyone wants them—and don’t forget that there are more examples in the museum on the second floor if you have time to look before Friday.’ Her hair slid forward over her shoulders in a tumbled mass of fiery, flaming curls and Nikos observed the transformation with masculine fascination. She no longer looked like a serious archaeologist. Instead she looked like—a woman?
And yet there was no doubt that she considered her hair to be nothing more than an annoyance as she reached for the clip to fasten it back from her face but was then distracted by a student who approached to ask her a question.
She immediately forgot her hair and became absorbed in the discussion. Another student approached and, by the time they reluctantly allowed her to stop talking, the rest of the lecture theatre had emptied.
He stood up and strolled down the steps towards her, watching as she reached for the files on the desk and gathered them up. Only as she turned did she finally notice Nikos standing in front of her.
‘I find it hard to believe that you’ve suddenly developed an interest in Greek pottery of the classical era.’ Her tone was brittle as she clutched the files to her chest, clearly shocked to see him. ‘So I assume you’re here for another reason, Mr Kyriacou.’ Behind her glasses, her blue eyes seemed more luminous than ever and he found himself wanting to rip off the glasses and study her face properly.
‘Let’s not play games, Dr Littlewood.’ Angered by an impulse that he didn’t understand, he walked forward and picked up a pot that lay on the desk, turning it over in his hands. ‘Very pretty. A good copy of a psykter—a red figured wine cooler. It would have been filled with wine and floated in ice cold water until the wine was cool enough to drink. About 500 BC?’ He saw surprise in her eyes.
‘You clearly paid attention in the lecture.’
‘I’m Greek,’ he reminded her softly, returning the pot to its place on the table. ‘I’m interested in the heritage of my country. And also that of my family.’ He let the words hang in the air for a moment and saw her chin lift.
‘If you’re referring to the necklace, then I should warn you that I haven’t yet had a chance to look for it.’
‘You’re lying.’ His eyes rested on her nose and he noticed the tiny freckles that danced over her pale skin. ‘The first thing you would have done when you arrived home last night was look for it.’ The faint colour that touched her cheeks told him that his assessment was accurate.
‘The first thing I did when I arrived home last night was care for my mother. She is extremely unwell and has been since we received the news of Tiffany’s death. Searching through my sister’s belongings is a low priority.’
‘In that case, give me the suitcase and I will conduct the search myself.’
Her
