for her to make some such excuse, and angry colour rose in her cheeks. She took her own cup and retired with it stonily to the far corner of the room, on the pretext that she wished to listen more closely to the music. But her seclusion was shortlived.
It was Hugo who rose with the excuse. He had run out of the small cigars he smoked, and would have to go to the nearby off-licence to buy some more, he explained. He wouldn’t be long, he added, with a deprecatory look at his daughter.
When the door had closed behind him, she sat rigidly in her chair, staring unseeingly ahead of her, feeling the tension build up in the room. There was not a word or a movement from her companion, yet she was convinced her father had simply invented the tale of needing more cigars in order to leave them alone together.
At last she stole a glance at him under her lashes, and was disconcerted to see that he was leaning back in his chair, watching her, very much at his ease.
‘Relax, Miss Brandon,’ he said drily. ‘You look as if you would splinter into a thousand pieces at the slightest touch.’ He saw her swallow and smiled rather grimly. ‘Don’t be alarmed, I do not propose to test the truth of my observations.’
‘I should hope not.’ Helen found her voice. ‘I wouldn’t think Mr Korialis would be too pleased to know that one of his henchmen had been—mauling a member of his family.’
His face was sardonic. ‘But as you do not propose to accompany me to Greece, there would be little chance of your grandfather ever finding out. Perhaps I should make love to you, if it means you will contact him, even if it is only to protest at my behaviour.’
He got up from the chesterfield and walked towards her. Helen felt herself shrinking back against the cushions.
She said huskily, ‘Don’t you dare to touch me. Don’t you come near me!’
He halted about a foot from her chair. Staring up at him dazedly, she thought that he seemed to tower over her.
He said softly, ‘You’re a stubborn little fool, Eleni. What am I asking for, after all? A few weeks of your life, no more. A few weeks to give some happiness to a sick old man, holding on to his life in the hope of seeing you.’
‘A sick autocrat,’ she said bitterly, ‘who has never had his slightest wish disregarded before. That was clear from the tone of his letter.’
‘If it were so,’ he said, ‘then you would never have been born. As for the letter, it is true that Michaelis finds it difficult to ask. Is there no pity for him—no warmth under that English ice?’
‘You have absolutely no right to talk to me like that.’ She wished desperately that he would move away. ‘And my name is Helen, not Eleni.’
‘To your grandfather, you have always been Eleni,’ he said quite gently, and to her horror she felt sudden tears pricking at the back of her eyelids.
‘Damn you!’ she whispered, then his dark face blurred, and she buried her face in her hands. When she had regained sufficient control over herself to become aware of her surroundings again, she found that he had moved away to the fireplace and was standing with one arm resting on the mantelshelf, staring down at the floor. An immaculate linen handkerchief was lying on the arm of her chair, and after a brief hesitation she used it with a muffled word of thanks.
He said, ‘I won’t wait for your father’s return.’ He reached into an inside pocket and produced a small leather-covered notebook and a gold pencil and wrote something, before tearing off the page and putting it on the mantelpiece. ‘My hotel and room number, Eleni,’ he said. ‘I shall be returning to Greece at the end of the week. If you wish to come with me, you have only to contact me.’ He paused. ‘Or leave a message, if you would prefer.’
‘I would prefer,’ she said tightly. ‘Very much I’d prefer it.’
He gave her an unsmiling look. ‘I’m sorry we had to meet under these circumstances.’
‘I’m sorry we had to meet at all,’ she said wearily. ‘But I suppose my grandfather will be grateful to you. How will you describe your victory to him, I wonder? As a knock-out in the first round? Perhaps he’ll give you a bonus.’
He looked faintly amused. ‘I would hardly describe this as a victory, more in the nature of a preliminary skirmish,’ he said coolly. ‘As for my bonus—–’ he smiled—‘I think I’ll collect that now.’
Two long strides brought him back to her, his hand reaching down to close like a vice on her wrist, jerking her upwards. Taken off her guard, she found herself on her feet somehow, overbalancing against him, and for the second time she experienced the strength of his arms as they held her, drawing her closer still.
She protested on a little gasp, ‘No!’ and then his mouth closed on hers with merciless thoroughness.
When it was over, she stood staring at him, her eyes enormous in her tear-stained face, one hand pressed convulsively against the bruised softness of her lips, too shocked to utter a word of protest.
Damon Leandros gave her a last cool look and turned to go, and as he reached the door, Helen found her voice at last.
‘You swine!’ She was trembling violently. ‘I’ll make you sorry you did that!’
He turned and looked back at her. ‘You are too late, Eleni. I am already sorry,’ he said, and went out.
HELEN unfastened the shutters of her hotel room and stepped out on to the balcony, in the full force of the Athenian sun. The muted roar of the city came up from the square below as she stared around her in fascination. She had been told to rest for a few hours to prepare for the continuation of the journey to Phoros, but she could not simply lie down on her bed and forget that all Athens was spread out at her feet.
Besides, she wasn’t in the least tired. It had probably been the least troublesome journey she had ever undertaken, she thought. She had expected to travel on the normal scheduled flight, so the private jet had been a shock, but a pleasant one.
‘This surely doesn’t belong to my grandfather?’ she had asked Damon Leandros, having to forgo her fierce private intention to speak only when spoken to by him, and then only in monosyllables.
‘No. It belongs to a friend of his,’ he said laconically, but he didn’t volunteer any further information on the subject, and she was determined not to ask.
The formalities at the airport were soon concluded, and a chauffeur-driven car was waiting to take them into the city. Helen had assumed she would be staying at her grandfather’s villa, the one her mother had described, and she was a little surprised to be taken straight to a hotel instead, albeit a luxury one. But it soon became clear that this was one of the hotels owned by her grandfather, a fact emphasised by the flattering welcome afforded her by the smiling manager, and the flowers and fruit which awaited her in her suite. A discreet fuss was being made, and Helen would not have been human if she had not enjoyed it.
It made up, she told herself, for having to spend the journey in Damon Leandros’ company. She had not seen him from the evening he had dined at the flat until the time the car had come to collect her to take her to the airport.
Even when
