by all means let us do so.’ She didn’t like the smile he gave her as he lifted her to her feet.
Half an hour later, she was wishing with all her heart that she had meekly acceded to his original suggestion of returning to the hotel. Her head was pounding almost intolerably, and she felt desperately thirsty and slightly queasy at the same time. At any other time—and of course if he had been anyone else—she would have been fascinated by what he was telling her about the transition from the Archaic to the Classical style in sculpture, but his words seemed to buzz meaninglessly in her ears. And the curving smiles on the Korai, the maidens carved out of stone as offerings to the virgin goddess of the city, Athena, seemed to mock her everywhere she looked.
She swallowed, staring down at the floor, refusing to admit defeat. She was being a fool, she knew. After all, Damon Leandros had been detailed by her grandfather to look after her, and she was sure she only had to give a hint and she would be out of this increasingly stuffy atmosphere, and back in that comfortable hotel room, with the shutters closed. But if she asked him to take her back, he would have won in some obscure way and that she could not allow. She gave a little stifled sigh and forced herself to concentrate on the head of a boy, known as the ‘blond youth’, Damon told her, because there were still traces of yellow tint found on it when it was discovered.
‘We have always admired fair hair, you see.’ Her companion’s voice sounded amused. ‘On Phoros near your grandfather’s villa there is a ruined temple that archaeologists say was dedicated to Aphrodite. She is usually pictured as having blonde hair too.’
Helen said faintly, ‘She could be bald as a coot for me. I—I really must get out of here. I can’t breathe.’
The events of the next hour or so were mercifully blurred. Later she would remember details, like the strength of his arm round her, and the way the cushions of that sleek car of his seemed to support her like a cloud. As they drove back to the hotel, she found herself wondering, as she tried to control the waves of threatened nausea, what he had done with the dark beauty she had seen him with, but enquiring was altogether too much trouble. Besides, she tried to tell herself, what did it matter how many women he had?
And she could remember vomiting tiredly until her throat and her stomach ached, and the tiled bathroom swung in a dizzying arc around her, and the refreshing sensation of a towel dipped in cold water wiping her face, and being placed across her forehead as at last—at long last—she lay down on the bed and closed her eyes.
When she opened them again it was early evening, judging by the length of the shadows across the floor. She sat up gingerly. Her head still ached, but she no longer felt that terrible, debilitating nausea. In fact, she was almost hungry. She pushed back the single sheet which was the only covering provided on the bed, and started to get out, catching as she did so an astonished glimpse of herself in the long mirror opposite. She looked a mess, she thought candidly. Her eyes looked twice their normal size, and her hair hung on her shoulders in a tangle, but that was incidental. All she was wearing were her underclothes, a dark blue lace bra and matching brief panties. Her navy dress was hanging over the back of a chair with her sandals placed neatly beside it, and she couldn’t for the life of her remember removing any of them.
She got up and went over to the dressing table, reaching for her hairbrush which had been among the small amount of hand luggage she had unpacked, and starting to smooth her hair into its usual face-curving style. She looked wan, she thought critically, but cosmetics would soon improve that. She wandered into the bathroom and had a long leisurely wash, spraying herself liberally with L’Air du Temps when she had finished.
She would phone down for some soup, she thought, and also enquire if there were any messages for her. It was already well past the time that Damon Leandros had proposed they should set off for Phoros, and she supposed he would be waiting somewhere. Grudgingly, she had to admit that he had been kind enough during the dash back to the hotel, and that he had at least left her alone to recover from her sickness.
She sauntered back into the bedroom, and stopped dead, her eyes widening in disbelief. Damon Leandros was there, lounging nonchalantly against the long row of fitted wardrobes which filled one wall. For a moment their gazes locked, and then his eyebrows rose mockingly and she remembered too late that she was half naked.
She looked round wildly for her dress, but he was between her and the chair on which it lay. As if he guessed what was going through her mind, he turned and reached for it, tossing it to her. She snatched at it thankfully, and dragged it over her head, her hands fumbling as she sought to reach and close the long back zip.
He watched her efforts for a moment or two, a derisive smile curling his lips, then he moved towards her and she took an instinctive step backwards.
‘Relax,’ he advised curtly. ‘I have no intention of raping you, but you seem to need help.’
‘I don’t need anything from you,’ Helen choked, still struggling ineffectually with that damned zip.
‘You didn’t say that a few hours ago while I was holding your head in the bathroom,’ he said. ‘Besides, I may have damaged the zip when I removed the dress. I was in a hurry and they are fragile things.’
Helen pressed her hands against burning cheeks. ‘You—it was you? Oh, how could you? How dared you?’
‘There was no question of daring,’ he said coolly. ‘I thought English girls gloried in their liberation from outdated conventions. Besides, you were and are perfectly adequately clothed. I daresay you will wear far less when you go swimming on Phoros.’
‘Well, at least you won’t be there to see,’ Helen flashed. ‘I doubt whether Mr Korialis will regard your activities in quite the same liberated way.’
‘So you intend to make use of your Greek parentage when it suits you. I find that interesting.’ He walked over to her before she could retreat again and spun her round, his hands on her shoulders. Helen felt the recalcitrant zip move upwards, and for one infinitely disturbing minute the brush of his fingers strangely cool on the heated skin of her spine. She tensed involuntarily at his touch, and heard him laugh softly.
‘I’m glad I amuse you,’ she said tersely, as she pulled away from him. ‘I think you’ll laugh on the other side of your face when you find yourself out of a job.’
‘You intend that your grandfather should dismiss me?’ he enquired lazily.
‘How right you are!’ She faced him defiantly, her chin up, eyes sparkling.
He shrugged. ‘You can always try, Eleni.’
‘And please don’t call me that. It—it’s familiar.’
‘Which is of course unthinkable,’ he said solemnly. But he was amused, and she knew he was, and it infuriated her.
‘How the hell did you get into my room anyway? Surely the staff wouldn’t have allowed …’
‘Oh, I can be very persuasive when I want. But in this case I didn’t have to be. When I left after attending to your—needs, I simply took your key with me.’ He touched his jacket pocket. ‘I have it here.’
She held out her hand. ‘Give it to me, please.’
‘Why? You won’t need it again. We are leaving soon. As it is, I have had to telephone your grandfather and tell him we have been delayed.’ He paused. ‘He wasn’t pleased, and it is bad for him to suffer any agitation.’
‘And
