the outside of the house had been a disappointment, the inside was scarcely less so. Lavishly furnished, and heavy on marble and gilt, it left Chelsea with an impression of magazine room settings rather than a home. But then why should these people be expected to conform to her preconceptions simply because they were Greek? she asked herself, following Dion out through the rear of the house to a wide terrace which overlooked an equally spacious swimming pool, with the sea forming a suitable backdrop.
The woman reclining on one of the long, luxuriously padded loungers set beneath a spreading umbrella looked up at her son’s approach, her smile taking on a certain resignation as her eyes fell on Chelsea. When she spoke it was in Greek, and too fast for Chelsea to follow, although as Dion didn’t look in any way perturbed she could only surmise that the welcome mat hadn’t been fully withdrawn.
“This is Chelsea Lovatt from England,” he said. “I invited her to stay for a few days before she continues her travels.”
“Khero poli, Kiria Pandrossos,” Chelsea proffered. “I hope I’m not intruding.”
“My son’s friends are always welcome,” returned the other in excellent, if slightly more stilted English than Dion’s own, reinforcing what he’d said himself. “Come, take a seat. You are here on holiday?”
“That’s right.” Chelsea sat down on the nearby chair indicated. “I’m trying to see as many Greek islands as I can before I go home.” She gave a smile. “This one wasn’t on my itinerary, but I’m grateful for the opportunity to add it to the list.”
“Very few foreigners visit Skalos,” confirmed her hostess, not unkindly. “Dion, you will order drinks for all of us.”
“Of course,” he said. “What would you like, Chelsea?”
“A long, cold lemonade would be wonderful,” she said.
Chic in a gold-coloured kaftan, her dark hair swept up and back from her face, Kiria Pandrossos relaxed back onto the lounger as her son went back into the house. Dion was her own age, Chelsea already knew, which meant his mother must surely be in her forties, yet she could easily pass for mid-thirties.
“It’s easy to see where Dion gets his looks from,” she murmured, hardly realising she had spoken out loud until she saw the gratified smile touch the other woman’s lips.
“My son and I share many qualities.” She paused, viewing the lightly tanned and well-balanced features before her, the cascade of sun-streaked hair. “You are very attractive yourself. But of course you would have to be for Dion to have taken an interest. He is much drawn to blonde hair.”
A warning that she wasn’t the first and wouldn’t be the last, Chelsea sensed. Unnecessary, as it happened, because she had no designs on the man in question. But his mother wasn’t to know that.
“I did consider shaving it all off just to see if I still made the same impact,” she said, tongue in cheek.
Kiria Pandrossos looked startled for a moment, then relaxed again as she saw the twinkle in the blue eyes opposite. “That would be a drastic experiment indeed. Few men are drawn to bald-headed women, whatever their other looks. Dion would certainly not be one of them.”
“I already guessed that,” Chelsea assured her, and added impulsively, “He and I are just good friends, and happy to be that way. When I leave, there’ll be no heartache on either part.”
“Speak for yourself,” quoth the subject under discussion, coming out in time to catch the last. “My heart is already broken!”
Chelsea laughed. “It will soon mend.”
“English women have no romance in their souls!” he complained, slinging himself down on a lounger. “I’ll lie here and pine for what might have been between us!”
Kiria Pandrossos looked as if she found the repartee a little confusing. Obviously unaccustomed to the kind of relationship she and Dion had forged, Chelsea reflected. Kisses were the only form of intimacy they had exchanged-and those themselves light-hearted. They were neither of them looking for any kind of commitment.
The drinks arrived, borne by a youth wearing the seemingly mandatory dark trousers and white shirt of the serving classes in this country. Dion could well have carried them out himself, Chelsea thought, but doubted if the idea would have even occurred to him. Born into money the way he had been, he took service for granted.
“I was not informed that you had called for a car to bring you from the beach, or I would have been expecting you,” said Kiria Pandrossos when they each had their glass.
“I didn’t call,” her son confirmed. “Nikos brought us. He said he would be joining us for dinner tonight.”
“Ah, good! He was uncertain of his movements today. Hestia must be told that there will be two more at table.”
“Already done.” Dion paused to take a drink from his glass. “Florina will be happy to see our cousin.”
“As shall we all.” His mother sounded faintly reproving. “You must not tease your sister, Dion. Her emotions are too fragile.”
“It’s Nikos who does the teasing,” he retorted. “He knows how she feels for him, but he still holds back!”
“He will speak soon, I am certain. Dimitris needs a mother to care for him when his father is away from home. He must know this.”
So Nikos Pandrossos was to marry his cousin, Chelsea reflected, concentrating on her drink. At least, that appeared to be the hope. It would be a good move for the family; there was no doubt. It was Florina she felt sorry for-as she would feel sorry for any woman married to a man like Nikos Pandrossos. An autocrat if ever she saw one!
LOOKING inland, the bedroom to which she was eventually shown was as sumptuously furnished and decorated as the rest of the house; the wide bed draped in pale lemon silk to match the beautifully hung drapes, the floor carpeted in thickly piled Prussian blue. There was an en suite bathroom, complete with a sunken bath convertible to a Jacuzzi at the flick of a switch.
“I could hardly be anything else,” Chelsea confirmed when Dion expressed a hope that she would be comfortable. “This is sheer luxury!”
“My mother admires the Italian style of living,” he acknowledged. “You’ll find Nikos’s house very different.”
“A traditionalist, is he?” she hazarded.
“If you mean that he prefers the old ways to the new, then, yes.”
Chelsea kept her tone light. “With women very much secondary citizens, I take it?”
“Of course. Women are born to serve the male!” Grinning, Dion dodged the pillow she snatched up and slung at him. “Some women, at least.”
“Does Florina see her role in life that way?” Chelsea felt moved to ask.
“My sister,” he said, “will do whatever is necessary to achieve
