Demonstrate this for us.’
Isobel summoned every scrap of willpower she possessed to sit up straight. She paused for breath, swivelled round until she could put her good foot on the floor and then took the hand Eleni held out to help her as she struggled to stand. ‘You see?’ she said through her teeth. ‘If you gentlemen will kindly leave, I’ll get dressed.’
‘Miss James, this is not a good idea,’ said Alex, plainly expecting her to collapse in a heap at any second.
‘I must try. The cottage is all on one floor. I have food there, so if Mr—’
She glanced at her host. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know your name.’
‘No?’ He raised an eyebrow in scornful disbelief. ‘I am Lukas Andreadis.’
‘How do you do?’ She turned to Alex. ‘If Mr Andreadis will drive me, I’ll be just fine.’ She swallowed hard on rising nausea and wavered slightly, her hand tightening on Eleni’s.
Luke shook his head. ‘I will drive you when you are fine, Miss James, but that is most obviously not today. Put her back, Eleni.’
‘That is best, Luke,’ said Alex, relieved.
Isobel gave up. She let Eleni make her comfortable, then turned her face into the pillows in despair. Her longed-for odyssey had come to a grinding halt before it had even started. She ignored the hushed interchange in their own tongue between the men, wishing they’d just go away and leave her to wallow alone in her misery.
‘Miss James,’ said Alex, coming back to the bed.
Isobel opened her eyes. ‘Yes?’
‘If you allow me to have your keys, I will take my sister to your house to pack for you.’
‘How kind,’ she said unsteadily. ‘The keys are in my backpack.’
‘I am most happy to do this, but it was Luke’s idea,’ he added.
She turned unsmiling eyes on her host. ‘Then thank you, too, Mr Andreadis.’
‘Here in Greece we believe in helping travellers,’ he informed her indifferently.
‘Unless they invade your beach.’
‘True.’ He unbent enough to smile faintly. ‘Come, then, Alex. I will drive you.’
Eleni closed the door behind them, poured iced fruit juice into a glass and gave Isobel two of the tablets. ‘Drink, kyria,’ she said firmly.
Isobel obediently swallowed the painkillers and drank some of the juice. ‘Efcharisto, Eleni.’ She managed a smile. ‘But please call me Isobel’
Eleni repeated the name shyly, put the glass on the table, then opened the carton of yoghurt.
Isobel eyed it in alarm. ‘I’m so sorry, but I really can’t eat anything right now.’
‘Ochee, not for eating. For your face. It is burning, ne?’
‘Oh, yes,’ sighed Isobel, and submitted to an unexpected beauty treatment. Eleni smoothed the blessedly cool, creamy yoghurt over her face, left it there until it warmed up, then gently cleaned it off with tissues.
‘I will do it more later,’ she promised, ‘but now you sleep, Isobel.’ She smiled and went from the room, leaving the door ajar.
Eventually the pills took enough edge off her aches and pains to let Isobel take interest in her surroundings. Filmy white curtains stirred at glass doors which led on to a balcony, and the room itself was furnished with the type of elegant simplicity that cost the earth. She groaned in sudden despair. She’d come all this way to Chyros to regain her normal perspective on life, yet one day into her holiday and here she was, stranded in a wealthy—and hugely unfriendly—stranger’s house, with no way of escaping until she was more mobile. But why had the man been so sure she’d known who he was? And felt so ticked off about it, too. Perhaps he was some kind of celebrity here in Greece. Her mouth twisted. He needn’t worry where she was concerned. He was good-looking enough in a forceful kind of way, but his personality was so horribly overbearing it cancelled out any attraction he might have had for her as a man…
When Isobel opened her eyes again they widened when she found another stranger looking down at her.
‘Dr Riga, Isobel,’ said Eleni, hurrying to help her to sit up.
The large, bespectacled man gave her a reassuring smile. ‘Kalispera. How do you feel?’ he asked in heavily accented English, and took her pulse.
‘Not too well,’ she admitted.
He nodded, his eyes so sympathetic her own filled with tears again.
‘I’m so sorry, Doctor,’ she said huskily, and took the tissue Eleni had ready.
‘You suffer much pain; you are also in shock and alone in a strange country, Miss James. Tears are natural,’ he assured her. ‘I must take X-ray at my clinic. Eleni will help you dress.’ He smiled reassuringly and went from the room.
‘Eleni,’ said Isobel urgently, ‘will you help me wash again? Did Mr Andreadis bring my clothes?’
The woman nodded and helped Isobel out of the bed, supporting her as she hopped awkwardly to the bathroom. ‘I used iron,’ she said severely. ‘Alyssa Nicolaides packed too quick.’
‘You’re an angel, thank you, Eleni.’ Isobel tried to hurry. ‘I mustn’t keep the doctor waiting.’
Eleni shook her head. ‘He is gone. Kyrie Luke will drive you. Not rush,’ she warned.
After the hurried bathroom session Isobel felt relatively presentable in a white denim skirt and blue T-shirt, though the effect was marred by wearing only one sandal. Otherwise she felt horribly queasy still, and her head was pounding like a war drum. Eleni helped her to the stool in front of the dressing table, anointed her face with more yoghurt, then wiped it away and handed Isobel her zippered travel pack. Resigned to see faint bruising under her eye, Isobel used a comb gingerly, decided against lip gloss and smiled wanly at Eleni.
‘I’m ready.’
The woman nodded. ‘I tell him.’
Isobel would have given a lot to walk downstairs on her own two feet when Luke Andreadis appeared in the doorway in a crisp white shirt and jeans which were obviously custom made by their fit.
‘How do you feel now?’ he asked, his eyes on the bright hair curling loosely on her shoulders.
‘Cleaner.’
‘But you are still in pain.’ ‘Yes.’
He picked her up with exaggerated care. ‘I will strive not to cause you more.’
‘Likewise, Mr Andreadis,’ she returned, holding herself rigid, face averted, as he carried her from the room.
He frowned. ‘Likewise?’
‘Carrying
