out of her case.
‘I see. Staying…where?’ enquired the officer idly, scanning a list.
She craned her neck. It looked like the names of people. Her dramatically fertile imagination provided details. Drug dealers and terrorists. Rapists. Paedophiles, whatever. Her heart leapt back into her chest with an unnerving suddenness and sat there palpitating. Maybe she was on that list as an undesirable!
‘Your hotel?’ prompted her interrogator.
Emma forced another broad smile. ‘Hotel! I wish. I’m looking for something cheap. A friend of mine said it was easy to find rooms to rent,’ she confided. ‘Can you recommend anywhere?’
He studied her thoughtfully and ignored her attempt to disarm him. ‘You have a Greek name.’
She’d been ready for that one. Nodding slowly, she gave herself time to calm her leaping nerves and to steady her voice. ‘My husband…’ she frowned at the shaky delivery but plunged on ‘…he…he died in England more than two years ago.’
Unfazed by her apparent agitation, the officer gave her a calculating stare. She recognised in him the same detachment as that adopted by the prison officers. They’d heard too many lies and too many sob stories to be anything but suspicious of emotion.
‘He has family here?’
Emma tensed. Her solicitor had said there were many people in the phone book with the name Kyriakis and her arrival shouldn’t provoke comment. She hoped this officer was merely bored and was using her to hone his interviewing technique.
‘My late husband lived and worked in England. His family—wherever they are,’ she said, suggesting a vagueness as to the Kyriakis whereabouts, ‘were opposed to our marriage. They never came to the wedding.’ She allowed a puzzled frown to ripple her forehead. ‘What is this? Everything’s in order, isn’t it? All I want is a holiday in the sun. I’ve had an operation. I need rest and no hassle—’
‘Ah. The pills.’
Emma watched as he curiously fingered the homoeopathic remedies for sickness and exhaustion. Her prison sentence had been cut short on compassionate grounds because she’d been so ill. She had her solicitor to thank for that. Dear John! Bless him for his support. She glanced at her watch and bit her lip. He’d be waiting for her, wondering where she was…
‘Someone meeting you?’
She blinked. He was good! Someone ought to promote him to head inquisitor, she thought wearily.
‘I’ve never been here before,’ she said, evading the question with a politician’s skill.
‘You looked at your watch.’
‘Yes. I need to eat at regular intervals and take my pills at certain times. With the two-hour time difference, I was anxious not to get in a muddle.’
‘Really.’
This man would have made an angel edgy, she thought sourly. She felt suddenly weak and passed a hand over her hot forehead.
‘I need to sit down,’ she muttered. Without waiting for permission she went to a bench against the wall and sank onto it, leaning her back against the cold stone, terrified of failure. ‘I don’t understand the problem,’ she said quietly. ‘I can’t be the only person who arrives without any definite accommodation. I don’t have enough money or clothes to stay here for long, you can see that. I’m not carrying drugs, or anything else illegal. I’m just an ordinary woman hoping for some sun, sea and sand to help me become well.’
Indifferent to her evident frailty, the officer turned over the contents of her case with a desultory hand.
‘I see. Would you wait here?’ he asked politely.
As if she had any choice! Patiently she waited. An hour. Two. Exhausted from her four a.m. start, she curled up on the hard bench and promptly went to sleep.
‘Mrs Kyriakis?’ The officer was shaking her shoulder. ‘You can go. Enjoy your holiday.’
Relief brought her fully awake. She was free! A joyful smile began its journey across her face but she lowered her sparkling eyes hastily and tried to think how an ordinary holiday-maker would feel.
‘About time,’ she grumbled. Getting up stiffly, she saw that she’d slept for nearly an hour. ‘Some welcome!’
The officer gave an only-doing-my-duty shrug and she continued her show of irritation as she repacked her case then trudged out of the room.
She couldn’t believe it. She was here. Really here. And not far away was little Lexi. Soon she’d be holding her baby in her arms again. Excited, Emma thought blissfully of the moment when Lexi would call her Mummy.
‘Wonderful!’ She breathed ecstatically.
Back in his office, the officer punched numbers on his mobile. ‘She’s on her way,’ he warned.
Leon thanked the officer, tucked his mobile into the pocket of his linen jacket and waited tensely beneath the shade of the tamarisk and pine trees opposite the airport entrance.
The first call, some two hours earlier, had come out of the blue. For a moment he’d thought the officer had made a mistake but the name, the age and the description had been spot on. If this was Emma, then the young man’s alertness had possibly prevented an attempted abduction.
Leon thrust his shaking hands into his pockets and forced back the flash of fear. A tiny child’s happiness depended on his ability to handle this situation. Caught off guard by the unexpectedness of Emma’s arrival, he’d had only a short time to decide his plan of action. But he must make no mistake in its execution.
He stiffened, every muscle in his body creaking with strain. His heart raced. It was Emma.
Like a butterfly spreading its wings, she drew herself up, took a deep breath and flung her head back to absorb the sunshine, her whole body language exuding uninhibited joy.
‘Entirely misplaced,’ he muttered.
If she thought she was free to snatch her daughter, she was wrong! He’d watch her every step of the way. She might be devious and driven by revenge to cause him the maximum amount of trouble, but he was on his home ground and had a whole raft of people looking out for his best interests.
And Lexi’s. God keep her safe. How could Emma drag a child away from the only home she’d ever known? Her lawyer, John Sefton, had hinted something like this might happen but he’d never believed she could ignore her daughter’s needs so ruthlessly.
Emma set off as if she knew where she was going. Interesting. He kept his distance as she headed for the taxi rank—which she ignored. The drivers didn’t ignore her though, and he didn’t blame them for staring in admiration.
‘Poli oraya,’ they murmured, seeking his agreement as he drew level to them.
Yes, she was strikingly attractive, he acknowledged grudgingly. Prison had obviously been no hardship and the gaunt, sick woman had become a beauty again.
Her long-legged stride was fluid, giving an impression of suppleness
