detail. Magellan’s red print shirt and matching red slacks were made even more dramatic by the way he stood in front of my cousin, his hands fisted at his sides. Diamonds glittered from his watch and a ring on his pinkie.
“Of course he’s not here. Even as we speak, he’s probably trespassing on my land again. It has to stop. I’ve warned him more than once. And I don’t want him poking around in the caves, either. They’re dangerous—that’s why they’re posted. I should think as his mother, you’d see to it that he doesn’t go there.”
“You don’t understand. One of Alexi’s cats is missing—Caliban. Alexi just wants to—”
“I don’t give a damn about his cats or his fixation on them.” Magellan’s voice had grown shrill with temper. “I’ve warned him. If either of those cats are seen anywhere on the grounds of the Castello Corli, my men have orders to shoot them.”
“No, please, don’t hurt them.” Miranda pressed a hand to her chest. “I’ll speak to Alexi.”
“I’m filing a complaint with the police. If your son trespasses one more time, I’ll have him arrested.”
Anger flared inside me at the callous way he spoke of Alexi and the cats. I knew from Helena and my dad that my cousin Alexi was eighteen and had always been a bit slow in school. But since his father had died three years ago, he’d become quite good at helping his mother run the hotel.
Fueled by my temper, I was about to move into the lobby and give Mr. Andre Magellan a piece of my mind when he whirled and strode out through the main entrance. He vaulted over the door into the sporty red car. An instant later, tires squealed and gravel sprayed as he raced away.
The lobby was empty when I turned back. To my left, doors opened onto a sunny terrace where lunch was being served, and every table was filled. Helena had raved about the cuisine at the Villa Prospero, and it seemed that the current guests were in agreement. Miranda was now serving dishes from a loaded tray. I hated to interrupt her, so I wandered around the large, airy room. There was a small gift shop that opened off the lobby, and through its open door I caught a glimpse of glass cases as well as racks of T-shirts and wide-brimmed hats.
A young woman entered from yet another door. She, too, carried a loaded tray. The moment she saw me she paused and said, “I’ll be with you in a moment.”
Her English was heavily accented, but she meant what she said. She returned to the lobby just as soon as she’d served a table of four.
“Sorry. You have a reservation?”
“I believe so. I’m Philly Angelis.” Her name tag said that she was Demetria.
“Oh, Ms. Angelis.” A smile warmed her whole face. “Welcome to the Villa Prospero. Mrs. Kostas is expecting you.
Over her shoulder, I could see Miranda chatting with the guests at a table for two as she cleared plates and cups.
“I’ll get her,” Demetria said.
“No, I can see she’s busy. And you’re busy, too. Why don’t I just leave my luggage here and go for a walk until things settle a bit.”
Relief swam in her eyes. “Are you sure? We’re shorthanded today because Alexi hasn’t shown up yet.”
I smiled at the young girl. “I’m positive. The sea is calling me. I thought I saw a path down to the beach.”
“Yes. Just go to the end of the gravel drive and turn right.”
With a final smile, I turned and after stopping briefly to get my camera out of my suitcase, I hurried out of the lobby. I believed in following my impulses, and something was pulling me to the beach, in much the same way that something had drawn me to Greece.
Of course, sometimes my acting on impulse had gotten me into trouble. A prime example was the day Roman had saved me from drowning. I was sixteen and decided I had to go for a sail. Right then. It had been a boring, rainy day at my grandfather’s fishing cabin. My brothers and Roman and my dad had been whiling away the hours with a game of poker. Roman had been winning, of course. The moment the sun had come out, I’d announced my intention to take Nik’s boat out. Then I’d hurried down to the dock before anyone could object.
I’d wanted to sail alone, but Roman followed and asked if he could join me.
Before that, I’d always thought of Roman as just an additional brother, but everything changed once the storm came up. It was so sudden and so severe that the boat had capsized almost immediately. Once in the water, I’d felt a huge wave pick me up and toss me. I’d barely had time to catch a breath before I was pulled under. Dizzy and disoriented, I wasn’t sure which way to swim to get to the surface. Panic had streamed through me, and I’d felt my lungs begin to burn. Then a pair of strong hands had gripped me, and seconds later Roman and I broke the surface. The water was rough and another wave had crashed over us. When we’d surfaced again, his voice had been calm as he told me to put my arms around his neck and lie on top of his back. I did, and he’d struck out toward shore. Though waves had tossed us and dragged us both under several times before we finally reached the beach, I’d never once doubted that we would both make it.
When I felt the now-familiar band of pain tighten around my heart, I stopped in my tracks and swore under my breath. I had not come to Greece to think about Roman Oliver. I had come to solve my “Roman problem” once and for all. And I would. I knew it in the same way that I often “knew” things about the animals I worked with.
The path to the sea was narrow and sloped gently as it zigged and zagged its way down the steep hill. I’d only been walking for a short time before I realized that it was going to take a while to reach my destination. I was tempted to just forget the path and strike out on a more direct route through the trees. But it wouldn’t do to get lost on my first day in Corfu.
Then I rounded a sharp corner and caught sight of a wide, crescent-shaped beach and the vast stretch of the crystalline blue Ionian Sea. There was no sound other than the breeze rustling through the trees and the distant push of waves against rocks.
I raised my camera and focused the lens. The deserted stretch of white sand was tucked snugly between two rocky promontories that stretched far out into the water. Waves broke frothy and white against the rocks. I took a few shots. Beyond the far promontory, the terrain changed abruptly from wooded hillside to a cliff face of solid rock that shot straight up to form a fortress wall and two towers. It had to be the Castello Corli.
As I snapped more photos, I felt transported to a much earlier time, and I thought fancifully of the castle that Princess Aurora slept in for one hundred years after she’d pricked her finger. Because of its location between Italy and the Greek mainland, Corfu had always had strategic importance. I recalled what my driver had said about the Castello Corli being built in the fourteenth century when the Venetians had ruled the island, and I could see the Italian influence in the design of the towers. My driver had said that the estate’s current villa dated from the turn of the century and had been renovated ten years ago by Andre Magellan’s parents, and then presented to him on his birthday. I zoomed in with my telephoto lens, but even then, I could see nothing past the towers.
Suddenly my attention was caught by a large white bird that flew out of one of the towers and soared upward in wide circles. I had no idea what its species was, but an odd mix of fear and excitement moved through me. Perhaps I was still being influenced by the enchanted appearance of the Castello, but the white bird made me think of the numerous calls to adventure that populated
