to look round. Can I get you a drink—a cold beer, maybe—or some lemon tea?’
‘Tea would be wonderful,’ Zoe accepted gratefully. Left to herself, she stepped out onto the balcony, finding to her pleasure that her room overlooked the harbour.
She could quite see why her mother had loved it here, no matter what might or might not have befallen her.
A tap on the door, signalling the arrival of her luggage, brought her back into the room.
Stavros was dark and swarthy, with a quiet, courteous manner. ‘My wife wishes to know if you would like your tea in your room, kyria, or downstairs in our courtyard?’
‘Oh, downstairs, I think. I only need a few minutes to unpack.’
The courtyard was at the rear of the hotel, shaded by a massive vine. Zoe sat at a corner, sipping her tea and considering her immediate options. At some point she would have to seek out Uncle Stavros of the roving eye, she thought, and see if, by some remote chance, he remembered her mother. Any information she could glean would be welcome, she acknowledged with a faint sigh.
A large hairy dog, resembling a moving hearthrug, came sauntering out of the hotel and ambled up to her, panting amiably, and clearly waiting to have his head scratched and his floppy ears gently pulled.
‘You’re a good boy,’ Zoe told him softly as she complied. She would have a dog, she thought, when she found a place of her own to live. Her mother had wanted one at the cottage, but Aunt Megan had instantly vetoed the idea.
‘Don’t let Archimedes be a nuisance,’ Sherry warned when she came to collect the tray.
‘Why on earth did you call him that?’ Zoe asked, intrigued.
‘Because he once climbed in the bath with Stavros and nearly flooded the place.’ Sherry stroked the untidy head. ‘He’s now barred for life from all bathrooms.’
‘While we’re on the subject of water,’ Zoe said, laughing, ‘where’s the best place to swim from?’
Sherry considered. ‘There’s the town beach,’ she said. ‘Turn left out of the hotel, and keep walking. It’s not bad, but it can get pretty crowded. There are some good beaches on the other side of the island, but you can only reach them by boat, and Stavros sometimes gets up a trip for guests if enough are interested.
‘Apart from that…’ She pulled a face, and took a swift look round. ‘Not all the villa owners are here the whole time, and we occasionally take advantage of that, and use their beaches when they’re away. What the eye don’t see,’ she added cheerfully. ‘But don’t tell Stavros I said so, because he gets twitchy.’
She lowered her voice confidentially. ‘As a matter of fact, one villa overlooks a really pretty cove, but it’s not used because the place has never been lived in. I go down there sometimes, although Stavros isn’t very happy about it. He has a real thing about privacy, and upsetting the owners.’
Zoe swallowed. ‘But if it’s not used, it sounds ideal,’ she said huskily. ‘Maybe you could give me directions.’ She paused. ‘Does it have a name—this house?’
‘Mmm.’ Sherry nodded as she prepared to depart. ‘The Villa Danaë. You could walk there,’ she added over her shoulder.
I not only could, Zoe thought exultantly, when she was alone. I will. Tomorrow.
Half-buried in long grass, the small wooden board was shaped like an arrow and pointed down a narrow dusty track. The faded words ‘Villa Danaë’ were only just legible, as Sherry had quietly warned her as Zoe had eaten her breakfast of warm rolls, flower-scented honey, and thick, creamy yoghurt.
Now she paused, hitching the cream canvas bag that held her towel, sun lotion and paperback novel into a more comfortable position on her shoulder.
Even though she’d been waiting for this moment, she was sorely tempted to walk on. To let the past rest in peace. To go with the flow, and let herself be absorbed effortlessly into Thania’s languorous charm. To simply have a much-needed vacation.
But that would not quell the wondering, she told herself. And when she got back, and saw Gina’s picture newly framed and hanging in her bedroom, she might kick herself for wasting a golden opportunity.
She turned with renewed determination, and plunged down the rutted track. It led down through a grove of olive trees, and, although it was still comparatively early in the day, she was grateful for their silvery shade. The air was very still, and the cloudless sky had a faintly misty look that promised soaring temperatures to come.
She was wearing a thin, floating sundress, sleeveless and scoop-necked, in gentian-blue, over a matching bikini, and her hair was piled up in a loose knot on top of her head.
She rounded a steep bend in the track, and saw, beyond the shelter of the olive grove, the more vivid green of grass and colourful splashes of flowers. Not the desolate wilderness she’d half expected. And a little further on, set like a jewel in the encircling garden, was the house, all immaculate white walls and terracotta roof.
Zoe paused, her hand tightening unconsciously round the strap of her bag. Immediately in front of her was the turquoise gleam of a swimming pool, from which a flight of broad, shallow steps led up to sliding glass doors. Behind these was a low, pillared room like an atrium, cool with marble and towering green plants, and furnished with comfortable white chairs and loungers.
Trying not to feel too much like an intruder, Zoe skirted the pool, climbed the steps and tried the doors, but they were securely locked.
It’s like looking into a showcase, she thought as she walked on. You can admire, but not touch.
And halted abruptly, her heart jolting as she reached the foot of another flight of steps, so immediately familiar she could have climbed them in her sleep. Pale steps, she recognised breathlessly, dusty with the faded blossoms of the bougainvillea that cascaded down the side of the house. Steps that led up to a terrace, its balustrade supporting a large stone urn, heavy with clustering flowers. As she’d known there would be. And beyond that the dreamy azure of the sea.
She steadied herself, then, quietly and cautiously, she climbed up to the terrace. She found herself standing on a broad sweep of creamy marble that ran the entire length of the house. Stone troughs massed with more flowers marked the length of the waist-high balustrade, while below it, from a gated opening, another curved flight of steps led down through cypress trees standing like sentries to a perfect horseshoe of pale sand, and the vivid blue ripple of the sea.
Behind her, shuttered glass doors masked the ground floor rooms completely. But what had she expected? The place laid open for her inspection, and a welcome mat waiting?
I should have gone to see a lawyer, she told herself restively, walking along the terrace. Had the whole legal situation checked out. Approaches made.
She found the main entrance round the corner, a solid wooden door, heavily carved, and growing beside it, in festoons of blooms that softened the dark wood and white walls, an exquisite climbing rose, its petals shading from creamy yellow to deep gold.
Zoe found herself thinking of the shower of radiance in which Zeus had come to Danaë in the legend, then told herself she was being fanciful. Whoever had planted the garden had simply loved roses, that was all. The troughs and urns along the terrace had been fragrant
