style="font-size:15px;"> By the time she had seen a doctor Lukas had already been awaiting trial for his crime. And on the day she’d gone into labour, a full month earlier than expected, alone and frightened as she pushed her way through the agonising birth with only the midwife’s hand to grip for support, Lukas had been in court, with the judge declaring him guilty and sentencing him to eight years in jail.
Effie’s first screaming lungful of air had come at the exact moment when the judge had uttered the fateful words, ‘Take him down.’
On that day—the day of her daughter’s birth—Calista had resolved to wait to tell Lukas of Effie’s existence until he was released from jail. Eight years had seemed a lifetime away. Time enough for her and Effie to build their own lives in the UK, to become a strong, independent unit. So the secret had been kept well hidden.
Calista had told no one—not even her father—for fear that if he knew the truth word would spread amongst her Greek family and find its way to Lukas. But if she was honest there was another reason she didn’t want her father to know. She didn’t want her precious Effie tainted by any association with him.
He would have tried to take control, Calista knew that—both of her and his granddaughter. He would have tried to manipulate them, bend them to his will, use them to his advantage. Calista had worked far too hard to build an independent life to let him do that. Simply not telling him about Effie had been the easiest solution all round.
Now Aristotle would never know he’d had a granddaughter. But Lukas… Calista moved inside the band of his arm, her heart thudding with frantic alarm and something else—something that felt dangerously like excitement. Lukas would have to know that he was a father. That was his right. But not yet. Not until Calista had had a chance to prepare herself—and Effie. Not until she had made sure all her defences were securely in place.
‘Calista, people are leaving.’ Beside her, but keeping a safe distance from Lukas, Yiannis tried to get her attention. ‘They are waiting to speak to us before they go.’
‘Leaving so soon?’ Lukas gave a derisive sneer. ‘Is there to be no wake? No toasting the life of the great man?’
‘The boats are waiting to take everyone back to the mainland.’ Yiannis wiped the sweat from his brow. ‘You’ll be on one of them, if you know what’s good for you.’
Lukas gave a gruff laugh. ‘Funny, I was just thinking the same thing about you.’
‘You have brought ruination and disgrace to our family, Kalanos, but Thalassa is the one asset my father managed to protect. You may own half of it now, but not for much longer.’
‘Is that right?’
‘Yes. We intend to make a claim for your half of the island as compensation for the financial ruin you and your father caused us. Our lawyers are confident we will win the case.’ Yiannis struggled to keep his voice firm.
‘We?’
‘My brother and I. And Calista, of course.’
At the mention of her name Lukas released his arm from her waist, turning to give Calista a stare of such revulsion that it churned her stomach. She had no idea what Yiannis was talking about. She had never agreed to instruct a lawyer to sue for compensation. She wanted nothing to do with Thalassa—even the small share she assumed she’d inherit now, on Aristotle’s death. She certainly had no intention of fighting Lukas for his half.
‘Well, good luck with that.’ Narrowing his eyes, Lukas turned away, seemingly bored with the subject. ‘Actually, no.’ Turning back, he fixed Yiannis with a punishing stare. ‘You might as well know—both of you. The island of Thalassa now belongs to me. All of it.’
‘Yeah, right.’ Christos had joined them, positioning himself between Yiannis and Lukas, sweating profusely. ‘Do you take us for idiots, Kalanos?’
Lukas’s pursed lips gave an almost imperceptible twitch.
‘You are obviously lying.’
‘I’m afraid not.’ Lukas removed a tiny speck of dust from the sleeve of his immaculate suit. ‘I’m only surprised your lawyers didn’t tell you. I managed to acquire your father’s half of the island some time ago.’
Christos’s face turned puce, but it was Yiannis who spoke. ‘That can’t be true. Aristotle would never have sold to you.’
‘He didn’t need to. When he and my father bought the island they registered it in their wives’ names. A touching gesture, don’t you think? Or am I being naive? Perhaps it was simply a tax dodge? Either way, it has proved very convenient. My half, of course, came to me upon the death of my mother—God rest her soul. Acquiring your half was simply a matter of tracking down Aristotle’s first wife and making her an offer she couldn’t refuse. I can’t tell you how grateful she was. Especially as she had no idea she owned it.’
‘But you have been in prison for years. How could you possibly have done this?’
‘You’d be surprised. It turns out that you can make some very useful contacts inside. Very useful indeed.’ Lukas raised a dark brow. ‘I now know just the man for any given job. And I do mean any.’
Yiannis visibly paled beneath his swarthy skin. In desperation he turned to Calista, but she only gave a small shrug. She didn’t give a damn who owned the island. She just wanted to get off it as fast as she could.
Christos, meanwhile, always blessed with more brawn than brains, had raised his fists in a pathetic show of aggression. ‘You don’t scare me, Kalanos. I’ll take you on any time you like.’
‘Didn’t I hear you say you had a boat to catch?’ With a display of supreme indifference Lukas treated him to an icily withering look.
Christos took a step forward, but Yiannis grabbed hold of his arm, pulling him away to stop him from getting himself into real trouble. As he twisted sideways his feet got caught in the green tarpaulin covering the fresh earth around the grave and they both stumbled, lurching dangerously towards the grave itself, before righting themselves at the last moment.
Yiannis tugged at his brother’s arm again, desperate to get him away from humiliation, or a punch on the nose, or both.
‘You haven’t heard the last of this, Kalanos!’ Christos shouted over his shoulder as his brother hastily manoeuvred them away, weaving between the overgrown graves. ‘You are going to pay for this.’
Calista watched in surprise as her half-brothers disappeared. Weren’t they supposed to have been staying a couple of nights on the island to go through their father’s papers and sort out his affairs? Clearly that was no longer happening. Neither did they seem bothered about leaving her behind to deal with Lukas. It was obviously every man for himself—or herself.
But it did mean that there was nothing to keep her there any more. Unless she counted the formidably dark figure that was still rooted ominously by her side.
Realising she was still clutching the single lily in her hand, she stepped towards the grave and let it drop, whispering a silent goodbye to her father. A lump lodged in her throat. Not just for her father—her relationship with him had always been too fraught, too blighted by anguish and tragedy for simple grief to sum it up—but because Calista knew she was not just saying goodbye to Aristotle but to Thalassa,
