do not want to set your sights on Kyrie Mena,’ Maria said firmly. She gave the bread dough a few firm kneads. ‘He is not a whole man.’
Intrigued, Talia leaned forward. ‘Not a whole man?’ He certainly looked like a whole man, devastatingly attractive in every part. ‘What do you mean by that?’
Maria shook her head. ‘I should not have said it. It is only there has been much tragedy in his life. He is not able to give a woman all she would need here.’ Maria pressed a hand to her heart.
So Angelos was emotionally repressed? Not exactly a surprise. ‘When you say tragedy,’ Talia asked, ‘do you mean the fire?’
Maria pressed her lips together. ‘I should not have said.’
Talia could tell she wasn’t going to get anything else out of the housekeeper about that, and so she asked if there was a library instead.
‘A library? You want a book?’
‘I thought I might see if there was anything to read,’ Talia demurred, squashing a feeling of guilt at her duplicity. She did want a book, one specific book. But she had no idea if it was on Kallos, or in Angelos’s possession at all.
‘There is a room at the top of the house,’ Maria said. ‘Above the bedrooms. You will find some books there.’
Since Sofia was still busy with her teacher, Talia followed Maria’s directions, up a winding staircase to a single, airy room on the top floor, with windows in every direction and bookshelves lining all the walls.
She stood in the centre of the room for a moment, enjoying the view of the sea all around her, before she began to study the books lining the shelves. Angelos had an eclectic collection of books: history, politics, art and music, even a little light fiction. None of the books looked like the one Giovanni had described, handcrafted with a cover of tooled leather.
Sighing, Talia berated herself for hoping it could be so simple. Did she actually think she’d just find the rare book lying on a shelf for anyone to pick up? She didn’t know if it was on this island, or even in Angelos’s possession. If he did own it, he might well keep it in Athens, in a safe. And maybe he didn’t own it. The only way she would know, Talia acknowledged, was by asking the man himself.
She was just about to head back downstairs when Sofia popped her head up over the banister. ‘I look for you!’ she exclaimed in English, and Talia laughed.
‘And you found me. How was your lesson?’
‘Good,’ Sofia said, and ducked her head in shy pride at how much English she’d spoken. Then she pointed to Talia. ‘You now.’
‘My Greek lesson?’ Talia surmised. ‘Bring it on.’ She followed Sofia downstairs, where Ava was waiting.
* * *
Ten days passed by faster than Talia felt she could blink. It was easy to lose herself in the sunny haze of days; she spent the mornings reading or sketching or simply lazing on the beach, and then had a Greek lesson with Ava. The afternoons were with Sofia, either inside doing crafts or playing games, or outside walking, swimming and exploring some of the island.
She and Sofia managed to communicate through miming and bits of broken English and Greek, improvement showing on both sides with every passing day.
And with each day Talia saw Sofia becoming more confident and comfortable, although whenever Angelos came into the conversation a cloud passed over her face, and shadows came into her eyes. Talia started trying to keep her employer out of the conversation, even as her heart ached for Sofia and the lack of a loving parent in her life.
Several times she tried to find out more information about her grandfather’s book, but when she asked Maria if Angelos liked poetry, she received an utterly blank look.
‘Poetry? No.’
‘He seems an educated man,’ Talia tried. ‘He has so many books upstairs... I thought he might enjoy a bit of poetry.’
‘Are we talking about the same Kyrie Mena?’ Maria asked with raised eyebrows. ‘The man I know does not like poetry. He certainly doesn’t read it.’ Her gaze narrowed as she glanced at Talia. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘No reason,’ Talia answered with a weak smile, guilt flashing through her. In the ten days since she’d arrived on Kallos she’d grown close to both Maria and Sofia, and Ava as well. She hated the thought that she was deceiving anyone, but she didn’t know how to admit the truth without hurting everyone involved, and potentially enraging her boss.
Although she tried not to talk to Sofia about Angelos, Talia spent an inordinate amount of time wondering about him. How long had he been a widower? Had he loved his wife very much? Sometimes she would pause in the dining room and gaze up at the portrait of Xanthe Mena, with her heavy-lidded look and small, secretive smile, and wonder what she’d been like, and how she’d captured the heart of her husband.
Not that she was concerned about Angelos Mena’s heart, Talia told herself. She was just curious. It was only natural.
Ten days into her time on Kallos her grandfather wrote her an email, asking about the book. Talia read the few lines with a growing sense of guilt, because she knew that she’d only made a few half-hearted attempts to find out any information.
When Angelos returned, she decided, she’d ask him about the book flat out. She’d try, at least.
Quickly she typed an email back to Giovanni.
Dear Nonno,
I am doing my best. I hope to have news soon. But please don’t worry about me. I am having a good time and I hope you are keeping well.
Love, Talia.
For a second she pictured him in the conservatory where they’d shared so many meals, and a wave of homesickness washed over her. He’d become so frail in the last few months, his once robust and commanding figure diminished by age and illness. She hated the thought that she was missing time with him, precious days and weeks she’d never have again.
Which made her more determined than ever to find his book.
She was just pressing Send when she heard a distant whirring. She left her laptop open on her bed and hurried to the window, where she saw a helicopter touch down on the helipad. Her heart seemed to leap in her throat as the hatch opened and a familiar figure stepped out before striding down the path to the house.
Angelos Mena was home.
HE HADN’T MEANT to come back. Angelos Mena headed down the garden path, half inclined to turn around and climb back into the helicopter. He hadn’t been intending to return to Kallos for another two weeks at least.
But he’d found himself thinking about returning almost since the moment he’d left. He wanted to make sure Talia Di Sione was indeed a suitable nanny, and even though Maria had assured him in several emails that she was, Angelos needed to see for himself. His daughter’s welfare was paramount.
At
