His Forbidden Bride (4 page)

places where they filmed
Captain Corelli's Mandolin
. There's plenty to do

there, and you could always go on a day trip to Thania if you really want to

see it.'

Zoe shook her head, keeping her face solemn. 'Nicholas Cage went back to

America a long time ago, so I think I'l pass on Kefalonia this time around.

Besides, somewhere smal and peaceful is exactly what I want.' She

paused, then tried to sound casual. 'I believe there's a Hotel Stavros in

Livassi. Maybe you could book me in there.'

Vanessa stabbed frowningly at her computer keys, then nodded with a touch

of resignation. 'Argonaut Holidays go there, one of the few companies that

do, and they have vacancies, surprise, surprise.' She stabbed again. 'Bath,

balcony, sea view?'

Terrace, thought Zoe, with steps leading up to it, and the sea beyond…

She smiled. 'Ideal.'

She'd met with downright disapproval from George, who was stil plainly

disappointed that she'd gently but firmly turned down his proposal. 'But you

never go abroad on holiday.' He sounded injured.

'No, George,' she said, still gently but firmly. 'I never have in the past, that's all.'

'But if you'd mentioned it sooner, we could have gone somewhere together,'

he protested. 'My mother did a tour a couple of years back—"The Treasures

of Italy". She enjoyed it, and the hotels were of a high standard. We could

have done the same thing.' He paused awkwardly. 'I understand Greek

plumbing is—rather eccentric.'

'I know,' she said. 'They told me al about it at the travel agency, and it's not

a problem.' She gave him a steady look. 'Besides, George, your mother

would never have let you go on holiday with me—even if we'd been

married.'

He flushed uncomfortably. 'You're wrong, Zoe. She's always tel ing people

how happy she'd be to have me off her hands—to have grandchildren.'

Certainly, thought Zoe, if it could be done by divine intervention, without

having an all too human daughter-in-law in the equation.

'So where exactly are you going?' he asked.

Zoe shrugged, trying not to look shifty. 'I thought I'd do some island

hopping—never too long in one place. See what appeals,' she told him airily.

She hated fibbing to George, but she knew his mother would have her

destination out of him before his supper was on the table, and Aunt Megan

would be next in line for the information. And, given her aunt's extreme

reaction to the picture, this would be bad news.

What a pity, she thought, that I can't go to her. Ask her about it. Because

she must know. I'm sure of that.

She hadn't seen Mrs Arnold since that day, not even when she'd taken the

cottage keys round to the house and dropped them through the letterbox.

Her aunt had probably been at home, but there had seemed little point in

another confrontation, whatever its purpose.

And she'd been frantically busy. In addition to the usual end of term

workload, she'd managed to find herself temporary accommodation in a

top-floor flat in an old Victorian house within walking distance of the col ege.

It was furnished and the rent was reasonable, enabling her to put her

mother's cherished pieces in store for the future.

Which was something else she hadn't mentioned to George—the fact that

she'd given in her notice at the col ege and would be leaving at Christmas.

Finding another job in a different area. A chal enge that awaited her when

she got back from Greece.

'Ah, wel , "sufficient unto the day",' she told herself silently.

She took a bottle of water from her shoulder bag, and drank thirstily. As she

replaced the bottle she heard the crackle of paper, reminding her of the

purpose of her visit.

She'd brought the Greek deed of gift, together with the translation, and the

photographs. But she had no intention of barging in and making a claim

straight away.

First, she told herself, I need to find out how the land lies. For al I know, the vil a's original owner may have had second thoughts and revoked the gift

years ago.

So I'l find the house, and see who's living there now. And if it's obvious that

giving it away was just a temporary aberration on someone's part a long

time ago, then I'l just enjoy my holiday, and no harm done.

After al , it is a little bit too much like a fairy tale.

The Vil a Danaë, she thought. She'd checked in a book of Greek myths and

discovered that Danaë had been one of the many loved by Zeus, who had

visited her in a stream of golden light. She'd subsequently given birth to

Perseus and been set adrift on the ocean with her baby in a locked chest,

but they'd both survived and Perseus had gone on to cut off the head of the

Gorgon Medusa, and win the hand of Andromeda.

This is my own quest, she thought. My private odyssey. And decapitation will

probably not be involved.

The harbour at Thania was only smal , and occupied mainly by caiques

rather than expensive yachts. The town itself was built on the side of a steep

hil , with serried ranks of red-roofed houses looking as if they might tumble

forward into the sea. On the quayside ahead, Zoe could see the striped

awnings of tavernas, and among them a larger building, three storeys high,

its white paint gleaming in the sunlight, which she knew from the picture in

the Argonaut brochure was the Hotel Stavros.

It was mid-afternoon, by this time, and the heat was intense. Zoe had

dressed for coolness in white cut-off trousers, and a sleeveless navy top,

knotted at the midriff. She'd covered her exposed skin in high-factor

sunblock, and braided her hair into one thick plait, cramming over it a

wide-brimmed linen hat.

Ready for anything, she thought, briskly swinging up her travel bag as the

ferry moved into its al otted place on the dock. There were few other

passengers, and those, she guessed, were locals rather than tourists.

Zoe was aware she was being surveyed with friendly interest, and as she

went ashore, treading gingerly down the rickety gangplank, the captain gave

her a gap-toothed smile and a hoarse grunt of appreciation.

No point trying to hide herself in the crowd, then, she decided, amused.

She made straight for the hotel, climbing two steps to the terrace with its

tables and chairs, and tubs planted cheerfully with pelargoniums. Inside the

double glass doors, the tiled reception area was apparently deserted, but

Zoe was glad to stand and catch her breath for a moment, in its

air-conditioned coolness.

And, as if on cue, the fringed curtain at the rear of the desk stirred, and a

girl, plump, red-haired and smiling, emerged to meet her.

'Hi,' she greeted Zoe casual y. 'You must be Miss Lambert. I'm Sherry.'

'And you're British.' Zoe shook hands with her, smiling back. 'I didn't expect

that.'

'And I didn't expect to meet and marry a Greek hotel owner two years ago,'

the other girl admitted candidly. 'So, it's a bit of a novelty for me, too.' She

handed Zoe a registration card and a pen.

'I'l show you your room,' she went on, taking down a key from a rack on the

wal behind her. 'Leave your bag, and Stavros wil bring it up in a minute.'

'The Stavros for whom the hotel was named?' Zoe asked, trying to do

mental sums about his possible age.

Sherry shook her head, leading the way up a marble staircase. 'That was his

uncle—a real character. Great eye for the ladies even now. Never married

because he thought it would cramp his style,' she added with a rich chuckle.

'My Stavros took over the hotel when he decided to retire a few years ago.

Now he sits under the trees in the square, playing lethal games of

backgammon.'

'Sounds a marvel ous life,' Zoe said, committing al this information to

memory.

'Here we are.' Sherry threw open a door, allowing Zoe to precede her into a

cool, shadowy room, its shutters closed against the glare of the sun. Sherry

pulled back the thin drapes and unlatched the shutters, revealing spotless

cream wal s to match the tiled floor. There was a cupboard built into one

wal with a hanging rail, and a modest chest of drawers beside the low bed,

with its crisp, snowy linen, and terracotta coverlet folded back across the

foot.

'It's lovely,' Zoe said with total sincerity.

'If you need a blanket, which I doubt, just ask.' Sherry opened another door.

'And this is your shower room. It's pretty basic—you sit on that little wooden

bench to wash, and al the water goes down that drain in the middle, as you

see—but you can general y have a warm shower when you want one.' She

paused. 'I'l leave you 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 befal en 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

col ect 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 pul ed a face, and took a swift look round. 'Not al the

vil a owners are here the whole time, and we occasional y take advantage of

that, and use their beaches when they're away. What the eye don't see,' she

added cheerful y. 'But don't tel Stavros I said so, because he gets twitchy.'

She lowered her voice confidential y. 'As a matter of fact, one vil a overlooks

a real y 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 Vil a 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 smal wooden board was shaped like an arrow

and pointed down a narrow dusty track. The faded words 'Vil a Danaë' were

only just legible, as Sherry had quietly warned her as Zoe had eaten her

breakfast of warm rol s, 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 quel 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 stil

comparatively early in the day, she was grateful for their silvery shade. The

air was very stil , and the cloudless sky had a faintly misty look that

promised soaring temperatures to come.