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‘She’s absolutely ravishing!’ Nikos declared as she walked away. ‘Do you think there’s anything between them? Sexually, I mean. You heard what she said about the flat.’

‘Yes, I heard.’ Anna’s voice sounded harsh, even in her own ears. ‘But—it isn’t our business, is it, Nikos? They are both old enough to do what they like with their lives.’

He looked across the table at her with hurt, enquiring eyes. ‘What is Andreas to you?’ he asked.

‘Nothing.’

‘You mean that?’

‘Why would I say it if I didn’t?’

‘I wonder if he’s come back to stay,’ he said jealously.

‘I don’t think so.’

‘He may fancy himself back here at the villa managing everything for you,’ he suggested tentatively.

‘I’m sure that won’t happen.’ Her voice was determined. ‘We don’t need his help. When we did he wasn’t there.’

‘Which means you’re not inclined to fall on his neck and kiss him or even to kill the fatted calf in honour of his return?’

‘Something like that,’ she agreed, ‘though I can’t quite see Andreas as the Prodigal Son.’

‘He’s come back for a reason, I think,’ Nikos said. ‘A reason of his own which has something to do with Lara Warrender. Do you think Mr. Warrender is vastly wealthy? Or she might be his equally wealthy widow, if Andreas plans to marry her.’

‘We don’t know that!’ Anna exclaimed. ‘There’s no point in being dramatic about their relationship when we don’t know the truth. She’s—lovely and desirable, I grant you, but she may not even be free to marry anyone.’

‘Hmm. Maybe you’re right,’ he said as her mother came to meet them.

It was several days before Anna saw Lara Warrender again. Some of their guests had departed by the weekend and there was what her mother called ‘a lull’ in the activity of the villa until the middle of the week when two more would fly in from Germany to be met at Lamaca by Paris with the mini-bus. It was a time to relax a little, but also a time to plan for the immediate future. By June summer would be upon them in earnest with its hosts of visitors and there would be more need for a swimming- pool than ever so their hope was that the new pool would be almost ready for the influx of holidaymakers. Already the contract had been signed and the work was scheduled to go ahead steadily during the slack period between. Because the pool was to be built well to one side of the villa itself, there had not been any need to close even while the excavations were in progress and a canvas shield had been erected between the terrace and the shrubbery which was now in the process of being cleared.

Anna hated to see even those trees go as she walked down to the beach for a breath of sea air before it was time to prepare the buffet lunch everyone seemed to enjoy. They were shabby old friends, carobs and ragged eucalyptus and overgrown hibiscus offering only a few jaded blossoms at the best of times, but ‘the jungle’, as they had called it, had been part of her youth, part of the happier rememberings which she had always kept in her heart.

How far away those days seemed now, she thought; gone into the mists of time! If nothing had happened to her peaceful life, if her father hadn’t died and Andreas hadn’t gone away

She pulled up her thoughts there. ‘If only’ was a phrase she had never intended to use and self-pity was something she despised. Her life was now set in other ways and she turned her face to the future. With the scrub land cleared and the pool tiled and ready for use something else would be achieved.

She looked along the curve of the bay to where the blue-and-white sun-umbrellas of the Crescent Beach appeared beyond the dividing wall, thinking how shipshape everything was over there. Their harbour was full of pleasure boats, children’s pedallos and speedboats and, farther out in the bay itself, the white-hulled caique which made day trips to the larger bays in the west and along the northern shoreline. It was all so lavish and sophisticated and well-adjusted, with never a thing out of place, and beach-boys springing into action as soon as a guest appeared to find a suitable sun-bed for them under a natural tree or to adjust an umbrella to the right angle against the sun.

Well, she hadn’t wanted that, and certainly they would never achieve such perfection, but there was no reason to bring it nearer by selling some of the precious land between. It was her protection, she thought; the privacy they advertised.

Her eyes swept round their own tiny bay, along the curve of the sand and out towards the miniature lighthouse which Andreas had helped to build so long ago. He had gone out there along the mole the other day, standing to look back at the villa, and now someone else was standing there, a child in a pink sun-dress with a straw hat on her head who seemed to be revelling in her isolation on the very edge of the harbour wall. She seemed too young to be out there alone and Anna moved quickly down the beach towards her.

Crossing the sand, she looked around for someone who might be with their unexpected visitor, but only her own guests were settled on the sun-loungers achieving a desired tan or reading undisturbed under the umbrellas which she had bought recently to adorn the beach.

When she approached the miniature lighthouse the girl had turned her back, gazing down at the waves as they lapped gently against the breakwater. She was older than she had looked from the terrace—perhaps six or seven years of age—and there was something almost forlorn about the droop of her shoulders as she contemplated the sea.

‘It’s very calm today,’ Anna observed conversationally, ‘even out there beyond the breakwater.’

The child turned immediately, studying her with large, sombre eyes. ‘I like it when it makes waves against the rocks,’ she said. ‘Are you someone from the little hotel?’ Anna nodded, hoping that her visitor would move back from the very edge of the mole. ‘I’m Anna Rossides,’ she introduced herself. ‘I live there and the hotel belongs to my mother. It was once our home.’

‘I like it better than the Crescent Beach,’ her visitor told her. ‘It is more like a house and it has a real garden. I like it here very much.’ She turned back to the miniature lighthouse. ‘It isn’t a real lighthouse, is it?’ she asked. ‘Not like the big ones along the coast. Was it one you made?’

Anna hesitated. ‘It was built when we finished the breakwater—by someone I used to know,’ she explained. ‘We needed a light out here when it was dark in the winter and—he thought it would be in keeping with everything else. We built it together '

‘Do you have to light it every night?’

‘No. We switch it on from the house. It’s most convenient.’

The dark eyes continued to search her face, eyes that seemed curiously familiar all of a sudden.

‘I’m not supposed to be here,’ her visitor announced, ‘but I didn’t want to play tennis any more. The coach is very strict and I’m expected to learn quickly, but I would rather swim when it’s so hot.'

‘George is a very good coach. He is very patient,’ Anna said.

‘And I am too impatient. Mama is always saying so.’

‘You need to have patience to learn,’ Anna pointed out, ‘and it’s lots of fun.’

‘Do you play tennis at the Crescent Beach?’ was the next question.

‘Not very often,’ Anna had to admit. ‘I was once a member of the club but I gave it up.’

‘Would you like to live in a big hotel—all the time, I mean?’ The dark eyes were fiercely penetrating. ‘I hate it! Everybody wants to know who you are and what you are doing when they don’t really care.’

Amazed at such insight, Anna wondered if her small visitor might be older than she seemed. ‘I think they care, in a sort of a way,’ she said, ‘otherwise they wouldn’t stop to ask. They may be interested in little girls and how they spend their time.’

‘I’d like to spend all my time swimming.’

‘You have two lovely pools over at the Crescent Beach,’ Anna reminded her, ‘and soon we will have one here, too,’ she added for the sake of conversation. ‘We are going to build one up there on the terrace at the side of the house. They are preparing it now, cutting down the trees, which I don’t very much like,’ she confessed.

‘I saw some trees yesterday with oranges on them. They were in a field—hundreds and hundreds of trees— and we were allowed to pick some oranges. Have you got an orange tree?’

‘Sadly, no! We have to buy them in the market along with the other fruit.’ Anna sat down on the top of the wall. ‘You’re English, I think,’ she suggested.

‘I’m American,’ her visitor corrected her, ‘but we used to be English. We went away from England after I was born.’

‘Oh, I see.’ Anna looked along the beach to where a hurrying figure had appeared from the far side of the dividing wall. ‘I think someone is coming in search of you.’

‘Oh, that will be Susan,’ her visitor said. ‘She is always looking for me for something or other.’

Anna smiled, holding out her hand. ‘Shall we walk down to meet her?’

‘If you like.’ There was a certain amount of reluctance in the childish voice; a desire to stay where she was. ‘Maybe it’s time for lunch.’

‘Almost,’ Anna agreed. ‘You can come back again, if you like, so long as you don’t go too near the edge and fall off on to the rocks.’

The child took her hand. ‘Do you know,’ she said confidentially, ‘she follows me everywhere.’

‘Susan, do you mean?’

‘Yes. She’s paid to look after me when my mother is away. My mother is a very busy woman.’

The final statement sounded like a repetition of a fact she had often heard, but Susan was hurrying towards them now, so Anna didn’t question it.

‘Can I really come back here?’ the child asked urgently. ‘Just whenever I like?’

‘If you bring Susan with you next time,’ Anna agreed. ‘If she’s supposed to be looking after you she will feel anxious if you just walk away.’

‘She was talking to one of the beach-boys at the bar. She takes such a long time to finish her orange-juice!’

A breathless Susan came running along the mole. ‘You know, of course, that you are trespassing,’ she said sternly. ‘You were told to keep on your own side of the wall.’

‘I know.’ The child gave Anna an appealing look. ‘But I can come here if I want to now, and so can you. We’ve been invited,’ she added importantly.

Susan looked questioningly at Anna. She was a small, pert girl in her early twenties with short, cropped hair and inquisitive eyes which seemed to sum up the situation immediately.

‘You must be Miss Rossides,’ she said. ‘I’ve heard about you. You’re very lucky to have a house like this so near the sea.’

‘I think so.’ Anna turned to move back along the mole. ‘It really is all right for you to come over here,’ she added. ‘The beach is quite free.’

‘We shouldn’t need any more space than we have at the Crescent.’ Susan was studying her carefully. ‘They have everything one could possibly want over there, don’t you think?’

‘Undoubtedly,’ Anna agreed. ‘It’s that sort of hotel.’

‘I’m loving it!’ Susan declared. ‘Especially the beach. Everything is so relaxing, but when one feels energetic there’s lots to do into the bargain. I’m dreading the end of it all.’

‘How long are you here for?’ They had reached the end of the mole.

Susan shrugged. ‘A week—two weeks, I don’t really know. It could be as long as a month.’

She took the child’s hand ‘Come on, Martha! Time to go!’

Martha? Anna stood looking after the two retreating figures for over a minute before she turned away. Martha! This must be Lara’s child.

It seemed quite obvious now—the name, the pensive eyes which had stirred a chord in her memory as soon as they had met. Martha’s eyes were dark, but they had the same look in them, as if the child had been brought up very close to tragedy and often felt neglected. With Susan to look after her, of course, she was safe enough, but it seemed that Lara had little time for her daughter.

Angrily she hurried back to the villa, telling herself that it was no affair of hers, but Andreas was Lara s longtime friend and surely he could have put in a word for a forlorn child?

She supervised the buffet lunch, helping to clear away because most of the kitchen staff went off for an hour at three o’clock, returning to the sitting-room to find her mother blissfully asleep in a chair with the morning paper clasped to her chest. There would be work to do in reception, letters to write and bills to sort out, and everybody else would be asleep in their respective rooms or sunning themselves drowsily beneath the sheltering umbrellas on the beach. It was the time of day when she was most often alone and able to take stock.

Sorting out the letters which had arrived with the morning mail, she noticed that the main contractors were about to start on the swimming-pool, moving in to work on the foundations the following morning, which was good. They were quick workers, doing a good job, and she could now count on the pool being ready for the summer rush.

The doors opened, letting a little rush of welcome air into the hall, and she glanced up to see who their visitor might be. Lara Warrender in a white linen suit and matching hat stood uncertainly on the threshold for a moment before she came towards the desk.

‘I hope I’m not interrupting,’ she said with a quick glance at the scattered papers. ‘I came to apologise.’

‘For Martha?’ Anna guessed. ‘You don’t have to. She was charming.’

‘We warned her about trespassing, but I suppose she just didn’t think. Children never do when they see something which intrigues them.’ The enchanting smile was genuinely warm. ‘It was the little lighthouse that took her fancy, and Andreas was able to explain about it over lunch. She knew that he had helped to build it, so I expect you told her.’

‘Yes.’ Anna cast about in the turmoil of her thoughts for something else to say. ‘It was an idea we had, supervised by my father.’

‘The news of his death shocked Andreas,’ Lara said thoughtfully. ‘I think he didn’t expect it.’

‘It was sudden. He was drowned five years ago while he was out fishing,’ Anna explained. ‘That’s why we turned the villa into an hotel—to pay our way.’

She wondered why she should be offering such personal details to a complete stranger who probably knew all about her already.

‘It isn’t always easy, is it?’ Lara said. ‘Coping with something unexpected like that, but the need to work can be a blessing in disguise in some ways. I’ve worked very hard myself over the past few years, trying to hold a business together, and I think I’ve succeeded. What I would have done without Andreas, however, I don’t know. He’s been a tower of strength to me in so many ways.’