Her Greek Groom. Sara Craven

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       CHAPTER TWO

      THERE was a rational explanation. There had to be.

      Someone, somewhere, must be playing a trick on her, and had accidentally scored a bullseye.

      All the way to the hospital Cressy kept telling herself feverishly that this was the way it had to be. That it must be one of her colleagues…

      Except that they were all under the impression that she was still sunning herself on an island in the Aegean. She hadn’t told anyone from work that she was back.

      And, anyway, the message was too pointed—too personal to have come from anyone else but Draco. Wasn’t it?

      But how the hell did a Greek fisherman with one small, shabby boat and a half-built house manage to gain access to a computer, let alone have the technical know-how to send electronic mail halfway across Europe?

      It made no sense.

      Besides, he only knew my first name, she reminded herself with bewilderment. He can’t possibly have traced me with that alone.

      Her mind was still going round in ever decreasing circles as she went up in the lift to the Intensive Care Unit. But she steadied herself when the sister in charge met her with the good news that her father’s condition had greatly improved.

      ‘He’s asleep at the moment, but you may sit with him.’ Calm eyes looked squarely into Cressida’s. ‘You can be relied on not to make emotional scenes, Miss Fielding? He really doesn’t need that kind of disturbance.’

      ‘Of course not.’ Cressy said steadily. ‘I just want him to get better.’

      She fetched some coffee from the machine in the corridor, then quietly took up her vigil, forcing herself to composure. She couldn’t afford to send out any negative vibrations.

      And she hadn’t time to worry about mysterious e-mail messages or who might have generated them. Her father was her priority now, and nothing else could be allowed to matter.

      That worrying grey tinge seemed to have gone from James Fielding’s face. He looked more his old self again, she thought, surreptitiously crossing her fingers.

      If he continued to make good progress he could soon be moved to a private room, she told herself. The premiums on his private health insurance had been allowed to lapse, but she would pay.

      She said under her breath. ‘I’ll look after you, Daddy—whatever it takes. I’ll make sure you’re all right.’

      He woke up once, gave her a faint smile, and fell asleep again. But it was enough.

      Apart from the hum of the various machines, the unit was quite peaceful. And very hot, Cressy thought, undoing another button on her cream cotton shirt.

      Almost as hot as it had been in Greece.

      For a moment she could feel the beat of the sun on her head, see its dazzle on the water and hear the slap of the small waves against the bow of the caique as it took her to Myros.

      Myros…

      She noticed it the day she arrived, when she walked across the cool marble floor of her hotel bedroom, out on to the balcony, and looked across the sparkle of the sea at the indigo smudge on the horizon.

      As she tipped the porter who’d brought up her luggage, she asked, ‘What is that island?’

      ‘That, thespinis, is Myros.’

      ‘Myros.’ She repeated the name softly under her breath.

      She stayed where she was, fingers lightly splayed on the balustrade, lifting her face to the sun, listening to the distant wash of the sea and the rasp of the cicadas in the vast gardens below.

      She could feel the worries and tensions of the past months sliding away from her.

      She thought, with bewilderment and growing content, I really need this holiday. I didn’t realize it, but Martin was quite right.

      Her work was always meticulous, but she’d made a couple of mistakes in the last few weeks. Nothing too dire, and nothing that couldn’t be swiftly put right without inconvenience to the client, but disturbing just the same.

      Martin had looked at her over his glasses. ‘When was the last time you took a break, Cress? And I don’t mean Christmas and the usual Bank Holidays. I mean a real, live, away-from-it-all, lie-in-the-sun break. The sort that ordinary people have.’

      ‘I have time off,’ she had said. ‘Last time I decorated my sitting room at the flat.’

      ‘Exactly.’ He’d sat back СКАЧАТЬ