The Enigmatic Greek. Catherine George

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      ‘You certainly are!’ He hugged her tightly for a long moment, then held her away from him and raised a mocking eyebrow. ‘You were just passing?’

      Talia Kazan’s eyes sparkled as she smiled up into the hard, handsome face. ‘Passing! I’ve been travelling for so long I hardly know what day it is!’

      He motioned to the beaming Yannis to help bring the bags. ‘Give it up, Mother, the ditzy-blonde act doesn’t work with me. You know exactly what day it is.’

      She shrugged, unrepentant. ‘Who better? I had a sudden desire to see my son so I packed my bags and came to do that—you are pleased, I trust?’

      He kissed the hand he was holding. ‘Of course; I’m delighted! But you took a risk. I might not have been here.’

      Her eyes gleamed in triumph. ‘Since I am not ditzy, I contacted your admirable Stefan to make sure you would be here for the festival and swore him to silence. He said you were coming alone, as usual.’ She shook her head in reproof. ‘You should have brought some pleasant company with you.’

      ‘If by pleasant you mean female, the women I know demand the sophisticated pleasures of the city, Mother. Arcane festivals on a remote island just don’t do it for them.’

      ‘Then invite someone with a higher cultural threshold.’ The luminous violet eyes were suddenly serious. ‘It is time you put that nonsense from Christina Mavros behind you and found a real woman.’

      He shrugged that off with an impatient smile. ‘Did Takis bring you over?’

      ‘No; he was so busy over there with guests checking in at the taverna. A very kind young man assured me it was a pleasure to bring me to Kyrkiros and so save Takis the trouble.’

      ‘Who was this man?’ demanded her son sharply.

      ‘I did not catch his name over the noise of the boat engine. Now, lead me to Sofia so I can beg her for coffee.’

      Sofia and her crew were clustered at the kitchen door, faces wreathed in smiles as they greeted ‘kyria Talia’ in rapture and pressed her to have coffee, wine, pastries or anything her heart desired that they could provide.

      One of the new arrivals on the neighbouring island of Karpyros felt a rush of excitement as she focused her discreet little binoculars on the action across the water. At this distance it was hard to be sure, but the man hugging a blonde over there surely had to be the rare sight of Alexei Drakos, the boy-wonder entrepreneur famed for his hostility towards the media.

      Eleanor tucked the binoculars away when her lunch arrived and with a smile thanked the young waiter in the basic Greek she’d crammed for her current assignment: a series of travel articles on lesser-known Greek islands well off the tourist trail. It was more ambitious than anything she’d worked on to date, and before grudgingly signing off on expenses her editor had dropped a bombshell by stipulating a shot at an interview with Alexei Drakos as part of the deal.

      ‘Since the Mavros woman did the dirty on him a few months ago, he’s kept a very low profile, but apparently he always visits his island in June. Make damn sure you get there in good time because tourists swarm there for some festival he’s put on every year since he bought the island. There’s no accommodation, so book a room somewhere else, plus a boat to get you there on the day.’ Ross McLean had flashed his bleached veneers at her. ‘And wear something sexy to beard the lion in his den.’

      ‘Drakos translates as dragon, not lion,’ she’d retorted. ‘And I don’t do sexy!’

      On her way out Eleanor had heard him muttering about college girls who thought they knew it all and rolled her eyes. There was fat chance of getting a reporter’s job these days without a college degree, and to augment hers she’d worked her socks off to add photography to her journalism qualifications; something greatly to her advantage with Ross McLean because it saved him the expense of a photographer.

      Now she was almost literally in sight of her quarry, Eleanor refused to spoil her appetite by worrying about how to achieve the scoop her boss was so hot for. But succeed she would, somehow, if only to show him just what a ‘college girl’ could do. Maybe the reclusive Mr Drakos would be in a sociable mood now the blonde had arrived to keep him company. Though Ross, drat the man, knew very well he was asking the impossible. Alexei Drakos had been famous for stonewalling journalists even before the lurid exposé by a furious ex-lover. But who had he been hugging today? No matter how hard she’d dug, Eleanor had learned frustratingly little about the man’s private life other than the woman-scorned outpourings of Christina Mavros. Her research into his professional persona had built up a picture of a wunderkind who achieved success while still at school with some kind of genius software technology, and as an adult entrepreneur went on to put his money to good use with investments in pharmaceuticals, property and more technology. But, other than his reputation for philanthropy she had no clue to the man behind the public persona.

      The taverna owner’s son rushed over as Eleanor got up to leave and carried her luggage the short distance to one of the small apartments. He set her bags down on the small veranda fronting the last of the square white cubes overlooking the harbour and unlocked the blue door. Eleanor smiled in approval at the scrupulously clean, white-walled room as Petros carried her bags inside and told him she intended dining at the taverna that night.

      ‘Then I will reserve a table for you, kyria. Many people will be here tonight before the festival tomorrow,’ he told her, and flushed with pleasure when she thanked him and gave him a hefty tip.

      Petros was right, of course. The place would be heaving with visitors ready to swarm across to Kyrkiros tomorrow. But if Alexei Drakos was such a private man why did he open his island to all and sundry, even if it was for just one day? While she dined later she could gaze across the sea and speculate to her heart’s content about the king of the Kastro on the island over there. In the meantime, she’d haul her bags up the ladder to the open mezzanine bedroom, do her usual minimum unpacking and take a short nap.

      Eleanor showered later in the tiny, spotless bathroom and dressed in her usual trademark jeans and T-shirt. As a gesture to the island night-life the jeans were white and the clinging top black and scooped low enough to show a hint of suntanned cleavage; and in a practice run for dragon-slaying the next day, she brushed on mascara and lip gloss. Eleanor eyed her reflection critically. Two weeks of island-hopping in the sun had added a satisfactory bronze glow to her skin, but the effect was more healthy than sexy. She shrugged. If Ross was rat enough to fire her for failing to get the exclusive he was panting for, she would go freelance.

      The taverna was buzzing with holidaymakers and locals when Petros darted out to conduct her to a tiny table which gave her a good view across the boats bobbing in the harbour to the lights just visible on the dark outline of Kyrkiros on the horizon. She was served with bread and olives to nibble on while she waited for the red mullet, which arrived sizzling, dressed with lemon juice and olive oil, and accompanied by a salad and half a carafe of local wine.

      Eleanor thanked Petros warmly and asked about the festival next day. ‘Is the bull dance for men only?’

      He shook his head. ‘The taurokathapsia is for both men and women. Enjoy your meal, kyria.’

      Eleanor peered at the distant lights across the water, wondering about Alexei Drakos. From what little she’d learned about his personal life, it seemed unlikely he was looking forward to the invasion on his territory next day, but at least he now had the blonde to cheer him up when the hoi polloi descended on him. Her research might have turned СКАЧАТЬ