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CHAPTER THREE

ANGELOS STUDIED HIS new nanny, noting dispassionately how pale she’d gone, her eyes closed as she leaned back against the seat and took several deep, even breaths. What on earth was the woman’s problem?

‘Do you suffer from travel sickness?’ he asked abruptly, raising his voice to be heard above the noise of the helicopter, and her eyes flew open.

‘No.’

‘Then why do you look so terrible?’

‘You’re quite the flatterer, aren’t you,’ she muttered, and Angelos stared at her, nonplussed.

‘You look as if you are about to be sick.’

‘You’d better hope I’m not,’ Talia answered, and he grimaced in distaste.

‘Indeed, I do. It would make for a most unpleasant journey.’

‘That it would.’ Talia let out a shuddering breath as she shifted in her seat. ‘And it’s already pretty awful.’

‘You do not like helicopters.’

‘No.’ She’d closed her eyes again, her face scrunched up, and Angelos inspected her for another moment. Her hair was going curly in the heat and he could see a sprinkling of golden freckles across her nose. He wondered how old she was, and realised afresh how little he knew about her besides her name. What on earth had possessed him to hire her?

Talia opened her eyes and turned to Sofia. ‘You don’t mind helicopters,’ she remarked, and with a bit of playacting, miming the propeller blades and making a face, she communicated her meaning.

Sofia grinned. ‘Home,’ she said in English. ‘I like home.’

‘I like home too,’ Talia said with a sigh. ‘But I’m sure I’ll like yours as well.’ Sofia wrinkled her nose, not understanding, and Talia leaned over and patted her hand before she sank back against the seat and closed her eyes.

Angelos continued to study her for a moment, wondering how she’d ended up in his office. How had she even heard of the advertisement, and why had she come without a CV? Questions, he decided, he would not ask her in the noisy confines of the helicopter, with Sofia trying to catch every word. He would have time to discover just who his new nanny was later, and make sure she was an appropriate companion for his daughter.

His gaze moved to Sofia; she was leaning towards the window, watching the sea slide by. She never liked leaving the safety of Kallos, and she seemed to shrink even more into herself whenever he took her to Athens. He knew people stared at her scarred face, and the attention made Sofia embarrassed and exceedingly shy. He was grateful that Talia Di Sione, for all her idiosyncrasies, had not once made Sofia feel ashamed of her scar.

‘Look, Papa,’ Sofia called in Greek, and he leaned forward to see a sleek white sailboat cutting through the blue-green waters.

‘Beautiful,’ he murmured, and then glanced back at Talia. She still had her eyes closed. Impulsively he reached over and touched her shoulder. Her eyes flew open and she jerked upright as if he’d branded her with a hot poker.

‘Relax,’ he said. ‘I just thought you might appreciate the view.’

‘I’d rather just get onto land,’ Talia muttered, but she obligingly looked out the window of the helicopter, and Angelos watched as her face softened into a smile as she took in the stunning vista of sea and sky.

‘I always wanted to see the Greek islands,’ she said.

‘You have not been here before?’

‘No, this was my first time in Athens.’

‘How long had you been in the city?’

She shot him a wry look. ‘About six hours.’

‘Six hours?’ Angelos frowned. ‘Do you mean you arrived in Athens today?’ She nodded. ‘But what on earth made you apply for the job, having just arrived?’

She looked away, seeming uneasy. Suspicion hardened inside him. What was going on with this woman? ‘It seemed like a good idea,’ she said at last.

Angelos didn’t answer. He could see Sofia looking at them both and he had no intention of pursuing an uncomfortable line of enquiry with Talia Di Sione when his daughter was present. But he would get to the bottom of why she was here.

Fifteen minutes later the helicopter began to make its descent to Kallos. As soon as they’d landed Angelos clambered out of the helicopter, and then reached back a hand for Sofia and then Talia.

He was conscious of how small and slender her hand felt in his as she stepped down onto the rocky earth, shading her eyes with her other hand as she gazed round the island.

‘Is this a private island?’ she asked.

‘Yes, it is my home. But you will have everything you need. The villa is well supplied by nearby Naxos.’

She nodded slowly, letting out a breath she must have been holding for a while. ‘Okay,’ she said, and she sounded as if she were talking to herself. ‘Okay.’

Angelos led the way from the helipad to the villa. The salt-tinged sea breeze buffeted him and the sun was hot above and for a moment he breathed in the air and let himself relax. Let himself believe that he had things under control, that Sofia was safe.

That he’d done the best he could, even when he hadn’t before.

* * *

Talia took several deep breaths of fresh sea air as she followed Angelos and Sofia down the winding path to the sprawling whitewashed villa by the beach. The tension that had been throbbing in her temples since she’d stepped into the helicopter was finally starting to ease.

From the vantage point of the helipad she’d been able to see how small the island was: a large villa with extensive gardens, a staff cottage and a stony, hilly rise to a beach on the other side. Small. But small could be good, she told herself. She didn’t have to feel claustrophobic here. She wasn’t in a closed space, with the open air and sea all around her, and at least she wouldn’t have to deal with a lot of strange people.

Still she felt tense. She felt like sprinting back to the safety of her grandfather’s estate, the quiet studio with its views of sea and sky, where she could paint in blissful solitude. Where she didn’t have to come up hard against all her old fears and insecurities.

She took a deep breath and tilted her face to the sun. She could do this. She was doing this. She’d survived a plane trip, a taxi ride through a heaving city, a helicopter ride and near constant interactions with strangers. It was more than she’d had to deal with in seven years, and it had exhausted her, but she’d survived.

‘Are you all right?’ Angelos called, and Talia realised she’d stopped walking, and had dropped behind Angelos and Sofia.

‘I’m fine,’ she said, and hurried down the path to join her employer and his daughter.

As they came into the villa, the rooms airy and spacious and light, a housekeeper bustled up to them, exclaiming in Greek as she kissed Sofia on both cheeks. Then she stopped in front of Talia and, planting her hands on ample hips, gave her a thorough once-over with narrowed eyes. She spoke to Angelos, who answered in Greek. Talia had no idea what they were saying, but she suspected she’d come up wanting in the housekeeper’s well-trained eye.

‘Do I pass?’ she asked Angelos when there was a break in the conversation. She’d meant to sound teasing but it came out anxious instead. Tension knotted her stomach muscles again as she realised afresh how strange this all was. And she really didn’t like strange.

Angelos looked startled, and then his mouth compressed in a way she was already finding familiar. ‘My housekeeper’s opinion is of no concern. I have already hired you.’

‘It’s that bad, huh?’ Talia only half joked. At least this time she sounded light, even if she didn’t feel it. ‘I know my dress is wrinkled, but I have been on a plane.’

He inclined his head towards the stairs. ‘Maria will show you your room. You will have time to refresh yourself and dress appropriately before dinner.’

The man had no sense of humour, Talia decided as she followed Maria up the stairs. No sense of compassion or friendliness or sensitivity. He was a machine. A robot. A drone...

She was so busy thinking she almost slammed into Maria’s substantial form as the housekeeper stopped in the doorway of a bedroom.

‘Your room,’ she said in heavily accented English, and Talia peeked around her to see a gorgeous room decorated in sea-green and cream, the louvered shutters of the windows open to the beach.

‘It’s lovely,’ she said. ‘Efharisto.’ Maria grunted her grudging approval at Talia’s passable Greek, and then with her fingers mimed seven o’clock. ‘Dinner at seven?’ Talia guessed, and as the housekeeper nodded and left she wondered if she could take a crash course in Greek.

She moved to the windows, taking in the spectacular sight. Gardens bursting with bougainvillea and heliotrope ran down a sloping hill to the beach, a stretch of white sand that met up with the blue-green water, just like in Sofia’s picture.

The housekeeper had directed Sofia to the kitchen as soon as they arrived, and judging from the tantalising baking smells coming from that direction, Talia had suspected there was a snack in store. Her own stomach growled at the thought and she checked her watch. Two hours until dinner. Time, hopefully, to make herself presentable, although she had a feeling Angelos Mena would judge her wanting no matter what she wore or how much effort she took with her appearance. But at least he’d hired her.

Still Talia relished a soak in the huge marble tub, washing away the grime of nearly twenty-four hours of travel and reviving her tired spirits. She unpacked her single suitcase, realising belatedly that she had not brought nearly enough for six weeks. In fact, she’d packed nothing but serviceable T-shirts and shorts, a single fleece and a pair of jeans, and the crumpled sundress she’d worn on the plane.

Biting her lip, Talia acknowledged she had nothing remotely appropriate to wear for dinner that night. In her normal life she never needed to dress to impress, and her career as an artist meant work wear was usually paint-splattered jeans and old T-shirts. She hadn’t even considered bringing something businesslike to wear for her meeting with Angelos Mena; in truth, she hadn’t thought much beyond surviving the journey. She hadn’t had the heart or head space for more.

Sighing, she wondered if she had time to wash her sundress and let it dry in the sea breeze.

She discovered that she almost had time, when she headed out of her bedroom at five to seven, the dress clean and far less wrinkled, but slightly damp across the shoulders. Hopefully Angelos wouldn’t notice.

The villa was quiet as Talia came down the stairs, the rooms darkened and empty. She peeked into an enormous living room scattered with linen sofas in natural shades, and then a masculine-looking study with a huge mahogany desk and book-lined walls. Finally she found the dining room towards the back of the house; Angelos was already standing in the room, gazing up at a large portrait of a woman hanging on the far wall.

He turned as Talia tiptoed in, his face snapping into its usual frown. ‘You’re late.’

‘I’m sorry. I was looking for the dining room.’

His frown deepened as he took in her outfit. ‘You have not changed.’

‘Actually, I have. I washed my dress and put it back on.’ For some reason that made her blush, and to cover it she did a ridiculous little twirl. ‘Can’t you tell?’ She stopped, her dress swishing around her legs, and saw that Angelos’s frown had morphed into a positive scowl, grooves visible from nose to mouth, eyes dangerously narrowed.

Even scowling, the man was devastatingly attractive. He’d changed his grey business suit for a crisp white shirt, open at the throat, and dark trousers. The clothes were basic and should have been boring, but on his powerful frame the white cotton drew Talia’s attention to his broad shoulders, the dark trousers to his trim hips and powerful thighs.

Appalled by her perusal, she yanked her gaze away from his muscular form. She’d been looking at his thighs, for heaven’s sake. Hopefully he hadn’t noticed her moment of shameless goggling.

Now she saw the plush velvet chairs and huge polished table set for two. ‘Is Sofia not joining us?’

‘You washed your dress?’ Angelos sounded incredulous and Talia lifted her chin.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t realise I’d be required to wear an evening gown.’ She walked to the place setting at one end of the table, resting her hand on the back of the chair. ‘Where’s Sofia?’

‘She’s eating with Maria.’

‘Is that what usually happens?’ Talia watched as Angelos walked around the table to pull out her chair.

‘In future, you may dine with her if you wish, but tonight I wanted to speak to you alone.’

‘Oh.’ Since he was holding out her chair Talia sat down. She breathed in the woodsy scent of his aftershave as he pushed her chair in; his face was close to hers, close enough to make goose bumps rise on her arms, and she suppressed the urge to shiver. She wondered what his jaw would feel like, if his clean-shaven face would be smooth, or possess a hint of roughness. Like the man himself, urbanity not quite cloaking a cold, ruthless interior.

Angelos walked smoothly around the table and sat down at the opposite end, placing his napkin in his lap with a brisk flourish. Talia did the same. Although she lived in a house that more than rivalled Angelos Mena’s in terms of space and sheer luxury, she still felt awed by his home and his presence. Back on Giovanni’s estate, she took most meals in the kitchen or in her studio while she was working. When she ate with Giovanni, they had a quiet meal listening to the radio or watching TV. She hadn’t been to a dinner party since...well, she couldn’t even remember since when. A Christmas or Thanksgiving meal with her brothers and sisters hadn’t felt as ornate or intimidating as a meal alone with this man.

Maria came in with the first course, a salad of plump tomatoes and slices of cucumber sprinkled with feta cheese. ‘This is very civilised,’ Talia said when the housekeeper had left. ‘Thank you.’

‘May I never be accused of being uncivilised,’ Angelos responded dryly.

Talia watched him covertly as she ate her salad, wondering at this man who, if her research was correct, possessed a priceless volume of poetry and had bid on a second by the same anonymous poet. That was how she’d tracked him down; she’d found an obscure website with a message board where people could post the rare books they were looking for. She’d stumbled across a message posted by an agent acting on Angelos’s behalf, or at least on the behalf of Mena Consultancy. She just hoped it meant that Angelos actually had the book.

What if after everything she’d endured and agreed to, this was nothing more than a wild goose chase?

‘So do you and Sofia live on Kallos all year long?’ she asked.

‘Sofia does. I travel for work. In fact, I have to leave tomorrow.’

So he wouldn’t be here for the six weeks of her stay? Talia felt a wave of relief at the thought, as well as a twinge of disappointment for Sofia. No matter how stern or autocratic Angelos seemed, it couldn’t be good for him to be away from his daughter so much.

‘Isn’t it rather lonely here for a girl her age?’ she asked.

‘Sofia prefers it. She has a tutor who comes in by boat for her lessons, and Maria and the other staff for company. And, of course, now you.’

‘Has she had other nannies?’

‘Yes, but I’m afraid none of them have lasted very long.’ Angelos’s voice was clipped, his gaze shuttered. ‘I hope this next one will be a better fit.’

‘Why haven’t they lasted very long?’ Talia asked, curious. Sofia didn’t seem like a difficult child, and the setting was practically paradise. Surely it was a dream job for anyone looking for a position in child care.

Angelos shrugged. ‘They did not find the situation to their liking. But you are asking all the questions, Miss Di Sione, and I invited you to dinner so I could ask the questions.’

‘And here I thought we were just having a conversation,’ Talia answered lightly, but Angelos did not give so much as a flicker of a smile. She speared a cucumber. ‘Ask away, then,’ she said with an insouciance she didn’t remotely feel. She didn’t want Angelos Mena asking her probing questions, at least not yet. She had no idea how to answer anything. She hated the thought of lying, but total honesty felt impossible at this point. ‘But first,’ she added, ‘I must ask one last thing, and that is that you call me Talia.’

She popped the cucumber in her mouth only to have it stick in her throat as Angelos answered, an edge to his smooth voice, ‘Very well, Talia. I want to ask you just why you came to Athens, and more to the point, to my office, since it obviously wasn’t to seek a position as nanny.’