Petra would have replaced him with another eager suitor, and that was best for both of them. He was even glad of it. So he told himself.

On the last mile home he switched on his car radio to hear the latest news. A commentator was describing a search taking place at sea, where a boat had been found overturned. Those aboard had been exploring a cave on an island in the gulf.

‘One of those missing is known to be Petra Radnor, daughter of film star Estelle Radnor, who recently married-’

He pulled over sharply to the side of the road and sat in frozen stillness, listening.

She’d said she’d go anywhere and do anything for a ‘find’, but had she really wanted to go? Hadn’t she tried to slide out of it, but then fallen back into the clutches of George and Angela only because of him?

If she hadn’t been angry with me she wouldn’t have gone on this trip. If she’s dead, it’s my doing-like last time-like last time-

At last life came back to his limbs. He swung the car round in the direction of the coast, driving as though all the devils in hell were after him.

Night was falling as he reached the sea and headed for the place where the boats were to be found. Outwardly he was calm but he couldn’t stop the words thrumming in his head.

She’s dead-she’s dead-you had your chance and it’s gone-again-

A crowd had gathered in the harbour, gazing out to the water and a boat that was heading towards them. Lysandros parked as close as he could and ran to where he could have a better view of the boat.

‘They’ve rescued most of them,’ said a man nearby. ‘But I heard there was still someone they couldn’t find.’

‘Does anyone know who?’ Lysandros asked sharply.

‘Only that it was a woman. I doubt if they’ll find her now.’

You killed her-you killed her!

He pressed against the rail, straining his eyes to see the boat coming through the darkness. In the bow stood a woman, huddled in a blanket, as though she’d been rescued from the water. Frantically he strained to see more, but her face was a blur. A passing light suggested that her hair might be light. It could be Petra-if only he could be sure.

His heart was thundering and he gripped the railing so hard that his hands hurt. It must be her. She couldn’t be dead, because if she were-

Shudders racked him.

Suddenly a shout went up, followed by a cheer. The boat was closer now and at last he could see the woman. It was Petra.

He stood there, holding the rail for support, taking deep breaths, trying to bring himself under control.

She would be here in a few moments. He must plan, be organised. A cellphone. That was it! She would have lost hers in the water, but she’d need one to call her mother. He could do that to please her.

Her eyes were searching the harbour until at last she began to wave. Full of joyful relief, Lysandros waved back, but then realised that she wasn’t looking at him but at someone closer. Then he saw Nikator dart forward, reaching up to her. She leaned down, smiling and calling to him.

Lysandros stayed deadly still as the boat docked and the passengers streamed off seeking safety. Petra went straight into Nikator’s arms and they hugged each other. Then Nikator took out his cellphone, handing it to her, saying things Lysandros couldn’t hear, but could guess. Petra dialled, put the phone to her ear and cried, ‘Estelle, darling, it’s me, I’m safe.’

He didn’t hear the rest. He backed hastily into the darkness before hurrying to find his car. Then he departed as quickly as he could.

She never saw him.


Aminta took charge of her as soon as she reached home, making her have a hot bath, eat well and go to bed.

‘It was all over the news,’ she told Petra. ‘We were so worried. Whatever happened?’

‘I don’t really know. At first it just seemed like an ordinary storm, but suddenly the waves got higher and higher and we overturned. Did you say it was on the news?’

‘Oh, yes, about how you were all drowning and they couldn’t rescue everyone.’

‘There’s one woman they’re still looking for,’ Petra sighed.

She slept badly and awoke in a dark mood. Somewhere in the house she heard the phone ring, and a moment later Aminta brought it in to her.

‘It’s for you,’ she said. ‘A man.’

Eagerly she waited to hear Lysandros’s voice, full of happiness that she was safe. But it was George, to tell her that the missing woman had been found safe and well. She talked politely for a while, but hung up with relief.

There was no call from Lysandros. The news programmes must have alerted him to her danger, yet the man who had kissed her with such fierce intensity had shown no interest in her fate.

She couldn’t blame him after the way she’d ordered him out of her life, yet the hope had persisted that he cared enough to check that she was safe. Apparently not.

She’d been fooling herself. Such interest as he’d ever had in her had been superficial and was now over. He couldn’t have said so more clearly.

Nikator was waiting for her when she went downstairs.

‘You shouldn’t have got up so soon,’ he said. ‘After what you’ve been through. Go back to bed and let me look after you.’

She smiled. It had been good to find him on the quay to take her home, and she was feeling friendly towards him. For the next few days he behaved perfectly, showing brotherly kindness without ever crossing the line. It was bliss to relax in his care. Now she was sure that the stories about him weren’t true.

If only Lysandros would call her.


After several days with no sign from Petra, Lysandros called her cellphone, without success. It was still functioning, but it had been switched off. It remained off all the rest of that day, through the night and into the morning.

It made no sense. She could have switched to the answer service; instead, she’d blocked calls completely.

He refused to admit to a twinge of alarm. But at last he yielded and called the Lukas house, getting himself put through to Homer’s secretary.

‘I need to speak to Miss Radnor,’ he said gruffly. ‘Be so kind as to ask her to call me.’

‘I’m sorry, sir, but Miss Radnor is no longer here. She and Mr Nikator left for England two days ago.’

Silence. When he could manage to speak normally, he said, ‘Did she leave any address or contact number?’

‘No, sir. She and Mr Nikator said that they didn’t want to be disturbed by anyone, for a long time.’

‘What happens in an emergency?’

‘Mr Nikator said no emergency could matter beside-’

‘I see. Thank you.’ He hung up abruptly.

At the Lukas mansion the secretary looked around to where Nikator stood in the doorway.

‘Did I do all right?’ she asked.

‘Perfect,’ he told her. ‘Just keep telling that story if there are any more calls.’


Lysandros sat motionless, his face hard and set.

She’s gone-she’s not coming back-

The words called to him out of the past, making him shudder.

She’s gone-

It meant nothing. She had every right to leave. It was different from the other time.

You’ll never see her again-never again-never again-His fist slammed into the wall with such force that a picture fell to the ground and smashed. A door opened behind him.

‘Get out,’ he said without looking around.

The door closed hastily. He continued to sit there, staring-staring into the darkness, into the past.

At last he rose like a man in a dream and went up to his room, where he threw a few clothes into a bag. To his secretary he said, ‘I’ll be away for a few days. Call me on the cellphone if it’s urgent. Otherwise, deal with it yourself.’

‘Can I tell anyone where you are?’

‘No.’

He headed for the airport and caught the next flight to the island of Corfu. To have used his private jet would have been to tell the world where he was going, and that was the last thing he wanted.

In Corfu he owned Priam House, a villa that had once belonged to his mother. It was his refuge, the place he came to be alone, even to the extent of having no servants. There he would find peace and isolation, the things he needed to save him from going mad.

The only disturbance might come from students and archaeologists, attracted by the villa’s history. It had been built on the ruins of an ancient temple, and rumours abounded of valuable relics that might still be found.

Light was fading as the villa came into sight, silent and shuttered. He left the taxi while there was still a hundred yards to go, so that he might approach unnoticed.

He opened the gate noiselessly and walked around the side of the villa. All seemed quiet and relief flooded him. At last he let himself in at the back and went through the hall to the stairs. But before he could climb he saw something that made him freeze.

The door to the cellar was standing open.

It was no accident. The cellar led directly to the foundations and that door was always kept locked for reasons of safety. Only he had the key.

Rage swept through him at having his solitude destroyed. At that moment he could have done violence. But his fury was cold, enabling him to go down the stairs and approach his quarry noiselessly.

Someone was in the far corner of the cellar with only one small light that they were using to examine the stones, so that the person couldn’t be seen.

‘Stop right there,’ he said harshly. ‘You don’t understand the danger you’re in. I won’t tolerate this. I allow nobody in here.’

He heard a gasp as the intruder made a sharp movement. The torch fell to the floor. His hand shot out in the darkness, found a body, seized it, grappled with it, brought it down.

‘Now,’ he gasped, ‘you’re going to be sorry you did this. Let’s look at you.’

He reached over for the torch that lay on the flagstones and shone it directly into his enemy’s face. Then he froze with shock.

‘Petra!’

CHAPTER SIX

PETRA lay looking up at him, her eyes wide, her breath coming in short gasps. Hurriedly he got to his feet, drawing her up with him and holding her, for she was shaking.

‘You,’ he said, appalled. ‘You!’

‘Yes, I’m afraid so.’

She swayed as she spoke and he tightened his grip lest she fall. Swiftly he picked her up and carried her out of the cellar and up the stairs to his room, where he laid her gently on the bed and sat beside her.

‘Are you mad to do such a thing?’ he demanded hoarsely. ‘Have you any idea of the danger you were in?’

‘Not real danger,’ she said shakily.

‘I threw you down onto stone slabs. The floor’s uneven; you might have hit your head-I was in such a rage-’

‘I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t-’

‘The hell with that! You could have died. Do you understand that? You could have died and then I-’ A violent shudder went through him.

‘My dear,’ she said gently, ‘you’re making too much of this. I’m a bit breathless from landing so hard, but nothing more.’

‘You don’t know that. I’m getting you a doctor-’

‘You will not,’ she said firmly. ‘I don’t need a doctor. I haven’t broken anything, I’m not in pain and I didn’t hit my head.’

He didn’t reply but looked at her, haggard. She took his face between her hands. ‘Don’t look like that. It’s all right.’

‘It isn’t,’ he said desperately. ‘Sometimes I lose control-and do things without thinking. It’s so easy to do harm.’

She guessed he was really talking about something else and longed to draw the truth out of him, but instinct warned her to go carefully. He’d given her a clue to his fierce self-control, but she knew by now that he would clam up if she pressed him.

And the time was not right. For the moment she must comfort him and ease his mind.

‘You didn’t do me any harm,’ she insisted.

‘If I had I’d never forgive myself.’

‘But why? I broke into your house. I’m little more than a common criminal. Why aren’t you sending for the police?’

‘Shut up!’ he said, enfolding her in his arms.

He didn’t try to kiss her, just sat holding her tightly against him, as if fearing that she might try to escape.

‘That’s nice,’ she murmured. ‘Just hold me.’

She felt his lips against her hair, felt the temptation that ran through him, but sensed wryly that he wasn’t going to yield to it. He had something else on his mind.

‘How badly bruised are you?’ he asked.

‘A few knocks, nothing much.’

‘Let me see.’

He got to work, opening the buttons of her blouse, drawing it off her, removing her bra, but seemingly unaffected by the sight of her bare breasts.