Dark Apollo. Sara Craven

head swam as she put her feet gingerly to the floor. But she was becoming more aware of her surroundings. One entire wall of the room was made from glass, a series of sliding doors pushed open to admit the sunlight, and a breeze bringing a hint of flowers and citrus.

      The floor was tiled in creamy marble, veined in blue and gold, and the same blue was echoed in the colour of the walls, which were bare except for a few modern abstract paintings, clearly original and probably valuable.

      Ironically, the one thing Spiro Xandreou hadn’t lied about was his wealth, Camilla thought sourly. She was in the lap of luxury here. The sofa she was lying on was one of a pair flanking a wide marble fireplace, which was presumably for use in the winter months but was now screened by a large bronze sculpture of a sunburst.

      The whole effect was airy and spacious, yet somehow welcoming, so presumably the owner had had no hand in the décor.

      She glared up at him. ‘There’s no need for all this fuss. I want nothing from you, Mr. Xandreou. I thought I’d made that clear.’

      ‘Unfortunately, neither of us has a choice. You are not leaving here, thespinis, without medical attention.’

      ‘What are you afraid of? That I’ll sue?’ His autocratic tone needled her. She tried to smile past him at the girl, who was standing looking sullen, her arms crossed defensively in front of her. ‘I shan’t. I’ve a few grazes, that’s all.’

      ‘You cannot know that. And in the circumstances we can afford to take no risks,’ he said grimly. He issued some low-voiced instructions to the old woman who left the room instantly.

      ‘Arianna tells me you were riding a scooter,’ he went on. ‘Are you quite crazy?’

      ‘Only on a part-time basis,’ Camilla said wearily. ‘Look—just get me a taxi, and I’ll go back to my hotel. My sister will be wondering where I am, and I don’t want to cause her unnecessary worry,’ she added pointedly.

      ‘She knows of your activities, then—and she permitted them?’ Spiro Xandreou raised clenched fists towards the ceiling. ‘Unbelievable.’

      ‘No,’ Camilla said, with a sigh. ‘This was all my own idea. And clearly a bad one.’

      ‘At least we agree on something,’ he said silkily.

      The old woman in her black dress and snowy apron came back into the room, carrying a bowl of steaming water, a bottle of antiseptic, and some cotton wool.

      Camilla eyed them with misgiving. ‘There’s no need…’

      ‘There is every need,’ he contradicted flatly. ‘This is not England, Kyria Dryden. Grazes such as this carry a risk of infection, and need immediate attention.’

      He knelt beside the sofa, his face coolly intent, soaking a swab of cotton wool in the antiseptic solution.

      Camilla wanted to draw away. He was altogether too close for comfort, she thought, dry-mouthed, as she absorbed the clean, fresh scent of his sun-warmed skin. His bare shoulder brushed against her knee, and she felt a sharp pang deep inside her that had nothing to do with pain.

      She said huskily, ‘No—please…’

      He gave her a look of withering contempt and began to swab the dirt and grains of gravel from her leg. She bit her lip, her body tautening instinctively at his touch.

      He looked up at her, his mouth slanting sardonically. ‘If it’s only a graze, thespinis, you’re not being very brave about it.’

      She said between her teeth, ‘Maybe I’d prefer to wait for the doctor.’

      He shrugged. ‘The Hippocratic oath is not needed for simple first aid,’ he returned. ‘I am not enjoying this either, Kyria Dryden.’

      The oath, she thought, that the medical profession still used. ‘I swear by Apollo…’ And Apollo himself was here, or so it seemed, kneeling at her feet.

      He was deft enough, and even quite gentle, she was forced to admit, but some of the dirt was deeply embedded, and there were tears in her eyes before he’d finished, although she kept her teeth firmly fastened in her bottom lip.

      But the smarting was only part of it, she realised. The truth was she didn’t want to accept this kind of intimate service from him.

      When he had cleaned her arm, he hesitated. ‘The shirt is already ruined, I think, so…’ He put two fingers in the jagged tear at the side, and ripped it completely down to the hem.

      Camilla gasped, dragging the torn edges together. ‘How dare you…?’ Her voice was unsteady. For one brief instant, his fingers had brushed the curve of her bare breast, and his touch had scalded her.

      ‘So modest?’ His voice taunted. ‘Your fellow-tourists show more on our beaches every day.’

      ‘But I don’t,’ she said huskily.

      The old woman stepped forward, gesturing him imperatively out of the way. With another shrug, he got to his feet, and walked to the window, turning his back while Camilla’s scraped ribs were bathed.

      ‘Arianna,’ he tossed over his shoulder, ‘you will provide Kyria Dryden with a blouse from your wardrobe as a temporary measure.’

      ‘Of course, I shall be pleased. She can come upstairs to my room, and choose. Petros can examine her there too.’

      He frowned. ‘Is that necessary?’

      ‘But of course.’ Arianna Xandreou looked scandalised. ‘Such a procedure requires privacy.’

      His frown deepened. ‘Then stay with her—all the time, you understand?’

      He’d spoken in English, so presumably Camilla wasn’t to be left in any doubt either.

      ‘What the hell are you implying?’ she demanded.

      ‘I intend to ensure you do not turn this accident to your advantage, thespinis.’

      ‘What do you think I’m going to do—steal something?’ Camilla pulled away from the old woman’s restraining hand, her eyes blazing. ‘God, you’ve an almighty nerve.’

      ‘And I think the same of you, thespinis. You will play no tricks in this house.’

      Her lips were parting to tell him unequivocally what she thought of him, when the door opened and a young man, swarthy and stockily built, wearing glasses, walked in. He paused, surveying the tableau in front of him.

      ‘I understand I have a new patient,’ he remarked. ‘A road accident, ne? Thank you, Eleni.’ The old woman stepped back, and he inspected her handiwork critically, and nodded. ‘You are lucky, thespinis. I have known similar incidents where skin grafts have been needed. But you, I think, will be left without a scar. A shot, maybe, to protect against infection and you will be as good as new.’

      Spiro Xandreou took him to one side, and said something softly in Greek.

      ‘Po, po, po.’ The doctor’s brows lifted sharply. ‘Then I should examine without delay. Eleni can act as chaperon.’

      ‘This is ridiculous,’ Camilla protested. ‘I’m fine.’

      The doctor smiled at her. ‘I’m sure that is true. You seem a perfectly healthy young woman. But your pregnancy is in its early stages. We need to establish that all is well.’

      ‘Pregnancy?’ Camilla stared at him stupidly. ‘What are you talking about? I’m not pregnant.’

      ‘So you lied.’ Spiro Xandreou’s voice was almost gloating. ‘I knew it.’ He walked to the door of the saloni, and threw it wide, his face a mask of icy anger. ‘You will leave my house, thespinis, and not come back.’

      His voice dropped to pure menace. ‘And you will never trouble me or mine again. That is, if you know what’s good for you. Now go.’