No Mistress But Love

With a groaned sigh she propped her elbows on the dressing-table top, cupping her chin in her hands and gazing despondently at her reflection. Her hair was a mess, she noted half-heartedly—but the streaks of sun in it and the tan she had acquired definitely suited her, she realised with a twinge of surprise. She straightened, picking up a hairbrush and trying to bring some order to her hair.

Suddenly she flung down the hairbrush—was she completely out of her mind? She must be, to be sitting here, twittering away to herself about her appearance and behaving like some sort of concubine in a gilded cage. She shook her head furiously, as though trying to dispel the confusing mixture of emotions the very thought was evoking in her, then glanced down at her watch and leapt to her feet.

Niko Leandros might have a few matters to discuss with her—but so had she one or two she intended discussing with him!

She made a rapid examination of her surroundings and found her rather meagre wardrobe hung neatly away in a spacious dressing-room. What summer clothes she had were several years old and looking decidedly shapeless, but, having lent Tim all her money, she had had no option but to make do with them. She had actually had hopes of a shopping spree in Athens once he had paid her back, she reminded herself resentfully—a resentment that somehow struck her as peculiarly mild, given the mind-boggling thoroughness with which he had deceived her. Probably because she now had so much else to occupy her mind, she decided somewhat irrationally as she entered the bathroom.

Ruthlessly closing her mind to the breathtaking opulence of her surroundings as she took her bath, she concentrated on what she would say to Niko. It was pointless going over the top and frightening herself with thoughts of concubines, she told herself firmly. Moving her into his apartment like this obviously had to be some sort of warped joke on his part, she reasoned calmly—a joke directed at Tim, who was no longer around to respond to it.

‘…you’re not in the least terrified of me…something that could turn out to be a dangerous error of judgement on your part.’

With those words ringing in her ears, she leapt from the bath and began drying herself vigorously. And, despite the glow of warmth burnishing her skin, she felt herself shiver as she remembered Tim’s claim that Niko would be quite likely to have the pair of them slapped in gaol.

‘Damn you, Tim Russell!’ she groaned frustratedly into a huge, fluffy white towel.

The chances were that Tim had only said that to frighten her…and he had succeeded. And there was no getting away from the fact that Niko Leandros too had frightened her—something for which she should be thankful, because now there was no way she would be tempted to risk telling him the truth.

She entered the dressing-room, a luxury she had heard of but never before experienced, and began riffling through her clothes, vague plans beginning to form in her mind. She would simply suggest that, as Tim was gone…

‘For heaven’s sake, Lindy, you’re not supposed to know he’s gone!’ she groaned aloud. What she would simply suggest was that if he was right, and Tim had gone, she would work whatever notice was required of her and then return to England.

It was only when she had finished dressing that she became aware of the almost obsessive care she had taken over it—and it was an awareness that had an acutely depressing effect on her already flagging spirits.

She might as well accept the fact that she was attracted to Niko Leandros in a way she had never been attracted to any other man, she told herself despondently. And another fact she might as well face, she informed herself ruthlessly, was that, even had they met under the most ideal of circumstances, he wouldn’t have given her even so much as a passing glance.

Having notched the belt of her sea-blue dress as far as it would go, she then dragged her fingers angrily through her hair and undid all the painstaking taming to which she had so assiduously subjected it.

Niko was nowhere to be seen when she reached the drawing-room, and she was gazing anxiously around, wondering if the apartment included a dining-room, when he stepped through the gently billowing curtains now drawn across the balcony doors.

‘I usually eat outside,’ he announced, his eyes flickering over her in a manner Lindy found deflatingly noncommittal.

And obviously he had no intention of making any concession to her preferences, she thought, having to force her legs to do the necessary to propel her across the room. Because her preference would have been to eat under the stars anyway she began dredging her mind for some other aspect of him with which to find fault…and came up with nothing. It was just that he was the most disgustingly attractive man imaginable, she admitted defeatedly, giving up refusing to acknowledge the painfully breathtaking surge of excitement that had started up in her at the mere sight of him and which seemed to be getting worse the nearer she drew to him.

‘I had no idea what you like to eat,’ he said, holding aside the curtain for her as she stepped out on to the balcony. ‘So I asked for a selection of dishes you’ve shown a preference for to be sent up.’

He drew out a chair, on which Lindy seated herself with all the aplomb she could muster—which was precious little, given that her every instinct was to cry out in childlike wonderment at the perfection of her surroundings.

The balcony was large and paved with jewel-like mosaics: huge earthenware and marble urns spilled out a profusion of flowering plants, the delicate scents of which had mingled to float in the air with a softly heady fragrance.

The white pedestal table at which she was seated was set for two, crystal wine goblets and heavy silver cutlery glittering and gleaming in the soft light cast by clusters of candles in marble holders of varying heights and positioned in such a way as to enable the two diners to face one another, unimpeded by their presence. To the side of the table was a white trolley, on which sat several silver-canopied dishes and a napkin-wrapped opened bottle of red wine.

‘The chef seemed to have no knowledge of your preferences in wine,’ he said, taking the seat opposite her, ‘so I selected something that should blend in with your culinary tastes…though I wouldn’t necessarily bet money on that,’ he murmured drily, reaching over and removing the covers from some of the dishes.

Unsettled by his tone, Lindy glanced nervously across the table at him. He was laughing at her, she thought uncomfortably, suddenly acutely conscious of how completely out of her depth she was in such exotic surroundings and in such sophisticated company.

‘It’s just that you have such…how can I put it?…unusual tastes in Greek food,’ he murmured, obviously having intercepted her look of discomfort and feeling obliged to offer a token panacea. ‘Anyway, do help yourself.’

Feeling about as at ease as a peasant might, having been invited to dine at a king’s table, Lindy helped herself to small portions from a few of the dishes. Her tastes in Greek food probably did add up to the equivalent of steak and kidney pie and custard, she thought self-consciously, but that was only because she had never had anyone to guide her. In a fit of petty vindictiveness soon after their arrival Tim had informed her she was not to mingle with the guests, so she had only twice eaten in the hotel’s superb dining-room. She had taken to selecting her meals from whatever took her fancy in the kitchen—the cosy, paternalistic chef giving her little tasters from one dish or another and often chuckling with undisguised mirth at the selections she made…had he been able to speak even a few words of English he would no doubt have explained what he had so frequently found amusing about her selections. Far from finding her ignorance amusing, Niko Leandros plainly found it repellently primitive!

‘I’m sorry—I’ve been unforgivably rude,’ he said, cutting across her mortified thoughts and startling her with the genuine contrition in his tone. ‘Greek food isn’t necessarily to everyone’s taste.’

‘Oh, but I love it!’ exclaimed Lindy. ‘It’s just that…well, anyway…I enjoy the dishes I’ve tried very much.’

‘It’s just that what?’ he probed, frowning when she explained her sorties into the kitchen. ‘I can’t understand why you haven’t been eating in the dining-room,’ he said. ‘There you’d have been served conventionally balanced meals.’

‘I…I just preferred not to,’ she stammered.

Every time she opened her mouth she seemed to be stepping into a potential minefield, she thought wearily, wondering how long it would be before she tripped herself up irrevocably.

It wasn’t the most relaxed of meals she had ever participated in, and certainly not in the remotest way romantic, despite the fairy-tale surroundings and her princely companion…probably because of him, she thought morosely, for her Adonis of a companion had lapsed into a decidedly uncompanionable silence which had lasted throughout a meal patently not to his taste.

It was when two of the waiters arrived to clear things away and place a tray of coffee inside for them that Lindy began to see things with a troubling clarity. She began wondering what the waiters were making of all this—the manager nowhere to be seen, and his wife now ensconced in the private suite of a member of the Leandros family. The only shred of consolation she managed to derive from her tortured thoughts was that true friendship with any other member of staff had been denied her…and that was hardly any consolation at all, because all she wanted to do was curl up and die from the humiliation of it all.

‘Are you familiar with Greek coffee?’ he asked, having escorted her inside as the waiters had bustled out and now reaching over to pour the coffee.

Lindy nodded. ‘Though I’m afraid I learned the hard way,’ she admitted, remembering the mouthful of coffee grounds she had almost swallowed as she had attempted to drain that first cup she had sampled—needless to say, Tim hadn’t warned her and had been waiting for her to do just that.

He smiled as he handed her a cup, a smile that turned her heart over violently, then filled it with an aching sadness as it suddenly recognised this man’s total unattainability.

‘Mr Leandros——’ she broke off as he pulled a comically protesting face and felt the sadness embed itself deeper into her heart ‘—Niko,’ she conceded with the ghost of a smile, ‘if…if you’re right and Tim doesn’t show up——’

‘I’d say the likelihood of his showing up is extremely remote now—wouldn’t you?’ he enquired, his eyes, usually so alert and watchful, trained on the coffee-cup in his hand.

‘Yes…well, what I was going to say was that…well, naturally I’d work whatever notice is required of me…and then I’d like to go home.’

‘I have no idea what is required of you contractually; I’d guess the contact was solely with your husband and you were no more than an appendage—my late uncle tended to have a pretty chauvinistic attitude to women.’

‘Your late uncle?’ queried Lindy, having difficulty remaining civil; the very idea of any woman, let alone herself, being regarded as an inconsequential appendage to a man made her see red.

‘Yes—late,’ he snapped. ‘He was the member of the family—a great-uncle, to be precise—who owned this island and, thereby, the hotel.’

‘And he must have died recently…I’m sorry to hear that,’ muttered Lindy, offering her condolences more out of politeness than any feeling they would be appreciated.

‘You knew him?’ he drawled.

‘You know I didn’t,’ she replied, her hands clenching in fury in her lap.

‘I can’t say I did either,’ he startled her by admitting. ‘One of his eccentricities—of which he had many—was to have as little to do with his relatives as possible. He used to take off whenever any member of the family showed up here.’

Lindy made no reply, though it did occur to her that regarding it as perfectly normal to win a woman in a game of poker would probably be described by most as an example of outright eccentricity.

‘Unfortunately I was incapacitated shortly after his death, and the family’s financial advisers decided to go ahead and find a replacement for the management team already here but due to leave in August. Personally I’d simply have wound down the entire operation then and there—a hotel geared solely to being a holiday haven throughout the year to a couple of dozen exceptionally wealthy clients is an anachronism in this day and age.’

‘Perhaps it’s just as well for the staff that you didn’t have a say in the matter,’ retorted Lindy. ‘Because they’d all be out of jobs.’

‘Ah, yes,’ he murmured sarcastically, ‘that abundant compassion of yours leaps once more to the fore. The fact is that I have rather a large say in all matters—since I’m the one the old boy left all this to.’

Mentally kicking herself for having walked straight into such a put-down, Lindy picked up her cup and took a mouthful from it—a mouthful, as it turned out, mainly of coffee grounds. Praying the floor would open up and swallow her, she was reduced to spitting what she could back into her cup and hating her companion, who simply stared at her in disdainful silence for several seconds, before leaping to his feet and leaving the room.

It served him right for mixing with someone he found so painfully his inferior, she thought angrily, running her tongue over her clogged teeth and feeling slightly nauseous as she succeeded only in spreading the grounds more evenly.

‘Here, rinse out your mouth with this,’ ordered Niko, returning to shove a glass of water under her nose.

Lindy took a mouthful and washed it around.

‘Now—spit it into this,’ he instructed with barely concealed impatience, handing her the coffee-cup into which she had already spat once.

‘I’m perfectly capable of rinsing out my mouth without you standing over me and giving me blow-by-blow instructions!’ she exclaimed irritably once she had obeyed, deciding to put up with the residual grounds in her mouth rather than go through that humiliating performance again. ‘To get back to what we were discussing,’ she continued as he returned to his seat and resumed drinking his own coffee, ‘if you own this damned——’

‘Spare me the adjectives,’ he drawled languidly.

Resisting an almost overwhelming urge to pick up the coffee-pot and brain him with it, Lindy took a deep breath and started again.

‘If you own this hotel, surely whatever you say goes?’

‘Yes.’

‘So—whether or not I work notice before leaving is entirely up to you.’

‘Yes.’

Lindy waited, confidently expecting him to say more. Gradually it dawned on her that she was in for an exceptionally long wait.

‘So?’ she prompted with reckless aggression. This time her vain wait lasted mere seconds before she made another try. ‘So when may I leave?’

‘You may not leave,’ he replied. ‘I won you and you’re now mine—remember?’

‘Nobody owns me!’ shrieked Lindy, her control snapping as she leapt to her feet. ‘And nobody ever will! I realise that gambling debts are regarded as sacrosanct among hardened gamblers such as you—so, if you would be good enough to let me know how much it is that Tim Russell owes you, I’ll see about getting it repaid.’

‘Tim Russell?’ he queried, batting his eyelids with their profusion of outrageously long lashes at her in a parody of surprise. ‘What an extremely odd way for a bride to refer to her husband—even one married on the rebound.’

‘How much does he owe you?’ Lindy almost screamed at him.

‘He owes me nothing,’ he replied, smiling as he tilted his head to look up at her, arrogant self-assurance oozing from his every pore. ‘He had something I wanted…and now it’s mine.’

Knowing she would end up gibbering if she didn’t get a grip on herself, Lindy took a ragged breath before speaking.

‘Mr Leandros—though I know none of the details, I do know that you were involved in a very serious accident.’

‘Which ruined my once legendary looks,’ he sighed theatrically, the mocking look accompanying his words bringing her blood instantly back to the boiling-point.

‘And I realise how difficult convalescence must be for someone as used to the jet-setting social scene as you so obviously are,’ she continued through noticeably clenched teeth. ‘I realise too——’

‘Being a woman of such compassion,’ he slipped in mockingly.

‘—that you’re the type who finds it next to impossible to exist without his playthings,’ Lindy ploughed on determinedly. ‘So I suggest that you have a selection of them sent here—instead of trying to rope me in as a substitute. Because, as you’ve already witnessed for yourself tonight, I’d make an absolutely abysmal substitute for the type of women you’re used to.’

CHAPTER THREE

BY THE time her eyes had finally begun drooping with the sleep that had so long eluded her, Lindy was already frustratedly aware that her normal waking time was little over an hour away.

She awoke at twenty minutes past eleven and spent several minutes gazing in groggy disbelief at her watch, convinced that there was something wrong with it.

She was showered and dressed within fifteen minutes of waking, her bemused mind still fretting over the lateness of the hour instead of accepting how painfully little sleep she had had during the past two nights.

Two uniformed security guards barred her entrance to the office as she arrived there, her limbs leaden and her temples throbbing with a vicious headache, shaking their heads implacably as she tried to pass them.

Eventually one of the guards opened the door and called to whoever was inside. A few seconds later Niko appeared at the door, his expression grim.

‘Yes?’ he barked, his eyes contemptuously dismissive as they took in her slightly dishevelled appearance.

‘These men seem unwilling to let me into the office,’ she explained, annoyed to feel the colour rising hotly in her cheeks.

‘They’re following my instructions,’ he informed her brusquely. ‘You no longer work here.’ As he uttered those last words he turned back into the room.

‘Does that mean I can leave?’ she called after him defiantly.

‘Whether or not you’ll be leaving remains to be seen,’ he replied without turning to face her. ‘But, if you do, it certainly won’t be for England.’

He hadn’t even had to raise his voice for the threat in his words to reach her and make her blood run suddenly cold, and it was with an almost sickening feeling of apprehension that she returned down the corridor and out into the sunlit spaciousness of the foyer, the fear within her shadowy and undefined.

‘These men are asking to speak to Mr Russell,’ Maria, one of the receptionists, called over to her as she arrived.

Lindy walked towards the two men standing at the reception desk.

‘I’m afraid Tim—Mr Russell—isn’t here,’ she apologised.

One of the men immediately began addressing her in rapid Greek.

‘I’m very sorry, but I don’t speak Greek,’ she said, while the second of the men rounded on the Greek girl.

Though she couldn’t understand a single word of what was being said, she could tell by their tone and demeanour that neither man was in the least happy, something they were conveying to the startled receptionist in no uncertain terms.

‘Maria, what on earth was all that about?’ she asked, her heart thudding with alarm as one of the two men now walking towards the door gave her a grim-faced backward glance.

The dark-haired girl glanced quickly around her before leaning discreetly towards Lindy, her eyes eloquent with shocked sympathy.

‘Mr Russell owes them money,’ she whispered. ‘And also to a friend of theirs.’

Lindy leaned weakly against the marbled desk, the thought scurrying through her mind that she couldn’t take much more of this.

‘Gambling?’ she asked in a tight, strained voice.

Maria nodded. ‘Those men are from the mainland—and they’re the sort who will keep coming back until they’ve been paid.’ Again she glanced around her before leaning even closer towards Lindy. ‘This morning the security men came from the bank to collect the receipts.’

‘Oh, heck!’ groaned Lindy. With Tim away yesterday, none of the necessary cashing up would have been done! ‘I’d better go and see to it.’

The Greek girl placed a gently restraining hand on Lindy’s arm, shaking her head vigorously as she did so.

‘The money has all gone,’ she whispered urgently. ‘I overheard Mr Niko talking to the head barman…I know they weren’t aware I could hear them.’

Dazed and ghostly pale from shock, Lindy tried desperately to assimilate what her mind was equally desperately attempting to reject.

‘I…I…’ She shook her head in a reflex attempt to clear it. ‘Don’t worry, I promise I shan’t say a word about your having told me,’ she vowed hoarsely, patting the girl’s hand to give emphasis to her promise before turning and walking, as though in a trance, towards the lift.

Her movements like those of an automaton, she went to her room, changed into a brief black bikini and then belted her beach robe securely around her. On her way back down in the lift the thought occurred to her that it might have been wiser to slip out by a back entrance, but she had dismissed the thought with a small shrug of indifference by the time the lift had deposited her once more in the foyer. Her need for time on her own, time away from people and complete isolation from their sounds, was one no one on this earth was going to deprive her of. Marching straight through the foyer in total oblivion of Maria and the startled glance the girl gave her, Lindy headed for the sea.

She made her way through the tranquil order of the gardens and down the winding, gently sloping steps to the beach. She had discovered the beach on the day of her arrival and had visited it almost daily ever since. Because it was an area rarely used by the guests—the younger ones usually taking off to the more remote islands in the motor launches provided and their elders content to meander through the extensive grounds or play bridge in the peaceful coolness of one of the hotel’s many recreation-rooms—this small, idyllic stretch of golden sand had become her own private haven.

Kicking off her mules and slipping out of her robe, she made her way to the water’s edge, the soothing sensation of the jewel-like waters of the Aegean Sea lapping around her slim, tanned legs lulling her into almost believing that this was a day no different from any other. And, despite everything, she had been inexplicably happy here. It was hardly a job and it would lead her nowhere from a career point of view—but then, neither had the temping she had been doing in London while optimistically waiting for her dream job to present itself. Yet, in spite of her rude awakening to Tim’s true nature and the cringing embarrassment that realisation of her own blind stubbornness had brought her, being here had, more often than not, been like an interlude of almost cleansing peacefulness in her life and one she would never have imagined herself appreciating until she had begun experiencing it.

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