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but I really can’t eat anything right now.’

      ‘Ochee, not for eating. For your face. It is burning, ne?’

      ‘Oh, yes,’ sighed Isobel, and submitted to an unexpected beauty treatment. Eleni smoothed the blessedly cool, creamy yoghurt over her face, left it there until it warmed up, then gently cleaned it off with tissues.

      ‘I will do it more later,’ she promised, ‘but now you sleep, Isobel.’ She smiled and went from the room, leaving the door ajar.

      Eventually the pills took enough edge off her aches and pains to let Isobel take interest in her surroundings. Filmy white curtains stirred at glass doors which led on to a balcony, and the room itself was furnished with the type of elegant simplicity that cost the earth. She groaned in sudden despair. She’d come all this way to Chyros to regain her normal perspective on life, yet one day into her holiday and here she was, stranded in a wealthy—and hugely unfriendly—stranger’s house, with no way of escaping until she was more mobile. But why had the man been so sure she’d known who he was? And felt so ticked off about it, too. Perhaps he was some kind of celebrity here in Greece. Her mouth twisted. He needn’t worry where she was concerned. He was good-looking enough in a forceful kind of way, but his personality was so horribly overbearing it cancelled out any attraction he might have had for her as a man…

      When Isobel opened her eyes again they widened when she found another stranger looking down at her.

      ‘Dr Riga, Isobel,’ said Eleni, hurrying to help her to sit up.

      The large, bespectacled man gave her a reassuring smile. ‘Kalispera. How do you feel?’ he asked in heavily accented English, and took her pulse.

      ‘Not too well,’ she admitted.

      He nodded, his eyes so sympathetic her own filled with tears again.

      ‘I’m so sorry, Doctor,’ she said huskily, and took the tissue Eleni had ready.

      ‘You suffer much pain; you are also in shock and alone in a strange country, Miss James. Tears are natural,’ he assured her. ‘I must take X-ray at my clinic. Eleni will help you dress.’ He smiled reassuringly and went from the room.

      ‘Eleni,’ said Isobel urgently, ‘will you help me wash again? Did Mr Andreadis bring my clothes?’

      The woman nodded and helped Isobel out of the bed, supporting her as she hopped awkwardly to the bathroom. ‘I used iron,’ she said severely. ‘Alyssa Nicolaides packed too quick.’

      ‘You’re an angel, thank you, Eleni.’ Isobel tried to hurry. ‘I mustn’t keep the doctor waiting.’

      Eleni shook her head. ‘He is gone. Kyrie Luke will drive you. Not rush,’ she warned.

      After the hurried bathroom session Isobel felt relatively presentable in a white denim skirt and blue T-shirt, though the effect was marred by wearing only one sandal. Otherwise she felt horribly queasy still, and her head was pounding like a war drum. Eleni helped her to the stool in front of the dressing table, anointed her face with more yoghurt, then wiped it away and handed Isobel her zippered travel pack. Resigned to see faint bruising under her eye, Isobel used a comb gingerly, decided against lip gloss and smiled wanly at Eleni.

      ‘I’m ready.’

      The woman nodded. ‘I tell him.’

      Isobel would have given a lot to walk downstairs on her own two feet when Luke Andreadis appeared in the doorway in a crisp white shirt and jeans which were obviously custom made by their fit.

      ‘How do you feel now?’ he asked, his eyes on the bright hair curling loosely on her shoulders.

      ‘Cleaner.’

      ‘But you are still in pain.’ ‘Yes.’

      He picked her up with exaggerated care. ‘I will strive not to cause you more.’

      ‘Likewise, Mr Andreadis,’ she returned, holding herself rigid, face averted, as he carried her from the room.

      He frowned. ‘Likewise?’

      ‘Carrying me around can’t be doing your back much good.’

      He laughed sardonically as he descended the curving staircase into a marble-floored hall with an alcove containing a striking half-size statue of Perseus brandishing the severed head of the gorgon Medusa. ‘I will survive. You are not heavy.’

      ‘As soon as humanly possible, I’ll get back to the cottage.’

      ‘When Dr Riga says you are fit to do so,’ he said dismissively and carried her through a large plant-filled conservatory to put her in the passenger seat of the Cherokee Jeep parked at the back of the villa. Which, now she had attention to spare for it, Isobel could see was a dream of a house.

      ‘You have a beautiful home,’ she said politely as Luke got in beside her.

      ‘Efcharisto. I bought it years ago, and altered it to suit my taste. I look on it—and the beach that came with it—as my private retreat.’

      ‘Is that why you were so furious when you found me down there?’

      He lifted a shoulder. ‘Trespassers are a common occurrence.’

      She clenched her teeth. ‘Once again, I apologise.’

      It was no surprise to find that Luke Andreadis drove with panache. They swerved at speed round one dizzying bend after another on the tortuous descent until at last Isobel had to beg him to stop.

      Luke came to a screaming halt, raced round the Jeep and hauled her out, then, to her hideous embarrassment, supported her as she retched miserably over a clump of bushes at the roadside.

      ‘Can you continue now?’ he demanded as she straightened.

      ‘Yes,’ she gasped, sending up a prayer that she was right.

      He put her back in the Jeep and handed her bag over. ‘I will drive slowly the rest of the way,’ he said stiffly.

      ‘Thank you,’ she managed, the pain in her head now so unbearable again she could hardly speak.

      The doctor hurried out of the modern clinic building as they arrived, his face anxious.

      ‘You are late. I was worried.’

      ‘We had to stop on the way because Miss James was sick,’ Luke informed him. ‘I am so used to the road I drove too fast.’

      ‘Ah, poor child. Bring her in, Lukas. My radiologist is waiting, and also Nurse Pappas with a wheelchair.’

      Luke lifted Isobel out of the car to transfer her to the wheelchair, his mouth tightening as he felt her shrink from him. ‘You will obviously prefer this.’

      You bet, thought Isobel, as the friendly nurse wheeled her away. Later, after X-rays and a trying episode while her wound was thoroughly cleaned and dressed again, she was given painkillers and water, then wheeled back to the reception area.

      ‘There is no fracture to the skull or the ankle, but you are suffering from mild concussion,’ Dr Riga reported and smiled encouragingly at Isobel. ‘You need light nourishment and much rest. I will give you more medication for the headache, but take no more until bedtime. And Nurse Pappas has a crutch for you.’

      ‘Thank you,’ said Isobel gratefully, smiling at both of them.

      ‘Are you ready?’ Luke tossed the crutch in the back of the Jeep, then installed Isobel in the passenger seat. His face was so grim as he took the wheel; the drive back to the villa was accomplished in silence so tense until Isobel felt obliged, at last, to break it.

      ‘I’m very grateful for all your help, Mr Andreadis,’ she said formally. ‘Would you give me Dr Riga’s bill, please?’

      ‘I have settled it,’ he said dismissively.

      ‘Then I will pay you,’ she persisted.

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