LITMIR.BIZ

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sou?’ She mimed waving goodbye, and Sofia shook her head.

      ‘Papa...not...say,’ she said in halting English.

      ‘He didn’t say goodbye?’ Talia struggled to keep the dismay from her voice. Sofia shook her head again.

      ‘Ohi...no. But...’ She pointed to a sheet of paper in her lap, the single page filled with strong, slanting handwriting.

      ‘He wrote you a letter,’ Talia surmised, and Sofia nodded.

      The letter was in Greek, of course, and Talia would never read someone else’s correspondence, yet she found she was intensely curious to know what Angelos had written to his daughter...and why he hadn’t said goodbye.

      The sound of a motorboat cut through the still air, and Sofia leaned out the window to wave to the woman approaching the dock. ‘Ava,’ she said, turning back to Talia, and then said something in Greek Talia didn’t understand but could guess the nature of.

      ‘Your teacher,’ she said, and Sofia repeated the new word.

      ‘Teacher. Ne. Yes.’

      A few minutes later Ava, a friendly woman in her forties, came upstairs. Fortunately she spoke English, and when Talia had explained who she was she offered to help her learn Greek after her lessons with Sofia.

      ‘I’ll have to ask Kyrie Mena,’ Talia said, suspecting that Angelos would want to hear about any changes in plan. ‘But I’m sure he’d like me to know more Greek.’

      Ava laughed knowingly at that and Talia headed downstairs while Sofia had her lessons. Maria had disappeared from the kitchen, and so after standing uncertainly in the spacious hallway for a moment, Talia decided to go outside.

      The air was hot and dry even though it was only a little past nine in the morning, and the sun shone brightly above, glinting off the sea.

      Talia made her way through the garden, enjoying the colour and scent of the jumble of flowers. The gardens at the estate back in New York were lovely, but in a careful, manicured way. She liked the wildness here, felt its surprising answer in herself.

      Funny, really, to think that Angelos Mena, of all people, would have a wild garden. But perhaps he wasn’t here enough to keep it in order.

      The thought made her frown as she stepped onto the beach, slipping off her sandals so she could feel the warm sand between her toes.

      She made her way to the water’s edge, letting the warm sea lap at her toes. She imagined Angelos back in Athens, sitting down at some important business meeting, making his so-called swift decisions. Athens was only an hour away, and yet he’d said he wouldn’t be back for weeks. Why couldn’t he make the trip more often, for Sofia’s sake?

      Talia knew it wasn’t her concern; Angelos had certainly said as much. Besides, she was only here for six weeks, and she could hardly entangle herself in the lives of the Menas.

      And yet...thoughts and questions whirled through her mind. The portrait of the secretly smiling woman; the fire Angelos refused to speak about. The sorrow she saw in Sofia’s eyes, and the letter that had lain on her lap.

      And of course the book. The real reason she was here, she reminded herself, was to find Giovanni’s book. Sighing, Talia turned from the beach and headed back up to the villa.

      Sofia was still in her lessons so Talia stayed in the kitchen with Maria, watching her as she kneaded bread. She’d offered to help, but Maria had vociferously refused, instead sitting her back down at the table, this time with a cup of what she called mountain tea. Talia took a cautious sip—Maria had made it by boiling what looked like a bunch of stems and leaves in a little brass pot—and found it surprisingly pleasant, a cross between chamomile and peppermint.

      ‘It cures everything,’ Maria assured her, ‘except heartbreak. But you are not heartbroken, are you?’

      ‘No, definitely not,’ Talia assured her.

      ‘You did not come all this way to Greece because of a failed romance?’ Maria asked, sounding almost hopeful. Talia smothered a smile at the housekeeper’s not so subtle attempt at digging into her past.

      ‘No failed romances,’ Talia answered. ‘No romances at all, unless you count the boy I dated when I was seventeen.’

      ‘You’re waiting for someone special,’ Maria said sagely. ‘That is good.’

      ‘I think I might be waiting a long time.’ Talia shrugged the woman’s sympathy aside. ‘I’ve been happy on my own. I still am.’

      ‘Every woman needs a man.’

      Talia decided not to argue this point. ‘But you don’t want me crawling into Angelos’s bed, do you?’ she joked, only to flush as Maria eyed her appraisingly.

      ‘It was Kyrie Mena this morning.’

      ‘It still is,’ she promised. ‘That was a slip. Trust me, I’m not going to be crawling into anyone’s bed but my own.’ She closed her eyes briefly, wondering if this conversation could actually get any more awkward.

      ‘You do not want to set your sights on Kyrie Mena,’ Maria said firmly. She gave the bread dough a few firm kneads. ‘He is not a whole man.’

      Intrigued, Talia leaned forward. ‘Not a whole man?’ He certainly looked like a whole man, devastatingly attractive in every part. ‘What do you mean by that?’

      Maria shook her head. ‘I should not have said it. It is only there has been much tragedy in his life. He is not able to give a woman all she would need here.’ Maria pressed a hand to her heart.

      So Angelos was emotionally repressed? Not exactly a surprise. ‘When you say tragedy,’ Talia asked, ‘do you mean the fire?’

      Maria pressed her lips together. ‘I should not have said.’

      Talia could tell she wasn’t going to get anything else out of the housekeeper about that, and so she asked if there was a library instead.

      ‘A library? You want a book?’

      ‘I thought I might see if there was anything to read,’ Talia demurred, squashing a feeling of guilt at her duplicity. She did want a book, one specific book. But she had no idea if it was on Kallos, or in Angelos’s possession at all.

      ‘There is a room at the top of the house,’ Maria said. ‘Above the bedrooms. You will find some books there.’

      Since Sofia was still busy with her teacher, Talia followed Maria’s directions, up a winding staircase to a single, airy room on the top floor, with windows in every direction and bookshelves lining all the walls.

      She stood in the centre of the room for a moment, enjoying the view of the sea all around her, before she began to study the books lining the shelves. Angelos had an eclectic collection of books: history, politics, art and music, even a little light fiction. None of the books looked like the one Giovanni had described, handcrafted with a cover of tooled leather.

      Sighing, Talia berated herself for hoping it could be so simple. Did she actually think she’d just find the rare book lying on a shelf for anyone to pick up? She didn’t know if it was on this island, or even in Angelos’s possession. If he did own it, he might well keep it in Athens, in a safe. And maybe he didn’t own it. The only way she would know, Talia acknowledged, was by asking the man himself.

      She was just about to head back downstairs when Sofia popped her head up over the banister. ‘I look for you!’ she exclaimed in English, and Talia laughed.

      ‘And you found me. How was your lesson?’

      ‘Good,’ Sofia said, and ducked her head in shy pride at how much English she’d spoken. Then she pointed to Talia. ‘You now.’

      ‘My Greek lesson?’ Talia surmised. ‘Bring it on.’ She followed Sofia downstairs, where Ava was waiting.

      * * *

      Ten

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