yielding to weakness, the thing he dreaded most in the world.
He went to his desk, meaning to write a polite letter, accepting her dismissal. That way he wouldn’t have to hear her voice with its soft resonance, its memory of pleasure half experienced, still anticipated. He drew paper towards him and prepared to write.
But the pen seemed to have developed a life of its own, and refused to do his bidding. His brain shut down, denying him the necessary words.
This was her doing. She was like one of the sirens of legend, whose voices had lured sailors onto the rocks. How much had they known, those doomed men? Had they gone unknowingly to their death, or had they recognised the truth about the siren-song, yet still been drawn in, unable to help themselves? And when it had been too late, and they sank beneath the waves, had they cursed themselves for yielding, or had their suffering been worth it for the glimpse of heaven?
He would have given anything to know.
At last he gave up trying to write. It was she who had broken it off, and there was nothing more to be said. More business problems made another journey to the port essential, and for several days he had no time to think of anything else. On the journey back to Athens he was able to relax in the feeling of having regained command of his life.
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?
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.
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.’
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?’
