‘I’ll hurry the man along.’ With an abstracted smile, he strode off again.
His mother looked after him anxiously. ‘The world does not leave him alone, even here at his retreat—though Stefan, his assistant, does his best to keep it at bay over this particular holiday.’
‘This festival is obviously important to—to your son,’ said Eleanor.
‘To me, also,’ said Talia, and looked up with an enquiring smile as a boy approached the table, holding out a package.
‘Ah, that must be for me,’ said Eleanor, and took out her bracelet, now adorned with the crystal bull. ‘Efcharisto!’ she said, pleased, and handed over a tip. She smiled guiltily as she displayed the charm. ‘Very expensive, but I couldn’t resist it after your son was kind enough to bargain the price down.’
Talia leaned closer to examine it. ‘Exquisite—and a most perfect souvenir of Kyrkiros.’
Eleanor fastened the bracelet on her wrist. ‘There. No more extravagance for me this trip.’
Alexei Drakos’ assistant came towards them, smiling respectfully. ‘Forgive me for interrupting, but Sofia says a light supper is ready, kyria Talia. She apologises it is early tonight because of the taurokathapsia.’
‘Of course,’ she said, getting up. ‘Miss Eleanor Markham, meet Stefan Petrides, Alexei’s man in Athens.’
Stefan bowed formally to Eleanor. ‘Chairo poly, kyria Markham.’
‘Pos eiste,’ she returned.
‘I am not happy leaving you alone here, my dear,’ said Talia, frowning. ‘Please join us for dinner.’
Eleanor smiled gratefully, but shook her head. ‘That’s so kind of you, but I purposely ate enough lunch to see me through the evening. Goodbye—it’s been such a pleasure to meet you.’
‘Likewise, Eleanor Markham, though the day is not over yet,’ said Talia, and with a smile went off with her escort.
Eleanor gazed after them a little wistfully, then sat down and began writing up the events of the afternoon. She was soon so deeply absorbed she jumped when someone rapped on the metal table. She looked up with a smile to find Alexei Drakos eyeing her notebook with hostility.
‘My mother is concerned about leaving you alone here,’ he said coldly. ‘But you’re obviously busy. She tells me you’re a journalist.’
Her smile died. ‘Yes, I am.’
‘And my island is providing an even richer source of material than you expected?’
Eleanor’s defences sprang to attention. ‘It is indeed.’
‘Write one word about my mother, and I will sue,’ he said with menace.
Eleanor’s chin went up. ‘I’m here solely to report on this famous festival of yours, Mr Drakos. But, since you ask so nicely, I’ll leave out my chance meeting with Talia Kazan. Though, since I would be reporting fact, suing would not be possible.’
‘Maybe not.’ His cold eyes locked on hers. ‘But believe me, Miss Markham—whatever rag you work for I can get you fired as easily as I helped you out earlier.’
He strode off, cursing at the chance that had involved his mother with Eleanor Markham. Since the notoriety Christina Mavros had brought on him, he had avoided contact with any woman other than his mother. Until today, that was, when an attractive tourist’s rueful little smile had seduced him into offering help to someone who was not only a woman but a reporter, for God’s sake!
Eleanor stared after him balefully. No chance of an interview with Talia Kazan’s baby boy, then. And no prize for guessing how Alexei Drakos had made his fortune, either. He’d probably just stepped on the necks of everyone who got in his way. Her mouth tightened. Romantic fool that she was, the chance meeting with him had been one of the major experiences of her life, whereas to him she was just a petty little problem to solve by threats.
Her eyes sparking like an angry cat’s behind her glasses, she noted that all the reserved tables were now full, other than the one adjoining hers. Everyone was eating and drinking and having a wonderful time in laughing, animated groups, which emphasized her solitary state—a common enough situation on her travels, and not one that had bothered her in the slightest up to now. Eleanor shrugged impatiently. Her blood sugars obviously needed a boost after the clash with the dragon of Kyrkiros. She walked over to the stalls, bought a couple of nut-filled honey pastries from one of them, and returned to her table to find a teenaged lad waiting there.
‘Kyria Talia sent for you,’ he informed her, indicating the tray on the table.
Eleanor smiled warmly and asked him to convey her thanks to the lady. She sat down to pour tea into a delicate china cup and smiled when she tasted an unmistakeably British blend. The pastries were doubly delicious with the tea as accompaniment. By the time Eleanor had finished her surprise treat, lamps were glowing along the terrace, the sudden darkness of the Aegean night had fallen, a singer had joined the musicians and she had almost recovered from the blow of her encounter with Alexei Drakos. She stiffened when an audible ripple of interest through the crowd heralded the arrival of the man himself as he ushered his mother to the adjoining table. One look at him revived her anger so fiercely it took an effort to smile when Talia beckoned to her.
‘Do come and join us, Eleanor. The dancing will start soon.’
Eleanor shook her head firmly; grateful it was too dark for her feelings to show. ‘It’s very kind of you but I wouldn’t dream of intruding.’
‘Nonsense! Why sit there alone? Stefan will bring your things.’
And, short of causing a scene, Eleanor was obliged to accept the chair Alexei Drakos held out for her next to his mother. She thanked him politely and smiled at Talia. ‘And thank you so much for the tea. It was just what I needed.’
‘I hoped it might be. I made it with my own fair hands.’ The radiance of Talia’s smile contrasted sharply with the expression on her son’s face. ‘Do stop looming over us and sit down, Alexei mou—you too, Stefan.’
Eleanor tensed, her stomach muscles contracting as a bull bellowed somewhere deep inside the Kastro, loud enough to be heard above the music and the noise of the chattering crowd.
‘Ah, we begin,’ said Talia with satisfaction.
Alexei eyed Eleanor sardonically. ‘Is something wrong, Miss Markham?’
‘Nothing at all,’ she lied, but sucked in a startled breath as the lights died. They were left in darkness for several tense seconds before the torches encircling the raised wooden platform burst into flame, and bonfires ignited one after the other along the outer edges of the beach.
‘How is that for Greek drama?’ crowed Talia, touching Eleanor’s hand. ‘My dear, you are so cold. What is wrong?’
‘Anticipation,’ Eleanor said brightly. With a defiant look at Alexei Drakos, she took out her camera. ‘For my article,’ she informed him.
‘You may take as many photographs of the dancers as you wish,’ he assured her, his message loud and clear. One shot of his beautiful mother and Eleanor Markham would be thrown off his island.
‘Thank you.’ She turned her attention to the stage, intrigued to see that the musicians had exchanged their modern instruments for harps and flutes which looked like museum exhibits. Along with some kind of snare drums, they began to make music so eerily unlike anything she’d ever heard before the hairs rose on the back of her neck and her blood began to pulse in time with the hypnotic beat.
With sudden drama, the great Kastro doors were flung open and a roar of applause greeted the dancers who came out two by two, moving in a slow rhythm dictated by the drum beat as they descended to the terrace. At first sight Eleanor