‘Hi, I’m Charlotte.’ Of course she was, Connie thought with a sinking heart. ‘Nico asked me to get some photos of the hill and the jetty. Gosh …’ she looked down at Leo ‘ … he’s gorgeous.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Aren’t they lovely when they’re that small and can’t answer back at you? It’s a shame it doesn’t last.’
‘Do you have children?’ Connie asked, then wished she hadn’t bothered. That toned, flat stomach and those tiny pert breasts, and the absolutely immaculate hair and make-up dictated the answer.
‘God, no.’ Charlotte let out a laugh. ‘Unless you count Nico—it’s like running around after an angry toddler at the moment. He’s hell bent on getting this next bit of land.’
So he can get busy tearing things down, Connie thought sadly.
‘How is he?’ Charlotte suddenly asked, and, when Connie frowned, she clarified, ‘The baby—is he settling in?’
‘He’s fine.’ She didn’t like sitting here, fat in her red bikini and shiny with oil, as this gorgeous thing stood ice cool in the late afternoon sun. ‘Look, can I get you a drink or anything?’
‘No thanks.’ She gave a cheery smile. ‘There’s plenty on the plane. Nice to meet you.’ She gave a small wave and then clipped off, leaving Connie feeling … She tried to pin it down. Angry wasn’t the word, more … stupid. Stupid to even think that he could ever really want her. Nico wanted freedom, Connie wanted him all. Charlotte was so much more suitable for him, so much more like him.
No wonder he’d lasted barely a week here with her. No doubt he’d fled straight to Charlotte the moment the refugees had been housed. Despina came and took Leo inside, and Connie was still bristling, hating that she wondered when she would see Nico again. She tried hard not to think of him and instead let the sea lull her and the soft sounds of early evening lull her. She could hear Charlotte’s seaplane taking off and its hum in the distance, and closed her eyes, but all she could think of was him.
‘Constantine.’ She jumped as she opened her eyes, flat on her back and wearing so little was so not how she wanted to be seen by him. It had never entered her head that he was here.
‘How come …?’ She wanted to cover herself, but just lay there, looked up at him and couldn’t read the expression on his face. ‘Charlotte didn’t mention you were on your way.’
Charlotte hadn’t known till a couple of moments ago, Nico thought. She’d stepped back on the plane, where he had been waiting, and relayed what he had asked her to check on. ‘He’s fine,’ Charlotte had said, but it simply hadn’t been enough to just hear it. ‘She seems fine’ hadn’t been enough, either. He’d sat on the air-conditioned plane, as Charlotte had taken pictures that weren’t even needed, determined not to go out, except, seeing his home, knowing they were in it, there had been a pull stronger than gravity that had dragged him here. He was resisting it still, even as he stood looking down at her. Never had she looked more beautiful. It was not about weight, or how the bikini set his mind in dangerous directions, but a new confidence in her, the painted nails, the smooth, oiled skin and the luxury of her hair let loose. It looked like a curtain over the lounger and he did not understand why her confidence rattled him so.
‘I’m going inside.’ He walked in and took a long drink of water, resisted going to her bedroom, for he did not want to get involved with the baby and, yes, there was much on his mind.
Work had been busy this week, yet it hadn’t fully occupied him. There had been more fruitless searches in an attempt to sort out the mystery of his life and he had considered staying in Athens, to try and free his head from Constantine and her baby. He had intended to grab freedom while he’d had it, yet there had been a pull to go home and, no matter how he had fought it, no matter how much he had known that they were okay, there had been a need to see them for himself.
He glanced towards the garden and then he saw her climbing off the lounger, and something close to fear clutched him, because the woman who stretched and walked luxuriously towards the house, unaware of male eyes on her, was the woman he had known one day soon she would become.
Constantine had emerged from herself, which meant, as he had promised, soon he must confront her, must find out the truth about Leo. And then what?
They would leave.
Leave because they had to, because this wasn’t his life, this wasn’t what he wanted, wasn’t something he could keep.
‘What did you get up to this week?’ he asked as she walked into the kitchen.
‘Slept, sunbaked …’ There was a tinge of guilt in her admission. ‘I’m going to do some gardening next week …’
‘You’re not here to garden.’
‘But I’d enjoy it.’
‘No,’ Nico said. ‘I did not ask what you did and expect a long list to justify your time—I was making conversation. I am glad that you are resting, it is good to see you looking better.’ So very much better, so much, in fact, that it might be prudent if she went and changed, because the flimsy shirt she had put on over her bikini left little to a suddenly active imagination.
‘I rang Stavros.’ He raised his eyes just a little, searched her face for evidence of upset, but she was still calm.
‘How was he?’
‘Well.’ She smiled. ‘And he is happy.’ Nico gave a shrug—he didn’t like Stavros and neither did he like what he had put Constantine through. ‘He has been through some difficult times.’
‘So?’ Nico asked. ‘That does not mean you forgive.’
‘Well, I can. His difficult times have lasted a lot longer than mine—he’s been struggling with this for years. I can see now why he was angry, perhaps mean to me at times …’ Nico looked less than convinced, so she changed the topic to something far lighter, something that still made her smile even now. ‘Actually, I do have some news!’ The sun was coming through the window behind, but it wasn’t as bright as her smile, and it was a Constantine he had never seen, even on their one night together. There was a lightness to her, a calmness, and it reached him, had him smiling back in return. ‘We don’t need a box.’
‘Sorry?’
‘This is your box.’ He had no idea what she talking about. All he could see as she walked over to the table were long brown legs, all he could think of as he walked over to where she stood was the scent of her close up—a feminine scent, a summer scent of oil and woman. She waved at the French windows and he had to force himself to turn his head towards them rather than towards her mouth. ‘It’s the view from here.’
She was right. He looked at the jigsaw and she had been busy. There was the frame of the windows and a dash of red geranium. There was the azure of the pool, the white of the balcony and the red of the flowers. He looked at the jumble of loose pieces, her fingers selecting one and slotting it in as she spoke.
‘Paulo was trimming the bush,’ Constantine explained, ‘and I could see it. Someone has painted the view and then made it into a jigsaw.’
‘Shame,’ Nico said. ‘It would surely be better hung on the wall.’
‘I think it’s fun,’ Constantine said, and that admission surprised even her, for that word hadn’t been in her vocabulary for a very long time. ‘Oh!’ She saw another piece, and her hand moved and collected it. ‘It’s a baby,’ she said, slotting it into its place. He did not care for jigsaws but he was starting to care more for her. He looked at the concentration on her face, the shimmer of her skin, and his next question came from a place he did not know, a place he should not go, but it was a place within that wanted to know.
‘How is Leo?’
‘Wonderful!’ Deliberately she didn’t look up, tried