and with adequate follow-up physical therapy, he should make a reasonably good recovery.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“Then I guess you’re going to have to step up to the plate and start acting like a proper son.”
He favored her with a slow blink made all the more disturbing by the sweep of his lashes, which were indecently long and silky. “Nurse and family counselor all rolled into one,” he drawled. “How lucky is that?”
“Well, you did ask.”
“And you told me.” He tipped the porter, left him to return the airport’s borrowed wheelchair, then slammed closed the car trunk and opened the front passenger door with a flourish. “Climb in. We can continue this conversation later.”
As she might have expected, he drove with flair and expertise. Within half an hour of leaving the airport, they were cruising the leafy green streets of Vouliagmeni, the exclusive Athens suburb overlooking the Saronic Gulf on the east coast of the Attic Peninsula, which Pavlos had described to her so vividly. Soon after, at the end of a quiet road running parallel to the beach, Niko steered the car through a pair of ornate wrought-iron gates, which opened at the touch of a remote control button on the dash.
Emily had gathered Pavlos was a man of considerable wealth, but was hardly prepared for the rather frightening opulence confronting her as the Mercedes wound its way up a long curving driveway, and she caught her first sight of…what? His house? Villa? Mansion?
Set in spacious, exquisitely landscaped grounds and screened from local traffic by a stand of pines, the place defied such mundane description. Stucco walls, blindingly white, rose in elegant proportions to a tiled roof as blue as she’d always imagined the skies to be in Athens, even though, this late September afternoon, an approaching storm left them gray and threatening. Long windows opened to wide terraces shaded by pergolas draped in flowering vines. A huge fountain splashed in a central forecourt, peacocks preened and screeched on the lawns, and from somewhere on the seaward side of the property, a dog barked.
She had little time to marvel, though, because barely had the car come to a stop outside a set of double front doors than they opened, and a man in his late fifties or early sixties appeared with a wheelchair light years removed from the spartan model offered by the airport.
The devoted butler, Georgios, she presumed. Pavlos had spoken of him often and with great fondness. Behind him came a younger man, little more than a boy really, who went about unloading the luggage while Niko and the butler lifted Pavlos from the car to the chair. By the time they were done, he was gray in the face and the grooves paralleling his mouth carved more deeply than usual.
Even Niko seemed concerned. “What can you do for him?” he muttered, cornering Emily near the front entrance as Georgios whisked his employer away down a wide, marble-floored hall.
“Give him something to manage the pain, and let him rest,” she said. “The journey was very hard on him.”
“He doesn’t look to me as if he was fit to travel in the first place.”
“He wasn’t. Given his age and the severity of his osteoporosis, he really ought to have remained in the hospital another week, but he insisted on coming home, and when your father makes up his mind, there’s no changing it.”
“Tell me something I don’t already know.” Niko scowled and shucked off his jacket. “Shall I send for his doctor?”
“In the morning, yes. He’ll need more medication than what I was able to bring with us. But I have enough to see him through tonight.” Struggling to preserve a professional front despite the fact that Niko stood close enough for the warmth of his body to reach out and touch hers, she sidled past him and took her travel bag from the pile of luggage accumulating inside the front door. “If you’d show me to his room, I really should attend to him now.”
He stepped away and led her to the back of the villa, to a large, sun-filled apartment on the main floor. Consisting of a sitting room and bedroom, both with French doors that opened onto a low-walled patio, it overlooked the gardens and sea. Still in the wheelchair, stationed next to the window in the sitting room, Pavlos leaned forward, drinking in the view which, even swathed in floating mist as the storm closed in, held him transfixed.
“He had this part of the house converted into his private suite a few years ago when the stairs proved too much for him,” Niko said in a low voice.
Glancing through to the bedroom, Emily asked, “And the hospital bed?”
“I had it brought in yesterday. He’ll probably give me hell for removing the one he’s used to, but this one seemed more practical, at least for now.”
“You did the right thing. He’ll be more comfortable in it, even if he won’t be spending much time there except at night.”
“Why not?”
“The more mobile he is, the better his chances of eventually walking again, although…”
Picking up on the reservation in her voice, Niko pounced on it. “Although what? You said earlier you expect him to make a reasonable recovery. Are you changing your mind now?”
“No, but…” Again, she hesitated, bound by patient confidentiality, yet aware that as his son, Niko had the right to some information, especially if her withholding it might have an adverse effect on Pavlos’s future wellbeing. “How much do you know about your father’s general health?”
“Only what he chooses to tell me, which isn’t very much.”
She should have guessed he’d say that. There’s no need to contact my son, Pavlos had decreed, when the hospital had insisted on listing his next of kin. He minds his business, and I mind mine.
Niko pinned her in that unnerving green stare. “What aren’t you telling me, Emily? Is he dying?”
“Aren’t we all, to one extent or another?”
“Don’t play mind games with me. I asked you a straightforward question. I’d like a straightforward answer.”
“Okay. His age is against him. Although he’d never admit it, he’s very frail. It wouldn’t take much for him to suffer a relapse.”
“I can pretty much figure that out for myself, so what else are you holding back?”
Pavlos spared her having to reply. “What the devil are the pair of you whispering about?” he inquired irascibly.
Casting Niko an apologetic glance, she said, “Your son was just explaining that you might not care for the new bed he ordered. He’s afraid you’ll think he was interfering.”
“He was. I broke my hip, not my brain. I’ll decide what I do and don’t need.”
“Not as long as I’m in charge.”
“Don’t boss me around, girl. I won’t put up with it.”
“Yes, you will,” she said equably. “That’s why you hired me.”
“I can fire you just as easily, and have you on a flight back to Vancouver as early as tomorrow.”
Recognizing the empty threat for what it really was, she hid a smile. Exhaustion and pain had taken their toll, but by morning he’d be in a better frame of mind. “Yes, sir, Mr. Leonidas,” she returned smartly, and swung the wheelchair toward the bedroom. “Until then, let me do my job.”
Niko had seized the first opportunity to vacate the premises, she noticed, and could have slapped herself for the pang of disappointment that sprouted despite her best efforts to quell it. The faithful Georgios, however, remained on the scene, anxious and willing to help wherever he could. Even so, by the time Pavlos had managed a light meal and was settled comfortably for the night, darkness had fallen.
Damaris, the housekeeper, showed Emily upstairs to the suite prepared for her. Decorated in subtle shades of