against the seat and closed her eyes.
Angelos continued to study her for a moment, wondering how she’d ended up in his office. How had she even heard of the advertisement, and why had she come without a CV? Questions, he decided, he would not ask her in the noisy confines of the helicopter, with Sofia trying to catch every word. He would have time to discover just who his new nanny was later, and make sure she was an appropriate companion for his daughter.
His gaze moved to Sofia; she was leaning towards the window, watching the sea slide by. She never liked leaving the safety of Kallos, and she seemed to shrink even more into herself whenever he took her to Athens. He knew people stared at her scarred face, and the attention made Sofia embarrassed and exceedingly shy. He was grateful that Talia Di Sione, for all her idiosyncrasies, had not once made Sofia feel ashamed of her scar.
‘Look, Papa,’ Sofia called in Greek, and he leaned forward to see a sleek white sailboat cutting through the blue-green waters.
‘Beautiful,’ he murmured, and then glanced back at Talia. She still had her eyes closed. Impulsively he reached over and touched her shoulder. Her eyes flew open and she jerked upright as if he’d branded her with a hot poker.
‘Relax,’ he said. ‘I just thought you might appreciate the view.’
‘I’d rather just get onto land,’ Talia muttered, but she obligingly looked out the window of the helicopter, and Angelos watched as her face softened into a smile as she took in the stunning vista of sea and sky.
‘I always wanted to see the Greek islands,’ she said.
‘You have not been here before?’
‘No, this was my first time in Athens.’
‘How long had you been in the city?’
She shot him a wry look. ‘About six hours.’
‘Six hours?’ Angelos frowned. ‘Do you mean you arrived in Athens today?’ She nodded. ‘But what on earth made you apply for the job, having just arrived?’
She looked away, seeming uneasy. Suspicion hardened inside him. What was going on with this woman? ‘It seemed like a good idea,’ she said at last.
Angelos didn’t answer. He could see Sofia looking at them both and he had no intention of pursuing an uncomfortable line of enquiry with Talia Di Sione when his daughter was present. But he would get to the bottom of why she was here.
Fifteen minutes later the helicopter began to make its descent to Kallos. As soon as they’d landed Angelos clambered out of the helicopter, and then reached back a hand for Sofia and then Talia.
He was conscious of how small and slender her hand felt in his as she stepped down onto the rocky earth, shading her eyes with her other hand as she gazed round the island.
‘Is this a private island?’ she asked.
‘Yes, it is my home. But you will have everything you need. The villa is well supplied by nearby Naxos.’
She nodded slowly, letting out a breath she must have been holding for a while. ‘Okay,’ she said, and she sounded as if she were talking to herself. ‘Okay.’
Angelos led the way from the helipad to the villa. The salt-tinged sea breeze buffeted him and the sun was hot above and for a moment he breathed in the air and let himself relax. Let himself believe that he had things under control, that Sofia was safe.
That he’d done the best he could, even when he hadn’t before.
* * *
Talia took several deep breaths of fresh sea air as she followed Angelos and Sofia down the winding path to the sprawling whitewashed villa by the beach. The tension that had been throbbing in her temples since she’d stepped into the helicopter was finally starting to ease.
From the vantage point of the helipad she’d been able to see how small the island was: a large villa with extensive gardens, a staff cottage and a stony, hilly rise to a beach on the other side. Small. But small could be good, she told herself. She didn’t have to feel claustrophobic here. She wasn’t in a closed space, with the open air and sea all around her, and at least she wouldn’t have to deal with a lot of strange people.
Still she felt tense. She felt like sprinting back to the safety of her grandfather’s estate, the quiet studio with its views of sea and sky, where she could paint in blissful solitude. Where she didn’t have to come up hard against all her old fears and insecurities.
She took a deep breath and tilted her face to the sun. She could do this. She was doing this. She’d survived a plane trip, a taxi ride through a heaving city, a helicopter ride and near constant interactions with strangers. It was more than she’d had to deal with in seven years, and it had exhausted her, but she’d survived.
‘Are you all right?’ Angelos called, and Talia realised she’d stopped walking, and had dropped behind Angelos and Sofia.
‘I’m fine,’ she said, and hurried down the path to join her employer and his daughter.
As they came into the villa, the rooms airy and spacious and light, a housekeeper bustled up to them, exclaiming in Greek as she kissed Sofia on both cheeks. Then she stopped in front of Talia and, planting her hands on ample hips, gave her a thorough once-over with narrowed eyes. She spoke to Angelos, who answered in Greek. Talia had no idea what they were saying, but she suspected she’d come up wanting in the housekeeper’s well-trained eye.
‘Do I pass?’ she asked Angelos when there was a break in the conversation. She’d meant to sound teasing but it came out anxious instead. Tension knotted her stomach muscles again as she realised afresh how strange this all was. And she really didn’t like strange.
Angelos looked startled, and then his mouth compressed in a way she was already finding familiar. ‘My housekeeper’s opinion is of no concern. I have already hired you.’
‘It’s that bad, huh?’ Talia only half joked. At least this time she sounded light, even if she didn’t feel it. ‘I know my dress is wrinkled, but I have been on a plane.’
He inclined his head towards the stairs. ‘Maria will show you your room. You will have time to refresh yourself and dress appropriately before dinner.’
The man had no sense of humour, Talia decided as she followed Maria up the stairs. No sense of compassion or friendliness or sensitivity. He was a machine. A robot. A drone...
She was so busy thinking she almost slammed into Maria’s substantial form as the housekeeper stopped in the doorway of a bedroom.
‘Your room,’ she said in heavily accented English, and Talia peeked around her to see a gorgeous room decorated in sea-green and cream, the louvered shutters of the windows open to the beach.
‘It’s lovely,’ she said. ‘Efharisto.’ Maria grunted her grudging approval at Talia’s passable Greek, and then with her fingers mimed seven o’clock. ‘Dinner at seven?’ Talia guessed, and as the housekeeper nodded and left she wondered if she could take a crash course in Greek.
She moved to the windows, taking in the spectacular sight. Gardens bursting with bougainvillea and heliotrope ran down a sloping hill to the beach, a stretch of white sand that met up with the blue-green water, just like in Sofia’s picture.
The housekeeper had directed Sofia to the kitchen as soon as they arrived, and judging from the tantalising baking smells coming from that direction, Talia had suspected there was a snack in store. Her own stomach growled at the thought and she checked her watch. Two hours until dinner. Time, hopefully, to make herself presentable, although she had a feeling Angelos Mena would judge her wanting no matter what she wore or how much effort she took with her appearance. But at least he’d hired her.
Still Talia relished a soak in the huge marble tub, washing away the grime of nearly twenty-four hours of travel and reviving her tired spirits. She unpacked her single suitcase, realising belatedly that she had not brought nearly enough for six weeks. In fact,