The Greek Tycoon's Achilles Heel. Lucy Gordon

you were brooding about something.’

      In fact she’d been brooding about the stranger’s words.

       ‘When he’s decided that he can fit you in with his other commitments he’ll return and take his pleasure at his own time and his own convenience.’

      That was not going to happen, she resolved. If he returned tonight he would find her missing.

      ‘Do you mind if I come to the port to see you off?’ she asked suddenly.

      ‘Darling, that would be lovely. But I thought you’d be planning a wild night out.’

      ‘Not me. I don’t have your energy.’

      In the car on the way to the port they drank champagne. Once on board, Homer showed her around the stately edifice with vast pride, finishing in the great bedroom with the bed big enough for six, covered with gold satin embroidered cushions.

      ‘Now we must find a husband for you,’ he declared expansively.

      ‘No, thank you,’ Petra hurried to say. ‘My one experience of marriage didn’t leave me with any desire to try again.’

      Before he could reply, her cellphone rang and she answered.

      ‘I’m afraid my manners left something to be desired,’ said a man’s voice. ‘Perhaps I can make amends by taking you to dinner?’

      For a moment she floundered. She had her speech of rejection ready prepared but no words would come.

      ‘I’m not sure—’

      ‘My car’s just outside the house.’

      ‘But I’m not there. I’m in Piraeus.’

      ‘It won’t take you long to return. I’ll be waiting.’

      He hung up.

      ‘Cheek!’ she exploded. ‘He just takes it for granted I’ll do what he wants.’ Seeing them frowning, she added, ‘Lysandros Demetriou. He wants to take me to dinner, and I wasn’t given much chance to say no.’

      ‘That sounds like him,’ Homer said approvingly. ‘When he wants something he doesn’t waste time.’

      ‘But it’s no way to treat a lady,’ Estelle said indignantly.

      He grinned and kissed her. ‘You didn’t seem to mind.’

      As they were escorting her off the yacht Petra suddenly had a thought.

      ‘How did he know my cellphone number? I didn’t give it to him.’

      ‘He probably paid someone in my household to find out,’ Homer said as though it was a matter of course. ‘Goodbye, my dear.’

      She hurried down the gangplank and into the car. On the journey back to Athens she tried to sort out her thoughts. She was angry, but mostly with herself. So many good resolutions ground to dust because of a certain tone in his voice.

      On impulse she took out her phone and dialled the number of Karpos, an Athens contact, an ex-journalist whom she knew to be reliable. When he heard what she wanted he drew a sharp breath.