‘I’m sorry. Shouldn’t I have said that?’
He rose sharply and strode back to the gap in the glass wall and stood gazing out into the night. She followed cautiously.
‘She made me trust her,’ he whispered.
‘But sometimes it’s right to trust.’
‘No,’he insisted. ‘Nobody is ever as good as you think they are, and sooner or later the truth is always there. The more you trust someone, the worse it is when they betray you. Better to have no illusions, and be strong.’
‘But that would be terrible, never to believe in anything, never to love or hope, never be really happy—’
‘Never to be wretched,’ he said harshly. ‘Never to be alive,’ she said with gentle urgency. ‘It would be a living death, can’t you see that? You’d escape suffering, but you’d also lose everything that makes life worth living.’
‘Not everything. There’s power. You’d gain that if you did without the other things. They’re only weaknesses.’
‘No,’ she said, almost violently. ‘You mustn’t give in to that way of thinking or you’ll ruin your life.’
‘And what do you know about it?’ he demanded, angry now. ‘You’re a child. Has anyone ever made you want to smash things and keep on smashing until nothing is left alive—including yourself?’
‘But what do you gain by destroying yourself inside?’ she demanded.
‘I’ll tell you what you gain. You don’t become—like this.’ He jabbed a finger at his heart.
She didn’t have to ask what he meant. Young as he was, he lived on the edge of disaster, and it would take very little to push him over. That was why he dared to stand here, defying the fates to do their worst.
Pity and terror almost overwhelmed her. Part of her wanted to run for her life, get far, far away from this creature who might become a monster if something didn’t intervene. But the other part wanted to stay and be the one to rescue him.
Suddenly, without warning, he did the thing that decided her, something terrible and wonderful in the same moment. Lowering his head, he let it fall against her shoulder, raised it, dropped it again, and again and again. It was like watching a man bang his head against a brick wall, hopelessly, robotically.
Appalled, she threw her arms around him and clutched a restraining hand over his head, forcing him to be still. His despair seemed to reach out to her, imploring her comfort, saying that only she could give it to him. To be needed so desperately was a new experience for her and, even in the midst of her dismay, she knew a kind of delight.
Over his shoulder she could see the drop, with nothing to protect him from it. Nothing but herself. She gripped him tight, silently offering him all she could. He didn’t resist, but now his head rested on her shoulder as though the strength had drained out of him.
When she drew back to see his face the bitter anguish had gone, leaving it sad and resigned, as though he’d found a kind of peace, albeit a bleak and despairing peace.
At last Lysandros gave her a faint smile, feeling deep within him a desire to protect her as she had tried to protect him. There was still good in the world. It was here in this girl, too innocent to understand the danger she ran just by being here with him. In the end she would be sullied and spoiled like the rest.
But not tonight. He wouldn’t allow it.
He tapped a number into the code pad and the glass panel closed.
‘Let’s go,’ he said, leading her away from the roof and down into the hotel.
Outside her door he said, ‘Go inside, go to bed, don’t open this door to anyone.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘I’m going to lose a lot more money. After that—I’m going to do some thinking.’
He hadn’t meant to say the last words.
‘Goodnight, Achilles.’
‘Goodnight.’
He hadn’t intended what he did next either, but on impulse he leaned down and kissed her mouth gently.
‘Go in,’ he said. ‘And lock your door.’
She nodded and slipped inside. After a moment he heard the key turn.
He returned to the tables, resigned to further losses, but mysteriously his luck turned. In an hour he’d recovered every penny. In another hour he’d doubled it.
So that was who she was, a good luck charm, sent to cast her spell and change his fortunes. He only hoped he’d also done something for her, but he would probably never know. They would never meet again.
He was wrong. They did meet again.
But not for fifteen years.
CHAPTER ONE
THE Villa Demetriou stood on the outskirts of Athens on raised ground, from which the family had always been able to survey the domain they considered theirs. Until now the only thing that could rival them had been the Parthenon, the great classical temple built more than two thousand years before, high on the Acropolis, far away across the city and just visible.
Recently a new rival had sprung up, a fake Parthenon, created by Homer Lukas, the one man in Greece who would have ventured to challenge either the Demetriou family or the ancient gods who protected the true temple. But Homer was in love, and naturally wished to impress his bride on their wedding day.
On that spring morning Lysandros Demetriou stood in the doorway of his villa, looking out across Athens, irritated by having to waste his time at a wedding when he had so many really important things to deal with.
A sound behind him made him turn to see the entrance of Stavros, an old friend of his late father, who lived just outside the city. He was white-haired and far too thin, the result of a lifetime of self-indulgence.
‘I’m on my way to the wedding,’ he said. ‘I called in to see if you fancied a lift.’
‘Thank you, that would be useful,’ Lysandros said coolly. ‘If I arrive early it won’t give too much offence if I leave early.’
Stavros gave a crack of laughter. ‘You’re not sentimental about weddings.’
‘It’s not a wedding, it’s an exhibition,’ he said sardonically. ‘Homer Lukas has acquired a film star wife and is flaunting her to the world. The world will offer him good wishes and call him names behind his back. My own wish for him is that Estelle Radnor will make a fool of him. With any luck, she will.
‘Why did she have to come to Athens to get married, anyway? Why not make do with a false Greek setting, like that other time?’
‘Because the name of Homer Lukas is synonymous with Greek shipbuilding,’ Stavros said, adding quickly, ‘after yourself, of course.’
For years the companies of Demetriou and Lukas had stood head and shoulders above all others in Greece, or even in the world, some reverently claimed.
They were opponents, foes, even outright enemies, but enemies who presented a civilised veneer to outsiders because it was profitable to do so.
‘I suppose it might be a real love-match,’ Stavros observed cynically.
Lysandros raised his eyebrows. ‘A real—? How many times has she been married? Six, seven?’
‘You should know. Weren’t you a guest at one of the previous weddings, years ago?’
‘Not a guest. I just happened to be in the Las Vegas hotel where it was held and watched some of the shenanigans from a safe distance. And I returned to Greece the next day.’
‘Yes, I remember that. Your father was very puzzled—pleased,