скачать книгу бесплатно
‘Spiti,’ Talia said, remembering Sofia’s drawing, and surprise flickered in Angelos’s mahogany eyes.
‘Yes, home.’ He paused, his gaze sweeping over her in a way that made goose bumps rise on Talia’s arms. ‘So you do know a little Greek.’
‘Very little.’ Talia dragged a deep breath into her lungs and tried to force her mind to clear. She felt a hot tide of embarrassment wash over her to think how weak and helpless she must have looked to Angelos Mena, practically collapsing in his office. It was just that she hadn’t eaten anything for hours, and the emotional and physical exhaustion of dealing with so many strange things had finally overwhelmed her. But she was better now. She’d make herself be.
She straightened, putting the glass of juice on the desk with a clink. ‘Mr—Kyrie Mena, I’m afraid this has all got a little out of hand...’ She felt another blush rising as Angelos’s eyebrows snapped together in irritated confusion. If she told him the real reason for her being here now, he’d be utterly furious. She might have only met the man a few minutes ago, but she knew him well enough to understand that Angelos Mena would be enraged to learn she actually had no intention or interest in being his daughter’s nanny.
Except...could she really say that? Talia’s gaze slid to Sofia, who was watching her anxiously, her dark hair swinging in front of her face to hide her scarred cheek. Sofia met her gaze and gave a fragile smile.
‘Parakalo,’ she whispered, which Talia knew meant please. ‘Come,’ she added, her voice tentative, the English word sounding hesitant on her lips.
Talia’s heart twisted hard in sympathy, just as it had when she’d first laid eyes on this girl. Sofia wanted her to come, and it was only for six weeks. And surely in six weeks she’d find an opportunity to ask Angelos about the book, even to get him to give her the book. More importantly, she might be able to help Sofia. At least she could offer her friendship.
Why shouldn’t she accept this job?
Because it was strange and unexpected, and she’d have to deal with all sorts of things she’d avoided for the last seven years. Because she was in no position to help anyone, when she hadn’t been able to help herself. When she was already out of her depth, suffering panic attacks, afraid of the future.
And never mind her own deficiencies, by accepting this job she’d be deceiving this family, even if it was out of good intentions. She was pretty sure Angelos Mena would see her actions as questionable, perhaps even reprehensible. She was no nanny.
‘I...’ she began, helplessly, because she had no idea what to do. Sofia was gazing at her with puppy dog eyes and Angelos Mena was clearly seething with impatience. How could she refuse? How could she not?
‘You did come here to apply for the position, didn’t you, Miss Di Sione?’ Angelos demanded. ‘I am now offering you the position. Are you prepared to take it or not?’
Still Talia hesitated, caught by Sofia’s silently imploring look. She turned back to Angelos, whose gaze was narrowed, everything about his powerful form exuding impatience and irritation. ‘Yes,’ she said, the word catching in her throat. She cleared her throat, and then lifted her chin. ‘I am.’
The words seemed to set everything in motion, and the next hour was a blur as Angelos barked out orders to his assistant and Talia was shunted back to the reception area with Sofia. She got out her pad and pencils while people bustled around them, and she and Sofia took turns drawing funny pictures, laughing softly together, until Angelos stood before them, hands on trim hips, his dark and commanding gaze fastened on Talia in a way that made every thought evaporate from her brain.
‘Where are your things, Miss Di Sione?’
‘Um, back at the hotel where I checked in.’
‘And that is?’
‘Near the Acropolis...’
Angelos let out a sigh, no more than a hiss of breath. ‘The name of the hotel, please?’
‘The Adriana,’ Talia recalled, wishing she could act a bit more with it in front of Angelos Mena. She’d dealt with plenty of rich and powerful people through her work as a portrait artist, but no one had reduced her to insensible babbling the way Angelos Mena did with his narrowed gaze and overwhelming presence, not to mention his obvious annoyance. He clearly did not suffer fools gladly, and from the moment she’d entered his impressive office she’d felt like a fool.
‘I’ll arrange for someone to collect your bags,’ Angelos said. ‘In the meantime you can wait here with Sofia.’ He strode away without waiting for her reply, and Talia watched him leave. He had not even looked at his daughter, much less spared her a kind word or a smile.
She glanced at Sofia, wondering how they were going to overcome the language barrier for the next six weeks. ‘Perhaps you should teach me some Greek,’ she suggested, and Sofia’s forehead furrowed. ‘Elinika,’ she tried, fishing for the few phrases of Greek she’d learned on the plane trip over here. She touched her mouth to indicate speaking, and Sofia brightened.
‘Ne, ne.’ She pointed to her chest. ‘Speak Anglika.’
Talia nodded, smiling in understanding. ‘We can teach each other.’
They spent the next hour teaching each other words and phrases in both English and Greek, amidst much laughter when one of them, usually Talia, got it wrong.
‘Gi-neck-a,’ Talia repeated after Sofia. ‘Now what is that?’ Laughing, Sofia pointed to her. ‘Nanny?’ Talia guessed. ‘American? Foreigner?’
‘Woman,’ Angelos said quietly, and everything in Talia jolted as she turned to look at him. He was standing in front of them, gazing at her with an inscrutable expression, which was better than his usual scowl, although it still made Talia feel uncertain. ‘Gyneka,’ he added, making Talia realise she’d butchered the pronunciation once again. ‘Woman.’ For a second, no more, his gaze remained on Talia; she felt as if he’d pinned her there, so she was unable to look away, or even to breathe.
Then he flicked his gaze away, towards his daughter. Talia couldn’t understand the Greek but the quick jerk of his head towards the elevator conveyed his meaning well enough. It was time to go.
She slipped the pad and pencils back into her bag and stood with Sofia. Angelos turned back to her.
‘The helicopter is ready, and your things have been fetched from the hotel.’
‘Helicopter...’ She stared at him in alarm. ‘You didn’t say anything about a helicopter.’
Angelos frowned. ‘How else would we get to Kallos?’
‘By car?’ she guessed hopefully, and Angelos’s nostrils flared.
‘Kallos is an island, Miss Di Sione. We will travel there by helicopter. It should only take an hour.’
An island. She thought of Sofia’s drawing, the blue water, the beach. Of course it was an island.
She realised she must have been gaping at him because Angelos’s lips compressed as he looked at her. ‘Is that a problem?’ he asked, his tone deceptively mild.
‘No, of course not.’ But she was lying, because she could already feel the panic starting its insistent staccato pulse inside her. What on earth was she doing, going goodness knew where with this stranger? In a helicopter?
Her breath hitched and Angelos glanced at her. ‘You aren’t going to faint again?’
‘No,’ Talia said with far more certainty than she felt. In the past twenty-four hours she’d gone about five thousand miles outside her comfort zone. She wasn’t sure she could manage another step.
Then she felt a small, cold hand slide into hers and she looked down to see Sofia smiling at her. ‘Okay?’ she asked, and Talia was touched and humbled by the girl’s obvious concern.
‘Okay,’ she confirmed shakily, and hand in hand they walked towards the lift.
Even with Sofia’s support Talia couldn’t keep the fear from kicking up her heart rate as they took the lift up to the top of the building where a helicopter was waiting on a helipad.
She glanced at Angelos, who was striding towards the machine, the wind from the whirring propellers moulding his shirt and suit jacket close to his body so Talia could see the impressive outline of his well-defined pecs. The helicopter looked small and menacing, its curved windshield looking like the giant eyes of a bug. Talia clutched Sofia’s hand harder.
She really didn’t think she could do this.
Angelos climbed into the helicopter, and then reached down first for Sofia’s hand. Talia watched as the little girl clambered easily inside and then sat down. Angelos turned back to her, the wind whipping about him, his hand outstretched. Talia simply stared.
‘Miss Di Sione,’ he shouted over the noise of the propeller blades. ‘Take my hand.’
Talia’s heart was pounding painfully, and her palms were icy and damp with sweat. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t deal with confined spaces, ones where it was impossible to get out. A closed door, a dark room, a locked car...she avoided them all. And the passenger jet she’d been on a few hours ago had been hard enough, but a helicopter...
And then suddenly she thought of Giovanni smiling at her as he’d given her his instructions. ‘I know you will try your hardest. And you will succeed.’
Taking a deep breath, she reached for Angelos’s hand and then she let him pull her up into the helicopter. She practically collapsed into her seat, her legs rubbery and her heart thudding sickly. She had just managed to jam her seat belt together when the helicopter lifted off the building and began its ascent into a cloudless blue sky, heading for the Aegean Sea.
CHAPTER THREE (#u672c490c-99f8-5410-897b-0ac9286011a3)
ANGELOS STUDIED HIS new nanny, noting dispassionately how pale she’d gone, her eyes closed as she leaned back against the seat and took several deep, even breaths. What on earth was the woman’s problem?
‘Do you suffer from travel sickness?’ he asked abruptly, raising his voice to be heard above the noise of the helicopter, and her eyes flew open.
‘No.’
‘Then why do you look so terrible?’
‘You’re quite the flatterer, aren’t you,’ she muttered, and Angelos stared at her, nonplussed.
‘You look as if you are about to be sick.’
‘You’d better hope I’m not,’ Talia answered, and he grimaced in distaste.
‘Indeed, I do. It would make for a most unpleasant journey.’
‘That it would.’ Talia let out a shuddering breath as she shifted in her seat. ‘And it’s already pretty awful.’
‘You do not like helicopters.’
‘No.’ She’d closed her eyes again, her face scrunched up, and Angelos inspected her for another moment. Her hair was going curly in the heat and he could see a sprinkling of golden freckles across her nose. He wondered how old she was, and realised afresh how little he knew about her besides her name. What on earth had possessed him to hire her?
Talia opened her eyes and turned to Sofia. ‘You don’t mind helicopters,’ she remarked, and with a bit of playacting, miming the propeller blades and making a face, she communicated her meaning.
Sofia grinned. ‘Home,’ she said in English. ‘I like home.’
‘I like home too,’ Talia said with a sigh. ‘But I’m sure I’ll like yours as well.’ Sofia wrinkled her nose, not understanding, and Talia leaned over and patted her hand before she sank back 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.
