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‘Were there any more rock-slides along the road?' He had finished and stood looking down at her, the shovel swung carelessly over one shoulder.

Miranda shook her head, wondering why she found it difficult to take her eyes off him. He was not even breathing heavily!

‘Then if you’ve finished staring at me as though I were a specimen in a zoo I suggest you get into the Land Rover.’

His biting comment brought her back to her senses. ‘How about Spyros’s car? We can’t leave it here. I promised to take care of it.’

His lips curled in a sneer. ‘That heap of junk? But if it’s your conscience that’s troubling you, I’ll see that it’s returned.’

‘It’s blocking the road,’ she insisted.

‘Since the only person likely to drive along is me,’ he said coldly, ‘it won’t matter for an hour or so. I shall get it moved before I personally escort you off the island.’

There was a threat behind his words that made Miranda go cold inside. Despite the searing heat of the sun she shivered. She felt hurt and defenceless, and the only way she could protect herself was by pretending that his harsh attitude did not affect her.

‘Aren’t you forgetting that Georgios has the final say? Such was our relationship that I can hardly believe he will have had an abrupt change of heart.’ Again those unfathomable eyes narrowed. ‘What a fantastic imagination you have! You’ll be saying next that you and Georgios were lovers.’

Miranda bit back an angry retort and moved towards the Land Rover. He was not worth wasting her breath on.

Surprisingly he opened the door and helped her in. So he was not entirely without manners! But the hand that gripped her arm was far from gentle. Long after he released her she felt the imprint of his fingers, like bands of steel they had flexed round her fragile bones.

She rubbed her arm ruefully as he fetched her suitcase. He tossed it into the Land Rover beside the shovel, finally climbing in himself and starting the engine. Tomorrow she would probably have a bruise.

If she had thought he was big before, in the close confines of the vehicle he took over, filling the space with his powerful body, making her even more aware of the electric vitality he possessed.

The air all but crackled, and she felt that if she touched him she would receive a shock. He manoeuvred the vehicle until it faced back up the hill, a feat she would not have thought possible on that narrow road, knowing that if she had attempted it herself they would have landed up down the mountain slope, wedged between the olive trees.

He drove in silence. There was nothing else they had to say. And although she now had time to look about her, Miranda could not drag her attention away from the man at her side.

Not handsome in the true sense of the word, he nevertheless was striking enough not to be ignored. His face might have been chiselled out of granite, each feature carved deliberately to give it that noble appearance, the high proud brow, the aquiline nose, the wide mouth and implacable jaw, his eyes polished pieces of jet set into that sculptured head.

Miranda wondered whether emotion was ever registered on that face, or if it was always as inflexible as it was now. Even though she was openly studying him he gave no outward sign that he was aware of it, keeping his eyes on the track as it wound its way up the mountainside.

Eventually she tired of looking at someone who was totally immune to her presence, concentrating instead on the impressive rows of olives spread out on all sides of them.

Between some of the trees sheep grazed contentedly in the shade, looking up with mild curiosity as the vehicle passed, turning their attention back to the serious business of grazing as soon as they had gone.

When the trees began to thin and the road grew less steep she guessed they were nearing their destination, and sat forward, eager for her first glimpse of her husband’s home.

It came into sight long before they reached it. An immense white villa with steps leading up to a colonnaded terrace. All windows were shuttered, the red-tiled roof on varying levels. Lush gardens ablaze with colour surrounded it, and a white wall afforded privacy. Not that it looked as though they needed it. She guessed very few people came this way unless they had business with the Alexidis family themselves.

She had expected something grand, but certainly not on this scale. It was surprising that Georgios had chosen to marry her and settle into a conventional three-bedroomed English home—after this! Had he tried to adjust and found it impossible? Was that why he had left and not returned, his mother’s illness a convenient excuse? There was really no comparison between their two lifestyles.

For a moment Miranda wished she had taken Sallianne’s advice and not come chasing after him. But when she turned to her companion and saw the total hardness on his face, his certainty that Georgios would not wish to associate with her, something made her want to see this difficult man put in his place.

He thought it was her disappointment he was about to witness. What a triumph it would be when Georgios was as loving and responsive as he had been in England! And really there was no reason why he should not be. If he was not happy living in London, she knew that she could be happy living here. It need make no difference to their marriage.

So confident was the tall Greek that Miranda would not be staying that he left her suitcase in the Land Rover as he led the way into the house.

He took her into a room kept cool with air-conditioning and filled with beautiful furniture. Slatted shutters let in narrow strips of sunlight which glinted on a striking gold icon set high on one wall.

It irritated her that he seemed so very much at home in the villa, and although he asked her to sit she preferred to remain on her feet, gazing about her with interest, wishing Georgios had told her about this elegant house. It might have made a difference to her marrying him. She had not realised he was quite this rich.

The man turned in the doorway. ‘Your name, please? Georgios will want to know who is calling.’

Should she say Mrs Alexidis? That would shock him out of his calm, that was for sure. She smiled at her own thoughts, quickly containing it when she saw his glare of displeasure. ‘Just tell him it’s Miranda. That should be sufficient to bring him running.’

Heavy lids snapped over condemning eyes as he swung away and the impact made Miranda shudder. Even though he had left the room she felt his presence still, cold and disapproving, an electric tension in the air that held her rigid.

It was a long time before she heard footsteps, but even so she had not moved from her frozen position. Now she walked eagerly towards the door, her love for Georgios warming her. It was going to be all right. That horrid man would disappear into the background of her mind as soon as she was safe in the shelter of her husband’s arms.

She had not expected the hostile Greek to accompany Georgios, and she was surprised and dismayed when he came into the room with him. The two of them confronted her, dark unsmiling figures, bearing a strange resemblance to one another that had not been apparent before. Not so much their looks, but the way they held themselves, the shape of their heads, the glacial expression in their eyes.

‘Georgios!’ She pushed her misgivings away, smiling determinedly and holding out her arms. Taken slightly aback when he made no move towards her, she said brightly, ‘I was so worried when I didn’t hear from you. What happened? Why didn’t you write? Oh, Georgios, I’ve missed you so much!’

Still he looked at her as if she were a stranger. ‘Miranda, I think
my brother said your name was. Miranda who? I’m sorry, I don’t think I know you.’

Had
anyone asked Miranda to describe her feelings at that moment she would have found it impossible. It was a shock to discover that this disagreeable man was Georgios’s brother, but nothing compared to the complete devastation brought about by Georgios denying knowing her. It just couldn’t be true.

She went to him. ‘Of course you remember me— I’m your wife! We got married in London almost four months ago. Georgios! You must remember!’

He looked at her blankly; those dark eyes that she knew so well, that she had seen glazed with desire or softened by laughter, were empty. He glanced at his brother, who shook his head fractionally, sending some unspoken message. ‘You’re mistaking me for someone else. I have never seen you before in my life. I wish I had, you’re very attractive.’

He looked at her golden hair and reached out a tentative hand towards it. It was a gesture he had made many times and always it was the prelude to a caress or a kiss. It was as if the feel of her fine silken hair beneath his fingertips stimulated his emotions.

Miranda quivered as she waited for his touch, her stomach knotted with the familiar reaction of being near him, anticipating what his next move would be.

Her eyes were wide and moist, resting lovingly on his face, confident now that it was a game he was playing, that any second he would laugh and pull her into his arms.

'Georgios!'
His brother’s explosive voice broke the tense silence of those few suspended seconds.

Georgios’s hand dropped to his side and he stepped back.

Miranda’s head jerked in the direction of the older man, her eyes flashing accusingly. ‘This is your doing! For some reason you don’t want me here and you’ve put Georgios up to this—that’s why you were so long. I’d like to speak to him alone
—if
you wouldn’t mind.’

He eyed her coldly. ‘No good could be gained by it. My brother has already confirmed that he doesn’t know you.’

‘An idea put into his mind by you,’ she cried wildly, shaking her head so that her hair flew about her face. What was he up to? What was the reason behind this ridiculous farce? ‘Why would I be here if I didn’t know about Georgios? How would I know about him?’

‘By simply reading your newspapers,’ he snarled. ‘The Alexidis Line shares have shot up lately. We’re riding on the crest of a wave. Don’t tell me you didn’t know? Georgios and myself are the target of many fortune-hunting girls such as yourself.’

So he thought she was after Georgios’s money? ‘I couldn’t care less if Georgios hasn’t got a penny,’ she snapped. ‘I happen to love him, and until he left England he professed to love me. If you’re under some preconceived notion that I married him for his money you’ve got it wrong.’

She turned desperately to Georgios. ‘Tell him! Tell him how happy we were in our new house. Tell him I didn’t even know that you were this rich.’

But he shook his head, a perplexed frown creasing his brow. ‘I’m sorry—er—Miranda. There’s some mistake. I’ve never been to England.’

‘And I didn’t know you were an actor.’ There was a break in her voice. ‘Lord knows why you and your brother have concocted this story. If you’d lost interest in me why couldn’t you have said, instead of
running away like a frightened child? I would have listened, and it would have been far better than the torment you’ve put me through.’

Georgios looked at her anxiously. ‘Please, Miranda, take my word for it, you’ve got the wrong man.’

Again she turned on the elder brother. ‘My congratulations! You’ve done a good job on him. But don’t think I’m going to accept this lying down. I’m not going away from here until I find out why you’re afraid to let Georgios admit he married me!’

She flaunted her hand beneath his nose, the unusual engraved gold ring that Georgios had placed there gleaming in the filtered rays of the sun. ‘Here’s proof, if you need it. The pity is I didn’t bring my marriage certificate. You’d have had no reason then to doubt that I’m telling the truth.’

‘What’s in a ring?’ he said coldly. ‘You could have bought it yourself. I suggest, Miss—er ?’ He paused expectantly.

‘Mrs,’ said Miranda firmly. ‘Mrs Alexidis.’

The black brows knitted firmly. ‘There is only one Mrs Alexidis, and that is my mother. What is your name?’

‘Before I was married it was Martyn,’ she supplied reluctantly. ‘By the way, how is your mother? She’s ill, I believe?’ And how would she have come by that information if she didn’t know Georgios?

‘A touching display of interest,’ he jeered. ‘In fact she’s far from well, and if she discovers the presence of a little gold-digger like you in the house it will do her no good at all. I suggest you leave, now! I will take you to Corfu myself.’

‘Aren’t you going to ask how I knew your mother was ill?’ Miranda felt bewildered by his acceptance that she was aware of the situation.

The cold black eyes flicked over her contempt
uously. ‘Spyros probably told you when he lent you his car. I am well aware that his cousin Petros feeds back news from this house.’

Miranda’s eyes lit up. In that case Petros would know that Georgios had been to England! If she could speak with him she might get an answer to some of her questions. But first of all she had to persuade this despicable character to let her stay.

There was the baby, of course, but she was reluctant to use him as a lever. Not until Georgios admitted his part in their relationship could she confront him with that news. The way the situation was at the moment the older man would think this was yet another part of her plan to claim part of the Alexidis fortune.

But as though he knew exactly what thoughts were running through her mind Georgios’s brother took her arm firmly. ‘Come along—Petros cannot help, he speaks no English. Unless, of course, you understand Greek?’ His lips curved humourlessly. ‘As a matter of fact we’ll take him with us. He can return Spyros’s car.’

‘Theo!’ Georgios suddenly. ‘I think Miranda should be allowed to stay the night at least. It’s too much to expect her to make the return journey the same day. Can’t you see how tired she looks?’

Miranda was subjected to an insolent appraisal, those piercing eyes not missing one inch of her anatomy. Her flat sandals were hardly flattering, and what had once been a crisply pressed sundress now hung from her shoulders like a limp rag.

She felt strained and her make-up had worn off hours ago, and because she had been too keyed up to eat a proper meal before the journey, she felt unusually weak.