The Power of the Legendary Greek by Catherine George Page A

Kalypso I’ll be cut off from any news. At least here I’ve got Eleni and Spiro to keep me up to speed.’
    Alyssa nodded in warm approval as they returned to the terrace. ‘Very wise. You’d be a bit isolated up there. Take my advice, stay on here until you’re really mobile.’
    ‘Et tu, Brute?’ said Isobel wryly.
    ‘No use spouting Latin to me, kyria , I’m Greek! And,’ she added in sudden inspiration, ‘you’re a Brit so you’re bound to like tea. Shall I ask Eleni to make some for us? I’ll mention your change of plan.’
    Isobel laughed and threw up her hands. ‘All right, all right, I give in, KYRIA Nicolaides. I’ll stay on here for a day or two more.’
    ‘Be sure to tell Luke I was the one who persuaded you—he’ll owe me!’
     
    By Greek standards they’d eaten early. But, after Alyssa left to drive home with a message of thanks to her father for the wine, Isobel got ready for bed, suddenly exhausted. She settled herself against stacked pillows with a book, the usual tray of drinks left beside her by Eleni. But, instead of reading, she kept thinking of how near Luke had come to death that day, and frowned. Why did that matter so much? Just a short time ago she’d actively disliked him, but somewhere along the line her feelings towards him had undergone a sea change. Whatever the reason, Isobel gave a great sigh of relief when Luke rang.
    ‘Did I wake you, Isobel?’
    ‘No. How are you?’
    ‘In terrible pain,’ he said promptly. ‘I need a friend to comfort me.’
    ‘No, seriously—’
    ‘I am serious. Are you in bed?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘I need a picture of you as I lie in my own, so tell me what you sleep in.’
    She chuckled. ‘A knee-length blue T-shirt. I go for comfort, not glamour in bed.’
    ‘Glamour enough for me—’ He drew in a sharp breath.
    ‘What’s wrong?’ she demanded.
    ‘My various scrapes and scratches making themselves felt. Sleep well, Isobel.’
    She closed her phone slowly, then turned out the light and slid lower in the bed, yawning. For some reason, just hearing Luke’s voice had been enough to settle her down to sleep. Hoping it had worked the same way for him, she stretched luxuriously and turned her face into her pillows.
     
    Isobel continued work on her watercolour next day, interrupted at intervals by brief phone calls from Luke.
    ‘I am very glad you decided to remain at the villa. Wait there until I come back. Please, Isobel,’ he added, which was so obviously an afterthought she grinned.
    ‘I’ll see,’ was all she would promise, and said nothing about her intention to complete not only the watercolour of the pool before she left, but another of Luke’s beach to go with it. This was more difficult to accomplish when Eleni and Spiro learned what she had in mind, since it meant a lot of argument about working out of doors. But in the end Milos rigged up a canopy to shade Isobel from the sun as she worked at the cliff edge. The study of the pool was for Luke to remind him of her in future. The painting of the beach was for herself, who would need no reminders.
    Isobel received a flying visit from Alyssa before the evening rush at the taverna, and added her bit to the concerns voiced by Eleni and Spiro.
    ‘Are you sure you should be doing this? Though it’s very beautiful,’ said Alyssa, peering over her shoulder. ‘Is that for Luke, too?’
    ‘No. This one’s for me.’
    ‘How’s the ankle?’
    ‘Much better. I’m really speedy with my faithful crutch! It’s good exercise, getting in and out of the house for bathroom breaks. And, before you ask, I’m smothered in suncream and I’m drinking gallons of water and eating whatever Eleni puts in front of me. But thank you for coming, Alyssa.’
    ‘My pleasure. Alex sends his regards, by the way. He saw Luke when he was at the hospital and assures you he’s fine.’
    Isobel raised an eyebrow. ‘Why should Alex assure me ?’
    Alyssa fluttered her eyelashes. ‘Who knows? Now, be