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All the way down the motorway, as the low-slung, powerful car cruised through the miles at a constant high speed, overtaking everything else on the road, Nikos knew he was in two minds. Two minds that weren’t going to come together. Could never come together.
One mind told him very, very clearly that he really, adamantly, definitely shouldn’t be doing this.
The other mind told him that there was nothing untoward whatsoever in doing it. It was a simple, rational, ordinary decision. Nothing to have doubts about.
After all, why should it be? His secretary had informed him that the particular historical architectural consultant he wanted, one of the country’s leading experts on the period in question, would at short notice, owing to a cancellation, be able to meet him and go over the property with him. There was no absolute necessity for him to meet the man—he could, if he wished, simply hand the project over to one of his managers. But still, the architect in question was prestigious—knighted by the Queen, no less—and a recognised expert whose priority was restoration, not profit. Nikos did not want to come across as nothing more than a foreign businessman to whom the commercial aspects of the acquisition took precedence over the imperative of cultural preservation. Besides, no commercial gain could be realised if the restoration was not carried out perfectly, and by using this particular expert it would lend considerable cachet to the enterprise as a whole.
So Nikos’s foot pressed down on the accelerator, and the powerful car scythed forward. It made sound, hard-headed business sense to meet the man today and expedite the restoration project thereby. And hard-headed business decisions were what Nikos always made. Unswayed by any other considerations.
His mouth tightened. There had been one time and one time only when he had nearly broken that rule.
He never had since.
Which was why he could right now afford to ignore the nagging that was going on in the other half of his mind. The one that said that he should have postponed this trip for a fortnight, that the last thing he should be doing was going within a hundred miles of the place.
Another thought flickered in his mind. He should have brought one of his managers with him. That would have been sensible. He’d need to appoint someone to oversee the project and report progress to him, so he really should have made a selection from his London team and driven down with him now.
A shrug moved his powerful shoulders. Well, he hadn’t. That was all. He was meeting the architect on his own, and that was that. The project manager he appointed could make his own contact with the architect’s consultancy office and take over from there. There was no need for him to be at this initial meeting.
Silencing the nagging, he went on driving.
Sophie leaned back on her heels and surveyed her handiwork. It really was encouraging how much better the garden looked now, after four solid days of clearing and digging. Pointless it might be, if no one continued her work and it went to weeds again, but at least it was within the scope of a single person to tackle it.
The place had become her haven. She welcomed the solitude, the absence of anyone else, and if it had been a little unnerving the first night to be so alone she had swiftly got used to it, welcoming the nocturnal silence punctuated only by the hooting of owls and the occasional bark of a fox. During the days no one came, and she relished the uninterrupted peace and quiet.
Stretching her muscles, she picked up the trowel again.
And stilled.
A car engine. A low, throaty note. Clearly approaching the house along the front drive. For a second she froze, then made herself stand up, ear cocked. She heard the car come to a halt and the engine cut out. There was a pause, then the slam of a door. Then nothing again.
She went on standing motionless, trowel in one hand, listening for any more evidence of who had just driven up.
A bad feeling started to go through her. She knew the kind of car that made that kind of throaty engine noise. Knew the kind of man who drove them. Had been driven by one herself in another life, a life long turned to ashes.
She wondered what to do. Retreat inside? Shut the doors and windows? Pretend she wasn’t in? Almost she gave a nervous laugh, then stifled it. Oh, what the hell did she care if Nikos turned up here? What was it to her? Nothing—nothing at all! Just as she was nothing to him. Nothing. Ever again.
She dropped down to her heels and started attacking the nettles again, viciously jabbing at the soil around them so she could root them out. Root them out without them stinging her. Just as she had had to root out Nikos from her life—her heart. Her memory.
But digging him out had stung her mortally.
