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No—she must not allow herself to feel like this! She’d been content enough alone here up till now! Relishing the peace, the silence, the beauty of nature all around. So why, now, should she think she felt alone…restless?
So empty.
So desolate.
She felt tears prick behind her eyelids, but she blinked them away. She would not cry, must not cry, for something that was was impossible. It had been impossible four years ago and it still was—always would be. There was nothing in her life now but the endless grind of doing what she had to do, whatever it took.
With an indrawn breath she would not admit was heavy, she got on with washing the dirt off her hands, wincing slightly at the scratches.
He held my hands, soothed them with his—
No—the shutter sliced down again. Roughly, she dried her hands, flexing her shoulders to loosen them up. But just as she was replacing the hand towel she stilled, every nerve suddenly alert.
It was a car, coming along the drive. And the low, throaty note was all too familiar. Her thoughts churned wildly, but before she could even think coherently the car had drawn to a loud halt by the back door. She heard the engine cut, a door slam. Then Nikos was at the kitchen door, walking right in.
Sophie froze, silenced completely. Inside, she felt her pulse kick into hectic life.
‘I’ve come to take you out to dinner,’ Nikos announced.
For a timeless moment Sophie could only stare up at him.
‘Dinner?’
‘Yes. I’ve made a reservation at the inn I’m staying at. It’s a few miles off, but not too far.’ He spoke as if taking her to dinner were the most natural thing in the world.
She couldn’t speak. Could only stare and swallow helplessly. Then she found words.
‘I can’t go to dinner with you.’ It was baldly said, but inside her head her mind was flailing helplessly, incapable of thought, of rational comprehension. Overwhelming her was emotion.
It was Nikos! Nikos back again—standing right here, right in front of her. Telling her he was taking her to dinner.
A dark eyebrow tilted upwards at her words. ‘You have another engagement?’ he posed.
She felt herself flush. ‘Of course not. But that doesn’t mean I can just—’
‘Why not?’ he interrupted. ‘After all, you’ve been living on short rations for a few days—you must be keen for some more sophisticated fare by now!’
‘I’m perfectly OK here,’ she riposted.
‘Well, now you can have a decent dinner anyway, can’t you?’ He glanced at her attire. ‘You’ll need to change, though.’
‘I haven’t anything suitable for going out,’ she answered. In her mind, painfully, sprang the memory of the extensive wardrobe she had once enjoyed. Every item had long gone.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said. ‘There’s no dress code at the restaurant.’
It wasn’t the answer she wanted. ‘Nikos, this is…’ she began.
Mad, she wanted to say. Insane. Pointless. But the words didn’t come. Helplessly, she fell silent.
‘Go and change,’ he prompted. ‘Don’t be too long—I only had a sandwich for lunch, remember!’
There was light humour in his voice, and she wondered at it. She was still trying to make sense of what was happening. Why on earth was he here to take her to dinner? It was incomprehensible.
It was unbearable.
Her mouth twisted briefly. But then the last four years had taught her that the unbearable still had to be borne…
This was just one more thing that she had to endure. And that was what she would have to do this evening. Get through it. Endure it. Endure the torment of having dinner with Nikos…
Numbly, she found herself turning round and heading upstairs to the little bedroom over the sitting room.
Below, Nikos felt his breath draw in.
Was he really doing the right thing? He silenced his doubts. He’d been through them all since driving away earlier. This was the right thing to do. Somehow he had to make himself immune to Sophie, so that she was no longer haunting him from the past. So that he could see her again and feel nothing about her. Nothing at all.
He could hear her upstairs, the creaking floorboards revealing her activity. She didn’t keep him long, and he could hear the tread of her footsteps coming downstairs as he was locking the garden door. She hadn’t been exaggerating when she had said she had nothing suitable with her—the blouse and skirt she had changed into, though neat and clean, were clearly daywear. Her hair had been simply clipped back into a low ponytail, and she had not bothered with make-up. Well, he told himself bluntly, it was all to the good if she weren’t dressed up. The last thing he wanted was her exacerbating her natural beauty in any way whatsoever.
