Angel of Death

‘That’s not good enough! Ring him again, tell him he either shows up at once or we’ll get someone else.’

The police loomed up. ‘Time to go.’

They seized Sean by the arm, one on each side.

‘You hear me, Dad?’ Sean resisted them, glaring at his father.

‘I hear you,’ Terry wearily said.

He had just remembered that Bernie’s son was coming today to look over his books, check out the firm’s situation and prospects. The day that had started so badly was probably going to get worse.

He would have to ring up and postpone his flight to Greece after all. There was no way he was going away with those bastards coming. He had to be there to protect his interests.

Miranda had dinner with Alex that evening, in the hotel restaurant. While they were eating a dessert of figs and crème caramel which was both very rich and very subtle, Milo brought him a folded slip of paper.

‘This just arrived from the office in Piraeus. They faxed it to us at once.’

‘Thanks, Milo.’

When Milo had gone Alex looked at the printed words, his black brows rising. He glanced across the table at Miranda.

‘Finnigan isn’t coming after all. He says an urgent matter has arisen. He’ll make a new appointment when he’s free.’

She breathed a long sigh of relief. ‘Thank heavens for that! I wonder why he changed his mind?’

‘No doubt the police have charged his son and Finnigan has to stay there to deal with the fall-out. Perhaps he and his lawyers are trying to get bail for the boy.’

‘Do you think they’ll succeed?’

‘I can’t see the police agreeing. This is a murder charge. They won’t want a killer roaming the streets. Not now they’ve got the evidence they needed to charge him.’

She sipped her white Greek wine, staring at the candles on the table. Their flames flickered and dipped as someone walked past, pausing beside them.

‘Hello, Alex,’ slurred a sexy, sensuous voice and Miranda looked up to see Elena in a sensational white crepe dress which clung to every slender inch of her body.

‘Elena,’ he said, rising. ‘You look like a Greek goddess. Still enjoying your holiday?’

She leaned towards him, her red mouth brushing his lingeringly. ‘Mmm . . . yes.’ Her dark eyes shot to Miranda’s face. ‘I don’t think we’ve met, have we?’

They had, of course, and she was sure Elena remembered.

‘Miranda is the hotel translator,’ Alex said.

‘Oh, just one of the staff,’ Elena dismissed.

Miranda flushed under the icy sting of her scorn. But it was true, wasn’t it? She was just one of the hotel staff, whereas Elena was an old family friend who had once been engaged to Alex. She had hurt him badly once – was he still in love with her?

‘We must have dinner, Alex, talk about old times,’ Elena said.

‘Yes, we must do that,’ he agreed, standing. ‘Miranda, I’ll walk you back to your bungalow.’

They were silent as they walked through the gardens. What was he thinking about? she wondered, glancing sideways at his hard, tanned profile. Elena?

He insisted on going into the bungalow first, to make sure nobody had got inside, went into every room to check the place was empty. Miranda waited at the door. The emergency was over, Terry wasn’t coming, she was safe for the moment, perhaps for ever.

Poor Terry. She couldn’t help being sorry for him. It wasn’t his fault his son was rotten. Some people might blame the parents, people often did blame parents for what their children did, but Sean’s weakness and viciousness was in his face, must have been visible all his life. His genes were to blame, not his upbringing. Heredity had determined how he would react that day. Who knew from which set of genes his weakness came – from his mother’s family, or his father’s?

Terry was a worker, tough, determined, with guts and character. She couldn’t believe his family had provided Sean’s genes.