Playing by the Greek's Rules (Puffin Island 0.50)

Reflecting that it was that very degree of sentimentality that had made his father the victim of three costly divorces, Niklaus strolled to his desk. ‘Consider the message delivered.’

As the door closed he turned back to the window, staring over the midday sparkle of the sea.

Exasperation mingled with frustration and beneath that surface response lay darker, murkier emotions he had no wish to examine. He wasn’t given to introspection and he believed that the past was only useful when it informed the future, so finding himself staring down into a swirling mass of long-ignored memories was an unwelcome experience.

Despite the air conditioning, sweat beaded on his forehead and he strode across his office and pulled a bottle of iced water from the fridge.

Why should it bother him that his father was marrying again?

He was no longer an idealistic nine-year-old, shattered by a mother’s betrayal and driven by a deep longing for order and security.

He’d learned to make his own security. Emotionally he was an impenetrable fortress. He would never allow a relationship to explode the world from under his feet. He didn’t believe in love and he saw marriage as expensive and pointless.

Unfortunately his father, an otherwise intelligent man, didn’t share his views. He’d managed to build a successful business from nothing but the fruits of the land around him, but for some reason he had failed to apply that same intellect to his love life.

Nik reflected that if he approached business the way his father approached relationships, he would be broke.

As far as he could see his father performed no risk analysis, gave no consideration to the financial implications of each of his romantic whims and approached each relationship with the romantic optimism entirely inappropriate for a man on his fourth marriage.

Nik’s attempts to encourage at least some degree of circumspection had been dismissed as cynical.

To make the situation all the more galling, the last time they’d met for dinner his father had actually lectured him on his lifestyle as if Nik’s lack of divorces suggested a deep character flaw.

Nik closed his eyes briefly and wondered how everything in his business life could run so smoothly while his family was as messy as a dropped pan of spaghetti. The truth was he’d rather endure the twelve labours of Hercules than attend another of his father’s weddings.

This time he hadn’t met his father’s intended bride and he didn’t want to. He failed to see what he would bring to the proceedings other than grim disapproval and he didn’t want to spoil the day.

Weddings depressed him. All the champagne bubbles in the world couldn’t conceal the fact that two people were paying a fortune for the privilege of making a very public mistake.

* * *

Lily dumped her bag in the marble hallway and tried to stop her jaw from dropping.

Palatial didn’t begin to describe it. Situated on the headland overlooking the sparkling blue of the sea, Villa Harmonia epitomised calm, high-end luxury.

Wondering where the rest of the team were, she wandered out onto the terrace.

Tiny paths wound down through the tumbling gardens to a private cove with a jetty where a platform gave direct swimming access to the sea.

‘I’ve died and gone to heaven.’ Disturbed from her trance by the insistent buzz of her phone, she dug it out of her pocket. Her simple uniform was uncomfortably tight, courtesy of all the delicious thyme honey and Greek yoghurt she’d consumed since arriving in Crete. Her phone call turned out to be the owner of the cleaning company, who told her that the rest of the team had been involved in an accident and wouldn’t make it.

‘Oh no, are they hurt?’ On hearing that no one was in hospital but that the car was totalled, Lily realised she was going to be on her own with this job. ‘So if it normally takes four of us four hours, how is one person going to manage?’

‘Concentrate on the living areas and the master suite. Pay particular attention to the bathroom.’

Resigned to doing the best she could by herself, Lily set to work. Choosing Mozart from her soundtrack, she pushed in her earbuds and sang her way through The Magic Flute while she brushed and mopped the spacious living area.

Whoever lived here clearly didn’t have children, she thought as she plumped cushions on deep white sofas and polished glass tables. Everything was sophisticated and understated.

Realising that dreaming would get her fired, Lily hummed her way up the curving staircase to the master bedroom and stopped dead.

The tiny, airless apartment she shared with Brittany had a single bed so narrow she’d twice fallen out of it in her sleep. This bed, by contrast, was large enough to sleep a family of six comfortably. It was positioned to take advantage of the incredible view across the bay and Lily stood, drooling with envy, imagining how it must feel to sleep in a bed this size. How many times could you roll over before finding yourself on the floor? If it were hers, she’d spread out like a starfish.

Glancing quickly over her shoulder to check there was no sign of the security team, she unclipped her phone from her pocket and took a photo of the bed and the view.

One day, she texted Brittany, I’m going to have sex in a bed like this.

Brittany texted back, I don’t care about the bed, just give me the man who owns it.