From Dirt to Diamonds

‘This watch was his twenty-first birthday present to me—the last gift he ever gave me. I’ve worn it every day since.’ He paused, then said deliberately, ‘So you will understand that its value is more than its cost …’

She felt colour run over her cheeks. ‘I’m not proud of what I did,’ she said in a low voice.

‘So why did you?’

The question slipped in like a blade. In her mind’s eye Thea saw the sick, silver glint of the blade in Mike’s hand. She slammed the vision away. She would not think of that—would not think about Kat and what she had done. Why she had done it. It was over, gone—another life. A life she no longer led.

Would never lead again. Whatever Angelos Petrakos did to her.

She gave no answer, and was grateful that their food arrived at that moment. Surprised, too, by the quickening of her appetite as a rich, fragrant meat soup, sprinkled with herbs and enriched with dumplings, was set in front of her.

‘You’d better get used to eating more,’ observed Angelos. ‘The mountain air is infamous for creating appetite.’ He spoke as if he’d never mentioned that she’d stolen his father’s last gift to him. Then he went on, ‘Tell me, how are you at walking?’

Thea’s spoon stayed in mid-lift.

‘Mountain walks,’ said Angelos. ‘It’s what I come here for.’

She stared. The picture of Angelos Petrakos walking over Swiss mountains was not an image she had thought it possible to entertain. How could he be the arrogant Mr Rich and Powerful with nothing around him but mountains?

‘I haven’t any walking boots,’ she replied, for something to say.

‘I’ve had a selection sent up from the village, and a range of suitable clothing.’

Well, that was being Mr Rich again, certainly, she allowed. But then, so was owning a spectacular chalet like this. Yet it still seemed out of keeping with what she knew about him.

But what do I know about him except that he destroys people who cross him?

That was all she needed to know about him.

Nothing else. Nothing about the person he might or might not be. Nothing about where he came from, or what his family had been to him, or his boyhood. Nothing.

And nothing, nothing at all, about the way her eyes wanted to go constantly to him, or the way she could feel his presence, as if she were an antenna, tuning to its frequency.

She dragged her eyes away, dropping them back to her soup bowl.

Angelos watched her from behind his dark glasses. Would she have answered his question had the food not arrived? Would she have attempted to justify her behaviour? Her words echoed— ’I’m not proud of what I did …’

Another echo sounded, from the evening before. ‘No one should be Kat Jones …’

She had changed beyond recognition—except to him. But had she changed enough inside to hate what she’d done as Kat? The question hung in his mind, unanswered, as his gaze rested on her as she ate, taking in her grace, her extraordinary beauty that drew his eye so powerfully.

But one thing he knew. He had been right to bring her here. Here, up in the mountains, with the busy world left far, far behind, at this lofty elevation where the air was crystal, the light clearer, he would see the truth about her.

And the truth of what he wanted of her.

CHAPTER SEVEN

THEA paused a moment, flexing her calf muscles. Angelos was striding ahead of her. He was setting a fast pace, but Thea would not be hurried. She was still getting a feel for the boots, and since she had no idea how far he was expecting her to walk she knew she had to pace herself. They were on a pine-needle path snaking up through the fir trees that encircled the chalet on three sides, shielding it from view of the road far below, and the incline was already getting steeper. It was very quiet and dark in the perpetual shade of the conifers, and when the path led out on to the bare mountain slope she blinked in the dazzling sunlight. Ahead of her, Angelos had paused to put on sunglasses, and she did the same. Then, with nothing more than a glance back at her, he resumed walking.

Thea headed after him, keeping him in view but also gazing around her. It was impossible to do otherwise. The panorama was immense. The steep slope of the mountain side curved away to the road far below, getting further away all the time as they climbed upwards towards the ridge they were clearly heading for. After an hour or so of walking she could feel it in the backs of her legs. But she didn’t care—the scenery around her was too glorious, the air in her lungs like cleansing crystal. She felt—even though she knew it was quite bizarre to feel this way, given why she was here and who she was with—a strange sense of peace.

It was impossible, here in the wide open air, so high above the world, to feel anything else.

After another half an hour she reached the ridge. Angelos had been there for some time, standing framed against the skyline, looking back down at her from time to time.

Angelos Petrakos on his lofty mountaintop, gazing down disdainfully at the common people struggling below …

She said nothing as she finally drew level with him. She was not exactly out of breath, but she knew she was feeling the exertion. He looked at her, eyes still invisible behind his dark lenses, and Thea was glad her eyes were similarly veiled.