From Dirt to Diamonds

The thought formed in her mind and seemed strange to her.

Abruptly he spoke, breaking the moment. ‘How are your feet? Any blisters?’

She shook her head slowly. ‘I don’t think so. They’re very good boots.’

‘Yes, but you should have broken them in more easily. I set a hard pace on the way up.’

She didn’t answer, just turned back to look at the panorama again, leaning forward, away from him.

Angelos looked at the back of her head. ‘If it was too hard for you, you should have said.’ He paused. ‘I’d have slowed down.’

She still said nothing.

‘You don’t ask favours, do you, Kat?’ he said slowly.

‘I did once,’ she said. Her voice was hollow. ‘But I learnt my lesson.’

There was silence broken only by the keening wind.

‘Not all of them,’ said Angelos softly.

Her head turned and their eyes clashed unseeingly. Behind the safety net of her dark glasses she could only stare at him.

‘What do you mean?’ Her voice was sharp. He could hear a bite in it, but it was not of anger. Something different. Fear?

‘Relax, Kat. Do you imagine I’m going to toss you over the edge?’

He saw her flinch, saw her try to stop it being visible. Emotion jabbed in him. He swore. Then, deliberately lightening the moment, he said, ‘If nothing else, think of the scandal for me …’

‘It could look like an accident. No witnesses.’ Her voice was tight. Was she serious in what she said? She knew she wasn’t—how could she possibly be?—and yet … ‘It would be the ultimate destruction,’ she heard her voice say.

He swore again volubly, in Greek. ‘I should be angry with you for such an imputation! But I will make allowances for you. Kat.’ He took a breath. ‘You paid your dues. I made sure of that. So, whether you deny or admit your guilt for what you did, your slate is clean on that account. Now that you’ve relinquished the Honourable Giles I won’t persecute you any further. But I couldn’t let you make a fool of the man the way you made a fool of—’

He stopped. Then he climbed to his feet. ‘Time to head back,’ he said abruptly.

By the time they reached the chalet Thea was feeling it. Descending was harder on the muscles, she discovered, than ascending, and her legs were trembling by the time she was unlacing her boots in the chalet’s porch. But she said nothing, made no complaint. Only nodded when Angelos, glancing at her, told her, ‘Have a long soak in the bath before you do anything else.’

She did what he said, easing her aching muscles. Afterwards she wrapped herself up in the big fleecy bathrobe that came with the bathroom and padded out on to the balcony. It was early evening, no longer warm, and looking back along the valley she could see the lights of the village way below at the far distant end. Ahead of her, the huge open space was filled with darkening air, and high above pale stars were beginning to show in the sky, with the highest peaks still tinged with the last of the day’s light.

She felt tired—tired in all her muscles—and yet a sense of well-being held her. She didn’t know why. It should be impossible. But it was so, all the same. For quite some time she stood there, arms resting on the wooden balcony, just looking out and feeling the improbable peace of the evening.

Everything seemed very far away. Very distant.

She tried to conjure Giles’s face to mind, but it would not come. Only a handful of days ago she had thought her future lay with him, that she had achieved her heart’s desire. But it had been ripped from her. Ripped to pieces.

Once before her life had been ripped to pieces. But she had remade it—better.

And I will do so again. As often as it takes.

She stared out over the darkening valley at the mountain peaks, high and pristine, untouchable. She didn’t see the tall figure emerge at the far end of the balcony, his head turned towards her, standing as still as she, watching her.

Nor the questioning frown between his eyes as he did so.

Thea knew that dinner that night would not be easy, and when she went down, summoned by Trudi, the young maid, her tension levels were high again. She had dressed for comfort, wearing a pair of leggings and a long, soft sweater in teal-blue lambswool. She’d tied her hair up, and wore no make-up. Yet even dressed so casually she still felt Angelos’s eyes on her as she walked into the lounge. He too was dressed casually, wearing another cashmere sweater—navy—with loose khaki chinos. He’d ruched back the sleeves of the sweater, and Thea moved her gaze away from his strong, tanned forearms. But looking at his face was no better. No better at all. His hair was damp, feathering at his nape and brow, and he was freshly shaved. She dragged her eyes away, looking instead at the wood fire crackling in the stone hearth. The whole room was ridiculously cosy, softly lit from old-fashioned lamps, with a huge rug in front of the hearth and sofas you could sink into.

Angelos was drinking a lager, and Franz, the older of the two manservants, dutifully asked what the fraulein might like to drink. Thea asked for fruit juice, and received a g

lass as tall as Angelos’s, with similar pale gold contents, but the liquid was slightly fizzing apple juice.