Taking her glass she sat down. The furniture was mainly golden oak, the armchairs covered in dark blue velvet which matched the curtains hanging at the windows. She got an impression of tranquillity; the room was cool and elegant. The walls were painted a soft eggshell blue; on them hung family portraits and watercolours of the Greek landscape.
A face caught her attention; younger and softer but familiar all the same, and very beautiful. The woman she had seen with Charles – Elena. Was she a member of the Manoussi family, then?
Watching her, Alex said, ‘Shall I order lunch from room service, or shall we make our own?’
‘Well . . . have you got anything here?’
‘Plenty of salad in the fridge. Would you like fish or lamb with that? I’ve got some lamb chops and some sea bream, or squid.’
‘Sea bream would be lovely.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘I’m a bit dubious about squid, I’m afraid.’
‘We’ll have to teach you to love it. It tastes like chicken, you know.’
‘I’ve been told that, but I can’t get over those tentacles, and the horrible little suckers. When I see squid I keep thinking it is going to slither off the plate and grab me by the throat.’
He laughed. ‘You’re letting your imagination run away with you! By the time it turns up on a plate, it’s dead and has been cooked.’
She shuddered. ‘Maybe, but I still don’t like the look of it. Can I help with the cooking?’
‘Would you make the salad and the dressing while I cook the fish?’
‘Of course.’
‘Well, come through to the kitchen.’
She was still staring at the portrait of Elena. Should she ask Alex about her? Slowly she turned to follow him.
The kitchen was an ultra modern room with high windows through which the sun streamed once Alex had opened the shutters.
The cabinets were made of golden pine, there was a bright yellow range and a tall re
frigerator on top of which sat a tabby cat with a huge, bushy, stripy tail. It stood up, yawning widely, showing sharp little white teeth.
‘Oh, isn’t he sweet? Is it a he?’
‘Yes, but he is not sweet, nor would he want to be if he understood what you were saying. His name is Attila, and his occupation is mostly murder. He prowls through the grounds and kills everything he can catch; mice, rats, shrews, birds. Red in tooth and claw, I’m afraid. Not sweet at all.’
She stood on tiptoe to stroke the cat’s silky head. ‘You’re not an assassin, are you?’ she whispered. It narrowed its eyes to a slit and humped its back, making a growling noise.
‘Careful, he bites and scratches, for no reason at all,’ Alex warned.
A second later the cat launched itself on to her stroking hand, dug its very sharp claws into her and bit her at the same time.
‘Ow,’ she squawked, jumping away.
‘I warned you,’ Alex said, taking her hand and looking with concern at the red marks scarring the smooth surface of her skin. ‘Does it hurt? I’ll find some cream for it.’
‘No, don’t bother. It isn’t serious.’
His long fingers were caressing her hand, sending shivers down her back. She pulled free and he gave her a quick, upward glance but said nothing.
Moving away, he opened the fridge, got out a plate on which lay a shiny, silver-scaled sea bream. Then he got out a large plastic bowl of salad; lettuce, cucumber, green peppers, tomatoes.
He put the salad on the kitchen table, took the fish over to the sink and began preparing it, holding it under a running tap and scraping off the scales with a knife into a bowl. When he had finished he put the bream on a wooden board and neatly gutted it while she watched.
‘Cutlery is in the table drawer right next to you,’ he told Miranda. ‘Vinegar, olive oil, pepper, to make a dressing, you’ll find on the shelf over here.’
She walked over to the shelf and took down the condiments. Alex got a copper frying pan down from the wall, poured a little olive oil into it and set it on top of the range.