‘Which means he’s more dangerous than ever,’ Lysandros said as they dined together. ‘The sooner you’re out of there the better. In the meantime I’ll have a quiet word with him.’

‘No, don’t,’ she begged. ‘I’m quite capable of having my own quiet word, as he’s already discovered. I’m only afraid he’ll spin you some silly story about him and me-’

‘Which you think I’ll be stupid enough to believe?’ Lysandros queried wryly. ‘Credit me with more intelligence than that.’

Nikator seemed to be making an effort. She went downstairs once to find him with a large painting that he’d bought as a gift for his father. It depicted the Furies, terrifying creatures with snakes for hair and blood dripping from their eyes. Petra studied the picture with interest. She’d been conscious of the Furies recently, but now she felt free from them.

‘The point was, they never let up,’ Nikator said. ‘Once they started on you, they’d hound you for ever.’

She wondered if he was sending a message that he would never forgive her for offending him. He would harm her or Lysandros if he could, she was sure of it. But they were both on the watch for him, and surely there was nothing in his power.

The party was going to be the society event of the season. Fellow film stars from Hollywood were flying in to dance, sing and raise their glasses in the fake Parthenon. Every businessman in Athens would be there, hoping to meet a film star, plus some film makers hoping to secure backing from rich men.

When the night came there was no sign of Nikator. Homer grumbled about the disrespect to his bride, but Petra also thought she detected a note of relief.

‘Maybe when you and Lysandros are formally engaged it might be easier,’ her mother said quietly. ‘He’ll have to accept it then. Just don’t take too long about it. It might be the best thing for everyone.’

‘But surely Lysandros is the foe?’

‘A rival, not a foe. If the two families could come together Homer thinks it might be wonderful.’

‘What about Nikator? Surely Homer wouldn’t cut his son out?’

‘Not out of his life or his heart, but out of the shipping business, yes. He could buy him a gaming house, or something else that would give him a good life without threatening people’s jobs in the shipyard.’

It seemed the perfect solution, but Petra wondered if it would offend Nikator’s pride and increase his hatred of Lysandros. Mentally she put it aside to be worried about later. For now all she cared about was the coming evening, when she would see her lover again and dance in his arms.

She’d chosen a dress of blue satin, so dark that it was almost black. It was a tight fit, emphasising her perfect shape, but with a modest neckline, to please Lysandros.

How handsome he was, she thought, watching him approach. Homer greeted him enthusiastically; he replied with smiles and expressions of civility. Petra remembered how Lysandros had cleared Homer of any involvement in Brigitta’s tragedy, saying, ‘To do him justice, he’s a fairly decent man, a lot better than many in this business.’

So it was true what Estelle had suggested. Her marriage to Lysandros might signal a new dawn in the Greek shipping business, and everyone knew it. Including Nikator.

Lysandros did the usual networking with Petra on his arm, and everyone had the chance to study them as a couple.

‘Has anyone told you what they’re all thinking?’ he murmured as they danced.

‘They were lining up to tell me,’ she said with a laugh. ‘We were watched in Corfu. Estelle says we were seen together, driving through the streets and on the boat.’

He shrugged. ‘They’re public places. People were bound to see us. When we marry, I suppose that will be in public as well-’ He smiled and added softly, ‘At least, the first part of it will.’

‘Oh, really?’ she murmured. ‘I don’t remember getting a proposal.’

‘You’ve had a proposal every minute of the last few days and you know it,’ he said firmly. He rather spoilt the autocratic sound of this by murmuring, ‘Siren,’ so softly that his breath on her cheek was almost all she knew.

‘Don’t I get an answer?’ he asked.

‘You had your answer the first time we made love,’ she said. ‘And you hadn’t even asked me.’

‘But now I’ve asked and you’ve answered, we might tell them,’ he suggested.

‘Tell this crowd? I thought you’d hate to be stared at.’

‘As long as they see what I want them to see, that’s all right. If they watch me walking off with the most beautiful woman in the room, I can live with that.’

He tightened his arm around her waist, swirling her around and around while everyone laughed and applauded. Petra remembered that later because it was almost her last moment of unclouded joy.

As they came out of the swirl and her head began to clear she saw something that made her sigh. Even so, she didn’t realise that disaster had walked in. Disaster was called Nikator, and he had a smile on his face. It was a cold, tense smile, but even so it gave no sign of what was about to crash down on her.

‘What’s he up to?’ she asked as he embraced Homer and Estelle.

‘Trying to win forgiveness for turning up late,’ Lysandros remarked. ‘Pretend he doesn’t exist, as I’m doing.’

His words reminded her of how hard it must be for him to appear at ease in Nikator’s presence, and she smiled at him in reassurance.

‘Better still,’ Lysandros said, ‘let’s show him exactly where he stands.’

Before she knew what he meant to do, he’d pulled her closer and laid his mouth on hers in a long kiss, whose meaning left nothing to the imagination.

Now he’d made his declaration to the world. This man, who’d spent so long hiding his true self behind protective bolts and bars, had finally managed to throw them aside and break out to freedom because the one special woman had given him the key. He no longer cared who could look into his soul because her love had made him invincible.

As the kiss ended and he raised his head, his manner was that of a victor. A hero, driving his chariot across the battlefield where his enemies lay defeated, might have worn that air of triumph.

‘Let him do what he likes,’ he murmured to her. ‘Nothing can touch us now.’

She was to remember those words long after.

‘Ah!’ cried Nikator. ‘Isn’t love charming?’

His caustic voice shattered her dream and made her shudder. Nikator had marched across the floor and stood regarding them sardonically, while Homer hurried behind and laid an urgent hand on his son’s arm. Nikator threw it off.

‘Leave me, Father; there are things that have to be said and I’m going to enjoy saying them.’ He grinned straight at Lysandros. ‘I never thought the day would come when I’d have a good laugh at you. You, of all men, to be taken in by a designing woman!’

‘Give up,’ Lysandros advised him gently. ‘It’s no use, Nikator.’

‘But that’s what’s so funny,’ Nikator yelped. ‘How easily you were fooled when you fancied yourself so armoured. But the armour doesn’t cover the heel, does it?’

Even this jibe didn’t seem to affect Lysandros, who continued to regard Nikator with pity and contempt.

‘And your “heel” was that you believed in her,’ Nikator said, jabbing a finger at Petra. ‘You’re too stupid to realise that she’s been playing you for a sucker because there’s something she wanted.’

‘Hey, you!’ Estelle thumped him hard on the shoulder. ‘If you’re suggesting my daughter has to marry for money, let me tell you-’

‘Not money!’ Nikator spat. ‘Glory. Anything for a good story, eh?’

‘What the hell are you talking about?’ Lysandros demanded. ‘There’s no story.’

‘Of course there is. It’s what she lives by, her reputation, getting a new angle on things that nobody else can get. And, oh, boy, did she get it this time!’

Even then they didn’t see the danger. Lysandros sighed, shaking his head as if being patient with a tiresome infant.

‘You won’t laugh when you know what she’s been doing,’ Nikator jeered. ‘Getting onto the press, telling them your secrets, repeating what you said to her-’

‘That’s a lie!’ Petra cried.

‘Of course it’s a lie,’ Lysandros said.

The smiling confidence had vanished from his face and his voice had the deadly quiet of a man who was fighting shock, but he was still uttering the right words.

‘Be careful what you say,’ he told Nikator coldly. ‘I won’t have her slandered.’

‘Oh, you think it’s a slander, do you? Then how does the press know what you said to her at the Achilleion? How do they know you showed her Brigitta’s grave and told her how often you’d stood there and begged Brigitta’s forgiveness? Have you ever repeated that? No, I thought not. But someone has.’

‘Not me,’ Petra said, aghast. ‘I would never-you can’t believe that!’

She flung the last words at Lysandros, who turned and said quickly, ‘Of course not.’

But his manner was strained. Gone was the relaxed joy of only a few minutes ago. Only two of them knew what he had said to her at that grave.

‘It’s about time you saw this,’ Nikator said.

Nobody had noticed the bag he’d brought with him and dropped at his feet. Now he leaned down and began to pull out the contents, distributing them to the fascinated crowd.

They were newspapers, carrying the banner headline, The Truth About Achilles: How She Made Him Talk, and telling the story of the well-known historian Petra Radnor, who’d first come to prominence when, little more than a girl, she’d published Greek Heroes of the Past.

The book had been such a success that it had been revised for a school edition and was now being considered for a further revision. This time the angle would be more glamorous and romantic, as Ms Radnor considered Greek men today and whether they really lived up to their classical reputation. For the moment she was working on Achilles.