The tables outside the local taverna were all taken. Most by locals playing tavli, backgammon. At one end, a fashionably dressed couple, clearly from the resort, shared a platter of mezze with olives and pita and a selection of spreads. Another young couple sat holding hands across a table. And a pang shot through Gemma.

There was no chance that she and Angelo would ever resemble these lover-like couples.

She turned away from the tables and chairs and wandered into the bakery beside the taverna, spoiling herself to a couple of tiropites-triangles of phyllo pastry filled with cheese-and a bottle of mineral water. She wheeled the bicycle across the cobbles and settled herself on the seawall to watch the fishermen spreading the nets in the sun and eat her impromptu lunch.

All around her, village life carried on. Across the road, two elderly widows dressed from head to toe in black were shuffling into the churchyard of the quaint white-washed church with its domed bright blue roof.

The church reminded her of Pandora’s talk about weddings yesterday and Tariq’s bitterness. Had he loved his wife? Why had his marriage fallen apart?

Of course, love was not strictly necessary for a marriage-or even for a relationship. Angelo had confessed last night that he’d never loved Mandy. What was it with these men?

Then she thought of the loving tenderness Zac demonstrated to Pandora and an ache settled in the region of Gemma’s heart.

Unscrewing the top off the mineral water, she took a swig. She doubted Angelo would ever love anyone like that, without reserve. He was so self-contained, he didn’t seem to need anyone.

For a fleeting instant Gemma couldn’t help wondering whether he was alone now. His little black book would have no shortage of numbers of beautiful women to call on. If he chose to…

The thought depressed her.

Last night he’d made it clear that he was in no danger of falling for her. So much for her wild idea of making him pay.

She’d fantasised about proving to him that he wasn’t irresistible to every woman in the world. That she held him in disdain. And she’d contemplated seducing him, making him fall for her, then rejecting him. But now she’d met him and found that he was so far out of her league that her half-baked plans were absurd.

She didn’t dare seduce him. Because she suspected that once she’d made love with him, she would never be able to walk away. That she would be marked as Angelo Apollonides’s woman for life.

She brushed the crumbs off her fingers and screwed the cap back onto the empty bottle. Sleeping with Angelo was not going to answer all her answers about why Mandy had died. And she could not betray her sister’s memory in that fashion. Or risk her heart for a man who would never feel a thing for her.

In a little over a week it would be time to leave Strathmos…and Angelo. And move on. Strathmos was a foreign world, exotic and removed.

Angelo’s world.

The empty place in her chest expanded, chilling her. Gemma took a last look at the fishermen on the beach. They looked so unhurried, so content.

Unlike her.

Biting her lip to stop the tears of loneliness that threatened, she rose to her feet and made her way to her bike. She would return to Auckland and get on with her life as her mother had suggested. Perhaps the familiar warmth of her family and friends would bring comfort. Tonight she would call her agent to line up the next gig.

The time had come to lay Mandy to rest.

With Lucie back at work on Monday, Gemma’s frenzied schedule returned to normal. Yet she was restless. And her mood was mirrored by the unpredictable weather. Gusts of wind and bursts of hard rain shook the island. Gemma threw herself into her show and a couple of days passed before she had time to draw breath.

Weather allowing, she’d intended to spend her day off on Thursday windsurfing. The morning dawned clear and sunny with enough wind for a good run across the chop. But Gemma’s heart wasn’t in it. In less than thirty minutes she was back on shore, refusing to admit to herself that windsurfing alone was no longer what she desired.

She missed Angelo.

Blocking out that traitorous thought, she spent the afternoon in the entertainment centre. The resort staff had started erecting a giant Christmas tree and, with nothing else to do, Gemma stayed to help.

It was bittersweet hanging the decorations. It had been a while since she’d celebrated Christmas. Her family had avoided it…Christmas Day had become a time of grief.

As she reached up to hang a silver ball on a branch, her cell phone trilled.

It was Angelo.

Immediately her pulse quickened; the tree seemed greener, the lights around her brighter. For the first time since he’d departed she felt truly alive.

“Missing me?” he asked, humour in his voice.

“Of course not,” she lied. “I’ve been too busy to think about you.”

There was a little flat silence. Then he asked what she’d been doing. Gemma told him about the awful weather, the winds and the rain. He laughed a little when she commented that this was not what she expected of life on a Greek island.

“Christmas is coming,” he said, “expect more rain.”

“Oh, no.” Then she told him about the Christmas tree that she was decorating. “It’s always strange to see decorations out in November. I can see why your grandfather’s tourists came only in the summer months. And I can understand why you’ve created the casinos and laid on all the entertainment you do. The resort is seething with people.”

“Good.” He sounded distracted. There was a short silence. Then he said, “I will be back early on Sunday morning. I always attend the Sunday service in the village when I am on Strathmos. Will you come with me this Sunday?”

Spend time with Angelo?

“Of course. But I need to be back for a rehearsal afterward.” Even though she knew she was setting herself up for heartbreak by continuing to see him, Gemma simply couldn’t resist.

The rest of the week dragged past.

Gemma had just taken a call from her agent on Sunday morning with an offer to sing in a popular Sydney club where Gemma had sung before, when a dull, droning noise interrupted their discussion.

Clutching the cell phone, Gemma rushed out of her unit. A moment later a huge shadow passed over her. Glancing up, she squinted into the sun and made out the dark shape a helicopter.

Angelo was back.

A thread of dark, forbidden excitement shivered through her. “I have to go, Macy.”

“Wait, I need to know what-”

“I can’t give you an answer. Not now. I’ll call you tomorrow.” She wasn’t aware of Macy’s mutterings; all she could think about was that soon she would see Angelo again.

By the time he arrived to collect her, she’d managed to get her pleasure at his return under control. A rapid glance showed that he was dressed in a beautifully cut designer suit. She wore a smart sleeveless black dress and her hair had been confined into a French braid. Gemma knew she looked elegant and restrained…no hint of her wild excitement showed.

He didn’t kiss her, not even a light buss on the cheek. Instead he stared at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable, and her pulse raced. Gemma got the feeling he’d been about to say something momentous.

At last he held out his hand, and said, “Come.”

She took it. His clasp was warm and firm, his hand strong. And her heartbeat steadied.

Once they reached the church, she looked around with interest. Despite the white exterior, inside the church, colours ran riot. Just inside the tall double wooden doors, almost a hundred slim white candles flickered. Bowls of bright pink and red cyclamens and a huge vase of crocus added more colour. On the walls, saints with gold-leaf halos looked down on the packed pews.

They found seats near the front. A large woman beckoned to them, gave a very brief smile to Gemma and spoke rapidly to Angelo in Greek as she shifted along the wooden pew. Trapped between the older woman and Angelo, Gemma was very aware of the warmth of his thigh pressing against hers. When the priest appeared, she forced herself to concentrate.

The service was long and unlike any service Gemma had ever attended. Villagers wandered in and out in an ever-changing stream. Children played on the floor beside the windows. And the priest chanted in ancient Greek, while rich incense filled the church.

Afterwards people spilled out into the churchyard, congregating in small groups under a vine-covered pergola. Angelo kept her close to his side, his arm around her waist. A cat sat on the low wall not far from them; Gemma gave the animal a wary look.

The strange juxtaposition of the exotic resort, the simple church with its ancient ceremonial customs struck Gemma. Had Mandy seen this side of Angelo’s world?

Gemma tilted her head to Angelo. “Have I been here before?”

“I asked you to come with me often enough in the past, but you didn’t want to.”

So Mandy had never been to the church with him. Given her twin’s love of sleeping late and her preference for the good life, the refusal made sense. “Do you come often?” Gemma changed the subject.

He propped a foot up on the low wall beside her. The cat saw it as an invitation and came closer, purring and rubbing against his legs. Angelo bent to stroke the appreciative feline. Gemma backed away.

“Are you frightened of cats?” he asked.

“No, allergic,” she replied. “I don’t need red eyes or a fit of nonstop sneezing.”

“Then let’s move along.” They found a new spot and watched as two girls came to play with the cat. “I come to this church every Sunday morning when I’m on Strathmos. I was baptised here.”

“Oh. I didn’t know that.”

“It’s not the kind of thing we usually talk about, is it?” His mouth kinked up. “In fact, we never spoke much at all in the past. I didn’t even know you were allergic to cats. We’ve talked more in the last couple of weeks than ever before. Maybe it has something to do with the amnesia.”