‘Would that be your maid, madam?’
‘She has a preference for sardines and cooked chicken, unless-’ over his shoulder, Pylades saw Claudia delve into her trunk and retrieve a crisp parchment fan ‘-you happen to have a mouse handy?’
As the feeling of faintness engulfed Pylades, he thought that at least now he had genuine grounds on which to consult his physician.
*
Quite what a Greek architect had been doing on a remote Etruscan promontory in the first place no one had bothered to ask, but his discovery of the spring combined with his perspicacity to develop the site had made Pylades a very rich man, you could tell from the gold clinging to his fingers and hanging round his neck. Even his fawn tunic, a masterstroke in understated elegance, had not escaped the soft breath of Midas. Claudia studied the retreating back of her host. Greek, of course, could mean anything-blond Adonises to strapping gladiator types, snooty Athenians to the proud Andros islanders-but unless she missed her guess, Pylades, with his swarthy skin and stocky frame, hailed from shepherd stock.
And as for that beanpole strutting at his side, either Kamar had no use for the likes of tonic waters, manicures and mudbaths or the remedies weren’t working. With lips that turned perpetually inwards, he seemed as devoid of humour as he was of hair-in fact, he reminded Claudia of a tortoise with a particularly spiteful attack of the piles.
Still. At least, Kamar hadn’t tried to make a pass at her-unlike that dirty-minded little toad, Pylades. Who the hell did he think he was dealing with? Some little bit of fluff playing second fiddle to a man who wants the best of both worlds while she has the worst of one?
‘I am no man’s mistress,’ she informed the gurgling watercourse as she strode across the footbridge. Claudia Seferius is master of her own damned destiny, thank you.
She began to hum a jaunty marching song. It wasn’t strictly true, of course, what she had told Pylades about her attendants following on. In situations such as this, a girl couldn’t be too careful and it was best she brought no servants, not even her bodyguard, and even more advisable she left no forwarding address. When the heat over the Tullus incident died down, she’d slip home, but until then? Until then, no one knew where to find her. Unless one counts the sender of the letter…
Whilst for the slaves there was no such luxury as siesta (sweatroom furnaces still need stoking, mud heated, towels aired), the silence in the banqueting hall was unnerving, broken only by the crackle of frankincense resin which burned in the wall-mounted braziers and the slap of Claudia’s soft leather sandals on the mosaic. With her eyes ranging over the gilded rafters and the statuary set in niches along the length of both walls, the voice made the hum catch in her throat.
‘I don’t advise the sun porch.’ The voice belonged to a young man sprawled across one of the couches. ‘It faces south and is far too hot this time of day. You’ll be burned lobster red within minutes.’
‘Will I really?’
‘The name’s Cal.’ He leapt off the seat and, to Claudia’s astonishment, performed a backward flip which ended in an elaborate bow. ‘Short for Calvus, and since you’re a new girl in school and this resort is vast, you’ll need to be shown a few ropes.’
‘Not by you.’ He was young. Maybe twenty. Which made him a full five years younger than herself.
‘I feel you-’
‘You’ll feel nothing,’ she said, sweeping past. ‘Better men than you have tried today.’
Man? Even as it formed on her tongue, the word jarred. The quality of his clothes and the rings on his fingers suggested he was the son of a senator, or possibly a legate or a judge or a general. His education would have taken place in Athens, he’d have attended university in Alexandria, no doubt he’d have a year’s experience in a public department under his belt, say the Mint or the roads or temple rebuilding. In all likelihood, he’d have wed at sixteen and could well be the father of two with a third on the way.
‘No.’ He laughed. ‘I was about to say, I feel you misjudge me! You think I’m too young to know what’s what around here, but I have to warn you, there’s nothing I don’t know about Atlantis.’
Claudia studied the crinkling green eyes and spade-shaped jaw and thought, I’ll bet there isn’t. ‘Like, for instance?’
‘Like, for instance, your name is Claudia Seferius, you’re a widow, you’ve recently arrived with your cat. The same cat, incidentally, that has already caused chaos in the kitchens, terror in the tackroom and absolute pandemonium in the parrot house.’
Claudia stiffened. How could he possibly know so much?
‘Easy.’ He grinned, suggesting he read minds as a means of acquiring his knowledge. ‘While Pylades was greeting you in the hall, I nipped into his office to look up your registration.’
Simple as that? Well, why not…?
Cal, she noticed, had remained beside his couch as she headed towards the sun porch, therefore it came as something of a surprise to see a blur of blue linen flash by.
‘Most people,’ she pointed out, ‘walk or even run to catch up.’ She’d never met one before who cartwheeled through life.
Cal jumped upright to block her way. ‘You don’t listen,’ he said, and his corn-coloured hair flopped back into place. ‘It’s too hot on the veranda this time of day, you’ll make yourself sick. Walk with me, instead. Everyone enjoys a walk round the museum-’
Claudia pushed her face close to his. ‘Do I look like you could shear me for wool?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Or cut me into lamb chops?’
‘I’m afraid you’ve still lost me,’ Cal said.
‘Neither,’ she added, ‘do I go “baaa”, is that sinking in? Good. Because, now we’ve established I’m not a sheep, perhaps you’d allow me to do my exploring on my own.’
‘Nonsense.’ He slipped his arm into hers. She slipped it away. He slipped it back again. ‘Everyone needs company and Atlantis,’ he whispered, steering her towards a hidden alcove, ‘is stuffed to the gunwales with secrets.’ Gently he ushered her behind a gilded statue of Bacchus. ‘For the price of a kiss, I’ll reveal the trick Pylades uses to keep the hall so cool.’
Claudia caught the sharp tang of the alecost on his tunic. ‘I’m prepared to live in ignorance.’
‘One little kiss,’ he cajoled, ‘on the lips.’
Claudia freed her arm with a jerk. ‘I know that routine, Cal. A kiss on the lips-and then it’s all over.’
And yet, caught in the smoky intensity of dark beech-leaf eyes, had she not been tempted? Just a fraction? Had hot blood not surged through her veins when his hand brushed her cheek, stirring up feelings she’d long ago believed buried?
Acknowledging defeat with a click of his tongue, Cal leaned across her, pushed against the side wall and suddenly Claudia found herself outdoors, in the middle of the grove of young walnut trees which surrounded the Temple of Carya.
‘There!’ He laughed. ‘Wasn’t that worth a-?’
‘No.’
Dear Diana, this boy wouldn’t know a refusal if it clocked him round the ear with a haddock. So why was that curiously pleasing?
In the grove, silent and secluded, offerings to the nymph dangled among the flaccid leaves-gaily coloured ribbons, terracotta plaques, wooden figurines, as well as an array of silver votive bells waiting for a breeze to set them dancing. By the gods, shade or no shade, it was hot! Sensing her discomfort, Cal whisked the fan from her hand and flapped the parchment with vigour, his eyes following the ruffle of her hair and the billow of her turquoise cotton gown. It was only when his gaze fixed upon her breasts and didn’t waver that Claudia snatched the fan back. Behind them, the door had swung to and, hidden by the painted decorations on the stucco, there was nothing to suggest its existence.
It was like a door to the Underworld, opening into a silent copse where no birds sang and only masculine voices floated out from the temple, one loud and deep, the other high and protesting.