Angel of Death Read Free Page A

or months, and publicity came up only from time to time, usually when they introduced a new product.
    She had to have a certain technical literacy in order to work out copy for advertising, although Terry usually gave her a sketch of what he wanted her to write, puffing new features of a machine. She would have to know all about the new printer when she dealt with the marketing campaign later that year, so it made sense for her to familiarise herself with the details now.
    Somebody loomed up beside them and her nerves leapt.
    ‘Hello, Terry.’
    ‘Alex! Great to see you, thanks for coming.’ Terry beamed from ear to ear. He either liked this man a lot or the man was rich and important. Or both.
    Seeing the other man staring at her, Terry introduced them. ‘Alex, this is the head of our Public Relations department, Miranda Grey. Miranda, this is Alex.’
    ‘Alexandros Manoussi,’ the other man expanded, proffering his hand. ‘But we’ve met before, haven’t we?’
    So that was his name. It sounded like the hiss of a snake. Sibilant, yet frighteningly sexy. She was sure she had never heard it before. She hesitated to take his hand, to touch him; long enough for Terry to notice.
    ‘Alex is one of our best customers,’ he told her pointedly, frowning. ‘We make all the navigational computers Alex puts into his yachts.’
    ‘Of course,’ she said, realising she had dealt with queries about such instruments, which were being put into boats in countries other than Greece, including Britain.
    She had no choice; she had to put out her hand, let it be taken into the cool, supple fingers. A shiver went down her spine at the touch of his skin.
    ‘I’m a boatbuilder,’ he explained and the sound of his voice was bitterly familiar. She had never forgotten it; had heard it in her dreams for years.
    ‘Alex makes his boats over in Greece, at Piraeus,’ Terry told her. ‘I’ve been there to see how he works, and discuss with his designers what they need the computers to do for them.’
    She was looking into Alex Manoussi’s dark eyes. ‘You built the yacht?’ Had he built the yacht they had been sailing on when it was wrecked and Tom drowned. There had been an inquest some months later but she had not been present, she had been too ill.
    Only afterwards did she hear that the firm from whom Terry had chartered the yacht had been accused of negligence. That must have been Alex Manoussi’s firm.
    What had happened after the inquest? She had never been told. This man must be rich and powerful. Had he had to face consequences? Or had his employees been blamed?
    Over the years since, she had never wanted to discuss it, with Terry, or anyone else. When she came out of hospital she had only wanted to forget. The doctors had told her to put the past behind, try to forget, and she had not wanted to think too much about what happened after the wreck, although sometimes she was not sure the medical advice had been sensible. Perhaps refusing to think about something so traumatic allowed it to fester in the mind?
    Terry interrupted before the Greek could answer her. ‘Have you seen Sean, Miranda? He should be taking care of Nicola. Why is she alone, over by the front door? Find him and tell him to stick beside his fiancée for the rest of the party, would you? We don’t want her getting upset at being neglected, do we? Her father would be furious.’
    Miranda nodded. ‘Of course.’ She half-glanced at Alex Manoussi with a polite pretence of regret. ‘Would you excuse me?’
    Did he guess how relieved she was to escape? There was a spark of cynicism in those eyes of his. Or was he simply noticing the way Terry coolly despatched her, like a servant, to do his bidding? Sometimes she resented Terry’s habit of treating her that way, but since her illness she never had the energy to protest or argue.
    It didn’t take her long to find Sean in the Victorian-style conservatory at the back of the house, joking and drinking with his