The Greek Who Stole Christmas Read Free

his shoulder. I reached out and opened the door. It was unlocked anyway.
    We ran in. The door led straight into a plush living room. There were three people there. One of them was Jake Hammill, the manager who had come to our office that afternoon. The other was an older man dressed in a velvet jacket with a silk cravat around his neck. He had one of those permanent suntans that give your skin the colour of a peach but the texture of a prune. The third was Minerva. I recognized her at once with that strange buzz of excitement you get when you find yourself face to face with someone really famous. She was holding half a Christmas cracker. The tanned man was holding the other half. Well, that explained the bang we had just heard.
    “Who the hell are you?” the older man asked.
    “I’m Tim Diamond.” Tim shrugged and I heard a loud click as his shoulder blade somehow managed to slip back into place. Well, that was something. Minerva looked as if she was about to call the police. At least she wouldn’t have to ask for an ambulance too.
    “So what do you mean just bursting in here?” the man continued. “Haven’t you ever heard of knocking?”
    “Wait a minute! Wait a minute!” Hammill interjected. “This is the private detective I was telling you about. The one you told me to see. Tim Diamond.”
    “What about the kid?” the man asked.
    “I’m his little brother, Nick,” I said.
    “Yeah, well … you’d better sit down.”
    Minerva had been watching all this with a mixture of puzzlement and disbelief. I sat down on the sofa next to her, thinking that a million kids would have given their right arm to be where I was right now and wondering what she’d do with a million right arms. She was dressed simply in expensive jeans and a white shirt, but even so she was one of the most beautiful women I’d ever seen. She had long, blonde hair, eyes that were somewhere between blue and green and the sort of body that made me wish I was older than fourteen. Maybe she was smaller than I’d imagined but then I don’t have much imagination. And looking at her, I didn’t need it. She was the real thing and she was right there next to me.
    Meanwhile, Tim had sat down in a chair. I could tell he fancied Minerva too. As far as I know, Tim has never had a steady girlfriend. He just simply hasn’t had any luck finding a woman who’s attracted to a twenty-eight-year-old with no money and no brains. To be fair to Tim, he’s not that unattractive. I mean, he’s slim and he’s dark and he’s reasonably fit. And it seemed to me that Minerva was definitely interested in him. Mind you, if the old, wrinkled guy was her husband, I wasn’t that surprised. How did a world-famous sex symbol end up married to her grandfather?
    “So – how can I help you?” Tim asked with a lazy smile. He crossed one leg over the other and his foot caught a lamp, sending the shade flying.
    “I told you,” Hammill growled. “Minerva needs a bodyguard.”
    “With a body like that I’m not surprised!” Tim agreed.
    “Hold on!” the old man interrupted. “That’s my wife you’re talking about.”
    “And who are you?” Tim asked.
    “I’m her husband!” He was perched on the arm of the sofa next to Minerva. “My name is Harold Chase.” He lay a hand on Minerva’s shoulder, and maybe I was wrong but I could have sworn she shuddered slightly. “I’m paying you to make sure nobody hurts my baby.”
    “You’ve got a baby?” Tim demanded.
    “I’m talking about Minerva!”
    “I don’t need looking after,” Minerva said. They were the first words she had spoken, and I could hear the faint Greek accent fighting to get out. I was also reminded that this was the voice that had sold a billion CDs. “I don’t need looking after”; it almost sounded like the title of one of her songs.
    “We’ve got to take control of this situation,” Hammill cut in. “You read what that letter said. Show it to Mr Diamond.”
    Minerva thought for a