Page 3 of Vows of Revenge

‘Er...’ she said, visibly hesitating again.

Her vocabulary was not large, it seemed, so Damos helped her out.

He took her elbow. ‘Do show me,’ he said. ‘It’s all quite fascinating.’

A look came his way—not one he expected. At first he took it for surprise—and then something more suspicious. He countered it by bestowing upon her a smile—a bland one.

‘I’ve never visited an archaeological excavation before,’ he said smoothly.

She stepped away slightly, so he had to let go her elbow.

‘Why are you here now?’ she posed.

There was something new about her—something...guarded. He didn’t want it there. He wanted her open to him. Susceptible.

‘I might be interested in sponsoring one,’ he remarked, starting to head towards the trench she’d been working at.

‘Why?’

Her question followed him. He looked back casually.

‘It’s tax deductible,’ he said.

Her expression changed again. Tightened. If she was going to say something he wouldn’t let her.

‘Why disapprove? Wouldn’t you rather excess profits from business were used to do something for the country—the community?’

He stepped carefully down into the shallow trench, mindful of his handmade shoes and his bespoke suit.

‘OK, so show me what you do.’

He was aware of heads turning to see what was happening—aware, too, that he was getting attention from another female, a full-figured blonde. But he simply smiled blandly again, then hunkered down next to Kassia Andrakis.

‘Mind your shoes,’ he heard her say sharply. ‘The dust gets everywhere.’

‘Thank you for the warning,’ he murmured.

He picked up her discarded trowel and held it out to her pointedly. She took it, but he sensed her reluctance.

‘I really don’t know why you’re interested...’ she said, resuming her kneeling. Her voice wasn’t as sharp now, but it was still not exactly enthusiastic. ‘You don’t need to know or see the nitty-gritty to sponsor a dig. No need to get your hands dirty,’ she said, and her voice had tightened again.

He got a look from her. One that told him, plain as day, that being hunkered down in a shallow trench, on a dusty dig on a remote island, in no way matched with a man wearing a ten-thousand-euro suit and five-thousand-euro hand-made leather shoes.

He met her look straight on.

‘My hands have been dirty in my time, believe me,’ he said.

He hadn’t intended that edge to be in his voice, but he heard it all the same. And there was an edge inside him too. That this daughter of one of Greece’s richest men, born herself into wealth, however much she was slumming it now, should presume to criticise him as she was so obviously doing...

She dropped her eyes, fixed her grip on the trowel. She pointed the tip at an uneven piece of undug earth.

‘There’s likely to be something under there,’ she said. ‘But you have to be very careful. Like this.’

She gently teased at the hard, dry ground with the tip of the trowel, picking up a nearby bristle brush with her other hand, and whisking away the loosened baked soil. As she did, Damos could see the convex curve of pottery revealed.

‘This,’ said Kassia Andrakis, ‘is the first time sunlight has been on this piece of ceramic for over three thousand years.’

There was something in her voice—something that made Damos look at her. He wondered what it was, and then realised. It was a word he’d never spoken—but he knew what it was.

---