The Sunrise by Victoria Hislop Read Free Book Online Page B

till all hours, the heavy smokers, the men who had turned down champagne and asked for something stronger, perhaps those on the edge of a conversation, looking about them, bored or restless even. It was not an infallible test, but it was a place to start. He approached these men, introduced himself and could tell immediately from their response whether his antennae were well tuned. Some of his targets were immediately stirred into life, their facial expressions transformed from neutral to excited. More revealingly, they accepted with alacrity when he suggested seeing the club.
    He led his potential clients away from the reception and down an internal flight of stairs that took them to a discreet locked door. He opened it with a flourish, leading them into his domain.
    The route into this nocturnal underworld made people feel that they had privileged access to a private space. If he had taken them out of the hotel to the more public entrance, they would not have felt the same connection. Markos was careful to give each one of them the impression that they were the only person to be escorted in this way.
    After a few minutes or so, during which he described the cabaret artists who were booked to appear and listed some of the vintage whiskies, his guests accepted complimentary membership of the club. Markos was in little doubt that they would be there again on the opening night.
    He delivered them back to the reception, which continued in full swing. Sometimes he watched a man being reunited with his wife and registered her pleasure at seeing her husband’s more contented demeanour. It seemed to Markos that women were easily pleased.
    Returning from one of his guided tours, Markos glanced out towards the terrace. It was now dark and the sky was dense with stars, all the more visible because of the absence of moonlight. He wandered outside, where the numbers were beginning to dwindle, and looked around him.
    He noticed that Aphroditi had moved from her position beneath the floral sculpture and was sitting at a table with an elderly couple. She looked up and seemed to stare directly at him before moving her eyes back to the silver-haired woman. Markos retreated to the air-conditioned reception area. For some reason, he was irritated that he did not even warrant a slight wave or a hint of a smile. Even though the night was cooling, he had felt his temperature rise.
    Aphroditi was with her parents. Her mother was dressed in black. Since the day her only son had been killed she had worn no other colour. On this celebratory summer’s night, her mourning weeds seemed all the more heavy and sad and made her look much older than her years. Aphroditi’s father, Trifonas, wore a dark grey suit and pale blue shirt. He was a handsome man, white-haired like his wife, but still full of vigour. He was enjoying being back on his native island and was particularly happy that this great project had reached fruition. The Sunrise was the first hotel investment that Markides Holdings had made, and Trifonas could already sense that it had been one of the wisest decisions he had ever made.
    Nowadays, Trifonas Markides developed property from a distance. He had a company based in Nicosia that looked after the day-to-day running of each investment. From his study in their house in Southgate he spent half an hour on the telephone each day. The money had made them very comfortable indeed. In the cold south of England temperatures, they kept the central heating on for most of the year, matching the Cyprus climate inside their home. They had a Jaguar, thick carpets and what Artemis called a ‘char’. Trifonas played golf most days, and on Sundays they drove to the Greek Orthodox church. They were involved with fund-raising for Greek Cypriots who had made their way over to England and needed financial assistance, and occasionally they went to one of the big Cypriot restaurants nearby for the wedding of a child of someone they knew from the church. On the