by Sara Craven
His voice was almost toneless. ‘It would seem that my late wife hated me even more than I thought possible. She did have a lover before our marriage—but her pregnancy by him was just a figment of her imagination, invented to drive me away. Which means that Eleni is indeed my daughter, born from the one moment of intimacy in our marriage. But brought into the world much too soon, when her mother decided to throw herself down a flight of steps to rob me of the son she believed she was carrying. Something else I did not know until now.’
He added harshly, ‘It is almost beyond belief. Yet, having known Ariadne, even briefly, I find I can—and do—believe it.’
He looked at her. ‘And you have heard—what?’
‘Nothing like that,’ she denied huskily. ‘Just that Eleni was born at least two months premature, and they were afraid she wouldn’t survive.’ She ran the tip of her tongue round her dry lips. ‘But no one told you at the time because it was felt you had enough to bear with your—grief for your wife.’
‘Ironic, is it not?’ His smile was a slash of pain. ‘And yet I think I did experience an element of grief, if only for a young life cut off so suddenly and so harshly. Guilt, too,’ he added bitterly, ‘that I did not realise just how much she resented our proposed marriage and stop it for both our sakes while I had the chance. Although it is doubtful if that would have kept her alive.
‘But she had her revenge.’ His voice thickened. ‘She died leaving me with the hideous belief that my daughter was another man’s child. Someone I could not even bear to look at. And by doing so Ariadne robbed me of the right to love her—to enjoy her babyhood and watch her grow.’ His voice sank to a whisper. ‘And I might never have known. Never.’
‘But you do know now,’ Joanna said fiercely. ‘So everything can change. That’s what really matters.’ She looked away from him, her throat tightening, longing to go to him and feel his arms close around her. But instead forcing herself to remain where she was. ‘It—it’s all that can matter.’
‘Except,’ he said, ‘that I owe this knowledge to you. If you had not gone to the house today.’ He closed his eyes. ‘I do not want to think what might have happened.’
‘Then think of something else,’ she said. ‘Like being beside Eleni’s bedside when she wakes up next time.’ She paused, trying to smile. ‘I hope she’ll be more welcoming for you. She was cross and a little nauseous when she came round from the anaesthetic, and demanded to be sung to.’
‘Ah,’ Vassos said quietly. ‘That same song I first heard in the gardens at the St Gregoire?’
She stared at him. ‘You—heard me?’
‘I heard a baby crying,’ he said. ‘And a girl singing a lullaby. So, I stood and listened for a while, and wondered if the singer was as lovely as her voice. I did not know, of course—how could I?—that she was the beauty I had seen earlier from the deck of Persephone, or the girl I planned to meet later that night across a poker table.’
He drew a deep breath. ‘And today I heard you comforting a sick child with the same melody. And for a moment I could not believe it.’ He paused. ‘Why were you there in the garden that night?’
She looked down at the floor. ‘I was just babysitting for a couple I’d met.’ She found a resolute smile from somewhere. ‘And I really liked taking care of Matthew, so I’ve decided I shall train to look after children professionally one day.’
One day when I’m back in England, and need to find a life for myself—a life that you are no longer a part of. When other people’s children may be all I can hope for …
He was frowning. ‘Is that why you told Deroulos that you were Eleni’s nanny?’
‘I had to think of some reason for being here.’ She flushed a little. ‘After all, I could hardly say I was your mistress.’
‘No,’ he said, his mouth twisting. ‘Perhaps, for the time being, the fiction that you are Eleni’s nursemaid will serve us better, pedhi mou.’
And maybe, she whispered silently, for the sake of my aching heart, it might be better—easier—if fiction becomes fact. If I become your employee instead of your pillow friend from now on—until you send me away.
As they walked along the passage towards the small private room where Eleni was installed, Dr Deroulos was coming to meet them.
‘Your daughter is awake, Kyrios Gordanis.’ He turned a kindly smile on Joanna. ‘And once again demanding you, thespinis.’
Joanna halted. She said quietly, ‘I think she should spend some time alone with her father now.’ She indicated her coffee-stained skirt. ‘Maybe I could go somewhere and clean my dress?’
‘But of course. It will be a pleasure.’ He signalled to a female orderly, and Joanna was whisked off to a gleaming washroom and supplied with a sponge and towels for a strictly rudimentary rescue job.
But what did a ruined dress matter? she asked herself bleakly, surveying her reflection in the mirror, when it was her life that was about to fall apart?
Yes, Vassos was grateful to her, but she did not want him to turn to her in gratitude, because her intervention had restored his child to him. She needed far more from him than that.
Now, when it was too late, she wanted the tender, passionate lover whom she’d so signally rejected so many times. Wanted to offer him again all the warmth and the ardent, generous desire he’d kindled in her. And to prove to him, beyond all doubt, that her gift to him came from the heart, and without strings.
I love him, she thought painfully, and I always will, but I can’t stay with him, longing all the time for something he can never give. Knowing I have nothing to hope for except his transient desire. And even that will end.
He took me for all the wrong reasons, at a time when his bed and his life were both empty and he needed entertainment. Distraction.
But now the circumstances have changed. He has a daughter to love, who will adore him in return. And one day he’ll remarry, this time to a girl who will love him and give Eleni brothers and sisters. And then that barren house will come alive again at last.
At which time, please God, I shall be far away.
When she finally emerged from the washroom, she turned initially to go back to the waiting room, then after a moment’s hesitation made her way quietly along the passage to the ward.
The door was open and she could see Vassos kneeling beside the bed, Eleni’s small hand clasped in his, and his head was bent as if he was crying—or praying.
Whichever it was, Joanna thought, her heart twisting as tears stung her eyes, her presence would only be an intrusion. And she stole silently away.
She had herself strictly under control when he eventually returned to the waiting room.
‘How is she?’ she asked brightly.
‘Well, and asking for almond biscuits.’ He paused. ‘However, the doctor suggests that she remain here overnight so that he can make sure there are no after-effects from all the shocks she has suffered today.’ His smile was wry. ‘I suspect I am not the least of them.’
Joanna bit her lip. ‘Ever since she’s been able to understand what was being said to her, she’s been told, “Papa will come.” And now you have done.’
‘And now Papa will stay,’ he said softly. ‘And we will take her home in the morning.’
Joanna glanced uncertainly at the waiting room chairs. ‘You mean—spend the night here?’
‘No.’ His tone was faintly brusque. ‘Thaliki has a hotel—the Poseidon. They will have a room for us.’
‘But we’ll need two,’ she said. ‘One for you—and another for Eleni’s nanny.’
There was an odd silence, then he said, ‘Is that truly what you wish? To spend this night apart from me?’
‘Yes, or I wouldn’t have said it.’ She lifted her chin, fighting her inner misery. ‘You should know that by now.’
‘At times like this I feel as if I know nothing about you, Joanna mou,’ he said harshly. ‘Nothing at all.’ He paused. ‘And now Eleni is waiting to say goodnight to you. I warn you, she may ask for ano
ther song. I hope she will not also be disappointed.’
And he walked out into the corridor, leaving her to follow.
It had been, Joanna thought, as she lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the longest two weeks of her life. And here she was, faced with yet another sunlit morning. Which, somehow, she would have to survive.
At least in the daytime she could keep busy, looking after Eleni who’d adapted with astonishing speed to her new circumstances, even with a plaster on her arm. Proving, Joanna mused, just how resilient children could be.
And for this, admittedly, Vassos deserved much of the credit, approaching his new role as a father with patience, humour and an element of firmness. Above all spending unstinted time with her, overcoming her initial shyness and, in return, receiving his daughter’s unquestioning adoration.
But, rather to Joanna’s concern, Eleni was inclined to treat her in much the same way, which she feared might lead to problems when a real nanny was eventually appointed in her place.
Vassos had made several flying visits to Athens over the past fortnight, presumably to interview potential candidates, but seemed to have made no final choice.
In fact, Joanna had started to wonder if he might choose a British nanny, as he also appeared to be teaching Eleni to use English as well as Greek names for the things she saw around her, but when she’d ventured to ask him, on one of the few occasions when they’d been briefly alone, he’d retorted that English was the international language of commerce throughout the world and Eleni, as an adult, might well need to speak it fluently.
Which did not sound, she thought unhappily, as if he ever expected to have a son to succeed him.
Apart from that, relations between them were studiedly formal. And when Eleni was not around he seemed quiet and preoccupied, as if in another less sunlit world.
She’d become a member of his staff, she thought painfully. Just as she’d asked. Except that she’d never dreamed how difficult it would be to make such a transition. To share a roof with him, but nothing else.
In the daytime she could cope. Just. But the nights were a very different matter.
She was no longer occupying her former room but, at her own suggestion, had moved to one adjoining Eleni’s new nursery, in case the little girl needed anything in the night.
Hara had indicated, clearly bewildered at this turn of events, that a couple of the maids could take over Eleni’s night-time supervision, the entire household having become her devoted slaves from the moment the child entered the villa, but Joanna had refused with determination, saying that the little girl would prefer to see a familiar face if she woke.
In fact Eleni was a sound sleeper, so Joanna was rarely disturbed in this way, but that made little difference to the wreckage of her own sleep patterns. Heartache and loneliness were her regular companions during long and restless vigils.
And when she did sleep her dreams were erotic fantasies that woke her, gasping, her body on fire, her hands reaching for him and finding emptiness.
She was losing weight, and the shadows beneath her eyes were deepening into violet pools.
I’m fretting, she told herself wryly. And, heaven help me, it shows. So, perhaps it’s a good thing that Vassos rarely looks at me these days.
She flung back the sheet and left the bed, taking a quick shower before dressing in a midi-skirt, in shades of rust and gold, topped with a sleeveless cream shirt. Her hair she brushed back and secured at the nape of her neck with an elastic band.
Then she went next door to rouse Eleni, wash and dress her, then take her down to breakfast on the terrace.
Vassos rose from the table at their approach. ‘Kalimera,’ he said softly, inclining his head to Joanna before going down on his haunches to greet Eleni with a kiss as she ran to him.
Joanna sat down, busying herself with buttering a slice of bread, adding honey, and pouring a glass of milk for Eleni. She applauded, smiling, as the little girl, prompted by Vassos, pointed to each item in turn and said its English name, before collapsing in giggles.
As Joanna poured her own coffee, and set down the pot, Vassos said abruptly, ‘Joanna, I must tell you that Stavros has gone to Thaliki to bring back Eleni’s new nursemaid. My cousin Maria has found a girl who has worked with English families in Athens, so can speak your language well. Her name is Mitsa, which is short for Artemis, and she comes highly recommended.’
He paused. ‘I have also made immediate arrangements for your departure, which I hope will please you. When breakfast is over, I suggest that you pack.’
Joanna stared at him, her whole being suddenly numb. She said in a voice she didn’t recognise, ‘So soon?’ And just that brief dismissal as if there had been nothing between us? Nothing …
‘I feel it would be best,’ he said. ‘Before Eleni becomes too dependent on you.’
Her mouth was dry. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I suppose that is—a danger. And I—I wouldn’t want to do anything to hurt her.’
His faint smile did not reach his eyes. ‘No,’ he said. ‘That is one thing I can be sure of. And in that she has been fortunate indeed.’
She forced herself to drink her coffee and eat a roll with black cherry jam, in spite of the desperate churning of her stomach.
I’m going, she thought. I’ll never see him again, and I don’t know how I can bear it. Especially when he clearly can’t wait to be rid of me.
She supposed she should ask about her travel plans—or at least what UK airport she was destined for. She’d find Chris and Julie’s address—ask them if they could put her up for a night or two while she tried to make some kind of rational decision about her future.
She pushed her chair back and rose. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’ll get ready. I’ll only take the things I brought here with me, so it won’t take long.’
He took a table napkin and wiped Eleni’s sticky fingers. ‘As you wish,’ he said, after a long pause, adding, without looking up, ‘Eleni will stay with me while you make your final preparations.’
When she reached her room, Hara had already brought the small case which had arrived on Pellas with her. It was open on the bed, displaying its meagre contents, the black crochet dress and the white boots on top of the other things.
‘This is a day of much sadness, thespinis. Why do you go when you are needed here?’
‘Someone called Mitsa will be looking after Eleni,’ Joanna returned over-brightly. ‘She’ll be fine.’
‘I do not speak of the child, Kyria Joanna, but her father. Who is to care for Kyrios Vassos if you do not?’
Joanna retrieved the black dress and its body stocking and began to change into them. Leaving, she thought, the way she’d arrived.
She said haltingly, ‘Well, there’s you—and Andonis. And Eleni herself, of course. And there are plenty of other women in the world—especially his world.’ She tried to smile. ‘He once told me that one girl is very like another.’
‘Po, po, po,’ Hara dismissed with a snort. ‘That is when he knew nothing. Now he knows everything—and he suffers. You should stay,’ she added coaxingly. ‘Make him happy in bed. Give him more babies.’
Joanna shook her head. ‘That isn’t possible.’ Because it’s the last thing he wants. He’s made that clear. ‘I have another life in England,’ she hurried on. ‘And I need to get back to it.’ And somehow begin to heal.
Hara snorted again and went off, muttering under her breath.
She was fastening her case when Stavros knocked at the door. ‘Kyrios Gordanis requests you join him in the saloni, thespinis.’
He took the case from her hand, and followed her to the stairs. Joanna went down them, the heels of the white boots clicking, her head held high, feeling the thud of her heart against her ribcage.
‘Please don’t let him offer me money,’ she whispered under her breath. ‘Just my ticket home and no more. I need to get through this with my pride left, if nothing else.’
And knew just how deep, how painful and how endless �
��nothing else’ might well be.
Andonis was waiting to open the door of the saloni for her, and, taking a deep breath, Joanna walked into the room beyond and paused, looking across at Vassos, his face pale under its tan and strangely haggard, the dark eyes fixed on her with an aching intensity that struck her like a blow—because she recognised it. Shared it.
Joanna took one quick, involuntary step towards him, then stopped as another voice said her name, and she realised for the first time that they were not alone.
Incredulously, she whirled round in the direction of the speaker.
‘Daddy?’ Her voice cracked on the word. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I’ve come to take you back where you belong, Joanna.’ Denys Vernon crossed to where she was standing and kissed her awkwardly on the forehead. He was wearing a light-coloured suit with wide lapels and a flowered shirt open at the neck, all clearly expensive. His hair had been cut short on top, growing down into sideburns.
He looked sleek and prosperous, Joanna thought, but his eyes were restless and did not meet hers.
He added, tight-lipped, ‘Mr Gordanis has finally decided he has no more use for you, and has summoned us to fetch you.’
Vassos said nothing, but turned away, walking over to the windows, his body taut, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.
‘Us?’ Joanna repeated without comprehension. She looked past her father at the sofa behind him, and her eyes widened as she recognised his companion. ‘My God,’ she said shakily. ‘Mrs Van Dyne.’
‘Mrs Vernon, if you don’t mind, honey.’ The older woman was her usual immaculate self in ice blue silk. ‘Which is a surprise for you, I can see.’ She shrugged. ‘But you were news to me, too, especially as I knew back in France Denys had been passing you off as some kind of niece.’
Her eyes went disparagingly over Joanna’s outfit. ‘Well, your millionaire seems to have got you cheap, my dear, unless you have some serious jewellery packed away in that little holdall. After all, he should pay for his pleasures, if that’s what they were, of course. You’re hardly the sophisticated type, but I presume he’s still going to be generous with the severance cheque.’