by Sara Craven
‘No,’ she repeated more vehemently.
He was smiling, totally at ease, propping a dark-clad shoulder against the doorframe.
‘But we cannot conduct a civilised conversation on the doorstep, agapi mou.’
She said thickly, ‘I’ve got nothing to say to you—on the doorstep or anywhere else. If you want to talk, speak to my solicitor. And don’t call me your darling.’
‘How unkind,’ he said. ‘When I have travelled such a long way at such inconvenience to see you again. I’d hoped some of our Greek hospitality might have rubbed off on you.’
‘That isn’t the aspect of my life with you that I remember most clearly,’ Kate said, her breathing beginning to steady. ‘And I didn’t invite you here, so please go.’
Mick Theodakis raised both hands in mock surrender. ‘Easy, Katharina mou. I did not come here to fight a war, but negotiate a peaceful settlement. Isn’t that what you want too?’
‘I want a quick divorce,’ she said. ‘And never to see you again.’
‘Go on.’ The dark eyes glinted down at her from beneath hooded lids. ‘Surely you have a third wish. All the best stories do, I believe.’
Kate drew a quick, sharp breath. ‘This,’ she said gratingly, ‘is not a fairy story.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘To be honest, I am not sure whether it is a comedy or a tragedy.’
‘Honest?’ Kate echoed scornfully. ‘You don’t know the meaning of the word.’
‘However,’ he went on as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘I am quite certain I am not leaving until you have heard what I have to say, yineka mou.’
‘I am not your wife,’ she said. ‘I resigned that dubious honour when I left Kefalonia. And I thought I’d made it clear in my note that our so-called marriage was over.’
‘It was a model of clarity,’ he said courteously. ‘I have learned every word of it by heart. And the fact that you left your wedding ring beside it added extra emphasis.’
‘Then you’ll understand there is nothing to discuss.’ She lifted her chin. ‘Now, go please. I have a heavy duty tomorrow, and I’d like to go to bed.’
‘Not,’ he said softly. ‘With wet hair. That is something that I remember from our brief marriage, Katharina.’ He stepped into the room, kicking the door shut behind him.
There was no lock on her bedroom door, and one dodgy bolt on the bathroom. With nowhere to run, Kate decided to stand her ground.
‘How dare you.’ Her face was burning as she glared at him. ‘Get out of here, before I call the police.’
‘To do what?’ Mick asked coolly. ‘Have I ever struck you—or molested you in any way, agapi mou, that you did not welcome?’ He watched the colour suddenly deepen in her shocked face, and nodded sardonically. ‘Besides, all police are reluctant to intervene in domestic disputes. So, why don’t you sit down and dry your hair while you listen to what I have to say?’
He paused, then held out his hand. ‘Unless you would like me to dry it for you,’ he added softly. ‘As I used to.’
Kate swallowed convulsively, and shook her head, not trusting her voice.
It wasn’t fair, she raged inwardly. It wasn’t right for him to remind her of all the small, tender intimacies they’d once shared.
The way she’d sat between his knees as he blow-dried her hair, combing it gently with his fingers, letting the soft strands drift in the current of warm air.
And how her efforts to perform the same service for him had always been thwarted, as he loosened the sash on her robe, and drew the folds slowly apart, pressing tiny sensuous kisses on her naked body as she stood, flushed and breathless, in front of him. Until her attempt at hairdressing was forgotten in the sweet urgency of the moment.
Oh, she did not need to remember that.
Her cotton housecoat was long-sleeved and full-skirted, buttoned chastely to the throat, but she was still blazingly aware that she was naked under it—and that he knew it too, and was enjoying her discomfort.
The room seemed suddenly to have shrunk. His presence dominated it, physically and emotionally. Invaded her space in the worst way. Dried her throat and made her legs shake under her.
Even as she turned away and walked across to the dining table, every detail of him was etched on her mind, as if she’d touched him with her fingers.
Yet she did not have to do that—to remember.
She knew that the black curling hair was brushed back from his face with careless elegance. That his dark eyes were brilliant, but watchful beneath their heavy lids, or that the cool, firm mouth held a hint of sensuality in the slight fullness of the lower lip.
It was a proud face, strong and uncompromising, but when he smiled, its charm had twisted the heart in her body.
He was formally dressed, the charcoal business suit accentuating the tall, lean body which moved with such arrogant grace. His olive skin looked very dark against the immaculate white shirt. His tie was silk, and there were discreet gold links in his cuffs matching the narrow bracelet on his watch and, she noticed with a sudden painful thud of her heart, the plain band on the third finger of his right hand.
The ring which matched hers, inscribed inside with their names and the date, which she had slipped on to his finger on their wedding day…
How could he still be wearing it? How could he be such a hypocrite? she asked herself numbly.
He said, ‘Aren’t you going to ask me to sit down—offer me some coffee?’
‘You’re not a guest,’ Kate said, keeping her voice level with an effort. ‘And this is not a social call.’ She frowned. ‘How did you get in, anyway?’
‘A charming lady on the ground floor.’ He paused. ‘She seemed pleased you were having a visitor.’
Mrs Thursgood, Kate thought, grinding her teeth. Who normally guarded the front door like Cerberus at the gates of Hell.
She said, ‘She allows her imagination to run away with her sometimes.’
She loosened the towel that was swathed round her head, and her damp hair tumbled on to her shoulders. Then she switched on the drier, and picked up the brush.
Mick stood by the old-fashioned fireplace watching every movement, his whole body very still, except for a muscle flickering at the side of his mouth.
He said at last, ‘You’ve received Ismene’s invitation.’ His tone was abrupt, and it was a statement rather than a question.
‘It came today.’
‘So you haven’t had time to reply.’
‘It won’t take much time,’ Kate said shortly. ‘Naturally, I shan’t be going.’
‘Ah,’ Mick said gently. ‘But that is what I came to discuss with you. It would mean a great deal to my sister to have you present, so I hope you will reconsider.’
Kate switched off the drier and stared at him, pushing her hair back from her face. ‘That’s impossible.’
‘I hope not. Ismene has missed you very badly, and this is a special time for her.’ He paused. ‘I would regard your attendance as a favour.’
Kate gasped. ‘And that’s supposed to make all the difference?’ she demanded furiously.
‘I thought it might.’ He leaned an arm on the mantelshelf, looking hatefully assured and relaxed. ‘In fact, I believed we might exchange favours.’
There was an uncertain silence, then Kate said, ‘What do you mean?’
‘You want a simple, consensual divorce.’ He smiled at her. ‘Which you can have—at a price.’
There was another tingling silence.
She said, ‘And if the price is too high?’
He shrugged. ‘Then I refuse to consent, and we let the legal process run its course.’ He added casually, ‘I understand it can take several years.’
‘That’s—blackmail.’ Her voice shook.
‘Is it?’ he said. ‘But perhaps I do not agree that our marriage has “irretrievably broken down” as you allege in that document.’
‘But you must. It has.’ Kate drew a deep breath. ‘And you’re bluffing. I know you are. You do
n’t wish to stay married any more than I do.’
His mouth twisted. ‘You’re mistaken, agapi mou. I am in no particular hurry to be free.’
No, she thought, with a stab of anguish. Not while your father is still alive, and Victorine is nominally his…
She said slowly, ‘So I have to attend Ismene’s wedding if I want a quick divorce.’
‘Is it really such a hardship? Kefalonia is very beautiful in September.’
‘Kefalonia is beautiful all the year round.’ Her tone was curt. ‘It’s only some of the people there who make it ugly.’
‘A word of advice, pedhi mou.’ His smile was mirthless. ‘It is better to win an opponent over than to antagonise him.’
Kate lifted her chin. ‘I think it’s a little late to worry about that.’ She hesitated. ‘But everyone must know by now that our marriage is over. Won’t they find it strange if I’m at the wedding?’
‘I am not interested in what people think.’ His voice was suddenly harsh. ‘Besides, they only know that we have been separated for a short time. You might simply have come back to this country to attend to some family business.’
‘Is that what you’ve been telling people?’ She shook her head. ‘My God, you can’t even be honest about our marriage breaking down.’
‘They will know soon enough, when the wedding is over.’
‘Well, I hope you don’t expect me to take part in some spurious reunion,’ Kate said acidly. ‘I’m not that good an actress.’ She paused. ‘Why do you want me there?’
‘Did I say wanted?’ Mick drawled. ‘Don’t flatter yourself, my sweet one. I am here on Ismene’s behalf, not my own.’
She did not look at him, staring instead at her gingham-covered knee. ‘Then I’d be there—just as an ordinary guest? Nothing more?’
He said mockingly, ‘Why, Katharina, did you think you had left me all these weeks to sleep alone? That I’ve been burning for your return. What an innocent you are.’
‘Not,’ she said, ‘any more.’ She was silent for a moment. ‘I need time to think about this.’
‘You have twenty-four hours. I am staying at the Royal Empress Hotel. You remember it?’
‘Yes.’ It was a painful whisper.
He nodded. ‘You can contact me there with your answer.’
He walked to the door, and paused for a final swift look round the room.
He said, ‘So this is what you left me for. I hope it is worth it.’
‘I don’t have to live in the lap of luxury to be happy,’ Kate said defiantly.
‘Evidently,’ he said. ‘If happy is what you are.’ He looked her over, slowly and thoroughly, a smile curling his mouth.
He said softly, ‘Eyes like smoke and hair like flame. What a waste agapi mou. What a tragic waste.’
And was gone.
CHAPTER TWO
FOR several long moments Kate stood like a statue, staring at the closed door, pain and disbelief warring within her for supremacy.
Then she gave a little choked cry and ran to her bedroom, flinging herself face down across the bed, her hands gripping the covers as if they were her last hold on sanity.
She said aloud, ‘Fool.’ And again, more savagely, her voice breaking, ‘Fool.’
Had she really thought she could escape so easily? That Michael Theodakis would simply allow her—the girl he’d taken from nowhere—to walk away from him?
Not that he cared about her, or their marriage, as she had bitter cause to know, but the fact that she’d chosen to expose the hypocrisy of their relationship by leaving, had clearly damaged his pride. And that, of course, was an unforgivable sin.
Her own pride, naturally, didn’t count.
He hadn’t even asked her why she had left, but then he didn’t have to. He already knew. He would have been told…
Nor had he offered one word of apology or explanation for the actions which had driven her away.
No, she was clearly the one who was at fault because she’d failed to turn a blind eye to his cynical infidelity.
After all, she’d had the Theodakis millions to enjoy, and she could not deny Mick had been generous. There’d been the house outside Athens, and the sumptuous apartments in Paris and New York as well as the clothes and jewellery he’d given her, all of which she’d left behind when she fled.
But that had been her choice, and Mick, no doubt, felt he had bought her silence—her discretion, and, in his eyes, she had reneged on their unwritten bargain.
A bargain she had not realised existed until that terrible afternoon…
She shuddered, pressing her face deep into the bed until coloured sparks danced behind her closed eyelids.
But nothing could drive the image from her brain. Mick sprawled naked and asleep across the bed—their bed. And Victorine sitting at the dressing table combing her hair, clad in nothing but a towel.
And now, in spite of that, he required her to stand meekly at his side during Ismene’s wedding celebrations, playing the dutiful wife. As if she owed him something.
But she’d only have to role-play by day, she reminded herself. At least she would not be asked to pretend at night.
And neither would he. Not any longer.
How could a man do that? she wondered wildly. How could he make love to one woman, with his heart and mind committed to another?
And all those precious passionate moments when the dark strength of his body had lifted her to the edge of paradise and beyond—how could they have meant so little to him?
But perhaps sexual fulfilment had also been part of his side of the bargain along with the designer wardrobe and the money he’d provided. One of the assets of being Mrs Michael Theodakis.
But it wasn’t enough. Because she’d wanted love. And that was something he’d never offered. At least he’d been honest about that.
Probably, he’d found her inexperience—her naïvete amusing, she thought, lashing herself into fresh anger against him.
Because anger was good. Safe. It kept the frantic tears of loneliness and betrayal at bay. And she couldn’t afford any more tears. Any more heartbreak.
She’d wept enough. Now, somehow, she had to move on.
But she couldn’t begin to build a new life while her brief marriage still existed, trapping her in the old one. She needed it to be over, and left far behind her. But for that, of course, she had to have Mick’s co-operation. Oh, it would be so good to tell him to go to hell. That she would die sooner than return to Kefalonia and play at being his wife again for however short a time.
Because that meant she would become once more the smokescreen against his father’s jealous and totally justified suspicions. And how could she bear it?
Or stand seeing, yet again, the triumph and contempt in Victorine’s beautiful face? The look she’d turned on Kate, standing ashen-faced in the doorway that afternoon only a few agonised weeks ago.
‘How tactless of you, chère.’ Her honeyed drawl was barbed. ‘Perhaps in future you should knock before entering your husband’s bedroom.’
Kate had taken two shaky steps backwards, then run for the bathroom down the passage, her hand over her mouth as nausea churned inside her.
She was violently, cripplingly sick, kneeling on the tiled floor while walls and ceiling revolved unsteadily around her. She had no idea how long she’d stayed there. But eventually some firm purpose was born out of the sickness and misery, making her realise that she had to get out. That her brief marriage was over, and that she could not bear to spend even another hour under any roof that belonged to the Theodakis family.
She had to force herself to go back into that bedroom, bracing herself for another humiliating confrontation, but Victorine had gone.
Mick was still fast asleep. Exhausted by his labours, no doubt, she thought, rubbing salt into her own bitter wounds. And how dared he sleep while her heart was breaking?
She needed to confront him, she realised. To accuse him and see the guilt in his face.
S
he put her hand on his shoulder, and shook him.
‘Mick.’ Her voice cracked on his name. ‘Wake up.’
He stirred drowsily, without opening his eyes. ‘S’agapo,’ he muttered, his voice slurred. ‘I love you.’
Kate gasped, and took a step backwards, a stricken hand flying to her mouth. At last he’d said them—the words she’d yearned to hear ever since they’d been together.
Only they were not meant for her, but his secret lover—the woman he’d been enjoying so passionately in her absence. The mistress he’d never actually discarded. It was the final—the unforgivable hurt, she thought as she turned painfully and walked away.
She packed the minimum in a small weekend case, then scribbled him a note which she left on the night table with her wedding ring.
‘I should never have married you,’ she wrote. ‘It was a terrible mistake, and I cannot bear to go on living with you for another moment. Don’t try to find me.’
No one saw her go. She drove to the airport, and managed to get a seat on a plane to Athens, and from there to London.
She had sworn that she would never go back.
And I can’t, Kate thought, a shudder crawling the length of her body. I can’t do it. It’s too degrading to have to face her. To see them together, knowing what I know.
But what real alternative did she have?
She couldn’t wait for years in limbo until Mick finally decided to let her go.
And, while his father lived, he had no real reason to end the marriage.
She had humiliated him by her precipitate departure, and she was being punished as a consequence. That was what it was all about. She had to be returned to the scene of her anguish—her betrayal—and made to endure all the memories and misery that it would evoke.
She burrowed into the quilt like a small wounded animal seeking sanctuary, her mind rejecting the images forcing themselves relentlessly on her inner vision.
Oh, how could he do this? How dared he simply—appear in her life again and start making demands?
Because he’s without shame, she told herself, bitterly. And without decency. He’s rich enough to do without them.