by Sara Craven
‘I regret that I am not going to Athens,’ he said. ‘Not immediately. But I will send the Selene for you, and instruct Mac to take you wherever you wish.’
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘How soon can he get here?’
‘I will tell him it is a matter of urgency.’
They were talking like strangers, she thought. As if they had not spent all these past nights in total intimacy, drowning in pleasure in each other’s arms. She had given herself to him utterly—heart, mind, body and soul. Given herself to a man she did not know.
‘Urgency,’ she said. ‘Yes.’
He was beside her as she walked into the house. He said, ‘Natasha mou,’ and put a hand on her arm, which she shook off.
‘Don’t touch me.’ She heard the note of panic in her voice, and took a deep, calming breath. ‘You said once you liked to part from your…women…as friends. But that can’t happen with us. Not now. Probably it never could.’
‘No,’ he said, quietly and bleakly. ‘I think you are right.’ He paused. ‘Has it really been so bad, matia mou, being with me?’
She did not look at him. Her voice was stifled. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Not—bad. Unbearable.’
And walked away from him to her room without looking back.
It was the sound of the helicopter that woke her, and she sat bolt upright, clothes sticking to her and her eyelashes gummed together with weeping as she listened to it fading into the distance.
Too late now, she realised, to run to Alex and say, I love you. Nothing matters but that, so please—please take me with you.
Which was one humiliation at least that she’d been spared, she thought, catching sight of herself in the mirror across the room, her face streaky, her eyes swollen and her hair plastered to her damp face. No man in his right mind would have taken her to the end of the street looking as she did.
Even a man who still desired her….
As Alex no longer did. And who had also warned he did not require love.
I knew I would only be with him for a little while, she thought. That he has a low boredom threshold with women. But I fell into the trap of being happy.
But even if their brief affair had not come to its end, she would have wanted to leave.
Because what Alex had done did matter. As a boy, he could not have been responsible for the destruction of Thia Theodosia’s beloved house, but as a man he’d kept the feud going, totally and relentlessly, until he’d achieved a different kind of ruin for the Papadimos clan. Herself, included.
And now she at least had to put herself back together again—and survive.
Starting, she decided wearily, with a shower and a change of clothes. But as she swung herself off the bed she saw her passport lying on the night table beside her, and knew that he must have put it there, and seen her asleep, flushed and worn out with heartbreak.
So she’d been spared nothing after all, she thought bitterly, wrapping her arms round her body and bending her head in total defeat, because she had no more secrets to hide.
The next forty-eight hours were a living nightmare, made infinitely worse by the attitude of the rest of the household, who were universally and hideously kind to her.
Zeno the aloof was suddenly never far away, watching her like a benevolent hawk. His wife, her plump face a sympathetic mask, saw to it that small, delicious offerings were sent out from the kitchen to tempt Natasha’s non-existent appetite.
And Josefina was in and out of her room, anxiously packing and re-packing all the lovely things hanging in the wardrobes and folded in the drawers, because Natasha did not have the heart to tell her she was wasting her time. That she would be taking nothing but what she stood up in and a change of underwear.
Oh, God, she thought, why had she agreed to wait for the Selene, when she could have told Alex, Forget Athens. Just put the helicopter down at the nearest airport and send me on my way. I’ll cope.
Anything would be better than this…limbo.
She spent most of her waking hours on the beach, her eyes fixed painfully on the horizon, straining for the first sight of Selene.
But when on the third day she heard, instead, the noise of an approaching helicopter, she thought for a moment it was another bad dream like all those others that had put sleepless, unhappy shadows under her eyes.
But they had all featured departures, not arrivals, and she scrambled off her lounger, reaching for the gauzy blue and gold caftan which matched her azure bikini, and slipping it over her head, her heart thudding wildly.
Halfway back to the house she met Zeno coming in search of her. ‘Kyrios Mandrakis is here, thespinis.’ He sounded wary, his eyes concerned. ‘He waits for you in the saloni.’
As she reached the lawns, she heard the rotors and saw the helicopter rise over the house and turn away inland. Which meant he was staying, if only for a little while.
She almost skimmed across the terrace and through the tall glass doors into the saloni, then stopped, her smile fading and her throat closing nervously as she saw the man waiting for her.
He was tall and white-haired, his features strongly marked, especially the beak of a nose that he’d passed on to his only son, and he was standing leaning lightly on an ebony cane with a silver top.
For the first time, Natasha was face to face with Petros Mandrakis.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
‘SO,’ HE said, his dark eyes studying her as if she was an interesting specimen displayed in a glass case. ‘You are the girl who turned my clever son’s head, and made him forget all he owes to his family name. I am…surprised.’
She said crisply, ‘No more than I was myself, kyrie, and please believe it’s an episode I am eager to forget.’
He inclined his head unsmilingly. ‘Then we can agree on that. And at least he had the sense to conduct his liaison with you in comparative privacy,’ he added grimly. ‘So it is to be hoped an open scandal can be avoided.’
He paused. ‘But you cannot, of course, remain here.’
‘I know that. I thought I’d already have left by now.’ Her mouth felt dry. ‘He—Kyrios Alexandros—said he would send his boat to fetch me. I—I’ve been waiting…’
‘There has had to be a change of plan,’ he said. ‘The Selene is required for another purpose.’ He paused, as if considering his words carefully. ‘She is bringing some special guests to Alyssos, thespinis.’
He paused. ‘You must understand that Alexandros has at last convinced me to bring this feud to an end with a properly contracted marriage between our families.’
Natasha was suddenly very still. She had the curious impression that the tall man standing in front of her had suddenly receded to some far distance.
But his voice reached her with total clarity. ‘I have therefore invited Madame Theodosia Papadimos to visit me here on Alyssos, and to bring her daughter with her. We hope that Kyria Irini may be persuaded into acceptance of this new relationship, and maybe welcome it, once she has recovered from the initial shock.’
She was freezing cold, burning up, and sick to her stomach all at the same time, while a voice in her head was moaning, No—oh, God—no.
She stared at Petros Mandrakis, her mind spinning out of control.
Alex, she thought, trembling. Alex and Irini, locked together in a dynastic marriage of convenience, her dislike matched with his indifference. How could that possibly happen?
She’d always known that Alex would marry one day. ‘A suitable heiress’, as Mac Whitaker had said, who would give him a son and she’d thought, when it happened, time would have passed, and she’d have found some way of steeling herself to the inevitable.
But she’d never envisaged him taking Irini as his wife—even in her worst nightmares.
Yet when she’d stormed at him to end the feud, he’d warned her that she might find the solution worse than the problem. But she’d never guessed he intended this cynical piece of expediency.
And how could Thia Theodosia even consider it?
She wanted me to be a cherished wife and a happy mother, she thought. Surely she must have the same ambition for Irini. And found herself wincing away from a swift inner vision of Irini with Alex’s baby in her arms.
She squared her shoulders. Steadied her voice. ‘Madame Papadimos returning here, kyrie, after all that’s happened? You amaze me.’
‘Ah, yes. Alexandros told me you had insisted on seeing the house,’ he said, his tone reflective. ‘What happened there was—unfortunate. But not all Kyria Theodosia’s memories of Alyssos are so painful.’
‘Am I allowed to see her—just for a moment or two?’
‘That will not be possible.’ He shook his head. ‘Your presence here, under the circumstances, would not be appropriate, as Alexandros was the first to point out. Negotiations are still at a most delicate stage, but I hope and believe they will be finalised during this visit.’
She said numbly, ‘Yes. Yes, of course.’
‘I have therefore arranged for you to stay for a while with my friend Dimitris Phillipos and his wife at their house on the other side of the port,’ he continued. He frowned a little. ‘Alexandros assures me they are unaware of his…irregular dealings with you, so I hope you will be good enough to maintain the pretence that you are merely a friend of the family whom they are entertaining as a favour to me.’
He added blandly, ‘It may be some time before my son will be able to visit you. He must help reconcile Kyria Irini to her new circumstances, and cannot afford distractions, however charming.’
What was he saying? Natasha asked herself in disbelief. Did he think that she was still involved with Alex, and would be willing to remain his mistress throughout his courtship and marriage? Be—his bit on the side?
She felt a stab of sympathy for Irini, who had never had the affection she craved from her father, and looked to be equally unfortunate in her husband.
But I won’t be causing her a minute’s grief, she swore silently. When Alex starts playing away, I shall be long gone.
And she found herself praying inwardly that Irini would never suspect that her hated foster sister had spent even a minute sharing the master’s bed in the master bedroom.
She said quietly, ‘You are under a misapprehension, kyrie. Any dealings I have had with your son are at an end, and I have no plans to meet him again.’
His mouth twisted in frank scepticism. He reached into an inside pocket of his linen jacket and produced an envelope.
‘I think Alexandros has a different viewpoint,’ he remarked. ‘He has asked me to give you this letter. Perhaps you should read it before reaching so definite a conclusion.’
She took it without further argument. Her troubles had begun with a letter, she thought. They would end with another.
After that, things moved fast. Almost before she knew it, her luggage was being piled into the Jeep, she had changed into a cream linen skirt, and a black sleeveless top, in order to be driven to the Phillipos house by Zeno. As the Jeep moved off, she could see Petros Mandrakis watching her frowningly from the main doorway.
Making sure I’m safely off the premises before his guests arrive, she thought, biting her lip.
Zeno was speaking to her with halting concern, asking if she had a hat, and she made herself smile back and say she was fine. It was certainly very hot, but the port was little more than fifteen minutes away, and the house she was going to would not be much further. She’d survive, even though she felt as if she’d been torn apart and discarded.
And the fact that Thia Theodosia didn’t want to see her added to her sense of utter desolation.
They were just driving into the small town when she heard three steady blasts on a hooter and realised it was the warning that the ferry was about to leave.
According to Josefina, it wound its way among the islands, calling first at Naxos, where the myths said Ariadne had been abandoned by Theseus.
And in pre-history, that could have happened. These days, Ariadne would probably have shrugged and caught a flight from Naxos Airport to Athens and the UK to find a more reliable man.
And she could do exactly the same.
She sat up straight, clutching the strap of her bag. She had her wallet, her passport and the unused portion of her ticket. All she had to do was get down to the quayside before the ferry sailed.
She stole a sideways glance at Zeno, who was muttering because their way down the narrow street was blocked by a donkey and a cart laden with flowers.
She said, ‘The sun’s given me a headache. I see a chemist’s sign a little further on. I’ll walk up there, and buy some painkillers.’
She was out of the Jeep before he could object, and walking rapidly towards the pharmacy. She went in, and stood for a moment scanning a rack of toiletries, then peeped back into the street.
The donkey’s owner had returned, and he and Zeno were fully engaged in a fiery altercation.
No one was looking at her, so Natasha put her head down and ran like a hare down one of the twisting alleys that led to the harbour.
Two men were just about to remove the gangplank, but she shouted ‘Wait’ in breathless Greek, and they paused, grinning broadly as she flew past them, calling, ‘Efharisto,’ over her shoulder.
She went up to the bow and sat on one of the benches, recovering her breath. And as the ferry nosed its way into the open sea towards Naxos, she took Alex’s unread letter from her bag, tore it up and tossed the pieces overboard.
‘It’s done,’ she whispered under her breath. ‘Finished. Over. And now my life can begin again—without him.’
‘So,’ Neil said with ominous calm. ‘Exactly how did you become “The Mandrakis mystery girl”?’
Natasha looked down at the garish magazine he’d just slapped on the table in front of her. Ever since her arrival back in London a week ago, she’d known that sooner or later he’d be round and there’d be some kind of confrontation, but she’d not expected it to be like this.
Not that he’d just turn up unannounced and clearly furious, catching her in her old bathrobe, her wet hair wrapped in a towel, and Molly out for the evening.
And she’d certainly never thought she would find herself staring at the blaring headline above the cover photograph—her unmistakable self in a welter of black taffeta being carried in Alex’s arms as he smiled down at her, and she looked back at him, her heart in her eyes. The ultimate giveaway.
They might as well, she thought, have drawn a balloon coming out of her mouth saying, ‘I love you. Take me, I’m yours.’
She marshalled every atom of control she possessed. ‘That,’ she returned steadily, ‘was quite some time ago.’
‘Not that long.’ His finger stabbed accusingly at the date. ‘Melanie, one of the PAs, picked it up at the hairdresser’s only last week. When she brought it into the office, I felt a complete fool.’
Well, please don’t ask how I feel, she thought, or I might start crying again, and I cannot afford to revert to being a sodden heap in the corner of the sofa, or on the bed. Not when I have the rest of my life to pull together.
‘You were supposed to be in Athens, signing papers,’ he went on angrily. ‘Not—cavorting on Mykonos with a notorious playboy like Alexander Mandrakis. What the hell was going on, Natasha?’
She was going to say, ‘You’re an adult male. Work it out for yourself.’ But she stopped herself just in time. Because she’d pretty much given him the right to think better of her than that, and he’d be hurting too.
She looked away. ‘There’s nothing I can say,’ she told him dully. ‘Except—I’m sorry.’
Sorrier than I ever thought it was possible to be, and in as much pain as you could ever wish.
‘But it was going to be…us,’ Neil persisted. ‘You and me together—wasn’t it?’
‘Things change.’ Had she really said that? ‘I—I have no other excuse to offer.’
He called her a bitch then, and other words besides, and she let them rage over her because she deserved them
all.
‘And now he’s dumped you, and you’re back here on your own.’ Neil paused at the door, face flushed, his gaze inimical to deliver his valedictory. ‘Not exactly hung with diamonds, are you? Maybe he didn’t think you were worth it.’
When he’d gone, she sank down on the sofa because her legs were shaking under her.
He thought she’d gone to Greece and had an affair. And neither he nor anyone else could ever know the truth.
Even Molly, who’d welcomed her back, unsuccessfully concealing her dismay at Natasha’s white strained face and dazed, shadowed eyes, had only had a strictly edited version.
‘I fell in love,’ Natasha had told her. ‘And had a brief, crazy fling. But it’s over, and I’m sane again.’
‘You look like hell,’ Molly said, concern making her brutal. Then her eyes widened, and she gasped, ‘Oh, God, Nat. He hasn’t…You’re not…’
‘No,’ Natasha said quietly. ‘I’m not.’
She’d stayed on Naxos for two nights, shopping for a basic change of clothing and a canvas holdall to stow it in, then hiring a room above a small, cheap taverna while she waited for a flight. On the first night there she’d received irrefutable evidence that she was not having Alex’s baby, and knew that she should be thankful.
And, instead, had curled herself into the foetal position on the hard bed and wept herself to sleep, tears of loss and loneliness soaking the pillow.
Knowing that she’d secretly hoped for a child, because, even though he could never know of its existence, it would still be his. Something of Alex that would belong to her alone, she thought, to love and cherish.
And Molly had read the bleakness in her eyes and said more gently, ‘You should have kept to Thia Theodosia’s rules, my love. I don’t think you’re the type for flings.’
She’d made herself smile and say, ‘Don’t worry about me. I’ll be back fighting my corner before you know it.’ And tried not to be glad that Molly was rushing around making arrangements for the wedding, and had no idea how often Natasha yielded to the despair inside her when she was alone.