Then Leon was saying in a tight commanding whisper, ‘Take her hand, Father. Welcome your new daughter into the family.’
Dimitri Stephanades jerked his eyes back to his son’s. There was definite shock written there and something else Jemma could not interpret but knew that, whatever it was, it went very deep. Then he swallowed, and said something hoarsely in Greek. Leon nodded. ‘Most definitely mine!’ he said with a fierce driving possessiveness. ‘My child. My son!’ he added triumphantly. ‘I have seen him living and moving with my own eyes!’
Shock hit her broadside, closing her eyes and draining her face of the last vestige of colour, sending her outstretched hand dropping to her side where it clenched into a tight, trembling fist. A son. Leon knew their child was a boy, and her mind flicked back to the day they had visited the doctor and Leon had slipped away to speak to him privately while Jemma got dressed again. The doctor had asked while they watched the scan of their child whether they wished to know its sex, and Jemma had said no, firmly, because she wanted to enjoy the element of surprise.
Now Leon had spoiled that forever, and in front of one hundred witnesses. Ruthless she knew him to be, or he would not be the formidable force he was to the business world. Angry with his father she had known. But this angry—this ruthless, that he would use her as some kind of weapon that was at this very moment causing some great chain reaction among the murmuring crowd, and that he had destroyed forever her trust in him?
She wanted to turn and run, get out of here and away from all these people and their little power games—because she was in no doubt that it was a struggle for power that was taking place right now—but her legs would not allow her to move. They were stiff and tingling with the imminent threat of completely collapsing beneath her and she knew the only thing that was holding her upright was Leon’s arm—treacherous though it was—clamped about her thickened waist.
Someone tried to say something, her voice sharp with shock. But Leon’s father waved her into silence. It was Leon’s stepmother, her black eyes glazed with horror as she sank heavily back into her chair. Then Dimitri Stephanades was looking pleadingly at his eldest son.
Leon did not move, neither physically nor emotionally. ‘You have an announcement to make,’ he reminded him. ‘I suggest you do it—then we talk, I think.’
It was so obviously the conditional terms of a victor to the defeated that it seemed decidedly odd, even to Jemma’s totally stunned mind, that his father’s eyes should suddenly look fire-bright with what she could only describe as elation.
‘Of course,’ he agreed, and almost dutifully turned to face the silenced party.
‘As you all no doubt know,’ he began smoothly enough, ‘today I reached my sixty-fifth year, and the doctors, wise men that they are, have advised me it is time to abdicate my throne and go tend my vines.’ A ripple of nervous laughter skittered around the garden. ‘Let no one think it is an easy thing to accept that I am getting too old to maintain control of what has been my life’s work, for it is not,’ he confessed. ‘But, for my own health’s sake—and the sake of the Leonadis Corporation—I have decided to hand over the reins of power into more—capable hands.’ His tone alone said he was doing so reluctantly. ‘I have two sons,’ he continued flatly, ‘both of whom I am undoubtedly proud of, both equally capable of reigning supreme in my place. I therefore had a choice,’ he explained. ‘To split the company into two and give them one half each, or do what any wise businessman should do and keep the company strong in unity. I chose unity,’ he informed the listening throng. ‘Consequently, several weeks ago I had drawn up a legal document, laying down the grounds on which either son could ascend into my place. It involved several points I considered necessary before I would hand my life’s work over to their care, the most important of these being, of course, the continuance of the Stephanades line. I therefore made this proviso...’ He paused and took in a breath of air. ‘The first of them to provide me with the grandson I so much desire will take my place as chairman of the Leonadis Corporation. This, of course, was to be the nucleus of my announcement tonight but—’ the twisted smile appeared again ‘—as you can all see, my son Leonadis has pre-empted me. So...’ he lifted his eyes, sending them on a cool scan of his rapt audience, then picked up the half-filled champagne glass standing in front of him ‘...please stand and raise your glasses to Leon and his wife—Jemma...’ The name fell stiltedly off his tongue. ‘And, because Leon informs me it is so and I have never had any reason to doubt his word, my as yet unborn grandson. I therefore announce Leon as my immediate successor. Yássas!’ he concluded, and drank.
Silence—it was both spectacular and nullifying. Then the place seemed to erupt as a hundred people came to their feet, and while Jemma stood, numbed through to the very core of her being by the depth of Leon’s usage of her, they raised their glasses and said, ‘Yássas!’ just as she sank into a deep, dark faint.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
JEMMA came around slowly, the sound of voices raised in anger and the blurred impression that she was not going to like what she was coming back to keeping her sunk in a semi-conscious haze. She vaguely recalled Leon carrying her inside the house and laying her gently on something smooth and soft, but other than that she did not remember—and did not want to.
‘But this is madness, Dimitri!’ a shrill voice suddenly cried, high-pitched and impossible to ignore. ‘We know nothing about this woman—or the child she carries! It could well not even be Leon’s child!’
‘Are you suggesting I am a fool, Anthia?’ From much, much closer, Leon’s voice was quiet but deadly grim.
‘No. But I am suggesting that you would sink to anything to grab full power!’
‘Including claiming another man’s child as my own, it seems.’
‘And why not?’ the cold voice challenged. ‘It is all a little too convenient, is it not? After all, who is she? What is she? Why is it that we knew nothing of her existence until tonight?’
‘She is my wife,’ Leon stated harshly. ‘The rest is none of your business!’
‘It is if this is just a deliberate ploy to disinherit your brother!’
‘Half-brother,’ Leon corrected. ‘There is a subtle but fundamental difference. The Leonadis Corporation belonged to my mother, not his.’
‘Enough,’ another deep voice commanded. ‘This has gone far enough! Leon, you will remember, please, that the Leonadis company is mine, regardless of its origin. And you, Anthia, will not imply that Leon is a cheat. He is my son, and his loyalty to me has always been unimpeachable.’
‘Until tonight,’ Dimitri’s wife could not resist adding.
God, thought Jemma, she could taste the bitterness and hostility. It sickened her, turned her stomach and made her wonder just what she had been thrust into here.
She moved, struggling to push herself into a sitting position, and brought an icy hand up to cover her clammy brow.
‘Jemma.’ Leon was beside her in an instant, squatting down to bring his face at a level with her own. He looked grim and anxious, his eyes raking over her colourless face. Behind him Jemma could see the small clutch of stiff and angry people eyeing her grimly from the other side of the room. ‘How do you feel?’ he murmured concernedly. ‘Any pain, discomfort? I grabbed you quite roughly when you fainted. And you have been out a long time.’ Frowning, he reached out to brush a stray lock of hair from her ice-cold cheek. ‘It concerned me enough to call the doctor,’ he informed her. ‘He will be here soon.’
‘Safeguarding your interests, Leon?’ she jeered, shrugging his hand away.
His mouth tightened, but he did not retaliate, studying her frowningly instead, calculating the extent of her physical distress, the emotional one already self-evident.
A glass of water appeared in front of her and she went to wave it away, but a soft female voice urged, ‘Drink; it will help.’ And she looked up to find herself staring into the kindest face she had seen here tonight. Older than herself, the woman was smilin
g encouragingly. Jemma took the glass, but her fingers were shaking so badly that she couldn’t drink from it, and the woman closed her own warmer fingers around Jemma’s and gently helped the glass to her lips. She was glad she was there, glad because her elegant figure effectively blocked Jemma off from the rest of the room, and glad because it meant she did not have to concentrate on the man squatting in front of her.
A few tentative sips at the cool water, and Jemma felt her rocked senses begin to settle. She smiled her thanks at the woman and let her take the glass from her.
‘Jemma—’
‘Don’t speak to me!’ she flashed.
The woman looked surprised as though she couldn’t believe anyone would dare speak to Leon Stephanades in that tone. ‘You have found your ideal match, I see,’ she drawled mockingly to Leon.
‘More than my match,’ he said with a tight forced smile. ‘She beats me with her broomstick twice a week.’
‘Be careful I don’t decide to turn you into a snake!’ Jemma snapped.
The woman laughed, and so did Leon, but there was a moment’s angry flash in his eyes that said he had more than understood her acid meaning. Then he sighed heavily and lowered his gaze to where he had his hands clenched between his bent knees.
‘You bastard,’ she whispered threadily.
‘I know,’ he acknowledged quietly.
The doctor arrived just then, slicing through the tension in the room by briskly ordering everyone out—except for Leon, who straightened to shake his hand then moved stiffly to stand behind the long sofa Jemma was sitting on. He was a short, stocky man, Greek to the marrow in his bones, but his grasp of English was superb, and it was only as he flashed a series of comprehensive questions at her that Jemma realised hardly anyone present tonight had spoken in Greek.
Maybe it would have been kinder for her if they had, she concluded as she suffered the usual physical examination with Leon’s sharp eyes on her looking for the smallest sign of discomfort. Understanding nothing would have left her sublimely ignorant to what was going on.
Instead, she had heard all, and now knew all. Leon had married her for one reason only. She conveniently suited his urgent requirements.
And it hurt, hurt so much that she couldn’t even look at him without feeling ravaged.
‘Right,’ the doctor said firmly, removing his stethoscope and shoving it into his little black bag. ‘You will be pleased to know that there is nothing drastically wrong with either of you!’ He smiled briefly at his own joke.
For the life of her, Jemma couldn’t smile with him, so she took diversionary tactics, by straightening her dress and levering herself back into a sitting position. She saw Leon’s hand snake out to help her, but ignored it. She didn’t want him touching her. She didn’t want to look at him ever again.
‘But,’ the doctor continued, ‘we are in the middle of a heatwave—even by Greek standards—and partying in your condition, Mrs Stephanades, is perhaps asking for trouble. I suggest you take it easy for a few days. Enjoy making your husband dance attendance on you.’ Another joke and another smile he expected to be returned. Leon might have done, but Jemma just lowered her head. ‘Then come to my surgery—perhaps Friday?—and we will check you over more thoroughly then.’
Leon saw him out, leaving her alone in the elegant room of his father’s house where the beautiful cream and grey décor looked as vapid as she felt. Then her baby kicked, and Jemma smiled sadly to herself. Perhaps not quite that vapid, she allowed, stroking a tender hand over the shifting mound.
The door opened, and she looked up sharply, a fizz of defensive rebelliousness stiffening her spine—only to sag again when she saw not Leon coming back into the room, but the woman who had brought her the glass of water.
‘The party goes on, and Leon is grilling the doctor,’ she said ruefully. ‘So I thought I would come and keep you company.’ As gentle in movement as her manner was, she walked across the soft grey-carpeted floor and sat herself down next to Jemma. ‘How do you feel?’ she asked.
‘As well as can be expected, I suppose,’ Jemma mocked, not even trying to paper over what had really caused her faint tonight. It would be a waste of time anyway, since this woman had been a party to the row which had followed it in here.
‘This is a strong family,’ the other woman remarked, ‘with each and every one of them a force to be reckoned with. They fight each other as ruthlessly as they fight any battle in business.’
‘English,’ Jemma murmured irrelevantly. ‘They all speak in English.’
‘Oh, did you not know? Dimitri is English! Or at least,’ she amended, ‘he was born in England to Greek parents. They emigrated there after a—series of misfortunes left them with little else to do but start afresh somewhere new.’ She was choosing her words carefully. ‘He thinks in English—though his Greek is good. But around him, whatever nationality you are, people tend to speak English. He expects it.’
‘You seem to know an awful lot about them,’ Jemma observed guardedly. ‘Does that make you one of them?’
‘Ah!’ For some reason, she was thoroughly amused. ‘No, I am not,’ she assured Jemma, ‘but I think perhaps it is time we formally introduced ourselves, since manners this evening seem to have been sadly lacking.’ She held out her hand. ‘I am Melva Markopoulou, a—very old friend of Leon’s.’
There was a look in the woman’s smiling eyes that Jemma could not interpret—a hint of mockery spiced with something else too intricate to catch. Jemma took the hand and returned shyly, ‘Jemma Dav—’
‘Stephanades,’ a cool voice from the doorway corrected.
‘Ah.’ Melva’s eyes lifted to their intruder. ‘Leon, your wife and I were getting to know each other.’
‘So I see,’ he said, coming further into the room. He was looking at Jemma, but her eyes were blank and staring, focusing on nothing. ‘You are feeling more yourself, agape mou?’
The endearment made her shudder. But, ‘Yes,’ she answered, and forced her eyes to focus on a point somewhere between the rigid set of his jaw and the dark brown skin at his throat. ‘May we leave now?’
‘Of course,’ he concurred. ‘The car is being brought round now.’
‘Good,’ she said, and made to get up. Leon reached out to help her and once again Jemma pulled violently away from his touch. ‘No,’ she rasped, and he stepped back jerkily.
She sensed the other two exchanging glances and knew she had to get away from here before she split wide apart. Her legs were barely supporting her and a hot sense of agitation was disrupting her insides. ‘M-my shawl,’ she murmured, glancing distractedly around her. ‘I c-can’t see my shawl—’
‘Jemma—’
‘Go and collect your wife’s shawl, Leon!’ Melva inserted quickly. She was on her feet and gently taking Jemma by the arm. ‘I shall walk Jemma to the door and we will meet you there.’
There was a short tense moment when Leon thought to argue, then more glances passed between the other two and he sighed impatiently and walked away.
‘Please, Jemma!’ Melva appealed urgently as soon as he had gone. ‘Try not to condemn him out of hand for what took place tonight! It was more his father’s fault than anyone’s—and of course that avaricious bitch, Anthia’s. She has been planning towards the evening—with a different result, of course—for twenty-eight years! She is shrewd and clever and totally without scruple. Leon had to use his weapons carefully or she would have twisted things to suit herself!’
As Leon had twisted things to suit himself, Jemma likened. ‘Just what is Leon to you,’ she demanded, ‘that you come down so completely on his side?’
‘She is the woman my father picked out for me to marry.’ Once again, Leon had come upon them without their realising it. ‘But I obliged Melva by refusing to accede to his threats—did I not, agape mou?’
‘Don’t tease the poor girl, Leon!’ Melva scolded. ‘Neither of us had any wish to be married to the other, and it really was as simple as that!’
/> Laughing up at him, she moved the few steps away from Jemma to kiss Leon on both cheeks. What she did next was so deftly done that Jemma wondered afterwards if she would have noticed if she had not been so hypersensitive to everything happening around her, but somehow, by the time Melva moved away from Leon again, Jemma’s shawl was in her hands and she turned—still smiling—to settle carefully the fine white silk around Jemma’s shoulders.
The thoughtful gesture brought a brief wash of tears to her eyes. She knew she didn’t want him to touch her, and she was saving both of them from any more discomfort.
‘I am well known on the island,’ she informed Jemma gravely. ‘If you ever find yourself in need of a friend, then just ask and you will be directed to my home.’
‘I... Thank you,’ Jemma whispered, but she knew she wouldn’t take her up on it. She was Leon’s friend, and therefore could not be Jemma’s as well.
They drove back to the yacht in complete silence, the presence of the chauffeur making conversation impossible—of the kind they would have, anyway. And Jemma was glad. She had no wish to speak to Leon— or, worse, listen to him while he tried to justify what he had done.
There could be no justification. He had used her. From the moment he had walked back into her life, he had cold-bloodedly planned, calculated and manipulated—everything, from the ruthless way he’d played on her reliance on Trina, to the way he had spent the last three weeks personally supervising her return to good health with his aim focused entirely on this evening. Even the beauty of yesterday had been a coolly thought-out calculation! she realised as hot tears of hurt sped across her eyes. He must have seen her moment of unhappiness as a sign of discontent and the last thing he needed so close to his ultimate aim was an unhappy wife standing by his side! So he’d set out to woo her—woo her into the soft, contented woman he wanted her to be in front of his family, and she, fool that she was, had fallen for it all like a lemming walking blindly towards its own destruction.
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