Securing the Greek's Legacy

by Julia James

  CHAPTER FIVE

  LYN GAZED AROUND her. The room Anatole Telonidis had ushered her into, Georgy clutched in her arms, was huge. Pale pristine carpet stretched in front of her, upon which was set cream-upholstered sofas and armchairs. Vast picture windows took up one entire wall, looking out over one of London’s West End parks. It couldn’t have been more different from her cramped little flat. Yet it was where she was going to stay until she went to Athens.

  To marry Anatole Telonidis.

  She felt the familiar eddy of shock go through her as she faced up to what she had agreed to. But it was too late now—the decision had been made. She had quit her college course, moved out of her flat, travelled down to London with Anatole in his chauffeur-driven car, and her personal belongings had been conveyed by carrier.

  He had taken charge of everything, sweeping her along with him so that she hardly knew what was happening any more—except that it was an overturning of everything familiar. Now he turned to look at her as she stared at the luxury apartment he’d rented.

  ‘Come and choose which bedroom you want for you and Georgy,’ he said, and led the way back out in to the spacious hallway, off which several bedrooms opened. She knew which one she would choose—whichever was furthest away from the master bedroom, where Anatole would be.

  A flush went through her. How on earth was she to live in such close quarters with a man who was a complete stranger to her? And, worse than that, a man who was, when it came to physical attributes, a million miles away from her nondescript appearance.

  What on earth does that matter? she robustly admonished herself as she inspected the bedrooms. As she kept reminding herself, hoping to be reassured, theirs was to be a marriage in name only, solely for the purpose of adopting Georgy, placating the authorities.

  Anatole was speaking again, and she made herself listen.

  ‘There is a gym and a swimming pool for residents in the basement. The park is accessible directly from the apartment block, which will be convenient for taking Georgy out. The apartment is fully serviced, so all meals can be delivered as in a hotel. Plus, of course, groceries and anything else you want can be delivered too. Obviously there’s a maid service, so you won’t have any housework to do.’ He took a breath and then went on. ‘Order whatever you want for Georgy by way of equipment, toys and clothes. Everything can be taken out to Greece when we go. A credit card will be delivered to you shortly, and I am arranging for a new bank account for you, into which I will pay sufficient funds for you to draw on.’

  He paused, and looked at her. She seemed to be taking it in, but it was hard to tell. She had scarcely opened her mouth. Well, she was still in a state of shock, he conceded. Her life had been turned upside down, and she was trying to come to terms with it. Just as he was....

  For a treacherous moment he heard his inner voice remonstrating with him, telling him that it was insane to do what he was doing, but he silenced it. There was no backing out now. Not for him—or her. They just had to get on with it.

  He made his voice soften. ‘It’s strange for you, I know,’ he said, taking a step towards her. ‘But you will get used to things soon enough. I am sorry I have to leave you straight away, but it is necessary. I have to see my grandfather and talk to his doctors about what treatment he might be able to have. I have to tell him our plans and urge him to make Georgy his heir, put me in charge of the Petranakos Corporation as soon as possible. Then I have to attend to some urgent business affairs of my own, which have been neglected since I flew to England. In the meantime,’ he finished, ‘my lawyers are liaising with your social services on an application for Georgy’s passport and permission to take him out of the country, as well as everything to do with our forthcoming marriage and how it can accelerate the adoption process. I’ll only be in Athens a couple of days. Then I will come right back here.’

  He smiled at her in a way he hoped was reassuring. ‘I’m sure that you will be feeling more settled by then. You have my personal mobile number, so of course do phone whenever you want if there is anything that worries you.’

  A little burst of hysteria bubbled through Lyn. You mean like anything other than the fact I’m actually going to go ahead and marry you?

  But there was no point saying that. No point doing anything other than nod and clutch Georgy more tightly to her.

  ‘Good,’ said Anatole briskly, and lifted his hand to take Georgy’s outstretched fingers. This tiny bundle of humanity was what was bringing him and this alien female together. His expression softened. He murmured some infantile nonsense to the baby in Greek, then shifted his gaze to the woman holding him.

  ‘It will be all right,’ he said. ‘Trust me—please.’

  He flickered a brief smile at her, and a warmer one at Georgy, who was trying to get at his tie again. ‘Uh-uh,’ he said reprovingly, and chucked him under the chin. ‘Be good, young man, and look after your aunt for me,’ he instructed.

  Georgy gazed at him wide-eyed. Lyn gave an awkward smile.

  ‘See you at the weekend,’ said Anatole, and headed for the door.

  Behind him, Lyn slowly sank down on to one of the pristine sofas.

  She felt completely numb.

  * * *

  Over the next two days she gradually started to feel less numb—less in shock. And gradually, too, she became used to her new surroundings. Although she was worried Georgy might make a mess of the pristine decor, she could not help but find the luxury, warmth and comfort of the apartment very easy to appreciate after the privations of her dingy flat. The milder air of the capital drew her out to the park, with Georgy enthroned in a brand-new, top-of-the-range buggy delivered from a top London store.

  She was just returning from such an outing on her third day in the apartment, wheeling Georgy into the spacious hallway, when she realised she was not alone.

  Anatole strolled out of the living room.

  Immediately Georgy crowed with delight and recognition, holding out his chubby arms. Lyn’s senses reeled as she took in Anatole’s tall, elegant figure and dark good-looks. He was wearing a suit but had discarded the jacket, loosened his shirt collar and cuffs. The effect of the slight informality of his appearance made her stomach tighten. He looked lean and powerful and devastatingly masculine.

  He glanced a smile of greeting at her, and hunkered down to extract Georgy. Hefting him out, he held him up and swung him high in both hands. He greeted him in Greek, then did likewise, in English, to Lyn.

  ‘Hi,’ she murmured awkwardly, and busied herself folding up the buggy and putting it away in the hall cupboard.

  She let Anatole keep Georgy and, taking off her baggy jacket and hanging it up beside the buggy, followed them into the living room. It was no longer quite as pristine as it had once been. One sofa had been covered by a fleecy throw—more to protect its pale covers than to protect Georgy—on the thick carpet another throw was spread out, arrayed with a good selection of Georgy’s toys.

  She watched Anatole carefully lower the baby down on to the floor, where Georgy gleefully seized upon one of his soft toys.

  Anatole stood back, watching him. His mood was resolute. The time he’d spent in Greece had seen to that. His grandfather was a changed man, summoning all his doctors and demanding the very latest drugs, determined to live now for as long as he could. Determined, too, to see his great-grandson restored to his family. Even if it required Anatole to resort to this drastic strategy to make that happen.

  Timon had seemed to take a moment or two to absorb Anatole’s announcement, his face blanking as if in shock, but then he had simply waved an impatient hand. ‘If it keeps all the damn officials happy and speeds everything up, it’s worth it,’ Timon had said. Then he’d cast a sly look at his grandson. ‘I take it she’s got other charms than just being the boy’s aunt?’

  Anatole’s eyes rested on the f
igure stiffly sitting herself down on sofa, busying herself playing with Georgy. No, the charms that Timon had been implying she might have were conspicuously absent. She still looked just as she had when he’d first set eyes on her, with her dark hair pulled back apart from some straggly bits pushed behind her ears, no make-up, and wearing a shapeless jumper and jeans that bagged at the knees. Yet as he studied her, watched her playing with Georgy, his eyes went to her face and his blighting assessment wavered.

  If he dragged his gaze away from her dire hair and worse clothes he could see that her pale skin was clear and unblemished, and her grey eyes were well set beneath defined brows, sparkling now with animation as she laughed with Georgy. The shape of her face was oval, he noted, with a delicate bone structure, and there was something about the line of her mouth that held his glance...

  He watched her a moment longer, resolve forming within him. She could not possibly turn up in Greece as his fiancée looking the way she did now, so badly dressed and unkempt.

  Well, that could be sorted, but right now he was hungry. He hadn’t eaten on the flight, and it was lunchtime. First he needed a shower, a change of clothes and to check his e-mails, and then he would take Lyn and Georgy for lunch.

  And after lunch, he resolved, he would take them shopping. Toys for Georgy—new clothes for Lyn.

  Everyone would be happy. Including him.

  An hour later they were ready to set off. Lyn was not enthusiastic about the expedition, Anatole could tell, but she had acquiesced docilely enough. She’d changed her clothes, though the brown skirt and pale cream blouse were not a great improvement, to his mind. The skirt was overlong and the blouse too baggy. But that didn’t matter—after lunch she would be getting a whole new wardrobe.

  Over lunch, his sense of resolve strengthened. He would start getting to know her. There must be no awkwardness between them. Georgy united them, and that meant they could not remain strangers. Little by little he had to win her over, get her to relax in his company.

  Get her to trust him.

  But she was clearly feeling awkward and totally unrelaxed—that much was obvious to him as they made their way into the restaurant he’d selected. A few diners cast disapproving glances at Georgy in his carrier as they took their seats, but since he was looking both angelic and deeply slumberous no one said anything.

  Lyn sat down on the plush banquette, feeling acutely uncomfortable. Her dull, chainstore clothes were completely out of place in such an expensive locale, but there was nothing she could do about it. Since she didn’t look like the kind of woman a man like Anatole Telonidis would socialise with, there was no point making an idiot of herself by trying to and failing.

  Anatole took charge, ordering drinks and food. Lyn stared around her uneasily, unused to such expensive surroundings. She jumped as the wine waiter reappeared and opened a bottle of champagne with a soft pop.

  The effervescent liquid was poured out, and as the waiter departed with a bow Anatole lifted his glass. ‘Let us drink to Georgy’s future,’ he said.

  He was trying to be encouraging, she could see. Gingerly, Lyn raised her glass and took a nervous sip. It tasted very dry, and the bubbles burst on her tongue with a slightly acerbic texture. She set the glass down.

  ‘You don’t care for it?’ Anatole’s voice sounded surprised. It was an excellent vintage.

  ‘Sorry, the only fizzy wine I’ve ever had before has been very sweet,’ Lyn apologised.

  ‘This is not “fizzy wine”,’ said Anatole severely. ‘This is champagne.’

  Lyn flushed. ‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled again.

  ‘There is absolutely no need for apology,’ he said promptly.

  He started on an explanation of what constituted champagne, and Lyn found herself listening attentively. It wasn’t a subject that had ever crossed her path before. As she listened she took some more little sips of the crisp, sparkling liquid, and as she sipped she started to feel that taut wire of tension running down her spine lessening almost imperceptibly.

  Their first course arrived—little rondelles of salmon pâté lightened with a lemon jus—and Lyn found them delicious.

  From champagne, Anatole broadened out into discussing wine in general. It seemed a pretty safe topic, in the circumstances.

  ‘Even here in the UK you are starting to produce some very acceptable white wines,’ he commented.

  ‘It was the Romans, I think, who first planted vines in Britain,’ Lyn ventured. She had to make some kind of effort with conversation. She owed it to Anatole to make this intensely awkward meal less awkward. ‘The climate was warmer then—the Roman Warm Period that ended around 400 AD.’

  Anatole’s expression registered surprise. ‘That’s very detailed historical knowledge for someone studying accountancy,’ he said.

  ‘I really wanted to study history,’ Lyn explained diffidently. ‘But it’s not the best subject for post-graduate employment—especially not since I already count as a mature student, being in my mid-twenties now. Accountancy’s far more likely to earn me a good enough living to raise Georgy—’ She broke off, conscious that Georgy’s financial future was very different now.

  ‘Well, Greece has more history than anywhere else in Europe,’ Anatole said. ‘And a great deal of it is in Athens.’ He spoke lightly, steering the conversation towards classical Greek history. The champagne, he could tell, was starting to help her relax, become more talkative.

  ‘How did you find the service dining in the apartment while I was in Greece?’ he enquired as they ate.

  She looked up. ‘Oh, I haven’t used it. It’s bound to be very expensive. I’ve found a small grocery store locally, down a side street, so I’ve been cooking for myself and Georgy.’

  ‘You really do not have to stint yourself when it comes to the facilities of the apartment,’ Anatole said dryly. ‘Tell me, have you taken Georgy swimming in the pool?’

  She shook her head. ‘Not yet,’ she said.

  ‘We shall buy him some pool toys this afternoon,’ Anatole said. ‘All sorts of toys,’ he added expansively while he was at it.

  Lyn brightened. ‘Oh, yes, please—that would be wonderful! He really needs some that are more advanced for the next stage of his development.’ She smiled. ‘He’s very nearly ready to crawl, and when that happens he’s going to take off like a rocket!’

  The conversation moved on to Georgy, the subject of their mutual interest and the reason for their marriage. As if hearing his name mentioned, Georgy decided to surface from his slumber. Enlivened by his sleep, he made it clear he wanted out of his carrier and into Lyn’s arms. Settling him on her lap, she busied herself feeding him from a pot of baby yoghurt she’d thought to bring with her in between taking sips of coffee to finish her meal.

  Then, replete and ready for the off, they left—Georgy borne happily aloft as they exited the restaurant, his little arms waving cheerily at what he fondly took to be his admiring fellow diners. Settled into the waiting chauffeured car, they set off for the shops.

  The department store they went to was, Lyn resigned herself to accept, one of London’s most expensive and luxurious. Since the buggy and baby carrier had been delivered from there, she was not surprised that Anatole seemed to regard it as the obvious place to shop. Certainly the toy department was lavish beyond anything—and so, she very shortly realised, was Anatole’s determination to purchase a substantial amount from the infant section of it, much of it way too advanced for Georgy.

  ‘He can’t possibly do a fifty-piece jigsaw!’ Lyn exclaimed. ‘He needs toys that say nine to twelve months—that’s all.’

  Anatole frowned. ‘He is a very intelligent child,’ he observed.

  ‘Nine to twelve months,’ Lyn repeated firmly. ‘Look—that thing there is ideal!’

  She pointed to a large moulded plastic construction, a colourful ho
use and farmyard, with big doors and windows and a roof that all came to bits and slotted together again. Around the perimeter was a railway track with a train and truck, containing people and animals for the house and farmyard. A large, baby-operable lever set the train whizzing around the house, ringing a bell as it did so. Lyn demonstrated its mode of operation on the display model and instantly caught Georgy’s attention.

  Anatole promptly lifted down a boxed unit. ‘What else?’ he said, looking around him.

  Lyn found herself guiding him through the selection process. It felt awkward, initially, having to be so proactive, but she soon realised that she knew a lot more about what was suitable than Anatole did. He deferred to her without demur, and gradually she found that it was getting easier to be in his company like this. It was even, she realised, enjoyable. And Georgy took such enthusiastic interest in this Aladdin’s cave of toys, as well as clearly relishing the presence of lots of other babies and infants, that she found her eyes meeting Anatole’s as they shared Georgy’s enjoyment.

  But that sense of communication ended abruptly as they left the toy department.

  ‘While we are here, Lyn, I would like to look in at the women’s fashion floor,’ Anatole said.

  She halted. ‘What for?’

  He looked down at her face. She had tensed immediately and her expression was wary. Carefully, he sought the right way to say what he wanted.

  ‘I appreciate that your circumstances till now have been straitened financially,’ he began, keeping his tone neutral, ‘and of course you have had a great deal to cope with, looking after Georgy while pursuing your studies. I can understand those have been your priorities. Now, however, things are different.’ He took a breath. ‘New clothes for your new life—’

  ‘I don’t need any new clothes!’

  ‘Lyn, you need a whole new wardrobe,’ he said.

  ‘No, I don’t! It’s fine as it is! Really!’

  He could hear the intensity in her voice and found himself wondering at it. Didn’t she want something better to wear than what she had to put up with?