Securing the Greek's Legacy

by Julia James

  ‘Please,’ she went on, with the same intensity in her voice, ‘I don’t want you spending money on me!’

  His mouth pressed tightly. ‘Lyn, you are going to be my wife—of course I will spend money on you! I have quite a lot to spend,’ he reminded her. ‘I don’t mean to sound extravagant, and I know you have had to be very careful with money—I have a great deal of respect for you for that—but now things are different.’ He paused. ‘Don’t you want to have a new wardrobe? I thought new clothes were something all women wanted!’ He put a note of humour into his voice, as if to lighten the tension.

  It didn’t work. She was staring at him, and her expression remained fraught. Did he really think lashing out on expensive clothes would actually do anything for her? Of course it wouldn’t! She would just feel awkward and embarrassed and horrible!

  ‘I’m fine with what I’ve got,’ she managed to get out.

  Dark flashes glinted in Anatole’s eyes, but he veiled them. She might be fine with what she had, but he was not—it was absurd for her to be dressed the way she was. But he took a silent breath. For now he would not pressure her.

  ‘OK,’ he said, holding up his hand. ‘If that’s truly what you prefer.’

  ‘It is,’ she said gratefully. Then, casting about to change the subject, she said hurriedly, ‘But what I do need, however, is some more clothes for Georgy—he’s growing rapidly.’ She hesitated. ‘I’m sure the baby clothes here will be very expensive—I can get them much cheaper elsewhere, so—’

  ‘Here is fine, Lyn,’ Anatole interrupted her firmly, and set off towards babywear, next to the toy department.

  Lyn hurried after him, pushing the buggy. She felt weak at the narrow escape she’d had. It would have been unendurable to go down to the fashion department and have some snooty vendeuse look pityingly at her while she tried on designer fashions to try and conceal her nondescript looks. She would have writhed with embarrassment and self-consciousness!

  Instead, all she had to do now was try not to blanch when she looked at the price tags on the baby clothes that Anatole was holding up for her inspection. If he was going to spend his money at least it would be on Georgy, not her, so she made little objection. Nor did she object when, purchases made, Anatole had them taken down to his chauffeured car. Then, turning to Lyn, he suggested they find the store’s tea lounge.

  As she sat herself down on a soft banquette, tea ordered from the waitress and Anatole amusing Georgy with one of his smaller new toys, she found herself observing them.

  Emotion moved within her. He was so good with Georgy—naturally attentive and responsive, clearly enjoying interacting with him—and Georgy, too, was clearly enjoying being with Anatole.

  That’s why I’m doing this, she reminded herself fiercely. For Georgy’s sake!

  Yet even as she said the words in her head she knew, somewhere deep inside her, a little ache had started up, as she gazed at the man holding her beloved Georgy. What if there were no Georgy and Anatole Telonidis, with his amazing looks, his dark, expressive eyes, his lean strength and honed physique, were going to marry her not because of an orphaned baby but for herself alone?

  Even as the thought formed she squashed it flat.

  Without Georgy Anatole Telonidis would never even have looked her way...

  That was what she had to remember. Only that— however crushing the knowledge.

  With a silent little sigh, she got on with drinking her tea.

  CHAPTER SIX

  OVER THE WEEKEND she slowly got used to Anatole being in such close quarters with her. She took Georgy out into the park a lot, now the weather was more clement, leaving Anatole to work, as he told her he must, for he had a lot to catch up with. The apartment had an office, and Anatole disappeared in there, focusing on his laptop and phone. The plan was, he told her, to go to Athens as soon as Georgy had his passport issued and was cleared to leave the country with his foster carer.

  ‘Hopefully,’ Anatole had said over dinner that first night, ‘my legal team will be able to put sufficient pressure on the authorities to expedite matters. As for Timon—he’s now starting treatment, and we must hope that it takes effect. He’ll stay in hospital for the time being, since these drugs have side effects he may find it difficult to tolerate and he is an old man in his eighties. But soon—within a few weeks, I very much hope—he will be discharged and able to come home again. And once he’s home...’ he smiled at Lyn ‘...we can get on with getting married.’

  He paused, looking at her. Her expression was tense again.

  ‘Lyn,’ he said, with deliberate lightness, ‘this is your wedding we’re planning—’

  ‘It’s not a real one,’ she said, and then wished she hadn’t. She hadn’t wanted to imply that she wanted a real wedding to Anatole Telondis! It would be excruciatingly embarrassing if he thought that!

  But all he said was, ‘Well, it’s going to be a happy occasion, anyway. It will secure Georgy’s future, and that is what we want.’ He took a breath, his expression changing somewhat. ‘That said, it can’t be a large wedding, as I’m sure you’ll understand. That would be...inappropriate, given how recently Marcos died.’

  ‘Of course,’ Lyn said immediately, and knew she was grateful not to have to face some huge society bash. That would be as embarrassing as Anatole thinking she wanted her marriage to him to be a real one.

  This is all about Georgy—only about Georgy! That’s all I have to remember!

  Even so, until they were able to divorce she would have to go through with being in such close quarters with Anatole as she was now. It was becoming easier, she’d discovered gratefully. He was obviously making a real effort to try and get her to feel more comfortable, to draw her out and get to know her. It felt awkward for her, but she did her best to co-operate.

  ‘Tell me,’ he went on now, moving on from the subject of their wedding, ‘why did you not go to college straight after school?’

  ‘Well, it wasn’t really possible,’ Lyn answered. ‘Lindy was only fourteen, and I couldn’t leave her.’

  Anatole looked mildly surprised. ‘You were so devoted to her?’

  Lyn swallowed. ‘She needed someone to look after her. My mother—well, she wasn’t very good at doing that. She’d ended up single, despite marrying twice, because both her husbands abandoned her. After that she spent most of her time in the pub, if I’m honest about it, and I didn’t want Lindy to be a latchkey kid, so I stayed at home and did the housekeeping, cooking and so on. By the time Lindy left school Mum was ill. All the years of heavy smoking and drinking too much caught up with her finally, so I stayed to nurse her until the end. Lindy took a job in a wine bar and then, just after Mum died, took off with a girlfriend to London and lived in a flat share, worked in a flash West End wine bar. That’s where she met your cousin.’ She took a breath. ‘When she realised she was pregnant she came back home, just as I was finally about to set off to university as a mature student. Of course I couldn’t abandon her then...’

  Anatole was silent a moment. A strange sense of recognition went through him. She had shouldered responsibilities not of her making—and he, too, was shouldering responsibilities he could have walked away from. Responsibilities that had brought him to this point: about to embark on a marriage to a woman he would never have known existed had it not been for the baby he’d set out to find...

  But it was because of that baby—the baby who had stolen his heart already—that he was doing what he was doing now. The baby was all that was left of his young cousin, all the hope left to his ailing grandfather.

  And I will see him right, whatever that takes!

  His eyes went to the woman across the table from him. She’d opened up to him just now, more than she had yet done, so he knew he was making progress in gradually getting her to relax, getting her to feel less tense. Getting her to trust h
im.

  He worked away at his goal assiduously, little by little making her feel more comfortable in his company.

  Dinner on his second night back in London was a little easier than the preceding one. The main topic of conversation was Georgy, and Anatole could see that when Lyn talked about her nephew her eyes lit up, her face lost its pallor, and the animation in her expression made her seem noticeably more attractive. He found his curiosity as to what grooming and decent clothes might do for her intensifying. He found it curious that she seemed to be so reluctant to be made over. Most women, as he knew perfectly well, would have adored the prospect!

  He’d backed off from pressing her the day before, when they’d been in the department store, but that evening he did no such thing.

  ‘How did your swim go this afternoon?’ he enquired at dinner, having spent the day working via his laptop. ‘You said at breakfast you would take Georgy down to the pool. Did he enjoy the new pool toys we bought him?’ he asked encouragingly.

  Her reply confounded him.

  ‘Um...the man at the desk said...’ Lyn’s voice tailed off. What the man at the desk had said still made her squirm.

  ‘Sorry, love. Pool’s for residents only. Nannies don’t count—even if they have their charges with them.’

  ‘Yes? The man at he desk said...?’ Anatole prompted.

  ‘Well, I think he thought I was Georgy’s nanny,’ she explained reluctantly.

  An explosive noise came from Anatole and his expression darkened.

  Immediately Lyn tried to mitigate the situation. ‘It’s very understandable,’ she said. ‘I know I don’t look like I’m a resident here, so—’

  ‘So nothing, Lyn!’ Anatole’s voice was firm. ‘I trust you told the man who you were?’

  She coloured. ‘Um...no. It was a bit...a bit embarrassing. And I didn’t want to make a fuss. He was only doing his job.’

  He gave an exasperated sigh. ‘Lyn, you must surely see that this cannot continue! Tomorrow I am taking you shopping for clothes and that is that!’

  She nodded numbly. Clearly Anatole’s patience was at an end. Well, she thought resolutely, not all rich women were beautiful, but they still wore expensive clothes. Now so would she.

  ‘Good,’ he said. He smiled at her encouragingly. ‘Most women, Lyn, adore clothes-shopping!’

  She gave a constrained smile in return, saying nothing. Thankfully, he let the topic go, and suggested they take their coffee into the lounge.

  She set the coffee tray on a low table between the sofas and took a seat on the sofa opposite Anatole. He was wearing casual grey trousers and a beautiful soft cashmere jumper, the sleeves of which he now pushed back, revealing strong, tanned forearms. Immediately, Lyn made herself look away.

  ‘Would you like any music?’ she asked, for Anatole had not turned the TV on.

  ‘Some Mozart, perhaps?’ Anatole suggested, stretching out his arms along the back of the sofa and hooking one long leg casually over his thigh as he relaxed back.

  The soft sweater stretched, moulding his torso. Punishingly conscious of his intense masculinity, she crossed to the music deck and made a suitable selection.

  The scintillating tones of the Linz Symphony started to resonate through the room and she came back and resumed her place, curling her legs up under her and prudently removing several of Georgy’s discarded toys from under various cushions, where he’d stuffed them earlier.

  She leant forward to pour out the coffee. Black and unsweetened for Anatole. She knew that now. For herself, weak and milky. She proffered the cup to him and he reached a long arm forward to scoop it up.

  As he did so his fingers touched hers. Jerking, she nearly dropped the saucer, but managed to avoid it, recoiling into her seat swiftly. She knew two spots of colour were in her cheeks. Covertly, she flicked her eyes across to the man opposite her. Large table lamps stood either side of the sofa, throwing a pool of soft light over him.

  He is just so gorgeous-looking.

  It dominated her consciousness, that constant awareness of his physical magnetism. A magnetism he seemed to be unconscious of himself. Or he just took it for granted, probably, she realised. If you grew up with looks like that you did take them for granted.

  No wonder he wants me to look better than I do!

  She bit her lip. Surely once she had got some smart clothes, done her hair, that sort of thing, she would look better than she did now? Not much, she knew dispiritedly, and certainly not enough to put her anywhere near Anatole’s league, but surely better?

  It was a hope that had to sustain her when, the next morning, back once again in the very swish department store in the West End they’d been to previously, Anatole went with her to the instore beauty salon.

  ‘Hair and all the treatments first,’ he told her decisively, ‘then clothes and accessories. And while you’re doing that...’ he smiled reassuringly ‘...I’ll take Georgy back to the Aladdin’s Cave of the toy department.’

  ‘He’ll love that,’ said Lyn, trying to hide her nervousness as the receptionist hovered, ready to usher her into the inner sanctum and the treatment rooms.

  ‘When you’re all done we’ll go for lunch,’ Anatole said, and then, with a final reassuring smile, he wheeled Georgy off.

  ‘This way, madam,’ said the receptionist, and Lyn was led away to her fate.

  * * *

  Anatole was enjoying himself. So was Georgy, nestled in the protective crook of Anatole’s arm and gazing in open-mouthed delight at the miniature trains hurtling around the elaborate track layout of the vast display centrepiece of the store’s toy department. Anatole was giving an explanation of the finer points of rail transport to him, which would probably have drawn indulgent amusement from the other shoppers present, being way too technical for a baby of Georgy’s age, had it not been conducted in Greek.

  Following Georgy’s butterfly attention span, Anatole diverted towards the array of soft toys nearby, drawing the buggy along single-handed. A brief, if one-sided discussion with Georgy as to which soft toy he liked best of all resulted in Georgy becoming the highly satisfied owner of a floppy-limbed teddy bear almost as large as he was, and they set off for yet another circuit of the huge toy department. From time to time Anatole glanced at his watch, but he knew Lyn would not be ready yet.

  What would she look like when she emerged? he wondered. He found it hard to envisage. He’d had little glimpses, sometimes, of what she might look like—when she wasn’t looking tense and reserved and awkward.

  But he wanted more than glimpses.

  He glanced at his watch again impatiently.

  * * *

  ‘What about this one?’ The stylist’s voice was encouraging. ‘It will turn heads,’ she said enthusiastically, holding up a dress in fuchsia silk jersey.

  Lyn stared uneasily.

  Sensing it was too bright for her diffident client, the stylist immediately swapped the vivid dress for the same model in a soft coral instead.

  ‘Or this one?’ she asked.

  ‘Um...OK,’ said Lyn, nodding gratefully. Turning heads was not what she wanted to do—that was far too scary a thought.

  But then this whole experience had been scary. For the last two hours she’d been subjected to one beauty treatment after another, and now—finally—with hair, nails and make-up all done, it was time to choose new clothes. The beautifully made dress slipped easily over her and the stylist got to work smoothing it and fastening it, then standing back to view her efforts. Lyn stood meekly, reluctant to look at herself in the mirror. A lot of effort had gone into improving her, and she was not at all sure about the results...

  ‘Now—shoes,’ said the stylist, and went to consult the trolley full of shoeboxes that had accompanied the dress rack. She pulled out a pair and held them momentarily against the fabri
c of the dress, then nodded. ‘Yes, these are the ones.’

  She helped Lyn into them, even though her client was looking at them, alarmed.

  They had a high heel and a very narrow fitting. Yet they felt surprisingly comfortable on—presumably a sign of how scarily expensive they were. But it wasn’t her place to object to any of this vast expenditure, so she said nothing. Nor did she say anything when she was presented with a matching clutch and, as a final touch, a piece of costume jewellery consisting of a couple of linked chunks of a copper-coloured stones was draped around her throat.

  The stylist stepped back. ‘There!’ she exclaimed. ‘Ready to roll.’

  Even as she spoke another member of staff put her head around the door behind her. ‘Mr Telonidis is at Reception,’ she said.

  ‘Just in time.’ The stylist smiled at Lyn.

  Stiltedly, Lyn smiled back. ‘Um...thank you very much for everything,’ she said.

  ‘My pleasure,’ said the woman.

  Her voice was warm, and Lyn knew she was trying to be encouraging.

  ‘I do hope you’re pleased with the results.’

  ‘The clothes and accessories are beautiful,’ Lyn assured her, feeling awkward. Then she turned away from the window she’d been standing next to, doggedly staring out over the London skyline beyond, ready to go out and face the man she was going to marry and hope—just hope—that all the money he’d spent on her had not been completely wasted!

  As she turned a woman came into view and Lyn halted. Where had she come from? She hadn’t heard the door open again. She must be the stylist’s next client. Curiously, she seemed to be wearing a very similar dress to the one the woman had put on her. Maybe it was a favourite of the stylist’s, she thought, confused. It certainly looked wonderful on the other woman, with the soft neckline draping over her bust and the dress lightly skimming her slim hips. The total image was one of effortless chic, from her beautifully cut hair to the elegant high heels and soft clutch handbag.