Securing the Greek's Legacy

by Julia James

  A little glow filled her again. He was so thoughtful! Despite being rushed off his feet at work he had still found time to think about what she might like to do after they were married, getting her brain engaged again and not neglecting her love of history.

  To think that, were it not for him, I’d be stuck studying accountancy and facing making a living endlessly totting up rows and rows of dull figures! I can study at my leisure, study the subject I love most, and it’s all thanks to Anatole!

  She headed downstairs with Georgy, telling him just how wonderful his big second cousin was—information that her nephew received with equanimity and a familiar chortle. When they reached the kitchen he wriggled in her arms to be set down, but then, as she was about to settle him into his highchair, ready for breakfast, something caught his eye.

  It caught Lyn’s too.

  It was a package on the kitchen table, set in the place she usually sat. It was wrapped in gold coloured wrapping paper and bound up with a huge silver bow. Puzzled, she went round the table to look at it. Georgy immediately lunged for the enticing bow, and she had to busy herself getting him secure in his chair and then hastily unfastening the bow and presenting it to him. He did what he always liked doing best, which was to cram it straight in his mouth to sample. She let him do so absent-mindedly as she undid the rest of the wrapping.

  Inside the gold paper was a document case—a tooled leather one—and on the top of it was a card. She lifted it and turned it over. Anatole’s familiar handwriting leapt at her.

  Timon instructed me to buy you things you like—I hope this fits the bill.

  Curious, emotions running, she opened the document case and withdrew its contents.

  She gasped.

  Attached to some thick, headed paper was a photograph of a house.

  An obviously English house in mellow brick, with roses round the door, set in a lovely English garden. In the foreground was a white picket fence, into which a little wicket gate had been set. The photo, she suddenly realised, had been taken from the wide strip of sand onto which the wicket gate opened.

  Memory shot through her.

  And a spear of emotion with it!

  She knew exactly where this house was—exactly where the photo must have been taken! In her head she heard herself telling Anatole about when she had first seen houses like this one.

  ‘Lindy and I used to walk past them all and discuss which one we’d live in...’

  She picked up the photo and stared at it. This was certainly one of the prettiest she and Lindy must have seen!

  Her eyes dropped to the rest of the contents of the document case and then widened in disbelief. With a catch in her throat she lifted them up.

  It was a set of title deeds—deeds to the house whose photo she was gazing at.

  Deeds made out to her...

  Incredulously she let go of the papers, her hands flying to her face, not believing what she was seeing. Yet it was there—all there in black and white. The formal headings and the language was telling her that she was the owner of the house in the photo...

  She gave a little cry and her eyes lit upon a note clipped to the corner of the deeds. It was in Anatole’s handwriting. She picked it up and stared at it, emotion lighting within her.

  ‘So you can always have a place you love in England for yourself.’

  ‘Oh—Anatole!’ she exclaimed. Incredulity went through her and through her—along with wonder and a wash of gratitude. She could not believe it—for him to have done such a thing for her!

  She rushed to find her mobile and with fumbling fingers texted him straight away.

  It’s the most wonderful surprise—and you are the most wonderful man in the world! Thank you, thank you, thank you!

  Moments later a reply arrived.

  Glad you like it—in haste, A

  For the rest of the day she was in a daze of wonder and happiness. If she had thought it a sign of his solicitude and care for her that he wanted her not to neglect her studies, this incredible act of generosity and concern overwhelmed her!

  That Anatole had taken to heart her concerns that Georgy should not lose all his English heritage—and even more, that he had remembered her telling him about her seaside holiday with Lindy, a precious little island of carefree happiness in a difficult childhood—was a shining testimony to just how wonderful he was!

  How am I going to bear divorcing him?

  The thought sprang into her head unbidden—unwelcome and unwanted—and she felt it stab at her. She had got used to trying to keep it at bay, for with every passing day spent in her new and wonderful life she knew she was finding the prospect of just how temporary their forthcoming marriage was supposed to be increasingly unwelcome. How simple it had sounded when she had first let herself be drawn into this drastic solution to safeguard Georgy!

  But things are now completely and totally different from then! Never in a million years did I imagine just how my relationship with Anatole would be transformed by him! Now the last thing I want to do is for us to part...

  The cold wash of knowing that at some point in the future Anatole would extract himself from their marriage, conclude what had never been intended to be anything more than a temporary arrangement solely to enable them to adopt Georgy and settle him out here in Greece, chilled her to the bone.

  Words, thoughts, sprang hectically in her brain.

  I don’t want us to part! I don’t want us to go our separate ways, make separate lives for ourselves! I don’t. I don’t!

  She gazed at Georgy, anguish in her eyes.

  I want to go on as we are, being together, bringing up Georgy together, making our lives together...

  Her face worked.

  Maybe Anatole does too! That’s what I have to hope—that he is finding the life we are making here as good as I do! That he is happy, and does not want us to change anything, for us to divorce and go our separate ways...

  She could feel hope squeezing at her heart—hope and longing.

  Let it be so—oh, please, please let it be so!

  Didn’t that incredible gift of his—the fantastic gift to her of a house of her own, where she could take Georgy sometimes to walk in the footsteps of his mother—show all his generosity, all his thoughtfulness? Wasn’t that tangible proof of how much he felt for her?

  And how easy it was to spend time with him—how comfortably they chatted and talked! That was good, wasn’t it? It must be, surely? And the way they could laugh together, too, and smile at Georgy’s antics...

  And Georgy—oh, Georgy was beloved by them both. How doting they were to him, how dedicated!

  A quiver of fire ran down her veins as she thought of the passion they exchanged night after night, the incredible desire she had for him, that he too must feel for her. Surely that most of all must tell her that what they had between them was not something unreal, temporary, that could be turned off like a tap?

  Oh, please, let me mean as much to Anatole as he does to me... Please let it be so!

  * * *

  Anatole rubbed at his eyes as he sat at Timon’s huge desk at Petranakos headquarters. God, he could do with some sleep! He was used to working hard, but this was punishing. Non-stop, just about, for the last four days on end. And nights. Nights spent here in Athens, at his apartment. He didn’t like to leave Lyn and Georgy at the beach house, but there had been no option. Now that he’d finally got the chairmanship of the whole Petranakos Corporation, with full executive powers, there was a huge amount to do, on far too many fronts, at the huge, complex organisation that would one day be Georgy’s.

  The deteriorating situation in Thessaloniki was the most pressing, but by no means the only one. For with Timon having been hospitalised until so recently, daily management had become lax in many quarters. Even so, the threatened strike wa
s requiring the bulk of his attention. So much so that he knew he was going to be hard-pressed to find the time to do something even more vital.

  Get out of Athens tonight and back to Lyn—to talk to her.

  Talk to her as quickly and as urgently as possible. The day of their wedding was approaching fast, and he could hear the clock ticking. He was running out of time.

  Tonight—tonight I’ll sit her down and tell her.

  Tell her what he must tell her without any further delay

  He glanced at the document lying in its folder at the side of his desk. It had been delivered to him by courier only an hour before. It seemed to lie there like a heavy weight on the mahogany surface of Timon Petranakos’s desk.

  For a moment Anatole’s face blanked. Had he done the right thing?

  Yes! I didn’t have a choice. I had to do it! It’s the reason I undertook this whole business—right from the very moment of reading those sad, pleading letters to Marcos...

  The phone rang on his desk, cutting dead his thoughts, and he snatched it up. Now what?

  A moment later he knew—and his expression said it all. Face black, he pushed back Timon’s huge leather chair, packed away his laptop in his briefcase and strode out of the office. Timon’s PA looked up expectantly.

  ‘Put the jet on standby. I’m flying up to Thessaloniki,’ he barked.

  Then he was gone.

  * * *

  Lyn was both pleased and surprised to receive a call from Anatole in the middle of the day. But she quickly realised that the call was serious rather than tender. He told her that he was calling from his car on the way to the airport, just to let her know what was happening.

  ‘I’ll keep this brief,’ he went on crisply. ‘I’m going to have to fly up to Thessaloniki right away. A strike has just been declared, there’s a mass walk-out, and protests are building outside the factory gates. The riot police have been marshalled by the manager—just what I don’t need!’ He took a heavy breath. ‘But at least—finally!—I’ve got the power to sort it out myself.’ He paused. ‘I don’t know when I’m going to be able to get back, Lyn.’ His voice changed suddenly. ‘And I have to talk to you urgently the moment I do.’

  ‘What is it?’ Alarm filled her throat.

  She heard him give a rasp of frustration at the other end of their connection. ‘I need to explain to you face-to-face. But, listen, please—I hope you’ll understand—’

  He broke off. Lyn heard a staccato burst of conversation in Greek, then Anatole was audible again.

  ‘I’m sorry! I have to go. I’m flying up with the chief finance director and he’s just heard on his own phone that there’s been a clash with police outside the factory—and that TV crews are arriving to film it! I’ve got to speak to the officer in charge and get the police to back off for the moment. This can’t escalate any further!’

  The connection went dead.

  Dismay filled Lyn. Not just at the fracas that Anatole was going to have to deal with, but because of what he’d just said to her—that he needed to talk to her urgently.

  He had sounded so sombre...

  What’s wrong?

  The question burned in her head but she could find no answer. It went on burning even as she crossed to the TV and turned to the Greek news channel. Even without understanding much Greek she could see that the angry dispute at the Petranakos facility in Thessaloniki was making the headlines.

  If you want to help Anatole let him get on with sorting it out without making any demands on him yourself! she told herself sternly.

  She’d done her best to do that for the past few days. Yet the beach house felt lonely without him. Their bed empty...

  Worse, when she set off for the main house later, with Georgy in his buggy, for his daily visit to his great-grandfather, she was intercepted by a uniformed woman who informed her that she was Georgy’s new nanny.

  ‘I will take Baby to Kyrios Petranakos,’ she announced in accented English.

  Lyn hesitated. She didn’t want this to happen, but this was not the moment to make a fuss, she knew. Reluctantly, she let the nanny take Georgy from her.

  ‘I will bring him home later,’ the nanny said punctiliously, with a smile that Lyn made herself not think of as condescending.

  She shook her head. ‘No, that’s all right. I’ll wait.’

  She went out into the gardens and settled herself on a little bench in the sunshine. Despite the warmth, she felt chilled. Clearly Timon, now that he was back home again, wanted to make his presence felt—and to arrange things the way he liked them.

  Well, she would wait until after the wedding—when Anatole was not having to deal with a strike on his hands—to take issue over the nanny and agree just what her role and function would be, if any. For now she would be accommodating. Bothering Anatole with something so trivial when he was up to his eyes in trying to sort out a costly and disruptive strike was the last thing she wanted to do!

  She clung to that resolve now, knowing that he had flown up to Thessaloniki to deal with the problem there first-hand. But another concern was plucking at her. Would Anatole even be back in time for the wedding? And, even if he were, would they be able to get away on honeymoon at all?

  Well, like the nanny situation, there was nothing she could do about it right now. Their wedding was going to be small and private anyway, and only a civil one since both parties knew it was going to end in divorce at some point, so there would be no guests to unarrange. On top of that, because Timon and Anatole were still in mourning for Marcos, it would have been inappropriate to have a large wedding anyway. So, Lyn made herself reason, if the wedding had to be postponed for the time being, and the honeymoon too—well, that was that. Anatole would sort out the strike, find a resolution that kept everyone happy, then come back home again. Then they would marry, and everything would be all right.

  While their marriage lasted...

  That chill formed again around her heart. She didn’t want to think about the terms of their marriage—didn’t want to think how it was supposed to end once Timon was no more. Didn’t want to think about how, at some point, Anatole would divorce her and they would make suitable, civilised arrangements to share custody of Georgy...

  Suitable. Civilised.

  Such cold-blooded words—nothing like the passion that flared between her and Anatole! Nothing like the emotion that swept through her as he swept her into his arms...

  She closed her eyes a moment, swaying slightly.

  If only...

  Words formed in her head—tantalising, yearning.

  If only this marriage were not just for Georgy’s sake...

  She made herself breathe out sharply. She must not think such thoughts! This marriage was for Georgy’s sake—that was the truth of it. And anything else—anything that had happened between her and Anatole—could not last any longer than their marriage...

  It could not.

  However much she yearned for it to do so...

  CHAPTER TEN

  SHE WOKE THE next day in low spirits to the sound of Georgy grizzling in his cot. His grumpy mood seemed to echo her own lowness, and nothing could divert him. She got through most of the morning somehow, restricting her urge to phone Anatole and merely sending him an upbeat e-mail, assuring him that everything was fine on her end and refraining from expressing her own down mood or mentioning Georgy’s tetchiness. By early afternoon she was glad to be able to set off with Georgy to the big house, for at least it gave him something to think about other than his grouchiness. Maybe he was starting to teethe, she thought. Whatever it was, he was not a happy bunny—and nor was she.

  She eked out their expedition to the big house, first wheeling Georgy along the shoreline and pointing out things that might cheer him up, and then, giving up on that, heading into the gardens
towards the house. She took a meandering route, not caring if she were running late.

  When she duly presented herself the new nanny did not come forward to remove Georgy from his buggy. Instead she gave Lyn a tight smile and informed her that she would take Baby for a stroll in the gardens.

  ‘Kyrios Petranakos wishes to see you without Baby,’ she announced loftily, and took the buggy handles from Lyn.

  ‘Oh,’ said Lyn, feeling mildly surprised and mildly apprehensive.

  What could Timon Petranakos want? she thought. She reasoned it must be something to do with the forthcoming wedding.

  Oh, please don’t say it’s going to have to be postponed because of all that’s going on in Thessaloniki!

  She took a breath. Well, if it had to be postponed, so be it. Anatole was under quite enough pressure as it was.

  She let the nanny wheel Georgy away, warning her that he was a bit grouchy today and getting a condescending smile in return, and then set off after the manservant who was conducting her to Timon’s quarters. When she was shown in he was in his day room, next door to his bedchamber—a huge room with the same ornate, opulent decor as the dining room that Lyn found a tad oppressive and overdone, but she appreciated it was a bygone style suitable for a man of his age and position in society.

  When she was shown in his wheelchair was in front of his desk and he was clearly studying the documents laid out on it. He wheeled the motorised chair around to face her as the manservant backed out of the room, leaving Lyn facing Georgy’s great-grandfather.