Grace blinked in surprise and covered it by widening her smile. There were a dozen thoughts zipping through her head, and they weren't all of a professional nature. Certainly she wanted to see this young girl relaxed; she was, in fact, itching to get her on the table and tend to her face—which in time she would, because it was she herself who would do the Cathiodermie, a deep-cleansing procedure which was very relaxing. But overriding this was a purely fellow-feeling of sympathy. So dark, tall and slender, the girl was very reminiscent of Grace herself at that age. She led Melissa Knight into the little cubicle where the upright sun-shower was, chattering constantly, deliberately, about goggles and exposure-time and so on, but none of it worked, none of it helped. The girl still looked upset.
'Well, I'll leave you to it, then.' Grace backed away, smiling.
'Thank you, Mrs—'
'Miss.' She repeated her name in full. 'It's Grace Allinson.'
'Allinson!' Melissa Knight looked at her now with a mixture of surprise and chagrin. 'You're not—I mean, are you any relation to Sir Nigel Allinson, the MP?'
'He's my father.' It was a question Grace was used to. Her father knew hundreds of people; maybe this was one of his constituents. 'You've met him?'
'I never dreamt—' The teenager seemed bemused now. 'I mean, that you would…'
'Own a beauty salon?' Grace finished the sentence with a little laugh. She was aware that a lot of people assumed she was merely amusing herself with her beauty business, that it was something she did just to fill her time. 'I know, it isn't quite the thing people expect Sir Nigel Allinson's daughter to do.'
'Oh! But I didn't mean… I mean, I think it's marvellous, honestly. I think you're lucky to have your own business!'
Inwardly, Grace was laughing again. Lucky? While she counted herself fortunate in many respects, her having a successful business was not attributable to good luck. So-called good luck was something she did not believe in. She had planned and schemed carefully, had chosen her co-workers carefully and she had worked damned hard to get where she was.
No, it was good management, not good luck. If she had taken advantage of the 'luck' that was on her side, she would have chosen the easy road rather than the independent one. She would have allowed her father to pave the way for her—to pay the way for her. Or she would have approached the people who took care of, controlled for her, the money left to her by her mother and her grandparents, money which would be under her own control by the end of the year, when she was twenty-five. If her trustees had approved her plans, her private money would have bought her everything she'd needed to start her business. Easy, that would have been. Meaningful, to her, it would not. It was very important to Grace that she was her own woman. She had had something to prove to herself… and to her father. Oh, she and he were friends these days—on the surface—they even lived together, but she would never forget her humiliation, would never forget the way he had humiliated her five years ago, when she had been nineteen, when he had bought off her fiancé for thirty pieces of silver. Thirty pieces of silver which her fiancé, Raymond Ferris, had been glad of!
'Have you met my father?' she asked again, seeing the look of curiosity on the younger girl's face.
'No, I haven't—but I'm going to, tonight!' She smiled finally and held out her hand again. 'I'm your new neighbour. Your father has invited me and my brother to dinner at your house tonight.'
'Really?' It was Grace's turn to be surprised. Her father hadn't mentioned that their new neighbours had children—and that they were invited, too. The housekeeper, Matilda, had been told to expect only two people. 'Isn't it a small world? Fancy your coming here when—'
'I know, and I've never been to a beauty salon before.'
'Then you're in for a treat.' Grace was smiling again. She couldn't linger; there was a lot she wanted to ask, but if she didn't let Melissa get on with it, the bookings for the sun-shower would overlap. She did have to clarify things about dinner that night, though, for Matty's benefit. 'My father told me you were coming, but he didn't mention your name. Yours or your parents', I mean. I hadn't realised—'
'Oh, there are no parents.' Melissa looked at her as if she'd said something stupid. 'I'm sorry, I should explain, you're obviously not in the picture. My brother has bought the property next to yours. He's a lot older than I am. Our parents are both dead.'
'Oh! I see. So it will be just the two of you tonight?'
'Yes.' She seemed to relax suddenly. 'And that's why I've come here. I've been working hard in the house, the sauna and the pool aren't finished yet and I—well, I felt I needed to do something to pick myself up, if you see what I mean. I feel wrinkled and grubby and exhausted.'
Grace couldn't help laughing. She had liked this girl at once, quite apart from feeling sorry for her, which she still did. She was looking at Grace with those huge dark eyes, saying what a physical wreck she felt. 'If it's any consolation, Melissa—may I call you Melissa?—you don't look it! You'll feel on top of the world by the time you leave here.'
'I have to be ready to leave by one.' The words were blurted, a worried look creeping into her eyes. 'Demetrius is picking me up, and he won't be pleased if I'm not ready.'
'Demetrius? Your brother?' Was it he who had been responsible for her tears earlier? She sounded as though she was frightened of him.
There was a swift nod. 'We're half-Greek, you know.'
Grace giggled at that. 'No, I didn't know.' She glanced at her watch. 'You must press on. We can chat while I'm ministering to you later.' A thought struck her. 'Look, if you'd like to have an ordinary facial instead of the Cathiodermie, we'll save about half an hour and I'll have time to pluck your eyebrows and make-up your face. How does that sound?'
It was agreed. When Grace took over with her an hour or so later, she was more relaxed—though lamenting her decision to have her legs and bikini-line waxed. 'It hurt! Oh, that's no reflection on your assistant—Mavis, isn't it? She did it as swiftly as she could, but I've never had that done before, so I just thought I'd try it while I was here, but I don't think I'll bother again!'
'It gets better,' Grace promised. 'The hair grows back weaker, you know. And what's all this for? Are you planning a holiday in the sun now you're settled in?'
'We're nowhere near settled in yet! No, I can't go on holiday. Demetrius won't allow it. He's confiscated my passport.'
Grace stared at her. 'Confiscated… ? But why on earth should he do such a thing?' She regretted the question as soon as it was out, it really was none of her business. But Melissa didn't seem to mind; on the contrary, she talked so much during the following hour and a half that Grace had the impression there was no one else she could talk to. It was an accurate impression.
'You needn't sound so shocked, my brother is capable of far worse than that! At least, as far as I'm concerned. I can't get away with anything' she added dramatically. 'He's hidden my passport because he thinks I might take off for Athens at any moment.'
Grace was staring at her again. It went unnoticed because Melissa's eyes were closed. 'Athens? Why Athens?'
There was a delay before she answered that. 'We have a house there,' she said finally, her voice matter of fact. Then, opening her eyes to glance up at Grace, 'Well, to be honest I have—or rather I had—a boyfriend there. Someone my brother disapproves of.'
'I see.'
'You couldn't possibly see,' Melissa told her firmly. 'I mean Demetrius has forbidden me ever to see him again. What I'm trying to tell you is that my brother doesn't know when to mind his own business.'
Grace smiled; the story was all too familiar. 'Believe it or not, I do know the feeling. Something similar happened to me once.'
'Your brother interfered in your life?'
'No, my father did. But it all came right in the end.' It was the truth. Grace had not forgotten, but she had forgiven her father for interfering in her life. She had learned from the past; it had changed her, inevitably, irrevocably, but she had to admit she had changed for t
he better.
At first she had been bitter—then the bitterness became determination. After her experience with Raymond, concluding with that awful episode with her father, she had set out to prove that she was not the idiot everyone seemed to think she was. The moment she had qualified and left college, she had approached not her trustees but the local bank. She had got a loan for her business on the strength of her own personality and plans, not on the strength of her family's wealth or her father's title or standing in the community.
Her father had praised her for her efforts. Only a few weeks ago he had tipped an imaginary hat while they'd been dining, and had said, 'I take my hat off to you, Grace, you've done very well.'
It had been high praise indeed, coming from him. She had had something to prove to him and she had succeeded. Her business was flourishing and Sir Nigel Allinson had had not the slightest influence on that; she had achieved it solely through her own efforts, and to describe that as satisfying would be an understatement.
'You're not going to tell me,' Melissa was saying, 'that my brother was acting in my best interests?'
Grace noted the cynicism and answered diplomatically. How else could she comment? She didn't know the circumstances and she didn't know Demetrius Knight. 'I'm sure he believed he was.'
Melissa snorted. 'I can't see that at all. Just wait till you meet him, you'll see how bossy he is. I mean, I didn't want to come and live in the country, you know. It was his idea.'
'He wanted a house in the country, did he?'
There was hesitation. 'So he said. I suppose— well, he moved his head offices recently. To Bracknell. So I suppose it will be handy for him, but it's all right for him, he's still got the apartment overlooking Hyde Park. I loved it there.'
Grace was intrigued. 'His head offices? What type of business is he in?'
'Ha! You name it. He has a building company, he owns property all over the show, he has shares in racehorses, he plays the stock-market, his latest acquisition is a factory which manufactures surgical instruments, he—shall I go on?'
The older girl was laughing, shaking her head. 'Don't bother, I've got the picture. Perhaps it would be easier if you just described your brother as an entrepreneur.'
'He's more than that.' But there was no pride in Melissa's voice, there was resentment. It was unmistakable. 'Demetrius has the Midas touch, he can take over an ailing business and make it into a gold mine.'
'And don't you think that's admirable?' Grace probed.
There was a grunt, no direct answer. Melissa reverted to her previous theme. 'I don't think I'm going to like living in the country. I already miss London. It's so—so lively.'
'But it's only an hour away, straight down the M4! What's the problem? Or can't you drive—are you actually old enough to drive?'
There was laughter at that. 'I'm eighteen, but thanks for the compliment. I passed my driving test when I was seventeen, but I lost my licence last month.' She opened one eye and peered up at Grace, keen to see her reaction. Grace didn't react until she added, 'For a year, for drinking and driving. I got caught speeding.'
'Wow!'
'I know.' The brown eyes closed again. 'I thought Demetrius would kill me, he very nearly did. He still isn't over it yet, he's making me sell my car. He gave it to me when I passed my test and told me I had to be responsible for it. Now he's forbidden me to hang on to it and he says I have to be responsible for selling it myself. He's always going on about responsibility. Of course it would just depreciate, standing there unused. You don't know anyone who wants to buy a secondhand BMW do you?'
'I don't believe this…it isn't red, by any chance?'
It was. It was the one advertised in the local paper; Melissa had put the ad in only the day before. By the time one o'clock rolled around, the two of them were friends and Grace was almost ready to buy the car sight unseen. She was also thoroughly sick of hearing the name Demetrius. If Melissa mentioned him once, she mentioned him a hundred times. Even allowing for her dramatic way of speaking, one had the feeling that she really couldn't draw breath without getting her brother's permission first. Grace privately admitted that he sounded like the archetypal male chauvinist pig. A Greek one, or half-Greek one, at that. She had given Melissa no hint of it, but she was not exactly looking forward to having him at the manor for dinner that evening. She disliked the man even before setting eyes on him. When she did set eyes on him, it got worse.
He didn't come in to the salon to collect his sister, not at first. The first sign of his being in the vicinity was the impatient tooting of a car horn outside the front door. There were double yellow lines right outside, but there were parking spaces at the side of the building, two of which were private and reserved for the salon's clients.
Grace was sitting in reception, having handed Melissa over to Mavis for her manicure and pedicure. She glanced outside when she heard the tooting, caught a glimpse of a silver-coloured car and thought no more of it. Half a minute later it started again. Again she ignored it. Then the door was flung open and Demetrius Knight stepped inside, looking as if he was ready to tear the place to pieces. There was no mistaking who he was, he was as darkly handsome as his sister was beautiful. Their resemblance was striking, although he had quite a different skin tone and none of her apparent physical frailty. He was tall and broad and as solid as a rock, his shoulders seeming massive in the immaculate black overcoat he was wearing. He was also a great deal older than Melissa. In fact, he could have been twice her age.
He glanced around with a look of open distaste, let his eyes come to rest on Grace and, with a face like thunder, stood towering over her, his open palm slamming against the reception counter.
'My name is Knight. I believe you have my sister in here,' he barked, as if they were keeping Melissa in captivity. 'Kindly inform her that it is now one o'clock precisely and that I am parked on yellow lines. In other words, tell her to get a move on.'
Grace almost laughed aloud. Her impressions of this man had been very accurate indeed. He was the ultimate autocrat. 'Ah, yes,' she said smoothly, getting to her feet, 'your sister won't be long, Mr Knight. May I suggest you put your car at the side of the building for a few minutes? There are parking spaces—'
He wasn't even looking at her now, he was looking at his watch. 'One minute past. Fetch her. Now. There's a good girl.'
It had been a long, long time since Grace had gone red in the face; she wasn't given to blushing and these days she wasn't given to spasms of temper. She experienced both in that instant. Anger shot through her, bringing a red flush to her cheeks. How dared he talk to her like that, as though she was an office junior? 'I'll see how she's doing,' she said stiffly, her eyes flitting to the door leading to the rear of the salon. 'Only she's having a manicure now and—'
'My dear girl,' he interrupted impatiently, 'I don't care if she's in the throes of having her head shaved. We have a luncheon appointment and I want her out here now. Do you understand me?'
Grace pulled herself to her full height, which was a good five feet eight, and looked directly at him. 'Yes, Mr Knight,' she said, with as much sarcasm as she could muster, 'unfortunately I think I do.'
CHAPTER TWO
'Obnoxious? What on earth do you mean, Grace?' Sir Nigel Allinson peered at his daughter over the horn-rimmed bifocals he had been wearing for years, his bushy eyebrows drawn together. He was dressed in one of the brown pin-stripe suits he favoured, and she observed that he'd put on some weight lately. He was also going rapidly grey where he wasn't bald. It was unfortunate because it made him look older than his years; he was fifty-five but he looked sixty-five.
'You heard me, Daddy. I chose the word with care. I disliked the man before I even set eyes on him.'
'Which was ridiculous of you.' Grace's father didn't seem to be taking her seriously. She had been home from work five minutes and had been talking about Melissa and Demetrius Knight. 'Ah, here's our tea…'
Matilda came in with a tray, placed it carefully on a si
de table near the sofa Grace was occupying and, with a quick wink at her, retreated.
'Thank you, Matty.' Grace smiled fondly at the housekeeper. She had been in her father's employ since before Grace was born, before her brother Thomas was born, actually, and she was, if not quite like a member of the family, a friend and comfort to have around. She was grey-haired, sixty, stocky and extremely efficient and hardworking.
'Not at all,' Grace continued as she poured the tea. 'Granted, I don't know the family's circumstances, but it was obvious to me that Demetrius Knight is a bully.'
'A bully? My dear child, that young man has come from nothing, he's achieved more in—'
'In what way is that relevant?'
Sir Nigel let his impatience be known. 'You're being emotional. Of course it's relevant. He is ruthless in business, but what I'm trying to tell you is that he cares very much about that sister of his— and she's a headache to him.'
'She told me you haven't met her.'
'I haven't.' He took the point, inclining his head. 'But, unlike you, I'm entitled to pre-judge.'
'Oh, really? How come?'
'I'm in command of the facts—I happen to know that the girl is wild. She's been on her brother's hands since she left boarding-school last summer, and I'm sure he's at his wits' end. He doesn't know what to do with her. She's irresponsible and running wild—or she would be, if he left her to her own devices.'
'And what is he doing instead? He's forcing her to live out here, from what I can gather. She doesn't want to live in the country.'
Sir Nigel had had enough. He picked up the Financial Times, effectively telling his daughter he didn't want to hear any more. Grace's glare went unnoticed. It was no use being irritated with her father when it was Demetrius Knight she was irritated with. She was not looking forward to spending an evening with him, she hadn't got over the way he had spoken to her earlier in the day.
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