Anne Mather - His Virgin Mistress

‘Katalava.’ I see. Conscious that his father was enjoying his confusion, Demetri inadvertently spoke in his own language. But he quickly corrected himself. ‘You are familiar with our Greek weather, Miss Manning?’

‘It’s Mrs Manning, actually,’ she corrected him. ‘But please call me Joanna, or Jo, if you prefer it.’ Then, with an affectionate look at Constantine. ‘Not yet. The weather, I mean. But I hope to be.’

Now, why am I not surprised?

It was all Demetri could do to prevent himself from saying the words out loud. But at least he knew a little more about her now. No one had seen fit to tell him that she’d been married. But it figured. And if he’d had any doubts about her relationship with his father they’d been dispelled by the familiarity of that look.

‘Do you live on the island—um—Demetrios?’ she asked suddenly, surprising him again. ‘Or do you have your own home?’

‘This is my home,’ replied Demetri, unable to quite disguise his indignation. ‘This house is our family home.’ He paused. ‘But do not worry, Mrs Manning. It is quite big enough to accommodate us all without any—what is it you say?—stepping on toes?’

He was pleased to see that her soft mouth tightened a little at this rebuff. The upper lip was drawn between her teeth and the lower, which was so much fuller and more vulnerable, curved protectively. Then he scowled. When had he started thinking that her mouth was soft, or vulnerable, for that matter? She was a kept woman, for heaven’s sake. Hardly better than the sluts who plied their trade on the streets of Athens. He had no need to feel sorry for her. It was his father who was the vulnerable one. Vulnerable, and foolish. What on earth did he think she saw in a man at least thirty years her senior?

‘Demetri has his own apartments in the house,’ Constantine put in now, the look he cast at his son promising retribution later. ‘As do Alex and Olivia. As my son says, this is our family home. Our island fortress, if you will. I regret you will discover that security is paramount in our situation.’

Joanna nodded. ‘I understand.’

‘I doubt you do,’ put in Demetri pleasantly, though his feelings were anything but. ‘My father is a constant target for terrorists and paparazzi alike. Only on Theapolis can we—usually—ensure that he is not at the mercy of unscrupulous men—and women.’

Her eyes flashed then, and he noticed how deep a blue they were. ‘I trust you are not suggesting that I am any threat to your father?’ she demanded coolly, her earlier amusement all gone now. He could hardly suppress a smile.

‘Of course not,’ he said, but when his dark eyes strayed to his father’s taut face he saw he was by no means convinced by his son’s denial. ‘I am sure you and my father must have a lot in common. Tell me, Mrs Manning, do you have children, too?’

‘No.’

Her answer was almost curt, but it didn’t have quite the effect he’d expected. Instead of showing surprise, his father put his arm about her shoulders and drew her closer to him. Demetri was almost sure Constantine was reacting to something she’d told him, and he wondered what it was. He didn’t like the idea that their relationship might be more than a temporary aberration on his father’s part. A desire to prove his masculinity was one thing; a threat to his mother’s memory was quite another.

But, before he could say any more, Constantine himself severed the conversation. ‘Come,’ he said to Joanna Manning. ‘I see Nikolas Poros over there. He is a friend as well as a business colleague. I would like you to meet him.’ He looked briefly at his son. ‘You will excuse us?’

It was hardly a question. Although Demetri bowed his head in silent acknowledgement they both knew he wasn’t being given an option. Instead, he stepped back to allow them free passage, aware as he did so that Joanna gave him a covert glance as she passed. Was it a triumphant glance? he wondered broodingly, watching them make their way across the room. He couldn’t be sure. But one thing seemed apparent to him: his father’s infatuation with her went deeper than the sexual fascination he had anticipated.

‘Demetri! Demetri, pos iseh?’ How are you? ‘Na seh keraso kanena poto?’ Can I get you a drink?

With an effort, he became aware that there were other people around him. Neighbours; friends, relatives. They had all gathered to welcome the old man home, and his own absence until just a few minutes ago had not gone unnoticed. Forcing himself to put the problem of his father and his mistress aside, he accepted the greetings he was offered with a grim smile, aware that for the moment he was obliged to play the devoted son.

And he was devoted, dammit, he thought, taking the glass of champagne he was offered with controlled grace. But he was also his father’s son, his deputy, and he couldn’t help thinking that the last thing the old man needed at this time was the respect he’d always enjoyed among the shipping community weakened by some woman taking advantage of his vulnerability.

‘She is beautiful, is she not?’

Spiro was at his elbow and Demetri turned to give the other man an impatient look. ‘Yes, she’s beautiful,’ he agreed. ‘But what does she want, Spiro? More importantly, what does she hope to gain from this liaison?’

‘Perhaps she loves him,’ suggested Spiro, accepting a glass of champagne in his turn and smiling at the dark-eyed waitress who had proffered the tray.

‘And perhaps she sees him as a very convenient meal ticket,’ retorted Demetri. ‘My father is sixty-seven, Spiro. A woman like that does not attach herself to a much older man for love.’

‘How cynical you are, Demetri.’ He had been unaware that his older sister Olivia had joined them, until her soft words were whispered in his ear. ‘Mrs Manning does not look like a gold-digger, you must agree.’

‘How do gold-diggers look?’ enquired her brother shortly, looking down into Olivia’s olive-skinned face with a softening of his expression. ‘Surely you are not championing her, Livvy? With only a week to go to Alex’s wedding, I’d have expected you to feel as I do. After all, what is Alex going to think when she discovers our father has invited a stranger to what is essentially a family occasion?’

Olivia’s lips thinned. ‘Alex will not care,’ she said. ‘But that does not mean we can ignore the influence Mrs Manning has with Papa. And making an enemy of her may not be the wisest decision. You have seen them together. Only briefly, I admit. But you must have noticed that they seem very—absorbed with one another.’

‘Absorbed, yes.’ Demetri watched his father and his companion over the rim of his glass. ‘How did they meet? Do we know? Where has the old man been since he got out of hospital to find a woman like her?’

Joanna’s apartments adjoined Constantine’s. Each suite comprised a comfortable sitting room, a spacious bedroom, and an adjoining dressing room and bathroom.

And they were sumptuously appointed. Sofas in blue and green striped linen, decorated with matching cushions, were set against walls hung with silk damask. A delicately carved writing bureau, a comprehensive entertainment centre contained in a rosewood cabinet; all were illuminated by heavy brass lamps that stood on every available surface. Long windows, closed at present, opened out onto a wraparound balcony that served all the rooms on this floor, and Turkish rugs, or kilims, splashed colour onto polished floors. There were pictures everywhere: in the sitting room, in the bedroom, even in the bathroom. And floor-length mirrors, also in the bathroom, disdained any attempt at modesty.

But it wasn’t just the beauty of the things surrounding her, or their obvious value, that convinced Joanna of their exclusivity. It was the incidentals that reminded her of where she was and why she was there. The sheets being changed every day, for example; the expensive cosmetics and toiletries removed and replaced as soon as she used them; the knowledge that she had only to touch the bell for her smallest wish to be granted.

This was Constantine’s world, she thought ruefully. The way he lived. She had never known such assiduous attention to detail, and although she had agreed to come here for Constantine’s sake, she had never imagined anything like this. She couldn’t help wishing he had not been so rich.

Not that his son would believe that, she thought drily, wondering if Constantine had glimpsed the momentary flash of hatred in Demetrios’s dark eyes. He probably had. Constantine must know exactly how his son was feeling. After all, that was why he had persuaded her to come here. He’d known that nothing short of grim hostility would blind Demetrios to the truth.

There was a light tap on the panelled double doors that connected her apartments to Constantine’s. Joanna, who had been trying to decide what she should wear for dinner that evening, hurried to answer it. She’d guessed that it was Constantine, and it was. But, just in case, she’d wanted to make sure before inviting anyone else into her room.

‘May I come in?’

‘Of course.’ Joanna stood back to allow him into her sitting room, gazing at him intently. He’d shed his formal clothes, as she had, and he looked so frail now that the necessity to appear invincible was gone. She indicated one of the overstuffed sofas. ‘Sit down. You’re supposed to be resting, you know.’

‘You are not my nurse, Joanna.’ Constantine’s smile was warm but defensive. He was wearing a white towelling bathrobe and the colour accentuated his pallor. ‘As a matter of fact, I am feeling a little stronger this evening. Now that Demetri is home I can relax.’

‘Oh, right.’ Joanna closed the door behind him, tucking the folds of the scarlet wrapper she’d put on after her shower closer about her. ‘I suppose that’s because you think the worst is over.’ She shook her head. ‘I wouldn’t hold my breath, if I were you.’

‘Joanna, Joanna.’ Constantine sighed, but he took her advice and subsided onto the nearest sofa. ‘Do not be so cynical, my dear. Just because Demetri is not entirely happy with the situation—and, I admit, I believe he does have doubts about the suitability of our relationship—he will do nothing to jeopardise the peace of the household. Not with Alex’s wedding to consider. I am his father, Joanna. I think I know him better than anyone else.’

‘Do you?’

Joanna wished she could feel as sure. Her own encounter with Demetrios Kastro had left a decidedly unpleasant taste in her mouth. She was convinced that he had nothing but contempt for her, that he believed she was only with his father for what she hoped to get out of him. He had been polite, but cold; saying little, but implying a lot. She was glad he hadn’t deceived his father, but she was afraid Constantine was deluding himself if he thought Demetrios had accepted her presence.

‘Anyway,’ Constantine said now, reaching out to take her hand and urge her down beside him, ‘how are you? Are you happy here? Do you have everything you need?’

‘Need you ask?’ Joanna was rueful. ‘This place is amazing. It’s everything you said it was and more.’

‘I am glad.’ Constantine raised her hand to his dry lips. ‘I want you to enjoy your stay. I want you to feel at home here. I know Demetri may be difficult for a while, but he will get over it. Besides, so long as I am ostensibly recuperating he will have little time to fret about our relationship. Between now and the wedding there may be occasions when he has to leave the island. With my work to do as well as his own…’ He allowed the words to trail away. ‘You understand?’