Anne Mather - His Virgin Mistress

‘Not really.’ Spiro waited. ‘Was she not in her own apartments?’

‘Oh, yes.’ Demetri was sardonic. ‘She was there. She just was not alone, that is all.’

Spiro’s mouth formed a pronounced circle. ‘Oh,’ he said drily. ‘Well, there is always tomorrow.’

‘Yeah.’ Demetri was ironic. ‘And tomorrow and tomorrow,’ he acceded flatly. ‘Come. Let us go and find a drink. I do not want the old man to think I have got anything to hide.’

‘Do you think he has?’

‘Who knows?’ Demetri made a careless gesture. ‘I wonder why he has brought her here.’

Spiro pulled a face. ‘I think I can hazard a guess,’ he remarked, and Demetri gave him an impatient look.

‘Yeah, right,’ he said shortly. ‘She is to be his guest at Alex’s wedding.’ He frowned. ‘I wonder where Mr Manning is.’

‘If there is a Mr Manning.’

‘You think she is lying?’

‘No.’ Spiro shook his head. ‘But she is not wearing a ring. Do you think she is divorced?’

‘Who knows?’ Demetri was weary of the whole conversation. ‘Rings do not mean a lot these days. Besides, what does it signify? She is here. That is the only thing that matters.’

‘Do you think their relationship is serious?’

Demetri was taken aback. ‘Do you?’

‘Perhaps.’ Spiro looked pensive. ‘Your father seems to care about her. Do you not think so?’

Demetri scowled. ‘So what are you saying? That he intends to marry her?’

‘Hardly that.’ Spiro drew in a breath as they started towards the door. ‘But serious illness can do strange things to people, filos mou. Being reminded of your own mortality can leave you with a desperate desire to embrace life.’

Demetri snorted. ‘Since when did you become a philosopher?’

‘I am just trying to be objective,’ Spiro protested. ‘And, despite reports to the contrary, Mrs Manning does not give me the impression that her relationship with your father is purely for financial gain.’

‘You feel you know her that well?’ Demetri was scornful.

‘No.’ Spiro was defensive now. ‘But I have been here since yesterday, when they arrived. I have watched them together. And, if I was scrupulously honest, I would say that they have known one another a considerable length of time.’

‘Have you known my father long?’

The question was asked by a slim dark woman, whose resemblance to her father was unmistakable. Constantine had told Joanna that Olivia, too, had married when she was nineteen. But the marriage hadn’t lasted. In Constantine’s opinion Olivia had been too spoilt, too headstrong, to submit to her ex-husband’s needs. Within months of wedding Andrea Petrou she had returned to Theapolis, and since then she had shown no serious interest in any other man.

Joanna knew that Olivia was the eldest of Constantine’s three children. At thirty-six, she considered herself the mistress of his house, which was perhaps why she was viewing Joanna with such suspicion. Maybe she saw the other woman as a challenge to her authority, and Joanna was glad that her ankle-length beaded sheath bore favourable comparison with the froth of chiffon that Olivia was wearing.

She had cornered Joanna beside the polished cabinets that housed her father’s collection of snuffboxes. She had chosen her moment, and Joanna realised she had been a little foolish to walk away from Constantine and lay herself open to cross-examination.

‘Quite long,’ she responded now, directing her attention to the jewelled items that had drawn her across the room in the first place. She had delivered many of these boxes to Constantine herself, and it was fascinating to see them all together in the display case. Aware that Olivia was still beside her, she added, ‘Aren’t these beautiful?’

‘Valuable, certainly,’ said Olivia insolently. ‘Are you interested in antiques, Mrs Manning?’

Joanna ignored the implication and, taking the woman’s words at face value, she replied, ‘I—I work with antiques, actually.’ She paused. ‘As a matter of fact, that is how I met your father.’

Olivia’s thin brows elevated. ‘Really?’

‘Yes, really.’ Joanna chose her words with care. ‘I work for an auction house.’

‘An auction house?’ Olivia immediately picked up on the information. ‘In London?’

‘That’s right.’ Joanna allowed a little sigh to escape her. ‘What do you do, Mrs Petrou?’

‘What do I do?’

Olivia was clearly taken aback, but before she could say anything more her father came to join them. Slipping an arm about Joanna’s waist, he said, ‘Well, let me see: she is a fabulous dancer, an expert at water sports, and extremely good at spending money. My money,’ he added drily. ‘Is that not so, Livvy? Have I missed anything out?’

‘Because you will not let me do anything else,’ retorted Olivia shortly. Then, struggling to contain her anger, ‘In any case, I do not think it is any of Mrs Manning’s business.’

Joanna was unhappily aware that she had made another enemy. It was obvious that none of Constantine’s offspring would blame him for his indiscretions. As far as they were concerned, she had instigated this whole affair.

Deciding there was nothing she could say which would placate Olivia, she turned to Constantine instead. ‘How are you?’ she asked, before he could remonstrate with his daughter. ‘You’re looking tired. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather eat upstairs?’

‘I am sure you would,’ murmured Constantine, for her ears only. But, for all his attempt at humour, he was looking drained. The day had taken a toll on his depleted resources and he should have been resting. But she had always admired his strength of spirit, and he demonstrated it again now. ‘How could I desert our guests? Besides, I am ready for my dinner,’ he averred, his smile warm and enveloping. ‘Are you?’

Knowing better than to argue with him, Joanna tucked her arm through his. ‘Is it time to go in?’

‘When I have finished this,’ agreed Constantine, indicating the remnants of the spirit in his glass. He held the glass up to a nearby lamp. ‘Do you know, you can only get real ouzo in Greece? I have tried it elsewhere, but it is never the same.’

‘Ought you to be drinking alcohol, Papa?’ Olivia had been observing their exchange in silence, but now she took his other arm. ‘You have been ill, Papa. I worry about you.’ She glanced disparagingly at Joanna. ‘It is important that you do not overstretch your strength.’

Constantine’s lips tightened. ‘I am delighted that you are so concerned for my welfare, Livvy. But I am sure Demetri has told you I am very well. Besides, I have the beautiful Joanna to look after me. I have to tell you, she can be as strict as the most costly physician.’

And twice as expensive. Joanna could practically hear what Olivia was thinking, but she held her tongue. And then Demetrios entered the room, and his sister’s eyes turned in his direction. Joanna grimaced. Was she conceivably going to be grateful to Constantine’s son for diverting Olivia’s attention from herself?

Spiro Stavros was with his employer. Both men were in their early thirties, but Spiro possessed none of Demetrios’s brooding good looks. Nevertheless, they were both tall and powerfully built. But Joanna decided she preferred Spiro’s open countenance to Demetrios’s cold eyes and dark beauty.

Olivia left her father’s side to greet her brother, and Constantine took the opportunity to speak privately to Joanna. ‘Do not let anything Livvy or Demetri say upset you,’ he murmured softly. ‘They are curious, that is all. So long as you play your part, and do not allow anyone to coerce you into some unguarded admission, all will be well.’

Joanna wished she could feel as confident. She wasn’t used to any of this, not to Constantine’s wealth, or his influence, or the feeling that every other person she met thought she was a fortune-hunter. She wasn’t. She wasn’t interested in Constantine’s money. But she’d also realised that the doubts she’d had in England had been justified. Indeed, they were rapidly developing into a full-blown belief that she shouldn’t be here.

‘Do you think they believe we’re lovers?’ she asked in a low voice, and Constantine grinned with a little of his old arrogance.

‘Oh, yes. They believe it,’ he said, permitting himself a brief glance in his son’s direction. ‘And do you know what?’ He arched a teasing brow. ‘I am beginning to enjoy it.’

Dinner was served in what Constantine told her was the family dining salon, but it seemed awfully big to Joanna. She was sure her whole apartment back in London would have fitted into this one room, and she thought it was just as well that the Greek islands didn’t suffer the extremes of temperature that England did. Heating this place would be a nightmare, she reflected, glancing round the high-ceilinged room with its imposing furniture and marble floor.

Last evening she and Constantine had dined in his suite, and that hadn’t been half so intimidating. Although it had been her first evening, and the assiduous attention of the servants had been a little unnerving, she had enjoyed the meal. She had still been entranced by the beauty of her surroundings, and she’d managed to persuade herself that this wasn’t going to be as bad as she’d thought.

How wrong she’d been!

Nevertheless, Olivia’s claws had been sheathed at that first meeting. With Alex away at her fiancé’s home in Athens, and Demetri meeting with bankers in Geneva, Olivia had been alone and unprepared for Joanna’s arrival. Joanna had wondered if Constantine had really warned his family of his guest’s identity. He’d insisted he had, but there’d been no doubt that Olivia had been shocked by their relationship.

Joanna sighed. She had spent most of the day avoiding the other woman’s questions and now she had Demetrios to contend with as well. She wondered if Constantine had realised how hostile his family would be. Despite his reassurances about Alex, she thought that was little consolation now.

The food, as she’d already discovered, was exquisitely prepared. There were dolmades—lamb and spiced rice wrapped in vine leaves, and souvlakia—which were tiny chunks of pork grilled on skewers. There were tomatoes stuffed with goat’s cheese, cold meats and salads, and retsina, the clean aromatic wine of the region, which was flavoured with pine resin and was, to Joanna, an acquired taste.

As well as Constantine’s son and daughter, and Spiro Stavros, of course, they were joined at the table by three other people. They were Nikolas Poros and his wife, who Constantine had introduced her to earlier, and an old uncle of Constantine’s second wife, who also lived at the villa. Panos Petronides was in his eighties, but he seemed years younger. He was still as alert and spry as he’d been when he’d first left his native Salonika.

Conversation during the meal was, to Joanna’s relief, sporadic. She suspected that for all his assertions to the contrary Constantine was tired, and she found herself watching him anxiously, ready for any sign that he needed to escape. Demetrios had been more right than he knew when he’d questioned his father’s return to the island. Constantine was very weak, and Joanna hoped he could keep up the pretence until the wedding was over.

Coffee, strong and black, was served in the adjoining drawing room. Joanna had hoped that Constantine might make their excuses and allow them both to escape to their own apartments. But, instead, he settled himself on a silk-cushioned sofa, drawing her down beside him to prevent Olivia from taking her place.