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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?’
‘I can’t wait.’ Joanna pulled a wry face. Then, withdrawing her hand from his, she got to her feet again. ‘But are you sure about this? What is Alex going to think when she finds out I’m here?’
‘Alex will love you,’ said Constantine firmly. ‘She is not like Demetri or Olivia. She is younger; less cynical, shall we say?’
‘All the same…’ Joanna lifted the heavy weight of her loosened hair from her neck, enjoying the coolness of the air-conditioning on her hot skin. ‘I can still go back to England, Constantine. I wouldn’t mind.’
‘I would.’ His response was unequivocal. ‘My dear, the reasons I asked you to come to Theapolis have not changed. I need you. I need your strength and your companionship. And, most of all, I need your support.’
‘You have that, of course.’ Joanna sighed. ‘I’m just not sure whether I can go through with it.’
Constantine pushed himself to his feet. ‘Because of me?’ he asked. ‘You find me so repulsive?’
‘Don’t be silly.’ Joanna touched his cheek with a tender hand. ‘You’re a very attractive man. I’ve always thought so.’
‘You have?’ He was sceptical.
‘Yes.’ She hesitated a moment, and then cupped his face between her palms and bestowed a warm kiss at the corner of his mouth. ‘Now, stop fishing for compliments and tell me what you think I should wear for dinner this evening.’
‘What you are wearing at present seems eminently suitable to me,’ declared Constantine gallantly, his hands reaching for her waist to hold her in front of him. ‘You always look beautiful.’
Joanna shook her head, but before she could think of a response there was a knock at the outer door.
‘Beno mesa!’
Almost automatically Constantine replied, bidding the caller to enter, and Joanna turned her head as the foyer door opened.
Demetrios appeared moments later, pausing on the threshold of the sitting room. He, too, had evidently taken a shower. Water sparkled on the sleek darkness of his hair, contrasting with the pearl-grey elegance of his suit. A dark blue, body-hugging tee shirt completed his outfit, and Joanna was instantly conscious of the intimacy of the scene he had interrupted. Both she and Constantine were scantily clad, and Constantine’s hands on her body looked undeniably possessive.
She didn’t know which of them was the most disconcerted by Demetrios’s arrival. To his credit, Constantine seemed only mildly curious about his son’s purpose in coming here, but Joanna was definitely uneasy. And Demetrios himself was evidently taken aback by his father’s presence in her suite.
Yet, what had he expected? she asked herself a little wildly. Why did he think Constantine had brought her here, if not to enjoy her company? Surely he didn’t think his father was too old to enjoy female companionship? And, most pertinently of all, what was he doing coming to her apartments uninvited? If anyone had any explaining to do, it was him.
CHAPTER TWO (#u5a7e5d58-709f-542e-977c-d516c0243254)
‘DEMETRI?’
His father was obviously waiting for an explanation, but right now Demetri didn’t have one to give him. He was still stunned by the sight of his father’s hands on Joanna Manning’s hips. Brown hands, already showing the spots of age, were dark against the scarlet satin of her wrapper. A wrapper that he suspected was all she was wearing. Khristo, what had they been doing? Taking a shower together?
His imagination ran riot. He hadn’t realised her hair would be so long, but she had evidently washed it and now it tumbled pale and silky about her shoulders. The scarlet wrapper, too, was unknowingly provocative, drawing his attention to the slender shapeliness of her body, outlining her hips and the long, long length of her legs.
To his disgust, his body stirred. He could feel his arousal pushing against the hand he’d thrust into his trouser pocket, and he quickly withdrew it. Then, angry at the immaturity of his reaction, he tried to pull himself together. His father was waiting for a reply and he had no wish for the old man to guess he was in any way attracted to his—he sought for a suitably insulting description—his paramour.
‘I—good evening, Papa, Mrs Manning,’ he essayed politely. ‘I trust you have found everything to your satisfaction?’
His father’s brows drew together. ‘We have been here two days already, Demetri,’ he reminded his son shortly. His hands fell away from Joanna’s body. ‘I cannot believe that concern for our welfare is the reason you have chosen to invade our privacy at this time.’
It wasn’t, of course. But then, he hadn’t expected to encounter his father at all. It was Mrs Manning he had come to see. He had hoped—rather foolishly, he acknowledged now—that they might have a few moments of private conversation before his father interrupted them.
‘I—wanted to speak to you, Papa,’ he said, improvising swiftly. And perhaps it was just as well that his father was here after all, he conceded. His reaction to this woman had been totally unexpected, and it would have been horribly embarrassing if Constantine had not been there and she had noticed his discomfort. Theos! The back of his neck was sweating. What the hell was the matter with him?
‘And you surmised I would be here, with Joanna?’
His father was not a fool, and Demetri had to think fast to find an answer. ‘I—tried your apartments, but could get no reply,’ he muttered, hoping that Philip, his father’s manservant, wouldn’t contradict him. ‘But it doesn’t matter now. I can see you are—’ the words almost stuck in his throat ‘—occupied with other things. It can wait until tomorrow.’
‘I am sure it can.’ Constantine was clearly waiting for him to leave, and Demetri permitted himself only a brief glance at Joanna before striding out of the room.
In the hall outside, Demetri paused for a moment, breathing deeply and running decidedly unsteady hands through the thickness of his hair. He felt unnerved, shaken, and although he knew he should get the hell away from there, he was strangely reluctant to do so. It felt as if the image of the two of them together was emblazoned on his memory, and he knew it was going to take more than the slamming of a door to get it out of his head. And how sensible was that?
He glanced back over his shoulder, half-afraid that he was being observed, but the door was still firmly closed and no sounds were audible from within. His father and his mistress had evidently resumed whatever it was they had been doing before his arrival, and he didn’t need a crystal ball to guess what that was.
Na pari i oryi!
He swore silently, and then, gathering himself, strode back along the corridor to the galleried landing at the head of the stairs. He was going to have a great influence on his father’s behaviour if he started lusting after Mrs Manning himself, he thought contemptuously. When had he begun thinking with his sex instead of with his head?
The salon had been cleared in his absence. The huge reception room, which had earlier been thronged with the guests his sister had invited to welcome his father home, was now restored to its usual appearance. The furniture, which had mostly been moved aside during the reception, had now been gathered into small groupings, with tall crystal vases and porcelain urns spilling glossy blossoms onto every available surface. The scent of the flowers was pungent, dispelling the smells of tobacco and stale perfume. Someone had turned up the air-conditioning so that the room was decidedly chilly, but he wished it was earlier in the year so that he could fold back the long glass doors that opened onto the floodlit terrace. It would have been nice to allow the soft evening air to cool his overheated senses, but that wasn’t an option. At this time of the year there were too many insects flying about, and he didn’t wish to be bitten half to death.
‘Can I get you anything, sir?’
Demetri swung round to find a member of the household staff hovering behind him. He was tempted to order a bottle of Scotch and take himself off to the farthest corner of the estate and get thoroughly and disgustingly drunk. But he was not his father’s son for nothing, and Kastros did not make fools of themselves, particularly not in front of the servants.
‘Nothing, thanks,’ he responded now, waving the man away. Then he flung himself down into a cream velvet armchair and stared broodingly out of the windows.
Spiro found him there perhaps ten minutes later. The lamplit room was shadowy, and Demetri had chosen to sit in the darkest corner, but Spiro’s eyes were sharp. Like his employer, he, too, had changed for the evening, wearing a shirt and tie instead of the casual polo shirts he preferred.
‘I believe your sister and the other guests who are staying for dinner have gathered in the library,’ he said, advancing across the room. ‘What are you doing in here? Sulking?’
‘Watch your tongue,’ said Demetri shortly, and Spiro arched a wounded brow.
‘I gather you were sent away with your tail between your legs,’ he observed, ignoring the reproof. ‘What is the matter? Did she tell you she was playing for bigger stakes?’
‘Do not be stupid!’ Demetri placed his hands on the arms of the chair and pushed himself to his feet. He glanced around. ‘Is there anything to drink in here?’
Spiro pushed his hands into his trouser pockets and swayed back on his heels, surveying the large room with a considering eye. ‘It does not look like it,’ he said. ‘Why do we not join your father’s guests? There is a bar in the library.’
‘Thank you, I know that,’ retorted Demetri, scowling. ‘Look, why do you not go and join the party? I am—not in the mood for company.’
‘Why not?’
‘Theos, Spiro, mind your own damn business!’ Demetri heaved a frustrated breath. ‘You are not my keeper, you know.’
Spiro shrugged his shoulders. ‘So you did lose out?’
‘No!’ Demetri stared at his friend with angry eyes. Then, when Spiro didn’t back down, he gave a resigned shake of his head. ‘All right. I did not even get to speak to her. No pain, no gain. Does that answer your question?’
‘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.’
