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He shrugged as if acknowledging her words. ‘Polikala, Marc caught pneumonia when he was only a few days old.’ His voice was tight. ‘The doctors tried to save him, but he was too small, too premature. He didn’t stand a chance.’
Jane caught her breath. ‘Poor Ianthe,’ she said, finding she meant it.
‘Neh, poor Ianthe,’ echoed Demetri, though there was a distinct edge of bitterness to his tone. ‘She didn’t deserve that.’
‘No.’ Jane shook her head, reaching for her coffee again. She took a gulp, grateful for the rush of caffeine. ‘So now I suppose you two are planning on getting married at last.’ She tried to sound casual. ‘Your mother will be pleased.’
Demetri’s thin—yet oh, so sensual—lips curled into a scowl. ‘No,’ he told her harshly. ‘I was never interested in Ianthe, despite what you believed. I intend to marry Ariadne Pavlos. You may remember the Pavlos family. Ariadne and I have been friends since we were children. She has recently returned from an extended visit to the United States.’
‘How nice!’ Jane tried not to let her true feelings show. Ariadne’s mother, Sofia Pavlos, was a friend of Demetri’s mother, she remembered. Someone else who hadn’t approved of their marriage. She moistened her lips. ‘Does Ariadne know about Ianthe’s baby, too?’
‘She knows enough,’ said Demetri shortly, realising he was getting into deep water. The past was the past and there was no point in raking it all up now. He shouldn’t have come here. He should have taken his lawyer’s advice and let him handle it. But he hadn’t realised how dangerous it would be for him to get involved with Jane again.
‘Look,’ he said, when the silence had become unbearable, ‘I’ve got to get going.’ He sucked in a breath before adding, ‘I’m sure you hate me now, but I really didn’t intend to—to—’
‘Seduce me?’
‘No.’ Demetri was angry. ‘It was hardly a seduction. You met me halfway.’
Jane’s colour deepened. ‘All right. Perhaps that was unjustified. But it wouldn’t be the first time you used—it—against me.’
Demetri swore then. ‘What do you expect me to say, Jane? I came here to warn you about the divorce, that’s all. I didn’t expect to find you half-naked.’
Jane gasped. ‘What?’ she choked. ‘I’m so irresistible I got under your guard?’
‘Something like that,’ muttered Demetri, aware that he wasn’t doing himself any favours. He straightened and moved towards the door. ‘I’ll have my lawyer contact you with all the details. Despite—well, despite your attitude, I won’t contest any settlement your lawyer asks for.’
Jane sprang up from the sofa, almost spilling her coffee in the process. ‘I’ve told you, I don’t want any of your money, Demetri!’ she exclaimed angrily. ‘I’m quite capable of supporting myself, thank you.’
‘Ala—’
‘Forget it!’ Without giving him any further time to defend himself, she strode towards the outer door and jerked it open. ‘Get out of here, Demetri. Before I say something I’ll regret.’
Demetri flew back to Kalithi that afternoon.
He had planned to stay a couple more days. He’d been invited to attend a meeting of the Association of Oil Producers the following morning, but he’d had his assistant call and offer his apologies instead. His father wouldn’t be pleased. He’d been delighted that the Souvakis Corporation had garnered such respect in the oil-producing countries, and it had also proved he had been judicious in handing control of the organisation to his son.
Demetri wasn’t so sure, however. He’d already realised that being head of an organisation like Souvakis International demanded a considerable amount of his time. It might even be said that the responsibilities he’d taken on eight years ago had played no small part in the breakdown of his marriage. If he and Jane had had more time to talk about what had happened, more time for him to persuade her he was innocent of the charge she’d levelled against him, she might not have walked out as she did. But she’d believed that he was to blame for Ianthe’s pregnancy, and without proof he’d been unable to convince her otherwise.
It was already dark when the powerful little Cessna landed on the island. The airstrip was a private one, owned by the Souvakis family, and although the island attracted tourists, they came by ferry, landing at the small port of Kalithi in the south of the island.
Headlights scanning the runway were an indication that his father had got the message he’d sent earlier, though he guessed the old man would want to know exactly why he had avoided speaking to him personally.
His own personal assistant, Theo Vasilis, had travelled with him, and it was he who was first off the plane, organising the transport that would take them to the Souvakis estate. A sleek four-wheel-drive vehicle stood at the edge of the tarmac, waiting for the preliminaries of landing to be over. Then, when Demetri strode across the apron to get into it, he discovered it wasn’t his father’s chauffeur who was driving. Ariadne Pavlos was seated behind the wheel, her glossy lips parted in a smile that was both welcoming and slightly smug.
‘Eh,’ she said, when Demetri climbed into the vehicle beside her. ‘A nice surprise, no?’
Demetri’s jaw tightened momentarily, the knowledge that he would have preferred not to have to deal with Ariadne tonight giving him pause. But then, realising why he was feeling this way, he forced a smile and leant across the console to kiss her. ‘A very nice surprise,’ he said untruthfully. ‘Have you been waiting long?’
‘Only about six years,’ she responded artfully, her tongue making contact with his before he could pull away. ‘You have missed me, yes?’
Demetri turned to fasten his seat belt. ‘What do you think?’ he asked, avoiding a direct reply. Then, in an effort to change the subject, ‘How is my father? Not too pleased that I cut the oil conference, I’ll bet.’
‘He is—OK.’ Ariadne spoke indifferently, glancing round with some impatience when Theo Vasilis deposited their luggage rather heavily into the back of the car. ‘Prosekheh!’ she ex-claimed irritably. Be careful. Then her eyes widened even further when Theo swung open the rear door and climbed into the back. Her head swung round to Demetri. ‘Must he come with us?’
‘Why not?’ Demetri’s response was innocent enough, but he couldn’t deny a sense of relief that Theo was coming along. He nodded towards the laptop the other man was carrying. ‘My father will expect a report on the meetings we’ve had while we’ve been in London.’
‘The meetings with your wife?’ suggested Ariadne silkily, her dark eyes alight with malice. ‘Oh, yes. I will be interested to hear about those myself.’
Demetri expelled a long breath. ‘Not that meeting,’ he said flatly. ‘The meetings we had with business associates.’
‘Ah, but those meetings are so boring, no?’ said Ariadne archly. ‘Tell me about your wife. Is she going to be difficult, do you think?’
Difficult! Demetri stifled the groan of frustration that rose inside him. But, ‘Not difficult, no,’ he told her, and then turned again to Theo in the back seat. ‘Did you collect all the papers from the plane?’
His meaning couldn’t have been plainer and, although Ariadne tossed her head as she reached for the ignition, she knew better than to pursue the matter now. There’d be time enough later, Demetri could almost hear her thinking. And dammit, why not? It was because of her—and his father’s illness—that he’d gone to see Jane in the first place.
Leaving the airport behind, they drove along the narrow country lane that led to the Souvakis estate. There was little to see in the car’s headlights but the coarse grass that grew alongside the road and the occasional stunted cypress. But Demetri knew that running parallel with the track were the sand dunes and beyond that the blue-green waters of the Aegean. It was spring in the islands and it would be good to wake up tomorrow morning and hear the murmur of the ocean instead of the hum of traffic outside his window.
But thinking of London wasn’t the wisest thing to do in the circumstances. It reminded him too much of what had happened earlier in the day. And he couldn’t help but compare Ariadne’s dark, somewhat sultry, good looks with his wife’s fair-skinned beauty. They were so different, he thought, not welcoming the comparison: Ariadne, full-figured and voluptuous, and Jane, tall, slender, hiding her sensuous nature behind a tantalising façade of cool composure.
He squashed that thought, saying tersely, ‘Did you attend your cousin’s wedding?’
‘Julia? But, of course.’ Ariadne shrugged as the tall wooden gates that marked the entrance to the estate came into view. She flashed the car’s headlights, and a man appeared from the white-painted gatehouse to one side of the gates, hurriedly releasing the latch and throwing them wide. ‘Naturally, I was the only woman there without an escort. Thia Thermia said I should not have allowed you to go away at such a time.’
‘She would.’ Demetri’s mouth compressed. He wasn’t unduly worried what Thermia Adonides thought of him. She was also Ianthe’s mother and because of that she already disapproved of him. He’d been amazed that she hadn’t attempted to thwart his and Ariadne’s relationship, but evidently the advantages of his wealth far outweighed any misgivings she might retain.
Demetri raised a hand to Georgiou, the gatekeeper, as they drove past, and then the powerful vehicle was accelerating up the long, winding drive to the main house. The villa, which stood on a small plateau overlooking the ocean, was still occupied by his parents. Demetri had built his own house on the property, but since Jane’s departure he tended to spend much of his time elsewhere.
His mother often complained that they saw little of him, and it was true that until his father’s illness, Demetri had spent little time at home. He worked hard, and there was no denying that his work had saved his sanity. If he’d played hard, too, he’d told himself he deserved it. He’d been certain he’d never succumb to any other woman’s appeal.
And he hadn’t. It was only when he’d discovered his father’s illness was terminal that he’d been persuaded to consider marrying again. Ariadne was the perfect candidate: she was single, she was Greek and his mother approved of her.
A paved forecourt fronted the cluster of buildings that comprised barns and garages as well as his parents’ home. Ariadne brought the car to a halt and turned off the engine. But when Theo sprang out and Demetri made to open his door, her hand on his arm arrested him.
‘Wait,’ she said huskily. ‘Talk to me, Demetri. Tell me you haven’t changed your mind.’
Demetri stared at her, the lights that encircled the courtyard illuminating the anxious expression in her dark eyes. ‘Changed my mind?’ he echoed, suddenly feeling horribly guilty. He put out his hand and cupped her cheek. ‘Sweetheart, whatever gave you that idea?’
CHAPTER FOUR
WELL, she was pregnant.
Trying to think pragmatically, Jane took a deep breath and pushed the cartridge she’d been examining back into her bag. It was the third positive reaction she’d had in the last two weeks, and, however much she tried to persuade herself that these tests could be faulty, even she didn’t believe it could happen three times in a row.
Dammit!
Smudging back a tear, she sniffed ferociously. How could it have happened? She’d been so sure that when she and Demetri had made—had had sex, she amended, fiercely, her monthly cycle had been too far along for her to conceive. She’d always been so regular in the past. Though she had to admit that when they were living together, she hadn’t left anything to chance.
In the beginning, they’d both agreed that having children could wait. For a year or two, at least. And because Jane wanted to go on working, Demetri had opened a small gallery for her in the town of Kalithi itself. It had meant that she’d been able to keep in contact with Olga, who’d been happy to exchange antiquities and paintings with her erstwhile student.
It had all worked very well, and because she owned the gallery Jane had been able to accompany Demetri on his business trips whenever she chose. It had seemed an idyllic existence, and she’d never been happier.
But then Ianthe had revealed she was pregnant, and her whole house of cards had come tumbling down about her ears. Jane hadn’t been able to forgive Demetri for betraying her, her only relief in the knowledge that they had no children to suffer the break-up of their parents’ marriage.
She sighed. If she was honest, she’d have to admit that taking precautions hadn’t figured too highly in her thoughts when Demetri had kissed her. The sensual brush of his tongue had banished all other thoughts from her head. She’d wanted him, she acknowledged, just as much as he’d wanted her. It had been far too easy to convince herself that he wasn’t just using her for his own ends.
It wasn’t until two weeks later, when she still hadn’t had her period, that she’d even considered the alternative. And even then it had been hard to believe that that reckless consummation had had such a result. It was five weeks now since Demetri had come to her apartment. She’d already received notification that he’d contacted his solicitors about the divorce. Dear God, what was she going to do?
The appearance of her employer forced her to shelve the problem for the moment. Although Olga Ivanovitch was almost seventy, she strode into Jane’s office at the gallery with all the vitality of a much younger woman. A Russian Jew, whose parents had been living in Germany just before the last war, she and her family had fled to England. It was her father who’d founded the gallery, but Olga who had made it a success, moving the premises from Croyden to their present enviable position in the West End.
In long skirts and with a cloak floating freely about her tall generous figure, she looked a little like an ageing flower-child, Jane thought. But Olga had been her mentor, taking her on when all Jane had to commend her was a degree in fine arts from a redbrick university and an enthusiasm Olga had recognised that matched her own.
Now Olga brushed back her mane of incongruously red hair and said impatiently, ‘Did he come?’ And, although she’d lived in England long enough to have mastered the language completely, her accent still remained for artistic effect.
‘He came,’ agreed Jane, knowing at once who Olga was talking about. A famous collector of antiquities had expressed an interest in the set of bronzes Jane had brought back from Bangkok. He’d promised to call at the gallery that morning to examine them again and make his decision.
‘And?’ Olga couldn’t hide her excitement.
‘He bought them,’ Jane responded drily. ‘He wants them packed and delivered by courier to his home in Suffolk.’
‘Wonderful!’ Olga was delighted. ‘And a healthy commission for you, too, leibchen. You have done well. I must send you away again. You have the knack for finding treasure in the most unexpected places.’
Jane managed a small smile, but inside she felt chewed-up, unable to think of anything but the cartridge she’d hidden in her bag. Her hand stole disbelievingly over her flat stomach. Was it possible that Demetri’s baby was already growing inside her? How soon would it be before it became noticeable? How soon before Olga suspected that something was wrong?
And, as if she’d already sensed her employee’s abstraction, Olga rested a hip on Jane’s desk. ‘You are looking pale,’ she said, dark brows drawing together above her long nose. ‘Are you getting enough sleep? Or is that young man of yours keeping you up half the night, hmm?’
Jane shuffled the papers on her desk. ‘I don’t have a young man, Olga. I’ve told you so a dozen times. Alex Hunter and I are just friends.’
‘Does he know that?’
Predictably, now that the news of the bronzes was out of the way, Olga was directing all her attention towards her assistant. How would she react when she found out Jane was having a baby? How would Alex react when she’d already assured him that her relationship with Demetri was over?
Playing for time, she said weakly, ‘I beg your pardon—’
‘Mr Hunter,’ said Olga testily. ‘I was asking if he was aware that you have nothing more than friendship in mind?’
‘Oh…’ Jane made a helpless gesture. ‘Our relationship isn’t that serious. I like Alex. He’s good company. But we’ve only known one another for a comparatively short time.’
‘Long enough.’ Olga was persistent. ‘I worry about you, Jane, I really do. When are you going to put the past behind you and get on with your life?’
‘Oh, I—’
Jane was still trying to think of an answer when Olga spoke again. ‘Isn’t it time you thought about getting a divorce?’
Sometimes Olga’s perception was truly startling, Jane thought incredulously. At any other time, she might have admired her ability to sense what she was thinking. But not today. This was one occasion when Jane would prefer to keep her thoughts to herself.
While she waited for Jane to answer, Olga rummaged in her pocket and drew out a pack of her favourite Gauloise cigarettes. Placing one between her lips, she flicked her lighter, inhaling deeply before blowing a stream of blue smoke into the air above their heads. Jane had never liked the smell of cigarettes and this morning she found it nauseating. Feeling the bile rising in her throat, she made an incoherent little sound and then rushed wildly out of the room.
In the small bathroom that adjoined the gallery, she was violently sick. Leaning against the tiled wall afterwards, a tissue pressed to her mouth, she thought it was a long time since she’d felt so ill. What had she eaten, for God’s sake? She’d only had toast for breakfast, so it couldn’t be that. Mind you, she hadn’t really wanted any breakfast. She’d been feeling distinctly out-of-sorts since she’d got out of bed.
And then, feeling immensely stupid, she realised what was happening. It wasn’t food-poisoning. It wasn’t even the smell of Olga’s cigarette, although heaven knew they were an acquired taste. No, this had to be the start of morning sickness, and if she needed any further confirmation of her condition, this was it.
A tentative tapping at the door roused her. ‘Jane? Jane, are you all right?’ Naturally, it was Olga. ‘Is something wrong?’
Everything, thought Jane heavily, struggling to pull herself together. But she managed to say, ‘No, I’m OK, Olga. I think I must have eaten something that disagreed with me and when I smelled your cigarette—’
‘Mein Gott!’ Olga sounded horrified. ‘My cigarette has made you ill?’
‘No. No, not really.’ Jane felt ashamed. She couldn’t let Olga take the blame for something that was her own fault. She opened the door to find the old woman waiting outside, wringing her hands anxiously. ‘Sorry about that.’
Olga said something Jane couldn’t understand and then wrapped her arm about the younger woman’s shoulders. Thankfully, she’d ditched the cigarette but Jane could still smell the scent of tobacco on her clothes.
‘Leibchen,’ she murmured with evident concern. ‘Are you sure you and Mr Hunter are just good friends?’
‘What do you mean?’ Jane tried to sound confused but it didn’t quite come off.
Olga sighed, looking down at her with considering eyes. ‘Because…well, because I am wondering if there might be another reason for you feeling—unwell, no?’
‘Another reason?’ Jane swallowed.
‘Do I have to draw you a picture, leibling?’ Olga turned to take her by the shoulders, making it impossible for Jane to avoid her calculating stare. ‘Is it possible that you might—be fooling yourself?’
‘Fooling myself?’Jane blew out a breath, wondering if it was worth pretending she didn’t understand. Giving in, she said, ‘Are you suggesting I might be pregnant? Is that what you think?’
Olga shook her head. ‘I’m simply saying it’s a possibility you should consider, no? You wouldn’t be the first young woman to fall for the charms of a handsome young man like Mr Hunter.’
Jane pulled away from her. ‘I’ve told you!’ she exclaimed fiercely. ‘Alex and I—Alex and I have never—’
‘Never?’ Olga was sceptical.
‘Never,’ retorted Jane crossly. ‘Now, can we talk about something else?’ She scrubbed at her mouth one last time and then started back towards her office. ‘Have you given any thought as to where we might find the other pieces Sir George is looking for?’
Olga shrugged, following her more slowly, and Jane knew the old woman still wasn’t convinced of her answer. However, until she’d decided what she was going to do, Jane didn’t feel capable of discussing her situation with anyone. For heaven’s sake, she still hadn’t come to terms with the fact that she was pregnant herself.
But, throughout the rest of the day, Jane found her thoughts constantly drifting to the dilemma she was facing. What was she going to do? How soon would she have to decide whether she was going to keep the baby or not? For, although her salary was generous, there was no way she could afford the cost of child-care in London on her own.
The alternative was to tell Demetri about the baby. But how could she tell her husband she was expecting a baby when he was already preparing to get a divorce? And there were other people involved, not least the woman he hoped to marry. As well as his mother. Jane could well imagine Maria Souvakis’s reaction when she discovered her son had fathered another child. With the despised English girl.
Jane packed up early and left for home, telling Olga she was feeling shivery. She hoped mentioning another ailment would divert her employer’s mind from the suspicions she’d voiced earlier. But feeling the woman’s eyes upon her as she ran down the steps from the gallery, Jane wasn’t confident she’d succeeded.
It was raining and she took the bus home, afraid that if she took the underground the smell of cigarette smoke would make her sick again. And it was such a relief to walk into the quiet, airy spaciousness of her apartment, so good to sink down onto the sofa with a freshly-made cup of tea.
However, she hadn’t been sitting there for very long before the phone rang. Her mother, Jane guessed, assuming that she’d phoned the gallery and Olga had directed her here. It was to be hoped her employer hadn’t decided to confide her fears to Mrs Lang. It might account for the timeliness—or untimeliness— of her call.
She contemplated not answering for all of ten seconds. But the possibility that it might be someone else had her reaching for the receiver. ‘Yes,’ she said, aware that her tone was less than cordial, and then she nearly dropped the instrument when Demetri’s rich, dark voice came on the line.
‘I see your temper hasn’t improved,’ he remarked drily, the slight echo indicating he was calling long-distance. ‘Who has upset you this time?’
