And he wanted it to stop, his anger taking aim, loss sweeping in, because always you lost, in love you lost.
‘I should have told you!’ she attempted. ‘I wanted to.’
‘There are so many things you haven’t told me,’ Nico shouted. ‘So many things that I had every right to know.’ He stood there, her accuser, and she sat guilty with shame but confused by his next question. ‘Say it.’
‘Say what?’
‘Oh, please …’ He could not believe that she didn’t know what he was referring to. ‘When are you going to tell me? Through a lawyer? Perhaps your father could draft the letter and tell me what I have to pay, in cash this time, because he’s already taken everything else.’
She knew then he was talking about Leo as he raged on. ‘When I came to your door, when I brought you here.’ Nico’s anger was growing now. ‘Still you said nothing and now, even now, you sit there are refuse to tell me the truth!’
‘Tell you!’ It was Connie who was shouting now, Connie sitting there with anger growing inside her. ‘We both know that it’s eight o’clock.’
‘What are you talking about?
‘There’s a clock by this bed and we can both see it, so why would you ask me the time? Do you want to split hairs? Do you want to say if it’s a.m. or p.m.—when we both know?’
‘I’m talking about Leo,’ Nico roared. ‘I’m talking about my son!’
‘Your son,’ Connie said. ‘I am supposed to formally say it? What, will you demand DNA?’ She could not match his anger but still hers was growing. Indignantly she ripped the sheet around her and stood, looked into his eyes and wanted to slap him. ‘How dare you doubt me in this,’ Connie sneered. She the injured party now. ‘How dare you stand there and demand that I say that Leo is your son? I was a virgin, Nico, I had slept only with you and I have loved only you …’ She stopped then because love did not count with him, love was the thing he did not want. Clearly did not want it, for he was walking out the door. ‘Where are you going?’ She had thought he’d want more answers, that he’d demand every detail, but realisation dawned and she ran at him and tried to halt him.
‘Where do you think?’
She grabbed at his arm, but he flicked her off, and there was nothing, nothing that would stop him.
She watched as he charged from the house, heard a car screech from the driveway and gun down the hill, and he left her in chaos behind.
She wanted to ring her father, to warn him, to hate him.
To stop Nico, not just for her father’s sake but to prevent what Nico would surely do.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
HE WOULD kill him.
He would find where he lived and would go there.
Nico sped the car through the quiet morning, chewing up the miles with rage. He screeched to a halt at the toll barrier, blasting his horn impatiently for the watchman to lift it, ready to spring out and raise the thing himself. There was nothing on his mind but revenge, certainly no thought of consequences.
And the consequences for Connie were more than she could idly wait to unfold.
She rang her parents, desperate when they wouldn’t answer, knowing they would now be on their morning walk, appalled at what they would come home to.
‘He’s fine!’ Despina saw her anguish when, having quickly dressed, she fled to the old woman’s door.
But it wasn’t Leo she feared for.
She held him close, inhaled his delicious scent, and she was scared for her father and scared for Leo’s father, too.
‘Can you take me to my parents’?’ Paulo came out from a room at the sound of her anguish. ‘Please …’ she sobbed. ‘Nico is on his way there now.’
Paulo’s car was no match for Nico’s. It was small, ancient, and Paulo wasn’t up for a car chase. He ambled along the roads, even when she begged him to go faster, but they had Leo in the car, Paulo pointed out, and no car seat … and she looked at her baby and had to bite her lip in frustration as Despina attempted to reassure her.
‘He’s a good man,’ Despina soothed.
He was a good man, a just man, Connie knew that, but a terrible injustice had been done to him and when Paulo asked at the road toll if they had seen him, a man in silver sports car, her heart sank further. They were told how he had been, angry and blasting his horn then driving off as if the devil had been chasing him.
Paulo knew Xanos well and did not need directions, but as they turned at the market square into her street and drove up the hill, she was petrified what she might see. She braced herself for a police car or for neighbours on the street, for Nico’s sleek sports car, but there was nothing, no sign of Nico, or that he had even been here. She asked Despina to wait with Leo as she ran up to her front door, hammering on it, frustrated at the long wait for her father to open it.
Slowly he did so and frowned at the sight of his estranged daughter and then behind to where Despina stood, holding his grandson.
‘I don’t take in beggars.’ He went to close the door and, Connie realised Nico didn’t need to do it, she could quite happily have killed him herself.
‘That’s your grandson.’ She barged in, powered on her own anger, proud, so proud to say it, for the truth to be known. ‘His father is Nico Eliades.’ And she watched her father’s hand reach to his chest and she shook her head, for she would not let him manipulate her, would not let him hide behind a bedroom door with a nurse standing guard. ‘He knows,’ Connie said. ‘He knows what you did and he’s on his way here.’ And she told him to get up when he fell to the floor. She told him to grow up when he begged out excuses and she told him to give her his office keys, to face Nico when he arrived and give him what he deserved.
His identity.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
NICO had screeched to a halt at the toll barrier, blasting his horn impatiently for the watchman to lift it, ready to spring out and raise the thing himself, and the wait did not calm him, the pendulum did not swing backwards. It just surged higher towards hatred, to filth, to violence, and the rule would be broken, Nico knew as his car swept into town, for this time the pendulum would never swing back.
No one would give him the address of Constantine’s parents. As he stopped his car and demanded to know, people shrugged and walked on.
Why would they give directions? Nico realised. Who would give directions to a man raging? He stopped the car and forced himself to think.
She had lived near the taverna, Constantine had told him that, but he could not knock on every door. Someone would warn the bastard, or ring the police. Instead, he would go to the taverna and get directions. He would not get Charlotte involved with this.
And he forced himself calm, to appear just another customer, and this time he did not take his coffee outside but drank it at the bar and chatted to the owner as he looked through the menu, saw hot peppered calamari and wished, how he wished, that he had tasted it with her. He wished they had bought it from here and then sat on the beach as young lovers rather than the nightmare that things were now.
Then he caught his reflection in the mirror, saw eyes that were his, that were surely the same as his twin’s, and eyes, too, that were Leo’s and Constantine was right—she should not have had to say.
He did not need to be told that Leo was his son.
Which meant he was a father. And even if his mind screamed for revenge, there was part of his mind that was stronger, that waited, that paused as he drank his coffee and, despite the hour, accepted the ouzo. He tasted the anise on his lips and his mind went to his twin.
He did not recoil at the thought now. At some level he had always known, had recognised the face in the mirror in a way that confused—and the jolt of surprise he had felt when he had seen Leo had not been a father’s normal reaction to his son.
Was that how he had looked?
He wanted names.
He wanted dates.
He wanted details.
A word to the owner and he had the address that would take him to them
. Nico paid and left and walked past the beach where he would have held her, had he been allowed to have his life, and to the bush where first he would have kissed her. Then he looked up at the hill behind her home, where his car would have taken her, and what they had found that night was how it should have been—for it would have been their wedding night, Nico realised, feeling a fresh surge of anger towards the man who had stolen from him so many things.
He pounded on the door, but it was she who opened it.
Dressed in the same dress she had worn last night, but dishevelled now, and he could see that she had been crying, hear the shouts and protests coming from behind her, telling her to close the door, not let him in. But she stood there, holding it open, and he looked down at her nervous, brave but somehow still trusting face, and he felt like he would had he loved her.
‘Here.’ She handed him that which should never have been taken. He looked at the names for a long moment, found Alexandros Kargas, who had been born on the same day as him, and found out, too, the names of his parents. A piece of his own jigsaw slotted in easily.
‘It’s my grandfather’s home that I purchased …’ Nico looked at his mother’s maiden name. ‘I am almost sure of it.’ And hard as it might be, he was sure of one other thing as he looked back at Constantine—he had promised he would never hurt her.
‘Can I come in?’
She hadn’t expected him to ask, more that he would barge in, that there would be chaos, only Nico was deathly calm as he walked into the lounge. It was her father who leapt from his chair angry and confrontational, hurling his defence.
‘I did the right thing by you,’ was his uninvited response, for Nico had not said a word. ‘Your mother was a hooker, a drunk. You would have had nothing had you stayed with her.’
‘So I should thank you?’ Nico’s lips were white. With once sentence he silenced the man. ‘And my father?’ he demanded. ‘What do you know about my father and brother?’
‘They lived in the south. Your father was dirt poor, a brute who kicked you mom out. Should I have sent you back to him?’
And Connie learnt alongside him that his twin had long since left Xanos and his father had been dead for years.
‘I did you a favour,’ her father attempted, and she felt Nico tense, thought now the explosion would come, but still he stood there, told himself he fought only with equals, that a fist to an old man did not count and he would not break his code for a man so much beneath him. So instead he used words.
‘Never say you did me a favour, never try to justify what you have done,’ Nico said. ‘You sold me, the same way you sold your daughter. What lies and deals did Dimitri threaten to expose if you did not use your daughter to cover for his son?’ He watched her father grow pale as secrets were exposed and he clutched his hands to his chest, but it didn’t wash with Nico. ‘I am through speaking with you.’ He turned to Constantine, who stood in the middle, saw her tears, her pain, and just wanted her out of there, ‘Come with me,’ he said, because he wanted her home.
‘Talk to him, Connie,’ her mother pleaded. ‘Tell him how bad things will be for us if this ever gets out, tell him how bad things will look for his own son. Please, Connie …’
‘It’s Constantine,’ she corrected, because that was how he had found her. ‘And don’t try to use Leo to sway things. Nico will do what he feels he must, and I will support him.’
Paulo and Despina were waiting outside and, though they promised they would take care of her son, Nico thanked them instead and told Connie to bring him. She walked, carrying her son, through the streets and the life that had been denied them, but somehow they had found this life anyway.
‘What will you do?’ She was still worried for her father.
‘I will look for my brother.’
‘I’ll help you to find him.’ But he knew that was not all she had been asking and she was brave enough to voice it. ‘I cannot ask you to forgive my father when I don’t think I ever will be able to …’ She started to cry, because they had done things so terrible to the man she loved yet still they were her parents.
‘One day you will forgive.’ He took a deep breath. ‘As one day I hope I can forgive the people who I call my parents. I give you my word, I will never make you choose …’ She started to cry some more, but with a weak stream of relief, for it sounded as if there might be a future, but it all seemed too big. He held her in his arms, their son between them, and he was stronger.
So strong that he took the son he had feared loving and for the first time held him in his arms, felt the fear that came when you loved, but understood now the reward of it.
‘I came here to kill him, Constantine. I drove into town and I was raging …’ She knew that, had seen him leave, had spoken to the toll man, but she listened as he held her and breathed in every word he spoke.
‘I went to the taverna, to our taverna.’ And though they had never set foot in it together, as she looked up, her eyes told him she understood. ‘I walked past our places, the beach where we ate, to the bush where we kissed, and then I walked to your door to face your father … That should have been how it was,’ Nico said. ‘Had I lived here in Xanos, I would be asking him for your hand, you would have been my bride a long time ago, which should make me hate him even more.’ But walking that route, Nico had realised love was bigger, that somehow they were so meant to be, love had assured this moment. He knew that by hurting others he would hurt her, too, and he always kept his promise. ‘It is a measure of how much I care for you and Leo that I will not destroy him.’ And she started to cry again, only not with relief, because she knew how impossible those words she craved were for him—could see why he had not wanted love, for so many times it had been taken from him.
‘Tell me …’ she said, because she needed to hear those words. ‘Tell me you love me.’
‘I just did, I told you how much I care. Why make me say it? We both know …’ And then he took a breath and said the words he never had before and had never thought that he would. ‘I love you.’ He gave her a smile and one that was for only her, and he made her laugh on a day she had thought she never would, because, as he told her, there was also some good news.
‘We get,’ Nico whispered, ‘another wedding night, another night where you are my bride.’
EPILOGUE
NOTHING could have prepared him for the impact of the telephone call.
Home, after a busy week of work, all Nico had intended was to take off his suit and join his new wife by the pool. It had been the simplest of weddings. The families were still too bruised for celebration, but slowly they were healing. With Charlotte as organizer and photographer, and Despina and Paulo as witnesses, they had married and returned to their hotel room for the second time, but legally now as husband and wife.
And Nico was happier than he had ever been, loved nothing more than to come home to his wife and to play with their chubby son, because finally he knew what evenings and weekends really were for.
Xanos was home.
He had been right. The house deeds showed that this had been his grandfather’s home and now, years later, by universal inheritance it was his. The jigsaw that hung on the wall was his grandfather’s artwork—a painting, Nico was sure, of himself and his brother, but unlike the jigsaw there were so many pieces missing. His search for Alexandros Kargas was proving fruitless. There were so many with that name. And then came the call.
‘Can’t it wait till Monday?’ Constantine grumbled, as he suspended their kiss and answered the phone.
‘Two minutes,’ Nico said, ‘then I will turn the phone off.’
It was longer than two minutes.
A lot longer.
Constantine watched as the sun lowered, the lengthening shadows creeping over her, and looked at Leo who was now drooping. She should bathe him and change him, but as she walked up the steps his head rested heavily on her shoulders and not only did she not have the heart to wake him for a bath, she wanted to be with Nico. She slipped
Leo into his cot, changed his nappy as he slept, then covered him to the shoulders with cool gauze. As she stared down at her son, her eyes filled with tears and Constantine took a few calming breaths, somehow knowing that the news Nico had sought for so long had finally come.
As she walked into the living room, Nico stood in silence, staring at the jigsaw that was framed on the wall, and it was clear there was a conversation to be had.
She crossed the room and looked at the image with him. Still, they were searching for Roula, his mother, and they could not work out if Nico and his twin had ever lived in this home or had been, more likely from what the neighbours said, painted from his grandfather’s imagination.
‘I don’t know if we’ll get the land …’ Nico said as she joined him, and his voice sounded normal. ‘The owner still says that he is not willing to sell.’
‘Oh.’ She frowned because it surprised her that that was what was troubling him—she had thought he’d had news, big news, about his brother. She thought the endless searching had finally turned up something. It was only land they were talking about after all, and they had each other. Nico had long ago convinced her that she and Leo were all that mattered to him.
‘The developer’s name is Zander.’ Nico said. ‘Charlotte rang and said she had been speaking recently with Zander himself.’ Constantine closed her eyes as Nico went and got the house deeds, as he turned to a signature that was so vital now. So vital that Nico ran his finger over the ink. ‘Zander Kargas.’
‘There could be many …’ she attempted, but her heart, too, told her this was true. ‘You need to speak to him,’ Constantine said. ‘Do you think … he knows …?’
‘He knows,’ Nico said. ‘I am sure of it. Why else would he have sold me this home?’
‘Because you paid a fortune.’
‘No.’ Nico shook his head. ‘He knows who I am.’ He handed her his phone, showed her the images he had just uploaded. It was bizarre: the man was the image of Nico, yet looked nothing like him—there was a savageness to him, a streetwise look that warned, from black eyes, not to approach. ‘Our parents’ home was the first that he bulldozed. I guess being left alone with that bastard has taken its toll. I just looked him up—he’s ruthless, from what I’ve read about him. I don’t think he sold me this house out of brotherly love.’ He looked at Constantine. ‘He lives in Australia, but he’s talking about coming back to look at the development. I think he is hoping to shock me. He’s playing games …’
A Shameful Consequence Page 13
