* * *
A week later Damon watched Lizzie and Thea’s plane take off into the mid-afternoon sky on its way to London. He’d worked hard in the intervening days to make up for his gaffe with the violin, and his reward had been seeing Thea gradually return to the ease they’d shared before they’d known they were father and daughter.
He understood Thea’s stout defence of her mother, and could only admire her for it. As Lizzie had said, it would take time to reassure Thea that things would be better now, not worse. And he was prepared to wait for as long as it took. For the first time in his life he couldn’t afford to be impatient. Thea was too important for him to get this wrong.
It was only when he turned to go to his car that he realised how alone he felt now they’d gone. Had he always felt this way? The answer was an unequivocal no. He’d never known what he was missing before today.
He stood by the car, gazing up at the sky until the jet carrying Lizzie and Thea away became a silver dot before disappearing. He and Lizzie had made certain decisions, which included taking things slowly, but those decisions, so carefully made, didn’t feel right to him now.
Climbing into the car, he released the handbrake and pulled away from the kerb.
Would Lizzie ever return to Greece?
He was so busy scrutinising the sky in the direction Lizzie’s jet had taken that he almost drove into a ditch. He adjusted his steering fast.
Maybe it was time to adjust his life and his thinking too.
* * *
Thea had buried herself in a book for the duration of the flight home, giving Lizzie plenty of time to think. Everything had been almost perfect during their last few days on the island, she mused. If there was a problem it was Lizzie, with her courage for others and caution for herself. She had never used to be like that, but she had to keep everything safe and steady for Thea.
Was Damon right in saying she should have a life too? Did Thea deserve a mother who could never pull back and see what was under her nose? Was she smothering Thea? Was that why Thea had said what she’d said about not necessarily following a career as a musician when she was older?
On the other hand Damon had got things right these past few days. His family had been more involved with Thea, and the more Lizzie had got to know them, the more she’d come to believe that having them in their lives could only be a good thing for Thea.
Now there was just the problem of Lizzie and Damon, and where they went from here...if they went anywhere.
There were grey clouds over London as the plane came in to land. The aircraft hit turbulence and juddered suddenly and Lizzie gasped and gripped the armrest.
‘What’s wrong?’ Thea asked.
‘Nothing. Everything’s perfect.’
So why did she have to try so hard to convince herself that this was true? Couldn’t she do as Damon asked and trust him for once?
Lizzie couldn’t even put a name to the doubt inside her, except to say that it refused to go away. It was a relief when the plane broke through the clouds and they landed safely.
* * *
Lizzie kissed Thea goodbye at the gates of the school boarding house where Thea stayed during term time. Thea was popular, which made parting easier, though it was never easy for Lizzie on the bus ride home. She always felt sad when she left Thea at school—and especially now, when she knew that Thea wasn’t wholly committed to a future as a professional musician.
Some fairly big decisions would have to be made soon. If Thea did decide to become a day pupil Lizzie would be the happiest mother alive. The complications it would throw up would just have to be worked through, like everything else. Flexi-working, Lizzie thought as she put the key in the door. That was the answer.
She’d just have to hope she could earn enough money working part-time and still be available when Thea needed her. She’d always found a solution in the past, so there was no reason to suppose that she couldn’t do so again.
The house that encompassed her bedsit was empty...echoing and empty. The owners were obviously away.
Shaking off the feeling of loneliness, Lizzie picked up her mail and wheeled her suitcase into her room. A coffee first, and then she’d look at the important things.
There was a lot of mail to throw away first—flyers, menus from the local take-away restaurants—and then one very official-looking envelope, with the name of a legal firm that shot fear into her heart stamped in confident black letters across the top.
Coffee would have to wait, she decided as she turned the envelope over in her hands. The last time she’d heard the name of this law firm had been eleven years ago, in court.
Might as well get it over with...
She didn’t even pause to shrug off her jacket. She just ripped the thick velum envelope open and took out the letter. She unfolded it and started to read.
For once she was glad of the small room and the bed immediately behind her as she sank down, trembling.
Was this what Damon meant by trust? Trust was as ephemeral as a puff of smoke. Trust was a state of mind for fools and romantics. And she had proved to be both, Lizzie concluded as she read the letter again.
Acting on behalf of Damon Gavros, the lawyer was asking—no, demanding—that a DNA test to establish Thea’s genetic link to Damon must be undertaken at a clinic of his choice at the earliest opportunity.
You will appreciate that my client is an extremely wealthy man who must take sensible precautions. A legal paternity test can settle matters such as child support, child custody, visitation dispute, and inheritance issues, and will satisfy immigration requirements.
A strict chain of custody under the supervision of this firm will ensure that samples taken remain in compliance with all legal requirements—
There was a lot more legalese, but she’d read enough. It wasn’t so much the request made by Damon’s legal representatives, but the fact that she’d been with Damon only a few hours before the letter had arrived and he hadn’t thought to mention it.
Holding the letter, she sat on the bed with her head bowed, thinking. It had never once occurred to her that Damon would doubt Thea’s parentage. She’d been a virgin when they’d met—which he knew—and she hadn’t slept with anyone else—which he also knew. Thea was Damon’s child. There wasn’t the smallest doubt about it. And yet he still wanted proof?
Maybe he thought the apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree.
Lizzie blazed inwardly as she thought about that. She took after her mother—as Thea did—not her weak and imprudent father.
The main thing now was to protect Thea at all costs. She must remain calm. She wouldn’t allow the test to happen. She had that power at least.
Even as she thought about it Lizzie felt her spirits reviving. Thea would not be made to think there was something wrong with her. And as for this lawyer suggesting that a man as rich as Croesus must take sensible precautions—perhaps Damon should have thought of that when they’d made love.
Yes, she’d been willing enough, and, yes, he’d used protection. But there had been a lot of sex that night, and maybe Damon hadn’t been as meticulous as he’d thought. She took responsibility too, and now it was up to her to protect Thea from every possible hurt.
But what angered Lizzie most was the way this had been done. What would have been so hard about Damon telling her to her face that he wanted a DNA test?
Her offer to give him time to integrate into Thea’s life was a joke now. She’d had no idea that love came with a price tag attached. It seemed to her that Damon was only interested in protecting his precious bank balance. And how would Thea feel, having started to build a tentative relationship with her father only to be told that he needed proof that he was her father?
If new love was a tender green shoot, Damon had just trampled it. Thea would be heartbroken if she ever lear
ned about this. Lizzie had never forgotten the feelings of abandonment she had suffered as a child, and was determined that Thea would never suffer anything similar.
It all boiled down to one simple question: was Damon Gavros fit to be Thea’s father?
Going on this evidence? No. He was not. Either Damon wanted to build a relationship with Thea or he didn’t, and no amount of test results could change that.
* * *
The twenty-four hours before he’d been able to file a flight plan to London had left him in a state of advanced impatience and frustration. He headed straight for the Greek restaurant when he arrived in the city, where he found Stavros in the kitchen. There was no sign of Lizzie, and his welcome from Stavros was unusually cool.
‘She’s at home,’ Stavros told him, in what Damon could only describe as a hostile tone. ‘Recovering,’ Stavros added significantly.
‘Is she ill?’ Alarm iced him.
‘Heartsick,’ Stavros said, staring pointedly at the door.
He took the hint. ‘Okay, I get it. I’m going. Her address...?’
‘If Lizzie had wanted you to know where she lives she would have given you her address,’ Stavros informed him with a cold stare.
‘I need that address now,’ he insisted. ‘And her mobile number, in case she’s not there.’
‘Can’t your lawyer supply those?’
‘My lawyer?’ Damon frowned. ‘What’s my lawyer got to do with this?’
The way Stavros shrugged sent an icy finger of suspicion tracking down Damon’s spine. The head lawyer on his legal team had a notoriously itchy trigger finger, and remembering the warning he’d given Damon set alarm bells ringing.
‘Lizzie’s address and number now,’ he urged, in a tone that even the loyal Stavros couldn’t ignore. ‘Please,’ he added, consciously softening his tone as the restaurateur stared at him belligerently.
Finding Lizzie was too important to risk on a point of pride. He had only realised what he’d lost when she’d left the island. They’d started to build something that in these very early stages might all too easily be destroyed. He had to stop that happening now—not some time in the future. There had been too much delay on both parts.
‘If you care anything at all for Lizzie and Thea, please help me,’ he begged. When Stavros blinked with surprise at his obvious distress, he added, ‘I have to see her now.’
Rather reluctantly Stavros jotted something down on a scrap of paper. When he handed it over Damon was reminded that he took too much for granted. He shouldn’t have to ask for Lizzie’s address. He should know her address. If he cared anything for Lizzie and Thea he should have every detail concerning them locked down.
He had lived a charmed life up to now, Damon concluded as he thanked Stavros and stowed the precious piece of paper in his pocket.
He left the restaurant at speed and leapt into his car. Tapping Lizzie’s address into the sat nav, he sped away. The head of his legal team had always acted in Damon’s best interests before—as seen through his legal eyes—and in fairness Damon expected him to take the initiative at his level, rather than always wait for instruction. But there were some things that should be out of his lawyer’s control—and this was one of them. If he didn’t make things right straight away Damon would be a man who had learned too late how much he had to lose.
He headed towards the suburbs at speed. An adored only son, he had entered the world on a cloud of privilege, and that sense of entitlement had continued on into his adult life. He saw. He seized. He conquered and his empire grew.
He’d always been able to see the path ahead clearly—until Lizzie had come into his life and changed the rules. Lizzie had changed everything, and he couldn’t even be sure if she would agree to see him now.
Only one thing was certain in his immediate future, and that was that it was going to be the fight of his life.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
DAMON? HOW COULD Damon possibly be parked outside her door?
For a moment Lizzie couldn’t catch her breath, she was so shocked. Damon had followed her to London! She hadn’t even had a chance to collect her thoughts properly after receiving his lawyer’s letter yesterday—other than to call a family solicitor and make an appointment.
She froze behind the shutters of her room as she checked out the sleek black car parked outside the front door. The windows were tinted, so she couldn’t see the driver, but she knew who it was. There was only one man who changed his car as often as his shirt, and always for a newer, sleeker model.
Better to have this out with him now, she concluded as she glanced at the letter, still lying on the table by the phone where she’d left it. Stavros had given her some time off, allowing her the chance to think her way through this nightmare. He’d winkled the truth out of her when he’d heard the tension in her voice.
Stavros had been furious too. He couldn’t believe it of Damon, he’d said, adding that any lawyer sent by Damon Gavros would have to come through him first.
From being a wily matchmaker, Stavros had turned on a sixpence into Lizzie’s staunchest defender. He’d wanted to send his wife over right away, to comfort her, but Lizzie had said she could handle things on her own. And she would, Lizzie determined.
She drew a deep, steadying breath before opening the front door. This wasn’t the first hurdle she’d faced by any means, but perhaps it was the highest.
‘Lizzie?’ Damon called out. ‘I know you’re in there. Please open the door.’
She took a few shaking breaths and then swung the door wide. No way did she want Damon thinking that she was hiding from him.
Resolutions were one thing, but seeing Damon again was another. At least he was prepared for the vagaries of the London weather, she registered, taking in his heavy jacket and tough, workmanlike boots. Damon would look hot in a monk’s robes, and in a thick sweater and jeans he looked as darkly, wickedly stunning as usual—while she felt exhausted and hurt, and above all furiously angry.
Her body should recoil from him after what he’d done, but nothing had changed where that was concerned. Her heart still raced and her breathing still quickened at the sight of him. Worse. Her body yearned as if it had no sense—but this time there was anger in the mix.
‘Yes?’ she demanded crisply. ‘What do you want?’
‘Theos, Lizzie!’ he exclaimed. ‘Thank God you’re home.’ He raked his hair in a familiar gesture. ‘Let me in. We need to talk—’
‘More talking?’ she said, still barring his way.
‘We have to talk when our daughter’s involved,’ he insisted.
Damon was a picture of power and dominance standing on the damp London street, while she had prepared for nothing and was wearing a faded old top, pyjama bottoms, and a pair of furry slippers on her feet. Her face was scrubbed clean of make-up and her hair was scraped back. Not her armour of choice, but she’d take it.
‘Our daughter?’ she queried. ‘Are you sure about that?’
Damon’s frown deepened. ‘Of course I’m sure. Can I come in now?’
She stood back, and tensed as he brushed past her. She’d forgotten how big he was. This entire London house would fit into the hallway of his beachside mansion. She hesitated before opening the door to her bedsit, hardly able to imagine that they’d both fit inside.
She didn’t waste time on pleasantries—especially as Damon didn’t look around with interest, as she might have expected, but focused solely on her face. Going to the table, she picked up the letter and fanned it in front of him.
Lifting her chin to stare him in the eyes, she demanded, ‘Did you authorise this?’
Damon’s expression blackened as he recognised the name on the top of the letterhead. ‘Of course not. What is it?’
‘You don’t know?’
‘No, I don’t,’
he insisted. ‘When did it arrive?’
‘It was waiting for me when I got home.’
‘May I?’
For the first time since she’d known him, she saw that Damon was badly thrown. She could hear it in his voice and see it in the deepness of the furrows between his eyes.
She handed him the letter and he read it quickly.
‘Lizzie.’ His eyes flicked up to meet her angry stare. ‘I didn’t ask for this.’
‘So this firm of lawyers doesn’t act for you?’
‘You know it does. It must have been a terrible shock for you to recognise the name from your father’s trial. I’m sure that’s something you won’t easily forgot.’
‘Compassion? From you?’ She huffed a laugh.
Could she believe him? Lizzie wondered. She wanted to, but sometimes it seemed that her whole life had been spent battling the disappointment of being let down.
‘I felt sick to the stomach when I saw that letter.’
‘This letter—this request for a DNA test,’ he said, with what she was sure was genuine disgust, ‘has nothing to do with me. Believe me, Lizzie. It’s a matter of trust. You have to believe me.’
‘I don’t have to do anything.’
‘You said you trusted me on the island,’ Damon said steadily. ‘Do you trust me now?’
She wanted to—so badly—but the past always stood in her way. ‘I don’t know what to think,’ she confessed.
It didn’t help that Damon’s blistering glamour carried all the sultry heat of a Greek afternoon, which lent an aura of unreality to everything that was happening in the familiar surroundings of her small, cosy home. He could light up the damp London street without any help from the lamps outside, but could she trust him?
She really didn’t know, Lizzie realised.
She felt as if she were being squeezed between Damon’s lawyers, Damon’s money, Damon, and an opulent lifestyle that was utterly alien to her. It was next to impossible to extract any judgement from that.
The Secret Kept from the Greek Page 14
