by Sara Wood
‘Bother. Sort of ruins my attempt at looking half decent. You mentioned food and out I rushed without brushing my hair.’ She sighed. ‘Tells you my priorities. I’ll go and—’
‘Don’t. Leave it. It’s only me,’ he muttered, turning abruptly to weigh the rice.
His hands were shaking so much that he spilt half of it all over the tiled floor. Laughing, Emma searched the cupboards for a dustpan and he found himself having to cope with the sight of her slim, curvy rear outlined far too temptingly for any man to resist.
But he did his best to keep his hands to himself. What, however, was she doing? Seducing him? The dress… Her smiles… He sawed in a harsh breath. This was perfect.
He stared at the rice and couldn’t remember if he’d weighed it or not. So he started all over again. Perhaps they’d be making love very soon, he thought, and was startled by his elation.
Emma was glad to be scrabbling on the floor. Leon seemed distracted. Almost curt. Perhaps he thought she’d jump him. Better put his mind at rest. And there was nothing better, she decided, than to talk about another man in warm and glowing terms.
‘John’s a good cook,’ she offered, standing up flushed from her exertions.
A dark look. ‘Oh, yes?’
‘He makes the definitive spag. bol.,’ she said with feeling, remembering how delicious it had been.
‘I imagine a few Italians might disagree with you.’
Emma giggled at his dry comment. Then she continued with her paeans of praise, to make Leon think that she had a particular interest in John.
‘I rate him very highly,’ she said with genuine fondness and a faraway look in her eyes. He had been wonderful. Her rock. ‘Not many lawyers would be so dedicated to their clients. I think I told you that I owe my freedom to him.’
Leon snorted. She was losing him, his attention directed to preparing the meal. Providing supper was evidently an attempt to meet her halfway, but his heart wasn’t in it. That was understandable, she thought. He didn’t want Lexi to be hurt.
Well, she’d have to coax him round. Make him see that she wasn’t a monster but sensitive and caring. She’d pull out all the stops. That should do it.
She tipped the rice into the bin and washed her hands. ‘Anything I can do to help?’ she asked amiably.
‘It’s all done. Meat’s heating up. Waiting for the rice and potatoes.’
‘Then,’ she said eagerly, grabbing an opened bottle of red wine and a couple of glasses, ‘let’s sit down and talk strategy.’
He seemed reluctant but after checking the oven he joined her and grudgingly accepted the glass of wine. Worried about the rigidity of his muscles, she decided to loosen him up a little and kicked off by curling up on the settee.
‘Cheers,’ she said merrily, hoping he’d be softened by her winning smile.
‘Giamas.’ He raised his glass, drank, and put it on the table beside him.
His mouth was moist with wine. She realised she was the one who was softening. ‘Yammas,’ she repeated throatily.
He looked at her, his eyes dark and glowing. She drew in a shuddery little breath, shaken by the bolt of heat which had hurled itself at her defenceless body.
Her wineglass slipped from her numb fingers and like lightning Leon sprang forward to save it, his left hand splaying out to shield her dress from splashes as he caught the glass in mid-air. Sitting in a state of paralysis, she could feel the heel of his hand pressing into the upper swell of her breast, burning, burning.
He didn’t move a muscle. She stared at him, her eyes huge with confusion and he stared back. It was as if she were drugged, her lashes lowering drowsily, lips parting as she gasped for snatches of air. It was happening again, she thought helplessly, and could do nothing to stop it.
Their mouths were inches apart. She could feel the very heat of his body, was breathing his breath, being drawn by his magnetism closer, closer…
His hand lifted its pressure from her breast. It seemed he tore his gaze from hers. She blinked, high spots of colour reddening her cheekbones as he put her glass next to his and used his clean handkerchief to dab at the few splashes of wine on her bare shoulder.
‘Woops,’ she said in a feeble croak.
Leon slanted her a sideways glance and her pulses went haywire again. ‘It was water last time,’ he said huskily.
‘Nerves.’ She’d said too much.
Balanced on his haunches, far too near for her sanity, he wiped the wine droplets from his own hand and studied her for a paralysing second or two.
‘Why would you be nervous, Emma?’
She swallowed. Because something crazy was going on. A madness had possessed her. And she didn’t like it, didn’t want it, was terrified…
He put a tentative hand on hers. ‘About Lexi?’ he suggested softly.
‘Yes,’ she said squeakily.
That too. She lifted agonised eyes to his.
‘I’ll check the rice.’
He rose, taking her glass and his magnetism with him. Emma allowed herself a sigh of relief and tried to understand what and why she couldn’t master her feelings, why she felt hopelessly drawn to him. Drawn! It was more like tumbling headlong into a warm and silky sea and allowing it to blot out the past, the present and future and not even caring.
She passed a shaking hand over her face.
‘Here’s a clean glass,’ he murmured.
Her mouth stretched into a parody of a smile and she took it with great care. The wine hit her stomach quickly and revived her.
‘I’m a renowned “dropper”,’ she told him brightly, as he strode back to the kitchen area.
‘Remind me to provide plastic beakers when you come visiting,’ he drawled. ‘The melijanosalata’s ready. Come and eat.’
Hugging that word ‘visiting’ to herself, Emma unwound her legs and slid them to the floor, quickly tugging her dress down where it had become rucked up. It didn’t matter. Leon hadn’t noticed. He was trying to light the candelabra on the table, the flickering light intensifying the planes and hollows of his face. His beauty made her stomach contract.
‘It all looks wonderful,’ she said huskily, glad to get her weakening body into a chair again.
‘My pleasure. Enjoy.’
Her fork carried a neat stack of the aubergine salad to her mouth and she widened her eyes in surprise when she tasted it. ‘Mmm! Gorgeous! I—’ Her voice wavered. It seemed impossible for her to meet his eyes and not drown. ‘Thanks for the food,’ she babbled. ‘For the gesture. For this. You must let me know what I owe you—’
Leon’s eyes flickered. ‘On the house.’ He smiled, his eyes crinkling in the appealing way that had always sent her heart lurching. ‘I need your co-operation, you see.’
She might have known. She hid her peculiar disappointment by eating. ‘Go on,’ she mumbled warily, between mouthfuls.
He took a deep breath. ‘There is a slight problem about you seeing Lexi.’
She felt immediately sick. ‘No,’ she whispered.
‘Please, Emma,’ he said earnestly, ‘it’s nothing insurmountable. The trouble is, that Lexi knows nothing about you.’
‘Oh. Is that all? Well, you can fill her in, and so can I. I’ve got a picture of me somewhere, I brought it specially—’
‘No.’ There was something about his manner that made her clutch at her throat. ‘I mean,’ he said quietly, ‘that she doesn’t know you even exist.’
She gave a horrified gasp. ‘Leon! How could you do this to her? To me?’
‘What was I to say? That her mother was away? She has no concept of time—I couldn’t tell her that you’d turn up in a few years. Besides,’ he admitted, ‘I hoped you wouldn’t.’
‘She would have asked about me at some stage,’ Emma cried.
‘I know. But initially it seemed simpler if she spent her first few years just being with me—and Marina and Soula—as if that was the norm. She doesn’t really know how other families function.’
Dag
gers of pain were zigzagging across her chest. ‘She…calls Marina, Mummy?’
He hesitated and she held her breath, aching. ‘No,’ he said eventually. ‘Emma, she’s been too young for explanations up to now. I was working up to telling her in due course, but you turned up sooner than I’d imagined. I wasn’t expecting you. She’s just a baby still, Emma, only just out of nappies. The last thing I want is for her to be disturbed by your arrival. I’m sure you feel that way too and would want to ease your way in gently.’
Her eyes were huge with dismay. This was awful. She’d have a lot of groundwork to do before Lexi felt comfortable with her. It looked as if she’d be staying for some considerable time, because she would not take Lexi back to England until her daughter had grown to love and trust her.
‘What are you suggesting?’ she asked, searching his face for an answer.
He did seem concerned. His jaw was tight with strain. Perhaps he did care about Lexi. She bit her lip, suddenly on uncertain ground. A false step and her child would be lost to her for ever. She put her fork down with a clatter, misery tugging down the corners of her mouth.
‘Emma,’ Leon said soothingly. ‘I understand how you feel—’
‘Do you?’ she muttered, flicking up a sullen glance at him.
‘I can imagine what it would be like to have a child, who I’d watched over as a baby, asking who I was…’
His voice had cracked. Her quick appraisal told her that his mouth had compressed and that he was valiantly trying to hide a private pain.
Her eyes softened. ‘It happened to you, didn’t it?’ she said gently. ‘You were estranged from your own daughter.’
‘It…was a different situation.’ He growled, apparently more interested in eating.
But Emma could see that swallowing was a problem and she knew herself what that meant. She couldn’t eat when emotion had constricted her throat. She felt very tender and protective towards him.
‘And how did you resolve it?’ she asked softly.
‘Who said it was resolved?’ The bitterness in his tone was unmistakable. He abandoned his efforts to finish his starter and took a gulp of wine instead. His eyes were raw with anguish. ‘I made a mistake, Emma. In my ignorance, I imagined I could walk back into Soula’s life and everything would be fine. I couldn’t, and it wasn’t.’ He leaned towards her, his expression fierce. ‘I know what happened to that child. So Lexi isn’t going to be messed up, not by you or anybody. She’s happy and carefree and I will go to hell and back to keep her that way.’
Emma stared in dismay. There were pitfalls in her path that she never knew had existed. ‘You know what went wrong with Soula,’ she said jerkily. ‘So you can make it right, this time.’
‘I can.’ He removed their plates and carried dishes to the table, waving aside her offer of help. ‘This is how we’ll do it. I want you to come to the house and be introduced to Lexi as someone her daddy used to know.’
‘But…’ She stared at him helplessly. He was absorbed in lifting the lid of the casserole dish. An aroma of spices and herbs wafted enticingly in the air but she ignored it. ‘You’re robbing me of the moment I’ve dreamed of. She’s my child—’
‘I know.’ His hand reached across the table to hers in a consoling gesture but his expression was determined. ‘That’s why you’ll do this.’
‘No. I won’t—’
‘Your needs or hers? You have to choose,’ he said fiercely. ‘This needs very delicate handling. First you both need to make friends. I don’t want you telling her that you are her mother until she’s ready.’
He became blurred. She rubbed her eyes till they cleared. ‘I don’t think I can agree,’ she whispered. ‘All these years I’ve waited to hear her call me Mummy.’ Her voice shattered. ‘I’d look at her with longing and pain,’ she said brokenly, ‘and everyone would see—’
‘I’d be there,’ he said quietly. ‘No one else.’
‘Marina—’
‘Is hardly ever around.’
‘Soula—’
‘Wouldn’t notice. She’s too concerned with her own problems to be aware of anyone else’s.’ His hand curled around hers properly, tightly, and she realised how passionately he felt about this. ‘Try it. For Lexi. I’m giving a lot here, Emma. I could fight you over this and force you to apply to the courts and to hell with my reputation. I don’t want that. Lexi will be harmed. Come tomorrow. You’ve waited a long time, I know, to be acknowledged as Lexi’s mother. A little while longer won’t hurt.’
It would. It would. Her lip trembled. ‘Leon, you don’t know what you’re ask-ask…’ Tears backed up in her throat. She looked at him in mute appeal.
His hand slid from hers and stroked the side of her face, stopping her sobs altogether. A rush of longing engulfed her like a tidal wave.
And then they were both staring at his mobile phone, which seemed to be buzzing and jerking around at the far end of the table. Leon said something short and pithy in Greek and stretched out for it.
‘Ne?’ he snapped. His brows zapped together furiously as he listened. ‘She’s here.’ Leon held out the phone. ‘Sefton.’
It was a moment before Emma had gathered herself sufficiently to sound vaguely normal. She opted for, ‘Hi,’ deciding that any more syllables would betray her shakiness.
‘I’ve been going crazy wondering how you are,’ complained John petulantly.
‘I’m sorry—’ she began, immediately contrite.
‘Where are you? Do you know what time it is? If you don’t get to your digs—’
‘I—I’ve got somewhere to stay,’ she mumbled, feeling horribly guilty. ‘John, I totally forgot! I arrived here and fell asleep—’
‘Where’s here? And what’s he doing there?’
She could almost hear his lower lip jutting out. ‘Leon’s let me use a house on his estate,’ she explained in a remorseful rush. ‘I’m seeing Lexi tomorrow, isn’t that wonderful?’ She accepted the plate of beef from Leon and nodded her thanks.
‘Where? I ought to be there. And where exactly is this house?’ John demanded truculently.
‘I’ve no idea. Where are you? Hotel…Zantos.’ Hearing Leon’s amused snort, she glanced up at him and found herself smiling. ‘I’ll ring you,’ she said drily.
‘Let me know when and where to pick you up,’ he ordered.
She took a deep breath. ‘No, we’ll meet later and I’ll report on my progress. I’ll explain why, when I see you. I have to do this on my own, John. I don’t want to rock the boat. Leon’s been very accommodating.’ Absently she helped herself to rice and vegetables. ‘I must go,’ she said, cutting across John’s protests. ‘We’re discussing the arrangements. John. Listen to me,’ she begged. ‘Please don’t do this to me. It’s just that I don’t need you for this stage of—’
She blinked and slowly lowered the phone. ‘He rang off!’ she exclaimed in astonishment.
‘He would. Potatoes?’ Leon offered politely.
She dug into the crunchy roasted potato slices and added them to her heaped plate. ‘I don’t understand it,’ she said with a frown. ‘We’ve never disagreed before.’
‘Maybe,’ Leon murmured, sipping his wine reflectively, ‘you’ve always gone along with what he’s said. Look, don’t worry about it now. We have more pressing things to discuss. Do you accept my suggestion? In the morning, you can walk through the olive grove to my house and we’ll have coffee. Lexi will be playing in the garden. Then I’ll suggest we go to the beach together. My land runs to the sea and we have a small beach house. It’s a very beautiful spot. You’d like to see her swimming, wouldn’t you?’ he said persuasively.
Unfair, she thought. ‘If I say no?’
‘Then my gates will be locked to you, and you won’t get near her. You will have to take the legal way out. And if you are granted access, I will not make your meetings with Lexi easy.’
It was a grim prospect and the pictures he’d painted were vivid in her head. Watching her daughter pla
ying, seeing her run and laugh…spending the better part of the day with her, larking about in the sea…
She let out a little, quivery breath. His solution couldn’t be faulted. And she’d see Lexi in the morning.
‘Yes,’ she whispered, her face soft with quiet joy. ‘I agree.’
The warmth of the food and the wine—had she drunk too much?—was making her feel very mellow and relaxed. Nothing mattered. Only her child.
‘Thank you,’ he said huskily. ‘I knew you’d do what’s best for her. To tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow.’ she said, her voice low with passion. ‘Tomorrow.’
CHAPTER FIVE
HE TOLD her about the island while they ate, his melodious voice and deep love for his homeland slipping effortlessly into her mind, like the heady wine.
‘Coffee and brandy outside?’ he murmured, when they’d finished the rich, sweet filo pudding. ‘Bit of pudding—corner of your mouth,’ he added.
Her finger found the sticky blob and her tongue enjoyed the last taste of cinnamon-flavoured honey and walnut.
‘Thanks. And outside would be lovely,’ she said with a sigh.
Her mind swirled deliciously with magical names: Zeus and Apollo and Aphrodite, Troy, Odysseus and Homer. But it was his own story that had captured her imagination. And she wanted more information about him.
When he opened the door to the garden, the colour of the pool took her breath away for the second time. But now it was lit by underwater lamps and its delicate aquamarine contrasted dramatically with the velvety darkness, which was broken only by the thick scattering of twinkling stars above.
Stepping down to the terrace was like moving into another world. There seemed to be an intense silence over everything, almost weighting the air. And nothing ruffled the extraordinary stillness other than an occasional whirring from a few diffident cicadas or the rustle of a lizard as it moved in the undergrowth.
‘It’s very peaceful,’ she said in a hushed whisper, as they pulled their chairs around to enjoy the view.
