Mistresses: Blackmailed With Diamonds / Shackled With Rubies
Page 18
Nikos Kyriacou walked towards her, his brooding dark gaze intent on her face. ‘Tell me, Dr Littlewood, when you find something of the past—’ he lifted a fragment of pottery from her desk and turned it slowly in his fingers ‘—do you presume to immediately know its authenticity?’
She frowned. ‘Of course not. We have several techniques for dating objects and for establishing use and value.’
He brushed a finger over the surface of the fragment that he still held, examining the pattern closely. ‘So you would agree that something is not always as it seems? That fakes and frauds do sometimes make an appearance in this less than perfect world of ours?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘And, as an academic, part of your job is to explore the truth behind the facts, is it not?’ He placed the fragment back on her desk with exaggerated care. ‘Not to judge by appearances, as so many less informed and less educated people might?’
Reminded that her approach to life was to search for evidence before drawing conclusions, Angie felt a flash of discomfort and then reminded herself that Nikos Kyriacou was playing games with her again, manipulating her with words. He’d probably done exactly the same to her sister. According to her mother, he negotiated billion dollar deals on a regular basis so he was obviously skilled at twisting a situation to his advantage, which was clearly what he’d done with Tiffany. She had no intention of allowing him to do the same with her. It was true that she’d dealt with this whole situation in an emotional way that was completely out of character, but given the circumstances was that really so surprising? And anyway, she wasn’t just judging on appearances. She knew Tiffany.
‘My sister was in love with you. I have a text from her that indicates her sincere belief that you intended to marry her. I now discover that she was wearing your diamond—your rare and precious diamond given to the woman of your heart. And yet you try and persuade me that appearances can delude?’ She rose to her feet again, so angry that she could barely speak. ‘Allow me to tell you that although appearances can mislead, they can also be astonishingly accurate. Things often turn out to be exactly as they first seem.’
‘The diamond did not belong to your sister.’ His tone was a low, threatening growl and for a moment she almost imagined that she could see the dangerous claws unsheathed from those soft, deadly paws.
‘And yet she died wearing it and in love with you. The facts appear to speak for themselves, wouldn’t you agree?’
Clearly goaded to the limits of his patience, he inhaled sharply and proceeded to let out a stream of Greek that he incorrectly assumed she wouldn’t understand.
Slightly smug that his research into her background had failed to reveal that she was fluent in his language, Angie kept her eyes on the desk and waited for him to calm down. Had he spoken in English, the words he’d used would have made her blink with shock but, as it was, the fact that he was capable of losing his temper gave her considerable satisfaction and slightly soothed her own frayed emotions. At least he was capable of feeling something, even if it was only anger and frustration that she was proving to be so uncooperative.
He planted both hands on her desk and fixed her with his unusually penetrating gaze. ‘You must understand that the retrieval of this diamond is extremely important to my family.’
Should she reveal that she spoke Greek? Deciding not, Angie gave a faint smile.
‘And you must understand that my sister’s death is extremely important to mine.’ She looked up then, her eyes glistening with tears. ‘Do you notice the fundamental difference between us, Mr Kyriacou? Your focus is on objects and mine is on people. I may study ancient artefacts but those artefacts tell us a great deal about people and the way they lived, just as your desire for this diamond says a great deal about you. When you first arrived I assumed that you had come to offer explanation and seek forgiveness but now I discover that you merely wanted to collect lost property.’
There was no longer a trace of the ice cool restraint that had been so much in evidence when he’d first arrived. Instead his dark eyes flashed dangerously and his mouth hardened. He looked like a volcano on the brink of eruption. And that was a place that no sensible being would want to be.
Her legs shaking and her stomach churning, Angie picked up her bag and walked towards the door, unaccustomed to conflict and anxious to end the encounter. ‘Thank you for taking the trouble to visit me personally, Mr Kyriacou. It was a most illuminating conversation.’
She battled through the rain and a tube train crowded with tourists and arrived home to find the house unusually silent. One glance at the empty sherry bottle on the kitchen table was enough to tell her how her mother had spent the day. Presumably she was now in bed, sleeping off the excess of alcohol she’d consumed.
Drained and exhausted from her confrontation with Nikos Kyriacou, Angie stripped off her wet coat and immediately made for the attic where she knew her mother had stowed the suitcase that had been returned to them from Greece. The suitcase containing her sister’s belongings.
The attic was dusty and crammed with bits of old abandoned furniture and tattered boxes but she saw the suitcase immediately and paused with her hand on the zip, emotions churning inside her. Her mother hadn’t even opened it and she couldn’t blame her for that. It wasn’t something she was looking forward to doing either.
Her mind went to the myth of Pandora who had been instructed not to open the box under any circumstances. Yet the temptation had proved too great and she’d released terrible forces into the world. Angie chewed her lip, unable to bring herself to open the suitcase. Would it contain something she’d wish she’d never seen? Would her life be changed?
Impatient with the ridiculous flight of her habitually over-active imagination, Angie sucked in a breath and unzipped the case. The first thing she saw as she lifted the lid was a glittery piece of fabric designed to be used as a wrap. It was so typical of her sister’s flamboyant taste that she gave a faint smile. Then she put her hand in the case again and pulled out her sister’s handbag. It was badly stained and Angie felt her stomach lurch. It must have been the bag she’d been holding when she’d fallen. Not allowing herself to dwell on the origin of those stains, she put the bag carefully to one side and moved the other items of clothing and then her hand stilled.
It lay in the bottom of the case, winking and catching the late evening light that poured through the small attic window. Angie caught her breath. Even with absolutely no knowledge of diamonds, she could see that the stone and the setting were exquisitely beautiful.
In a trance, she reached down and lifted the pendant from the case, feeling the weight of the stone settle into the palm of her hand.
Without warning, her eyes filled and the ache inside her was so great that she could hardly breathe. Her sister had been wearing this on her last day alive. It had been round her neck, had touched her skin, been part of her—
‘I miss you, Tiff,’ she whispered and then gave a start of shock as her mother’s voice came from directly behind her.
‘What’s that?’
Angie blinked back the tears, cleared her throat and turned. Her mother was staring at the diamond with more animation and excitement in her expression than she’d shown for months.
‘It belongs to the Kyriacou family,’ Angie said immediately, closing the case with her free hand so that her mother wouldn’t have to see the rest of Tiffany’s belongings. ‘I wasn’t going to tell you, but he visited me today and asked for this back.’ She deliberately revealed nothing of the stress of the encounter and her mother didn’t ask. Instead her eyes were glued on the jewel in Angie’s palm.
‘My Tiffany had that round her neck when she died? It’s the Brandizi diamond.’
Angie stared at her mother in astonishment. ‘You know about it?’
‘Of course. I’ve seen it round the neck of Aristotle Kyriacou’s wife. Eleni, I think her name is. She doesn’t often wear it in public because of its value.’
And it had be
en sitting in their attic unprotected. Angie felt faint at the thought. What if they’d been burgled? Not that any local burglar would have been expecting to find one of the world’s most famous and valuable diamonds in the attic of a terraced house in North London. She almost laughed at the thought.
‘Well…’ She closed her hand around the diamond, unable to put it down. Holding it somehow gave her a connection to her dead sister. ‘I have to return it to the Kyriacou family.’ She said the words for her own benefit as much as her mother’s. To remind herself that it was stupid to attach sentimental value to a jewel that hadn’t even really belonged to her sister.
But she didn’t want to give it away. They had so little of Tiffany left. The necklace was the last thing she’d worn and that made it almost a part of her.
‘We should keep it.’
Angie’s gaze softened with sympathy and understanding. ‘Because giving it away feels like losing part of Tiffany?’
‘No.’ Her mother shot her an impatient glance. ‘Because keeping it feels like getting our own back on the bastards.’
Angie winced. Despite years of practice, she’d never understand her mother. ‘Don’t be silly, Mum. It doesn’t belong to us.’
Angie’s gaze slid from her mother’s hard expression to the glittering diamond that lay in the palm of her hand. It was hard not to remember the words that Nikos Kyriacou had spoken: It has traditionally been passed down to offer as a gift to the woman of his heart. And yet he clearly hadn’t loved Tiffany at all.
‘I can’t believe my Tiffany was wearing that necklace.’ Her mother’s tone was reverential and Angie felt a rush of exasperation mingled with a total lack of comprehension. In her opinion, her mother had a totally misplaced sense of pride.
‘Nikos Kyriacou clearly gave it to her in return for sex, Mum,’ she mumbled as she stood up and negotiated her way down the ladder that led from the attic. ‘I don’t really think that’s anything to boast about.’
‘It’s given by the man to the woman he intends to marry.’
Angie stopped halfway down the ladder. ‘Pardon?’
‘The diamond. It’s given as a gift by the man to the woman he intends to marry. I read it in an interview with Kyriacou’s wife. So if my Tiff had it round her neck, then that’s proof that Nikos Kyriacou intended to marry her.’
‘Nikos Kyriacou had no intention of marrying anyone,’ Angie said wearily. ‘He isn’t the marrying kind. He’s exactly like Dad. The sort of man who moves from one woman to another without care, thought or emotional involvement of any sort. He never would have married Tiffany.’
‘Then he should be taught a lesson!’
‘Now you’re being ridiculous.’ Angie reached the bottom of the ladder and helped her mother down. ‘Kyriacou is a billionaire in a league of his own. According to that article you showed me a few months ago, he owns five jets, nine properties, including his own island in Greece. His own island, Mum!” She said the words slowly to emphasise her point. ‘He’s considered a genius in business, you told me that yourself. Now look at us. We live in North London in a terraced house, most of which the bank owns.’
Her mother’s lip wobbled. ‘It isn’t my fault that your father frittered away all our money on women and then went bankrupt.’
Angie sighed. ‘I know you’re not to blame, Mum. All I’m saying is that we’re hardly in a position to teach a man like Nikos Kyriacou a lesson, no matter how much we might like to.’ Especially when I’m just an archaeologist and you’re a lush, she thought to herself.
‘We have his diamond.’
Angie frowned, failing to see the relevance of that statement. ‘You’re not seriously suggesting we keep it? Even if we wanted to, that wouldn’t be an option. Legally, it belongs to the Kyriacou family. And they have the money to buy all the lawyers they need to reclaim it. We don’t have a decent argument for keeping it.’
She had a ridiculous vision of herself standing up in court telling dark-suited lawyers that she wanted to keep the jewel because it was the last thing that had touched her sister’s skin. Even she knew that such a sentiment would attract nothing but derision.
Her mother’s eyes were suddenly hard. ‘That man should be taught a lesson! He destroyed my Tiffany and he should pay! He’s Greek, isn’t he?’ Her voice rose to a shrill pitch. ‘Revenge! The only language these Greeks understand is revenge. You should know that—it’s in all those stupid stories you read.’
‘Myths, Mum. They’re called myths.’
Her mother gave a snort of derision. ‘Whatever.’
‘They’re stories, Mum, not real life. In real life people like us don’t go round seeing revenge.’ It was time to give the doctor a call to discuss her mother’s drinking. ‘I’m going to contact him and give the diamond back. It’s the right thing to do. Go back to bed, Mum. I’ll see you in the morning.’
Nikos lounged at the back of the lecture theatre, watching through narrowed eyes as the students poured into the room, jostling and chatting, clutching bags and computers ready for the lecture.
Without exception, all the women cast interested and hopeful glances in his direction but he ignored their lingering attention and focused his gaze at the front of the room.
He was waiting for Dr Littlewood.
Their encounter the previous day had left him angrier and more frustrated than he could ever remember feeling.
It wasn’t that he’d ever expected the meeting to be an easy one. He hadn’t. It was more that he was unaccustomed to finding himself questioned or challenged and Angie Littlewood had done both.
In fact she’d goaded him to such a degree that he’d been on the point of revealing the entire truth about her sister and only monumental self-discipline had prevented him from doing anything so foolish. For a start, it was obvious that Angie Littlewood approved of her sister’s behaviour but, most importantly, revealing the truth risked bringing nothing but misery on his family. If Angelina Littlewood took the story to the press then the whole distasteful, sordid mess would be exposed. And that had happened once before with disastrous consequences—
A horrifying vision flashed into his brain and he dismissed it with ruthless determination. It wasn’t going to happen again, he promised himself. He was going to prevent it. This time he was in control of the situation and he had every intention of remaining in control.
Once the Brandizi diamond was back in his possession, the whole ugly chapter could be closed. His contact with the Littlewood family would be over and, as far as he was concerned, that moment couldn’t come soon enough. It was true that the two sisters were entirely different but the elder was every bit as unappealing as the younger, albeit for different reasons.
And, right now, she was late for her own lecture.
As a man who valued and practised punctuality, he was contemplating the clock on the wall with brooding disapproval when the door opened and Angie Littlewood hurried in, juggling a pile of files, wisps of hair escaping from the clip at the back of her head.
She looked flustered and out of breath and he noticed that her hand was shaking as she stepped up to the lectern and switched on the microphone. ‘I apologise for being slightly late—’ Her voice had a smoky, feminine quality that dragged across Nikos’s nerve-endings and sent a stab of elemental lust through his loins.
Irritated and surprised by the strength of his reaction, Nikos shifted in his seat in an attempt to ease the insistent throb of his body. Exactly why he should suddenly experience such a powerful reaction to a woman like Angie Littlewood escaped him. She was so far removed from his usual choice of companion that it was laughable. He was used to women who revelled in their femininity whereas Dr Littlewood seemed totally unaware, even indifferent, to the possibilities of her sex. She was wearing a plain roll-neck top under her jacket and the same plain navy blue trousers that she’d had on the previous day. It was the attire of a woman who dressed for practicality and convenience rather than allure.
If he hadn’t alread
y established her relationship with Tiffany, he would never have believed that they were sisters.
And yet there were similarities, he mused, his eyes resting on the unmistakeably generous swell of her breasts and the dip and curve of her tiny waist. She lifted an arm to emphasise something on a slide and he saw that her wrist was slender and her profile remarkably delicate. Part of Tiffany’s appeal had been her external appearance of fragility and it appeared that her sister shared that essentially feminine characteristic.
Remembering the way she’d challenged him during their previous meeting, he gave a smile of derision. There had been nothing fragile about the way she’d behaved. And her defence of her sister’s indefensible behaviour was nothing short of distasteful.
Realising that the audience around him were listening with rapt attention, he forced himself to listen to what she was saying and found himself surprisingly absorbed in her lecture on classical Greek pottery. She knew her subject, he thought to himself as he watched her breathe life and meaning into the past as she talked.
She had a few artefacts on the table in front of her and she used these and her slides to illustrate her lecture. She spoke fluently, without notes, clearly passionate about her subject, unaware of the passage of time or the slow descent of her hair from the clip. Each time she turned and gestured, the knot slipped a little more until finally her hair escaped its bonds and cascaded over her shoulders. Amazing colour, Nikos thought to himself as he watched her scoop it into her hand and continue to talk, her almost breathless enthusiasm holding the entire auditorium in enraptured silence.
Only as she paused to draw breath did she finally glance at the clock. ‘I’ve run over as usual! That’s it for today—I have notes here if anyone wants them—and don’t forget that there are more examples in the museum on the second floor if you have time to look before Friday.’ Her hair slid forward over her shoulders in a tumbled mass of fiery, flaming curls and Nikos observed the transformation with masculine fascination. She no longer looked like a serious archaeologist. Instead she looked like—a woman?