'And I know that as well,' she retorted. 'But the right people don't abandon a child as Vilma did. Their little bastards exist, but generally there's some responsibility shown for them. There's money for their clothes and education. If you had a come-by-chance child, you'd take a bit of interest in it, wouldn't you?'
'I do!' Demetrios laid down his fork and looked into her shocked eyes. 'That's part of my proposition. I'm offering a home, a wedding ring, a life free from monetary worries together with twenty thousand pounds, the sum you're demanding, but in return I shall expect to get a stepmother for my own—er— "adopted" daughter. I've chosen you because you evidently want the money and I think you might have an empathy with the child, a common bond of sympathy, feeling as strongly as you do.' He paused as though considering what to say next, ignoring Hester's open mouth and stunned expression.
She recovered quickly. 'Not on!' The surprising thing was that she believed him, but she played for time. 'I told you, it has to be Vilma's money. Yours won't do.'
'Oh, it will be,' he assured her, and his smile wasn't pleasant. 'You could say that I'm the paymaster of the company, so Vilma won't get her annual and usual allowance this year and since she won't be able to complain to her husband—who, by the way is my uncle—she'll have to make up the deficit out of her own pocket, won't she?'
'Her husband allows her twenty thousand pounds a year?' Hester almost gulped for breath. To her, it was all the wealth of the Indies, and she couldn't bring herself to believe that one person could spend that amount of money in just twelve months.
'No,' Demetrios was unmoved. 'But she already owes some considerable sums; furs, jewellery, clothes and so forth which I would have paid for her. After all, it would be bad for the company image to have the wife of Sandros Thalassis sued for debt. The sums owing, together with what I would have paid her, amount to slightly more than you ask for, so she'll have a very lean year. I've given you my terms, so it's up to you. Take them or leave them.'
'And—what makes you think I'd even consider…' All Hester's carefully laid plans were crumbling into ineffectual dust and she felt on the brink of tears.
'Simple,' he broke in on her. 'You want a lot of money and you want it quickly. I shan't ask for your reasons, they don't concern me, not yet, but I can get you what you want, and it has to be on my terms. I'll give you half an hour to think it over, and after that you're on your own.' Again, his dark eyes gleamed with a smile and his lips curved sardonically. 'Personally, I don't give much for your chances with Vilma, not if you've a deadline. She'll stall you as long as she can and she'd cut off her right arm before she parted with one diamond or one sable coat—and as I've already explained, she won't have the cash to give you.'
'Then she can use some of her own.' Hester was sturdy. 'Her uncle left her a small fortune and she's already had one other rich husband…'
Demetrios shook his head at her naivety. 'Most of that's already spent. If one wishes to catch a prize as rich as Sandros Thalassis, one can't be mean about the quality and quantity of the bait.' There was disillusion in his eyes and a cynical twist to his mouth.
Hester covered her disappointment well, although her heart had dropped right to the soles of her high-heeled shoes. She gave a slight shrug.
'I'll need to know a bit more,' she murmured. 'It's rather a big decision to rush into and you really aren't giving me much time.' She pushed her plate aside and shook her head at his offer of a sweet. 'Just coffee, thank you. Do we talk about it now?' Nothing was going as she'd planned and hoped, and she'd been so sure… Dejection settled on her, giving her mouth a sad, weary droop.
'Over coffee,' he said adamantly, and turned to give instructions to the waiter who was hovering. 'I've ordered some little cakes and there's a wide choice of fruits and cheeses—do you want a liqueur with your coffee?'
'No, thank you.' Hester chose that moment to remember Flo's oft-repeated warnings about men who tried to get a girl drunk—it struck her as being excruciatingly funny, almost to the point of hysteria, and she choked back a desire to break into wild, uncontrolled laughter. 'But why me?'
He shrugged. 'I have to make a home here for my daughter—my present arrangements have ceased rather abruptly. Besides, I think it's about time she lived with me, and that means a female to look after her and my home.'
'But you could employ a nanny and a housekeeper,' she quibbled. 'Surely that would be better than going in for anything as binding and permanent as marriage—especially to me! You can't have a very high opinion of me.'
'My daughter needs more than a nanny and a housekeeper,' he said flatly. 'Surely you know that? She needs to be part of a family, to be loved, to be made to feel secure—no different from the other children she'll meet. You were fostered, weren't you? And you felt the difference, I'm sure.'
'No, I didn't,' she protested vigorously. 'My foster-parents were real parents to me. It wasn't until I was eighteen that I knew differently.'
'But I've no intention of fostering my daughter,' he pointed out. 'She'll live with me, in a household as' regular as I can make it. As for why I've chosen you, I thought I'd made that clear—my opinion of you doesn't enter into it. You'll understand what sort of a home Khadija needs.'
'Khadija?' Hester raised her eyebrows. 'That doesn't sound Greek.'
'A name's a name,' he frowned. 'It's of no consequence, and I always call her Katy.'
'And that's your only reason for offering me help to get the money—and a wedding ring thrown in?' She was disbelieving, and her disbelief was justified.
'Not entirely.' Demetrios leaned back in his chair and surveyed her blandly. 'I shall expect you to give me a son.'
Hester went rigid, her face paled, but she retained her composure. 'I think this conversation would have been better conducted over a telephone,' she murmured. 'I'd have hung up on you long before now.'
'One reason I decided to have it in a public restaurant.' His mouth curved into a smile of derision. 'I knew I could rely on your behaviour in public. Are you going to accept my proposition?'
'I suppose I should be thankful you didn't say proposal,' she sniffed, 'and I suppose I should be equally grateful for your—I can't call it honesty—I think a better word would be "crudity". So it's not just for the look of things?'
'Certainly not!' This time she was sure of the derision that lit his eyes. 'Such a relationship would be unnatural—it couldn't be sustained. Either of both of us would weaken, and then there would be tearful scenes of recrimination and you'd be awash with either guilt or self-pity.'
'Neither of which would affect you, of course.' She bit into a piece of something very sweet and cloying which tasted as though it was made of nuts and honey and abandoned it after that first bite, grimacing at the sweetness.
'I certainly shouldn't feel any guilt,' he chuckled.
'Why should I, about a perfectly normal need?' He glanced at his watch. 'You've only ten minutes left to make up your mind,' he reminded her.
Very steadily Hester returned his gaze. There wasn't all that much to think about—there wasn't any other way she could think of to get a very large sum of money and to get it quickly. But she didn't want to appear too desperate; he could easily take advantage of that, reduce the pay-off or something equally disastrous.
'Make it a quarter of an hour,' she answered him lightly. 'I'll have a cup of coffee to wash away the taste of that thing,' she gestured at the plate. 'A little of it goes a long way, and when my mouth feels clean again, I'll give you an answer. Personally, I think you're asking rather a lot. You drive a hard bargain.'
'For twenty thousand pounds cash and a lifetime of security?' Demetrios shook his head and his hand reached out to cover hers where it lay on the table. The touch of his long fingers sent what felt like an electric current through her whole body and she drew a sharp breath. 'You set the fashion of time limits, I'm merely following your example, and I think the arrangement should work very well. You don't seem to find my touch distasteful.'
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br /> 'You'd accept my word? Me, a self-confessed blackmailer?' Hester raised her eyebrows and watched him smile in a satisfied way.
'No,' he was bluntly rude. 'I'm a business man and I've found that promises don't pay dividends. Oh,' as he saw her angry look, 'I'll trust you with the money for a few days, but I'll make damn sure you don't doublecross me. Money is only money, but my private affairs are another matter. I'm laying myself open to your type of blackmail.'
'You're using a pretty potent type yourself,' Hester pointed out.
'Yes,' he grinned, and chuckled. 'I am, aren't I, but when I do something, I do it properly and I don't leave loose ends hanging about. My way, you get your dues but you'll have no opportunity to capitalise on your knowledge.'
'Because I've become one of your family?'
'Because I'll beat you,' he corrected. 'You shall have your retribution, but you're not the daughter of night, to pursue somebody indefinitely.'
'Daughter of night?' Hester was mystified.
'Nemesis,' he gave her a wry smile. 'She was the daughter of Hesiod—Night.'
Hester shrugged, 'Another gem to add to my Bumper Fun Book. I can see I'm going to learn a lot.'
'You accept, then?' and at her nod, 'Then you will,' he said tranquilly as though the battle was won and he had nothing left but a few mopping up operations, 'finish your coffee and we'll go.'
Hester drained her cup, getting a mouthful of bitter grounds for her pains, and at her grimace, Demetrios laughed. 'The dregs are never pleasant. Be content to sip from the top of the cup.'
'Oh, very cryptic!' and she swept past him to the door, her nose in the air and every hair of her mahogany mane bristling with outrage.
By the time he pulled the car up outside the house where she lived, her mouth was dry with fright. Suppose he demanded payment at once—her fingers crisped around her flat little bag—as proof of her good intentions? Her mind balked at even thinking about it in everyday terms. Despite her twenty-four years, nearly twenty-five—she had very little experience of men, she'd never been to bed with one before.
'I like to keep things legal and proper,' he picked up her thought, which wasn't to be wondered at—she was shaking like a leaf. 'It's the accountant in me,' he continued imperturbably. 'You'll have your money tomorrow and I shall make arrangements for our wedding. Don't try to run away, Hester, I wouldn't like our marriage to begin on a wrong note.'
With a fluid movement, he was out of the car and round to hold her door open for her. 'Goodnight,' he murmured, 'and shall we begin as we mean to go on?' There were people walking along the street, but for all the notice he took of them, they might as well have been invisible—he acted as if she and he were alone in the world. His arm was close and firm about her waist while his hand tipped up her chin and he stood for several seconds just looking down at her. 'I think we shall enjoy each other,' he drawled at last before he kissed her.
Hester had been kissed before, but this was different—as though it was a sign of total possession and she was being branded as his mouth teased her lips apart. Fighting—struggling would be no use, she knew that, and after a moment she didn't want to fight. Demetrios had drawn every bit of resistance from her until she had as much will as a doll, a thing! Deep inside her, excitement flickered and grew—a new feeling she had never experienced before. It made her want to run away so that she had to cling to him to stop herself doing it.
Then he raised his head and she heard his soft, triumphant laugh and, filled with shame, she tore herself away from him and fled up the steps to the door, where her fingers shook so much she could hardly get her key into the lock. She stood for a moment in the ill-lit hallway, feeling no satisfaction but only a cold emptiness, a need for his arms about her once more.
CHAPTER THREE
The thing she had learned in Demetrios' arms and with his mouth on hers, stayed with Hester, occupying her mind to the exclusion of everything else until three o'clock the following day. She couldn't understand it—she was a sensible girl, practical and not given to nights of fancy, and she couldn't and wouldn't believe she'd fallen in love with a man, not Demetrios and not like that—at the drop of a hat.
Love, surely, was a thing that grew, it didn't spring full-fledged into life like this. She didn't want it anyway, it would be an inconvenience, a weak spot in her armour, and she had a shrewd suspicion she would need as much armour as she could get when she married him or she would end up a soft, malleable thing, depending on Demetrios for any little token of affection. All Flo's strictures and advice hadn't prepared her for this—it even drove Flo's dire need to the back of her mind, made it a secondary consideration.
And then, just after lunch, when she was retrieving her combs and brushes from the tiny autoclave where they had been sterilising during the lunch hour, her boss wandered into her cubicle, frowning and tut-tutting over the appointments book.
'Can you fit another lady in this afternoon, lovey? Before four o'clock?'
'I'm free from three till four, as you very well know, Crispin, so don't wave that book in front of me. You're only doing it for affect.' Hester put every other thought from her mind and smiled gently to rob the words of any hint of brusqueness. Crispin was a dear, he'd always treated her decently and she owed him a lot.
'Not a regular,' he grinned back at her, and tossed the pages of the book over, searching for a previous appointment without having any luck. 'But if we can convert her—' he turned back to the current page.
'Ah, here it is, a Greek lady, shampoo and blow dry— she asked for you especially.'
Hester didn't need a crystal ball. 'Mrs Vilma Thalassis,' she murmured. 'But she's not Greek, Cris, only married to one. Yes, I can take her, but frankly, I'd rather not.'
Crispin raised a fair eyebrow. 'An acquaintance, darling?'
Hester made a face. 'We haven't been introduced socially, if that's what you mean but I know her.' She was deliberately vague. Cris was a marvellous hairdresser, a coming top crimper, but he was also a gossip. It was part of his charm and most of the reason for his success.
'Good girl!' he nodded approvingly. 'I'll send her in to you and Deline can do the shampoo,' and with that, he wandered out.
'You'll probably have a complaint about me,' Hester called after his retreating back, but he pretended not to hear and she was alone again with some not very pleasant thoughts.
She wasn't relishing the appointment, it was going to be uncomfortable to say the least and provided she and her mother were completely alone—no junior popping in and out—it was bound to be an unpleasant-hour. Vilma wasn't the forgive and forget type!
But at a quarter past three, when Deline handed over the shampooed client, Hester was outwardly cool and competent. She watched her mother seat herself before the mirror and wished there were doors to the cubicles instead of curtains—then she comforted herself with the thought that Vilma would be discreet and restrained if only because there were curtains—she wouldn't want anybody to hear.
Vilma sat silent while Hester brushed out wet blondeness which was mainly skilfully applied highlights, but as she picked up brush and dryer, baby blue eyes met hers in the mirror and there was a venomous glow in the blue so that it looked more like chips of Polar ice.
'Demos has told me the news, and I think you've done very well for yourself.' Her mother's sneer was delicate. 'Twenty thousand of my money and Demos as a bonus—you're a fast worker, I'll grant you that!'
'Something I inherited from my mother.' Hester felt unsure of herself and in consequence, rather bitchy. 'But I never asked for the bonus—in fact, you're to blame for that. There wouldn't have been any if you'd paid me what I asked instead of sending round your bully boy.'
'My nephew by marriage,' Vilma corrected haughtily.
'And a great disappointment to you, I suppose,' Hester smiled serenely, and went on with her work, resisting her desire to retaliate in the only way she could—to put the blow dryer on full heat and dry out those highlights to a strawlike t
exture. 'Were you hoping he'd get you off scot free?'
Her mother was frank. 'I was hoping for a reduction—I can't afford to give away that much money, not out of my paltry allowance. It means I'll have to go into debt again, and Sandros can be very awkward when he's in a temper.'
Hester gazed down at her mother's beringed hands, at the heavy gold chains and bracelets she was wearing, together with what was obviously an Yves St Laurent suit—she sniffed at the fragrance of 'Joy' and crowded down her own feelings of guilt.
'You could forgo next autumn's sables,' she suggested mildly, 'or make do with last winter's wardrobe.'
Vilma ignored such a ridiculous suggestion while she allowed her brow to furrow very slightly in thought. 'I can't think why he tagged on that condition.' She raised her eyes swiftly to the mirror to catch Hester's expression. 'You aren't blackmailing him as well, are you?' There was no doubt about her mystification.
'How could I?' Hester went on brushing and blowing, determined to give nothing away. 'I've only just met him, I wasn't even aware of his existence.'
'Then all I can think of is that he made the condition to put you off.' Vilma's eyes glittered. 'You must be incredibly naive if you think you've made a good deal. You've caused me a lot of trouble, but it's nothing to what you've laid up for yourself. Life's not going to be any bed of roses for you, so don't run away with the idea that you're home and dry without a single thing to worry about. He probably thought you'd turn him down—settle for a smaller sum—and now he'll make you pay for every penny you've extracted from me.'
'I'm shaking in my shoes.' Hester hoped her mother didn't know how true that statement was! 'What is he, some sort of old-fashioned Greek family man?'
'Much worse than that,' her mother drawled, relishing every word. 'Hasn't he told you? He's never lived in Greece, he wasn't even born there and except for his fantastic flair for making money, I don't suppose the family would have anything to do with him at all—in the same way, they never had anything to do with his father. They both rate as outcasts, only Demos is tolerated!'
The Daughter of Night Page 4
