Bridal Bargains

Trust me … It was quite a request when she was already being plagued by a feeling that there were things going on here that she didn’t know about.

But then, expendable pawns did not necessarily need to know the overall plan of the main player, did they? she mocked herself. Or was she just overreacting and reading too much into light, throw-away remarks that probably held no hidden agenda?

&n

bsp; It suited her better to believe the latter when she still had one last ordeal to get through—namely playing the happy bride throughout the rest of that day—for her own pride’s sake, because her pride needed to remedy the poor impression she had given of herself in front of these people the last time they’d been together like this.

Maybe Andreas was of a similar mind because he never left her side for a moment and played the attentive groom to the hilt. And slowly—slowly Claire began to feel comfortable with him again; she even laughed once or twice at some smoothly whispered remark he made in her ear about one of his relatives.

It was nice. She even discovered that she was actually enjoying herself.

As the day softened into evening, people relaxed at white-linen-covered tables with champagne glasses chinking and the light-hearted conversation eddying softly all around.

The stars came out. Several tall torches mounted on wrought-iron stakes that had been driven into the lawn were lit to add yet another dimension to the rather seductive scene. Then, to top it all, a group of musicians arrived and set up in a shadowy corner of the garden. Classical Greek music began filtering into the evening air.

Without a word, Andreas drew Claire to her feet and walked her over to the terrace then pulled her gently into his arms. Feeling shy and self-conscious when everyone turned to watch them, she looked down at her plastered wrist, which felt very cumbersome suddenly, and wondered flusteredly where she was supposed to rest it while they danced.

He solved the problem for her, by lifting it up and around his nape as he set them moving slowly to the music. It brought her too close to his body—reminded her of when she had last placed her arm around his neck like this—and she tensed up accordingly.

‘Stop it,’ he murmured softly. ‘Don’t spoil it.’

Don’t spoil it … She reinforced that remark, and made herself relax, made herself ignore that warm, hard body brushing against her own as they moved. She made herself pretend that the butterflies were not going wild inside her stomach. And she refused to so much as flicker a fleeting glance at the shadowy mouth that only required her to raise her head a half inch for her own mouth to be in burning contact with it.

‘You make an enchanting and very lovely bride, Claire,’ his dark voice inserted into the silence between them. ‘Some day some man is going to be very fortunate to claim you as his prize.’

But not you, she made bleak note, understanding exactly why he felt the need to say that. He was reinforcing his position just in case she might be dreaming of a more romantic ending while she danced with him like this.

‘I’ll look forward to it,’ she replied, wishing that her response could cut him as deeply as his words had done to her.

If he reacted at all Claire never found out because at the same moment Lefka appeared at Andreas’s elbow, the look on her face enough to warn them that something was dreadfully wrong. Bending towards the housekeeper, Andreas listened to what she murmured in his ear. And, as Claire had witnessed many times during the short period she had known him, she saw his expression completely freeze.

‘What’s wrong?’ she demanded anxiously when Lekfa melted away again.

‘One moment,’ he said, no emotion, no warning of what was to come showing in his flattened voice as he glanced around the people present and eventually caught the eye of his uncle Grigoris. The older man came hurrying over. By then Claire was trembling, though she didn’t know why.

Andreas murmured something to Grigoris in Greek. The older man’s face dropped in dismay. ‘Take care of my wife for me,’ he then added in English. And, without making eye contact with her once since Lefka had come to him, he turned and disappeared into the house.

‘Please …’ She turned her anxiety on Grigoris. ‘What’s happened? Where has he gone? Is it Melanie?’ she then added on a sudden jolt of maternal anguish.

Grigoris shook his steely head, his dark eyes—usually full of laughter—looking unbearably sad. ‘It is Yaya,’ he murmured huskily.

Then, while Claire stood frozen herself as realisation began to wash coldly through her, Grigoris placed a hand around her waist for support and turned to the rest of the party.

‘Attend to me, everyone,’ he announced. ‘Yaya Eleni has gone. The party is now over …’

Dressed in a long aquamarine silk nightdress and a matching robe, Claire had fallen into a fitful doze on her bed when a sound in the room woke her.

Opening her eyes, she saw Andreas standing by the long French window that led out to the veranda. He had pulled back the voile drape and was staring out at the moon-kissed evening. His jacket and tie had gone and the sleeves were rolled up on his white shirt, his hands lost inside the pockets of his iron-grey trousers.

Lying there studying him, Claire felt her heart give a wrench in aching sympathy—because though his broad shoulders were straight and his spine erect he still managed to emit a mood of utter dejection.

‘What time is it?’ she asked, smothering a yawn behind a hand.

He glanced at her—then away again. ‘Late,’ he replied sombrely. ‘Very late. Go back to sleep. I had no intention of disturbing you. I just did not want to—’

Be alone, Claire silently finished for him with the pained understanding of one who knew. ‘I wasn’t asleep,’ she said. ‘Just dozing.’

He nodded in acknowledgement but that was all, his concentration seemingly fixed on some far-away point way out on the horizon when she knew he wasn’t seeing anything but the darkened shadow of his own grief.