It was her belief that Leonidas had decided not to rock the boat until they were safely married and he had finally acquired equal rights over the son he loved. That was surely why he had made the effort to phone her every day. He had also sent her gifts so lavish they took her breath away. On the phone he talked about Elias and did not deviate, even if she tried to throw in a tripwire. Anything more exciting than the weather got him off the phone fast, which she found counter-productive because even when she was furious with him she liked listening to the sound of his voice.
On the gift front, however, she was doing very nicely indeed, and had riches been her sole motivation she would have been ecstatic and ready to sprint down the aisle. To date, she had acquired designer handbags, sunglasses, a watch, a fancy phone, fabulous luggage, a diamond pendant, a superb pearl necklace and matching earrings, two paintings, a sculpture, a jewelled collar for Mouse, a Mercedes car—with the promise of a personalised version to arrive in the near future—the latest books, sundry female outfits that caught his eye. No, Leonidas was not afraid to shop. And so it went on: the gift-giving that she saw as a substitute for what he would not or could not say. To be fair to him, he was very generous, but he was also accustomed to buying loyalty, soothing wounded feelings and pleasing people with the spoils of his wealth. Spending money cost him a lot less effort than other, more lasting and demanding responses.
After all, Leonidas knew why she was angry with him, but he had yet to make the smallest attempt to explain himself or set her fears to rest. The evening she had known he would be with Josette Dawnay, Mirabel had lain awake all night in an absolute torment of anger, jealousy and hatred. She had tortured herself by surfing the net to scrutinise photos of the gorgeous model. A kind of terror of the future had gripped her when she had appreciated that if she married Leonidas and he insisted on his freedom, the torture she was undergoing would just go on and on and on with a series of different faces in the role of rival. Only, how could any normal woman even consider trying to compete with such fantastically beautiful women?
‘Dr Greenaway? You have a visitor.’ A staff member appeared at the entrance to the rose garden and Maribel stood up in haste, since any distraction from her troubled thoughts was welcome. ‘Princess Hussein Al-Zafar is waiting in the drawing room.’
For a moment, Maribel was confused by the impressive title and then a huge smile chased the tension from her soft mouth. Pausing only to gather up Elias and Mouse, she headed back into the mansion at speed. Tilda Crawford! Tilda and her husband, Crown Prince Rashad of Bakhar, had been the only names that appeared on both bride and groom’s guest lists. Maribel had been relieved and delighted when she had received an acceptance. Although Rashad remained one of Leonidas’ closest friends from his university days, Maribel was aware that Tilda and Leonidas had only ever mixed like oil and water.
Maribel and Tilda had met when Tilda had come to one of Imogen’s parties and taken instant refuge in the kitchen when Leonidas had walked in. ‘Sorry, I can’t stand that Pallis guy,’ Tilda confided flatly. ‘I once dated a friend of his and, because I worked as a waitress, Leonidas treated me like a gold-digging tart.’
Maribel had found that indifference to Leonidas’ status, spectacular good looks and wealth extremely attractive, and she and Tilda had become friends. Since Tilda had married her prince, however, and settled into royal family life abroad, the two women had had little contact. Maribel was guiltily aware that she was partially responsible for that, because the prospect of having to tell Tilda that Leonidas was her son’s father had seriously embarrassed her.
‘Tilda!’ Maribel smiled warmly at the stunningly lovely blonde woman awaiting her arrival. She had paused only to see Mouse into his hidey-hole below the hall table—placed there for that purpose—and hand Elias over to the attentions of his nanny.
Turquoise-blue eyes sparkling, the princess moved forward to greet her. ‘Maribel—it’s wonderful to see you again.’
‘Oh, my goodness, I suppose I should’ve curtsied, or something. I quite forgot your royal status!’ Maribel grasped Tilda’s outstretched hands and gave them an affectionate squeeze.
‘Don’t be silly. That stuff is only for public occasions,’ Tilda scolded. ‘Is…er…Leonidas here?’
Aware of the other woman’s tension, Maribel was quick to reassure her. ‘No. You’re safe. Leonidas is still abroad.’
Tilda gave her a guilty look of apology. ‘Is it so obvious that I want to avoid him? I’m sorry—how horribly rude I’m being!’