And exactly what she was going to do about it.
She was packed and ready to go by eight in the morning. She had slept eventually, a heavy, dreamless sleep, and now she was calm, very calm, and that was good. As she painted on her face her hand did not tremble. When she was done she eyed herself objectively. Her full face of make-up did not go with the casual clothes she was wearing, but that didn’t matter. She wouldn’t be wearing them for long. They would not be suitable for her purpose.
Before she set off downstairs she checked her wallet one last time. Yes, the cheque was still there. She gazed at the dark, incisive handwriting, the strong scrawl of his signature. For just a moment she felt the emotion that had started to build up in her last night lash out, but she leashed it back in.
Not yet.
Soon.
She stood up, lifted her backpack, and headed out of the room. Along the corridor the shut door of the master bedroom looked back at her blankly. As blank as her own expression. Downstairs she took her leave of the staff, not looking any of them in the eye. She didn’t like to behave like that, but for her own sanity she knew she had to. Then she walked out to the waiting car. The warmth after the perpetual air-conditioned cool of the interior made her shiver—or something else did. She looked back at the house.
A love-nest. That was the coy expression that used to be in vogue. Well, nothing to do with love had happened in there this week.
She shivered again, and got into the car. But as it started to move off she leant forward.
‘I’m going into Athens,’ she said to the driver.
He nodded, incurious, and she leant back.
It was strange, very strange, to see Athens again, to sit in one endless traffic jam after another and catch glimpses of the familiar outline of the Acropolis crowned by the Parthenon. Even though she did not want to, she felt herself react. Felt emotion start to run in her veins. She stopped it because she could not allow herself to do otherwise.
And because it was the wrong emotion.
There was only one emotion she was allowing herself now. Only one that was right and proper for the occasion.
Her first port of call was the bank. She’d opened her own account before they’d married, arranging to have funds placed there from her own British bank account in London. It was irrelevant that her uncle would happily have bankrolled her, and that as Theakis Theo had opened a separate account for her at his bank. She trusted only her own bank, her own name.
It did not take long to pay in the cheque Theo had left for her. But paying it in did not achieve the closure she needed. She had known it would not. Not now. Something much more was needed.
For that, she would need an outfit. One that suited the face she wore and the sleek styling of her hair. She ordered the driver to deposit her at the premises of one of the designers she had most favoured when she was Theo Theakis. The vendeuse was new, and she was grateful, but she kept her dark glasses on all the same. Nor did she linger over her decision, emerging less than fifteen minutes later wearing a classic shift dress in mint-green, with an off-white handbag and sandals to match. As she left the shop she took one last glance at herself in a full-length mirror.
She gave a small, tight smile to her reflection. Oh, yes, Theo Theakis was back in town all right!
And she wanted more than the money she was owed. Much more.
Now it was her turn for vengeance. And she would make sure it really, really hit Theo where it hurt. In his giant-sized masculine sexual ego.
Back in the car, she phoned his office. The voice that answered wa
s familiar—it was Theo’s aide, Demetrious. Vicky spoke crisply in English.
‘This is Theakis here. Put Theo on the line, please.’
There was an imperceptible pause. Then, ‘One moment, please, Theakis.’ The aide’s voice was as neutrally incurious as it had been on the flight over. He came back on the line a moment later.
‘ Theakis, I’m so sorry. Theakis is in conference.’
The voice was smooth—apologetic, even—but Vicky knew that it was pointless to repeat her request. This time around was not going to be an action replay of her vigil in Theo’s London offices. This time she was calling the shots. Starting right now.
‘Oh, dear,’ she answered. ‘That’s a pity. Would you let him know I’m going to be lunching at Santiano’s, if he’d like to join me there? Thank you so much. I’m in the car at the moment, so he can reach me on that number.’
She hung up and sat back as the car continued to wind its way round Athens’ infamously traffic-laden streets. Santiano’s was the biggest hotbed of gossip in Athens. Everyone who wanted to be seen went there, and it was a favourite haunt both of gossip columnists and the paparazzi, waiting to see who was lunching with whom. And, of course, a lot more than lunching…
If the former Theakis was seen there, back in Athens, tongues would start to wag straight away. Even without the slightest shred of evidence the columnists would be speculating on whether she was going to be getting back with Theo Theakis again. A momentary pang went through her—if Theo called her bluff, then it was inevitable that Aristides would find out that she was back in Athens. She didn’t want him hurt—not any more than he had been already.
But that was thanks to Theo anyway, she reminded herself mercilessly. There had been no need for Theo to tell Aristides why he was going for a divorce. No need to upset him the way he had, by telling him about those incriminating photos! He could just as easily have trotted out the story they had agreed they would tell her uncle all along—that the marriage had simply not worked out, and they were parting amicably.
Amicably…