As soon as she had spoken, he had transferred his attention to Jill, who was gripping Sophy’s arm as though her life depended on it, and still didn’t seem able to speak. And then, as he held out his hand, Jill seemed to come to life—much to Sophy’s relief—saying, ‘Hello, Andreas,’ as she let go of her sister’s arm. ‘Thank you so much for coming to meet us.’
‘It is a pleasure,’ Theodore’s brother said coolly.
Sophy could well understand Jill’s present state of shock because she was feeling a bit that way herself. The man in front of them was nothing like Theodore—which was a relief in one way. Theodore had been just a little taller than Jill, his light brown hair and brown eyes pleasant but unremarkable, and his body stocky if anything.
His brother was aggressively handsome, at least six foot tall, with a powerful top-heavy masculinity that didn’t detract from the lean muscled body’s impact on the senses. His eyes were not dark brown, as she had thought, but a deep compelling grey, and his hair was black—jet-black.
But there was one area in which Andreas’s resemblance to his brother was evident: there was no sign of softness about him at all. He could have been fashioned from a slab of granite.
And then Sophy had to recant the last thought as the grey eyes fastened on Michael’s inquiring young face, and, letting go of his sister-in-law’s hand, Andreas knelt down in front of his young nephew and said softly, ‘Manchester United, eh?’ He nodded gently at Michael’s tee-shirt—his favourite, which Sophy had bought her nephew for his last birthday—as he said, ‘I, too, am a fan of the football. We will have to have a kick around together, yes? You would like this, Michael?
‘Yes.’ It was said with great fervency. And then Michael added, his voice quieter, ‘You’re my daddy’s brother, aren’t you?’
Andreas didn’t move and his face didn’t change as he said softly, ‘Yes, Michael, I am your daddy’s brother, which makes me your uncle. This is good, eh? This means that already we are friends?’
Brown eyes, very like Theodore’s, stared into grey, and for a long moment Michael surveyed his new uncle. And then, coming to a decision which was self-evident, he smiled sunnily and nodded.
Andreas ruffled the boy’s hair before standing again, and Sophy was glad of the extra moment or two. This big, virile male was a little daunting, to say the least. Before he had spoken to Michael, she would have said he didn’t seem quite human, but then the complete metamorphosis had thrown her even more.
And then Andreas was looking directly at her, his grey eyes smoky dark and almost black, and his voice was smooth and expressionless as he said, ‘And this must be Sophy, yes? Jill’s letter did not prepare us for the event of there being two of her; she said merely that her sister would be accompanying her.’
Sophy stiffened immediately. She and Jill had been devoted to each other from tiny children, but both girls had always fought for their individuality from those around them, recognising that the fact that they were identical was a mixed blessing.
Some people automatically assumed that because they looked so uncannily alike they functioned with one brain and one voice. The truth of the matter was that they were dissimilar in temperament and behaviour. In fact, they were almost direct opposites.
‘How do you do, Andreas?’ Sophy said politely, but with a certain edge to her voice which was not lost on the dark man watching her so intently. ‘I’m Jill’s twin, as I’m sure you’ve guessed.’ She forced a cool smile and hoped he’d take the hint.
Andreas nodded, his gaze going over her steadily as though he was endeavouring to read what she was thinking. ‘I am pleased to meet you, Sophy,’ he said evenly, before turning again to Jill with an abruptness which made Sophy feel she had been cursorily dismissed. She blinked, staring at the cold male profile with a feeling of dislike as she heard Andrea
s say, ‘The car is waiting outside, if you are ready, and I know my parents are anxious to welcome you into their home. Shall we go?’
‘Yes, of course. Thank you,’ Jill said quickly.
Andreas had summoned a porter with an inclination of his head as he had been speaking and Jill’s quiet voice fell into an empty void as he spoke to the young man in rapid Greek.
Jill looked, and had sounded, utterly bemused, and as Sophy watched her sister smooth her straight silky fringe with nervous fingers, she frowned to herself. Jill was supposed to be coming here to relax and meet Theodore’s family in a spirit of reconciliation, and in Sophy’s opinion the Karydises were darn lucky her sister had bothered to make the effort, considering past history. This brother certainly needn’t act as though it was the family doing Jill a favour, she thought aggressively.
She watched her sister’s face, framed by its curtain of wispy ash-blonde hair which hung to her shoulders, and noted the tension written all over it with a further deepening of dislike for Andreas Karydis. She flicked back her hair, which was shorter than Jill’s and cut to frame her face in a gleaming chin-length bob, as her soft full mouth tightened. Who did this family think they were, anyway? Royalty, by the look of it.
And then she cautioned the quick temper which her mother had always insisted came from her father’s side of the family, and of which Jill had no trace. She didn’t know what Andreas was thinking; she could have read all this wrong. Maybe the distant, aloof manner he had displayed with her and Jill was habitual with the man. Jill had told her that Theodore’s argument with his family had begun long before he’d met her, but that when Theodore had chosen an English wife it had been the final straw.
That had been in the early days of her sister’s marriage, and when she had asked Jill why Theodore had quarrelled so bitterly with his kith and kin and come to England, Jill had been vague and changed the subject.
It had been two or three years later before her sister had admitted Theodore had refused to discuss his past life with his wife, and that she had no idea what had caused the rift. Even Christos, whose name Theodore had been given by a friend of a friend back in Greece before he’d left his native land, and with whom Theodore had struck up an immediate rapport on seeking him out on arriving in England, did not know, according to Jill.
A mystery. And Sophy had never liked mysteries. Everything had to be clear and straightforward, as far as she was concerned; she couldn’t have married Theodore for all the tea in China! Not that he would have asked her in the first place. A rueful smile touched her mouth. Jill’s husband had always made it plain in a hundred little unspoken ways that he’d had as little time for her as she had had for him. She had just never been drawn to the strong, silent, macho type of male; Heathcliff might be great in the book but a dark, brooding, moody type of man would be sheer murder to live with, as far as she was concerned.
And then she came out of her reverie as, the luggage being in place on the trolley, Andreas turned and took Jill’s arm, saying politely, ‘Shall we?’, his glance taking in Sophy and Michael before he strode off with Jill pattering along at his side.
Sophy smiled stiffly and hoped she hadn’t betrayed the jolt her senses had given as the piercing eyes had met hers. Strength and authority seemed to radiate from the man and it was too much, too overwhelming to be comfortable. Even the clothes he wore were a representation of the dark power that was in every glance, every gesture. All around them were colourful dresses and bright shirts, Bermuda shorts and cheeky tee-shirts vying with more elegantly flamboyant clothes worn by both sexes, but still undeniably cheerful and showy.
Andreas was wearing a brilliant white shirt, open at the neck, and plain charcoal trousers, and he was a monochrome of severity in all the brightness.
As they exited the building the full force of the June sun hit, the heat wrapping them round like a hot blanket, and Michael’s awe-struck voice as he said, ‘Wow! It’s really, really hot,’ brought his uncle turning round with a smile on his face.
‘England is not so warm, eh?’ he said indulgently, his tone of voice and the look on his face completely different with his small nephew than it was with the two women. ‘It is normally in the eighties here in June, but even hotter in July and August. You will find yourself spending much time in your grandparents’s swimming pool, I think. Like a little fish, eh?’
‘A swimming pool?’ Michael was elated, his big brown eyes shining. ‘They have one of their own?’ he asked in wonderment. He had recently learnt to swim at the local swimming baths and, although barely proficient, adored the water.