The Secret Wife

‘Why should I? Why should I tell that hateful creep anything? If Anton couldn’t trust him with the news, I certainly couldn’t!’

Maurice sighed. ‘Presumably Voulos came up here to sort out this inheritance of yours.’

A choked laugh was dredged from Rosie. ‘I haven’t inherited anything! Anton left me to Constantine instead!’

Maurice frowned. ‘Excuse me?’

‘In fact my father tried to force me on him ... as if I were some brainless little wimp in need of care and protection!’ Registering Maurice’s still blank scrutiny, Rosie thrust up her chin and the words of explanation came spilling out of her.

‘Holy Moses...’ Maurice breathed at one stage, but it was his sole interruption. From that point, he listened intently.

‘Can you imagine that ignorant, arrogant louse even thinking that I might agree?’ Rosie pressed, in a furious appeal for sympathetic accord.

Maurice leant back in his chair, looking very thoughtful. ‘Your father has left him in one hell of a fix.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

Maurice slowly shook his head. ‘Have you any idea how fast a business can go down with its cash flow cut off? No money going in, no money going out—’

‘I know next to nothing about Anton’s business ventures and I don’t much care either,’ Rosie said huffily.

‘Get your brain into gear, Rosie. Voulos is in a very tight corner. No wonder the guy’s furious—’

‘Exactly whose side are you on?’

‘As always, on the side of common sense and profit,’ Maurice told her without apology. ‘Do you like the idea of your father’s business concerns going bust on a legal technicality? And naturally Voulos doesn’t want to drag this whole sorry affair into an open court.’

Rosie reddened uncomfortably, not having considered the situation fro

m either of those angles.

‘Voulos came here to bargain with the enemy because he had no other choice. The fastest, easiest solution is to meet the terms of your father’s will.’

‘I can’t believe I’m hearing this—’

‘And Voulos is offering to compensate you for your time and trouble. I wonder how much he’s prepared to put down on the table?’ Maurice mused with a slow grin, unaffected by Rosie’s look of appalled reproach. ‘The trouble with you, Rosie, is that you’re an idealist. Voulos isn’t and neither am I. You’d cut off your nose to spite your face.’

“Then why don’t you deal with him when he comes back tomorrow?’ Rosie snapped, rising angrily to her feet.

‘Do you want me to? I’ll willingly stay around and keep an eye on the negotiations. If his temper is anything like yours...well, we don’t want bloodshed, do we? What would we do with his body?’ Maurice asked cheerfully. ‘And dead men can’t write big, fat cheques.’

‘I won’t be here tomorrow,’ Rosie informed him thinly.

‘Look, it’s a business proposition, nothing more. You won’t have to live with the guy or like him. And if you won’t do it for yourself,’ Maurice murmured with a shrewd eye on her frozen face, ‘think about your father’s employees and what’s likely to happen to them if his businesses go down. You can’t hit back at Voulos without bringing grief to other people.’

‘I don’t want to hit back at him, I just want him to leave me alone!’ Rosie slung in frustrated rage, and stalked out of the room.

Hunched within the capacious depths of an old waxed jacket, Rosie stamped her feet to keep warm and watched her breath steam in the icy air. On a cold, frosty morning the market was always quiet. Maurice strolled up and slotted a plastic cup of coffee into her hand. Rosie surveyed him in surprise. ‘What are you doing here?’

Maurice shrugged, carefully avoiding her eyes. ‘How’s trade going?’

Rosie grimaced. ‘It’s slow.’

Maurice picked up a large green ceramic rabbit and frowned. ‘Isn’t this part of your own collection?’

It was Rosie’s turn to shrug, faint pink spreading over her cheekbones. ‘I’ll pick up another one.’

‘Nobody’s ever going to pay that for it,’ Maurice told her, studying the price tag and wincing.