Securing the Greek's Legacy

She was just returning from such an outing on her third day in the apartment, wheeling Georgy into the spacious hallway, when she realised she was not alone.

Anatole strolled out of the living room.

Immediately Georgy crowed with delight and recognition, holding out his chubby arms. Lyn’s senses reeled as she took in Anatole’s tall, elegant figure and dark good-looks. He was wearing a suit but had discarded the jacket, loosened his shirt collar and cuffs. The effect of the slight informality of his appearance made her stomach tighten. He looked lean and powerful and devastatingly masculine.

He glanced a smile of greeting at her, and hunkered down to extract Georgy. Hefting him out, he held him up and swung him high in both hands. He greeted him in Greek, then did likewise, in English, to Lyn.

‘Hi,’ she murmured awkwardly, and busied herself folding up the buggy and putting it away in the hall cupboard.

She let Anatole keep Georgy and, taking off her baggy jacket and hanging it up beside the buggy, followed them into the living room. It was no longer quite as pristine as it had once been. One sofa had been covered by a fleecy throw—more to protect its pale covers than to protect Georgy—on the thick carpet another throw was spread out, arrayed with a good selection of Georgy’s toys.

She watched Anatole carefully lower the baby down on to the floor, where Georgy gleefully seized upon one of his soft toys.

Anatole stood back, watching him. His mood was resolute. The time he’d spent in Greece had seen to that. His grandfather was a changed man, summoning all his doctors and demanding the very latest drugs, determined to live now for as long as he could. Determined, too, to see his great-grandson restored to his family. Even if it required Anatole to resort to this drastic strategy to make that happen.

Timon had seemed to take a moment or two to absorb Anatole’s announcement, his face blanking as if in shock, but then he had simply waved an impatient hand. ‘If it keeps all the damn officials happy and speeds everything up, it’s worth it,’ Timon had said. Then he’d cast a sly look at his grandson. ‘I take it she’s got other charms than just being the boy’s aunt?’

Anatole’s eyes rested on the figure stiffly sitting herself down on sofa, busying herself playing with Georgy. No, the charms that Timon had been implying she might have were conspicuously absent. She still looked just as she had when he’d first set eyes on her, with her dark hair pulled back apart from some straggly bits pushed behind her ears, no make-up, and wearing a shapeless jumper and jeans that bagged at the knees. Yet as he studied her, watched her playing with Georgy, his eyes went to her face and his blighting assessment wavered.

If he dragged his gaze away from her dire hair and worse clothes he could see that her pale skin was clear and unblemished, and her grey eyes were well set beneath defined brows, sparkling now with animation as she laughed with Georgy. The shape of her face was oval, he noted, with a delicate bone structure, and there was something about the line of her mouth that held his glance...

He watched her a moment longer, resolve forming within him. She could not possibly turn up in Greece as his fiancée looking the way she did now, so badly dressed and unkempt.

Well, that could be sorted, but right now he was hungry. He hadn’t eaten on the flight, and it was lunchtime. First he needed a shower, a change of clothes and to check his e-mails, and then he would take Lyn and Georgy for lunch.

And after lunch, he resolved, he would take them shopping. Toys for Georgy—new clothes for Lyn.

Everyone would be happy. Including him.

An hour later they were ready to set off. Lyn was not enthusiastic about the expedition, Anatole could tell, but she had acquiesced docilely enough. She’d changed her clothes, though the brown skirt and pale cream blouse were not a great improvement, to his mind. The skirt was overlong and the blouse too baggy. But that didn’t matter—after lunch she would be getting a whole new wardrobe.

Over lunch, his sense of resolve strengthened. He would start getting to know her. There must be no awkwardness between them. Georgy united them, and that meant they could not remain strangers. Little by little he had to win her over, get her to relax in his company.

Get her to trust him.

But she was clearly feeling awkward and totally unrelaxed—that much was obvious to him as they made their way into the restaurant he’d selected. A few diners cast disapproving glances at Georgy in his carrier as they took their seats, but since he was looking both angelic and deeply slumberous no one said anything.

Lyn sat down on the plush banquette, feeling acutely uncomfortable. Her dull, chainstore clothes were completely out of place in such an expensive locale, but there was nothing she could do about it. Since she didn’t look like the kind of woman a man like Anatole Telonidis would socialise with, there was no point making an idiot of herself by trying to and failing.

Anatole took charge, ordering drinks and food. Lyn stared around her uneasily, unused to such expensive surroundings. She jumped as the wine waiter reappeared and opened a bottle of champagne with a soft pop.

The effervescent liquid was poured out, and as the waiter departed with a bow Anatole lifted his glass. ‘Let us drink to Georgy’s future,’ he said.

He was trying to be encouraging, she could see. Gingerly, Lyn raised her glass and took a nervous sip. It tasted very dry, and the bubbles burst on her tongue with a slightly acerbic texture. She set the glass down.

‘You don’t care for it?’ Anatole’s voice sounded surprised. It was an excellent vintage.

‘Sorry, the only fizzy wine I’ve ever had before has been very sweet,’ Lyn apologised.

‘This is not “fizzy wine”,’ said Anatole severely. ‘This is champagne.’

Lyn flushed. ‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled again.

‘There is absolutely no need for apology,’ he said promptly.

He started on an explanation of what constituted champagne, and Lyn found herself listening attentively. It wasn’t a subject that had ever crossed her path before. As she listened she took some more little sips of the crisp, sparkling liquid, and as she sipped she started to feel that taut wire of tension running down her spine lessening almost imperceptibly.

Their first course arrived—little rondelles of salmon pâté lightened with a lemon jus—and Lyn found them delicious.

From champagne, Anatole broadened out into discussing wine in general. It seemed a pretty safe topic, in the circumstances.

‘Even here in the UK you are starting to produce some very acceptable white wines,’ he commented.

‘It was the Romans, I think, who first planted vines in Britain,’ Lyn ventured. She had to make some kind of effort with conversation. She owed it to Anatole to make this intensely awkward meal less awkward. ‘The climate was warmer then—the Roman Warm Period that ended around 400 AD.’

Anatole’s expression registered surprise. ‘That’s very detailed historical knowledge for someone studying accountancy,’ he said.

‘I really wanted to study history,’ Lyn explained diffidently. ‘But it’s not the best subject for post-graduate employment—especially not since I already count as a mature student, being in my mid-twenties now. Accountancy’s far more likely to earn me a good enough living to raise Georgy—’ She broke off, conscious that Georgy’s financial future was very different now.

‘Well, Greece has more history than anywhere else in Europe,’ Anatole said. ‘And a great deal of it is in Athens.’ He spoke lightly, steering the conversation towards classical Greek history. The champagne, he could tell, was starting to help her relax, become more talkative.

‘How did you find the service dining in the apartment while I was in Greece?’ he enquired as they ate.

She looked up. ‘Oh, I haven’t used it. It’s bound to be very expensive. I’ve found a small grocery store locally, down a side street, so I’ve been cooking for myself and Georgy.’

‘You really do not have to stint yourself when it comes to the facilities of the apartment,’ Anatole said dryly. ‘Tell me, have you taken Georgy swimming in the pool?’

She shook her head. ‘Not yet,’ she said.

‘We shall buy him some pool toys this afternoon,’ Anatole said. ‘All sorts of toys,’ he added expansively while he was at it.

Lyn brightened. ‘Oh, yes, please—that would be wonderful! He really needs some that are more advanced for the next stage of his development.’ She smiled. ‘He’s very nearly ready to crawl, and when that happens he’s going to take off like a rocket!’

The conversation moved on to Georgy, the subject of their mutual interest and the reason for their marriage. As if hearing his name mentioned, Georgy decided to surface from his slumber. Enlivened by his sleep, he made it clear he wanted out of his carrier and into Lyn’s arms. Settling him on her lap, she busied herself feeding him from a pot of baby yoghurt she’d thought to bring with her in between taking sips of coffee to finish her meal.