Securing the Greek's Legacy

‘Tell me,’ he went on now, moving on from the subject of their wedding, ‘why did you not go to college straight after school?’

‘Well, it wasn’t really possible,’ Lyn answered. ‘Lindy was only fourteen, and I couldn’t leave her.’

Anatole looked mildly surprised. ‘You were so devoted to her?’

Lyn swallowed. ‘She needed someone to look after her. My mother—well, she wasn’t very good at doing that. She’d ended up single, despite marrying twice, because both her husbands abandoned her. After that she spent most of her time in the pub, if I’m honest about it, and I didn’t want Lindy to be a latchkey kid, so I stayed at home and did the housekeeping, cooking and so on. By the time Lindy left school Mum was ill. All the years of heavy smoking and drinking too much caught up with her finally, so I stayed to nurse her until the end. Lindy took a job in a wine bar and then, just after Mum died, took off with a girlfriend to London and lived in a flat share, worked in a flash West End wine bar. That’s where she met your cousin.’ She took a breath. ‘When she realised she was pregnant she came back home, just as I was finally about to set off to university as a mature student. Of course I couldn’t abandon her then...’

Anatole was silent a moment. A strange sense of recognition went through him. She had shouldered responsibilities not of her making—and he, too, was shouldering responsibilities he could have walked away from. Responsibilities that had brought him to this point: about to embark on a marriage to a woman he would never have known existed had it not been for the baby he’d set out to find...

But it was because of that baby—the baby who had stolen his heart already—that he was doing what he was doing now. The baby was all that was left of his young cousin, all the hope left to his ailing grandfather.

And I will see him right, whatever that takes!

His eyes went to the woman across the table from him. She’d opened up to him just now, more than she had yet done, so he knew he was making progress in gradually getting her to relax, getting her to feel less tense. Getting her to trust him.

He worked away at his goal assiduously, little by little making her feel more comfortable in his company.

Dinner on his second night back in London was a little easier than the preceding one. The main topic of conversation was Georgy, and Anatole could see that when Lyn talked about her nephew her eyes lit up, her face lost its pallor, and the animation in her expression made her seem noticeably more attractive. He found his curiosity as to what grooming and decent clothes might do for her intensifying. He found it curious that she seemed to be so reluctant to be made over. Most women, as he knew perfectly well, would have adored the prospect!

He’d backed off from pressing her the day before, when they’d been in the department store, but that evening he did no such thing.

‘How did your swim go this afternoon?’ he enquired at dinner, having spent the day working via his laptop. ‘You said at breakfast you would take Georgy down to the pool. Did he enjoy the new pool toys we bought him?’ he asked encouragingly.

Her reply confounded him.

‘Um...the man at the desk said...’ Lyn’s voice tailed off. What the man at the desk had said still made her squirm.

‘Sorry, love. Pool’s for residents only. Nannies don’t count—even if they have their charges with them.’

‘Yes? The man at he desk said...?’ Anatole prompted.

‘Well, I think he thought I was Georgy’s nanny,’ she explained reluctantly.

An explosive noise came from Anatole and his expression darkened.

Immediately Lyn tried to mitigate the situation. ‘It’s very understandable,’ she said. ‘I know I don’t look like I’m a resident here, so—’

‘So nothing, Lyn!’ Anatole’s voice was firm. ‘I trust you told the man who you were?’

She coloured. ‘Um...no. It was a bit...a bit embarrassing. And I didn’t want to make a fuss. He was only doing his job.’

He gave an exasperated sigh. ‘Lyn, you must surely see that this cannot continue! Tomorrow I am taking you shopping for clothes and that is that!’

She nodded numbly. Clearly Anatole’s patience was at an end. Well, she thought resolutely, not all rich women were beautiful, but they still wore expensive clothes. Now so would she.

‘Good,’ he said. He smiled at her encouragingly. ‘Most women, Lyn, adore clothes-shopping!’

She gave a constrained smile in return, saying nothing. Thankfully, he let the topic go, and suggested they take their coffee into the lounge.

She set the coffee tray on a low table between the sofas and took a seat on the sofa opposite Anatole. He was wearing casual grey trousers and a beautiful soft cashmere jumper, the sleeves of which he now pushed back, revealing strong, tanned forearms. Immediately, Lyn made herself look away.

‘Would you like any music?’ she asked, for Anatole had not turned the TV on.

‘Some Mozart, perhaps?’ Anatole suggested, stretching out his arms along the back of the sofa and hooking one long leg casually over his thigh as he relaxed back.

The soft sweater stretched, moulding his torso. Punishingly conscious of his intense masculinity, she crossed to the music deck and made a suitable selection.

The scintillating tones of the Linz Symphony started to resonate through the room and she came back and resumed her place, curling her legs up under her and prudently removing several of Georgy’s discarded toys from under various cushions, where he’d stuffed them earlier.

She leant forward to pour out the coffee. Black and unsweetened for Anatole. She knew that now. For herself, weak and milky. She proffered the cup to him and he reached a long arm forward to scoop it up.

As he did so his fingers touched hers. Jerking, she nearly dropped the saucer, but managed to avoid it, recoiling into her seat swiftly. She knew two spots of colour were in her cheeks. Covertly, she flicked her eyes across to the man opposite her. Large table lamps stood either side of the sofa, throwing a pool of soft light over him.

He is just so gorgeous-looking.

It dominated her consciousness, that constant awareness of his physical magnetism. A magnetism he seemed to be unconscious of himself. Or he just took it for granted, probably, she realised. If you grew up with looks like that you did take them for granted.

No wonder he wants me to look better than I do!

She bit her lip. Surely once she had got some smart clothes, done her hair, that sort of thing, she would look better than she did now? Not much, she knew dispiritedly, and certainly not enough to put her anywhere near Anatole’s league, but surely better?

It was a hope that had to sustain her when, the next morning, back once again in the very swish department store in the West End they’d been to previously, Anatole went with her to the instore beauty salon.

‘Hair and all the treatments first,’ he told her decisively, ‘then clothes and accessories. And while you’re doing that...’ he smiled reassuringly ‘...I’ll take Georgy back to the Aladdin’s Cave of the toy department.’

‘He’ll love that,’ said Lyn, trying to hide her nervousness as the receptionist hovered, ready to usher her into the inner sanctum and the treatment rooms.

‘When you’re all done we’ll go for lunch,’ Anatole said, and then, with a final reassuring smile, he wheeled Georgy off.

‘This way, madam,’ said the receptionist, and Lyn was led away to her fate.

* * *

Anatole was enjoying himself. So was Georgy, nestled in the protective crook of Anatole’s arm and gazing in open-mouthed delight at the miniature trains hurtling around the elaborate track layout of the vast display centrepiece of the store’s toy department. Anatole was giving an explanation of the finer points of rail transport to him, which would probably have drawn indulgent amusement from the other shoppers present, being way too technical for a baby of Georgy’s age, had it not been conducted in Greek.

Following Georgy’s butterfly attention span, Anatole diverted towards the array of soft toys nearby, drawing the buggy along single-handed. A brief, if one-sided discussion with Georgy as to which soft toy he liked best of all resulted in Georgy becoming the highly satisfied owner of a floppy-limbed teddy bear almost as large as he was, and they set off for yet another circuit of the huge toy department. From time to time Anatole glanced at his watch, but he knew Lyn would not be ready yet.

What would she look like when she emerged? he wondered. He found it hard to envisage. He’d had little glimpses, sometimes, of what she might look like—when she wasn’t looking tense and reserved and awkward.

But he wanted more than glimpses.

He glanced at his watch again impatiently.

* * *

‘What about this one?’ The stylist’s voice was encouraging. ‘It will turn heads,’ she said enthusiastically, holding up a dress in fuchsia silk jersey.

Lyn stared uneasily.