Securing the Greek's Legacy

But Anatole was no longer a stranger! He was the man she had committed herself to with all her body, all her desire. He had swept her away on a wonderful, magical tide of passion and forged an intimacy between them that made a nonsense of her fears, her doubts.

Thanks to Anatole, everything would be for the best now.

Everything will be all right! I know it will! There is nothing to be afraid of—nothing! I must do what he keeps telling me to do—trust him!

And how could she fail to do so? How could she fail to trust him now that he had transformed her life? In his arms, his embrace, she had found a bliss that overwhelmed her with its wonder! There was no more awkwardness with him, no more shyness or diffidence.

Now everything between them was different! Magically, wonderfully different! Since Anatole had swept her into his arms, into his bed, her head had been in a constant daze. It was still so unbelievable, what had happened between them! So unbelievable that she could not make sense of it—could do nothing but simply go with it...with every wondrous, shining moment of it! She would allow herself no doubts, no questions.

* * *

The flight to Athens proved straightforward. Georgy took a keen interest in the proceedings, especially all the admiring fuss that was made of him by the cabin staff, and apart from being affected by the change in cabin pressure on take-off and landing had a smooth journey. At Athens airport they were whisked through deplaning and into the chauffeured car waiting for them. Lyn barely had time to take in her new surroundings before the car was leaving the airport, heading for the coast.

‘It should take less than an hour, depending on traffic,’ Anatole assured her. ‘We’ll have plenty of time to settle into the beach house this afternoon. As you know,’ he went on, ‘we have the whole place to ourselves—and I think that will be good. Give you a chance to get used to everything. With Timon still in hospital for the moment, under medical supervision, we can have more time together. That said—’ he made a face ‘—I can’t deny that I’m going to have to spend a great deal of time working. Both at my own affairs, which I’ve neglected, and even more importantly on Timon’s business affairs.’

His expression tightened.

‘My priority is persuading Timon to relinquish control of the Petranakos Corporation to me. I’m limited at the moment as to what I can and can’t do, and I can see that a great deal needs to be done. A lot of the workforce at too many of the sites and premises are very jumpy—they know Timon is old and very ill, they know Marcos is dead, and they don’t know what is going to happen. Bankers and investors are restless too, as well as suppliers and customers. None of that is good. I need to take charge—make it clear that I’m going to run the company on behalf of the new heir. And I most urgently want Timon to designate Georgy.’ He took a breath. ‘Whatever it takes, I have to get Timon to hand over the reins of power to me.’

Whatever it takes...

The words echoed in Anatole’s head. He had used them so often in these past weeks since Marcos’s fatal car crash. His eyes went to the woman and child seated beside him and he felt them echo again.

Whatever it takes...

Emotion swirled within him. Whatever it took to safeguard Marcos’s son and safeguard the jobs of the thousands of people employed by Timon. That was what he must cling to.

His mind refocusing, he started to point out to Lyn the various landmarks they were passing, giving her a sense of the geography of the region.

‘We are heading for Glyfada,’ he told her. ‘It’s on the shore of the Saronic Gulf—where, as I’m sure you already know, the famous battle of Salamis was fought in the fifth century BC to defeat the invading Persians. My grandfather’s villa is beyond the resort, on a quiet peninsula, well away from all the glitz of Glyfada and its neighbours, like Voula.’

‘I see the roadsigns are in the Latin alphabet, as well as Greek,’ Lyn remarked.

‘That’s pretty common in Greece now,’ Anatole reassured her.

She frowned. ‘It’s the hardest part of learning Greek, I think,’ she said. ‘Having to learn to read a different script.’

‘It isn’t so bad,’ he said encouragingly. ‘Lots of the symbols are the same. One or two can be confusing, though—like the Latin capital P, for example, which is our R: rho.’ He smiled. ‘But don’t worry. You’ll get the hang of it. I’ll get a teacher organised, and you can start lessons as soon as you like.’

‘Thank you,’ she said gratefully. Her heart warmed. He was taking so much trouble to make her feel easier, more comfortable about moving here to Greece.

Yet even so, as the car turned off the main highway, and started to head down smaller roads, threading between what were clearly private and expensive residences all around them then pausing to go through electronically controlled gates to curl around a driveway that led to the huge white villa at the far end, Lyn felt her heart quail again.

But yet again Anatole sought to assuage her fears as she stared, daunted, at the massive ornate mansion.

‘Timon likes to live in style,’ Anatole commented dryly. ‘But the beach house is a lot less grandiose.’

The car took a fork off to the right that went around the main house and down through extensive manicured grounds that led towards the sea, and drew up outside a much more modest-looking building.

‘This will be far more suitable for us,’ said Anatole.

Lyn could not help but agree.

It was a single-storey, low-level building, with shutters and a terrace to the front, which overlooked the far end of a private beach that fronted the shoreline of the main villa, from which it was separated by formal gardens set with tall cypress trees and a lot of cultivated greenery.

‘I’ve had the beach house opened up, but no one’s been here for a while, so it might be a bit musty,’ Anatole apologized.

Lyn only smiled. ‘It looks lovely,’ she said. She definitely felt relieved that she wouldn’t have to cope with the huge imposing-looking villa that was Timon Petranokos’s residence.

They made their way indoors, leaving the driver to bring in their luggage. Indoors, Lyn immediately felt even more reassured. Although it was clearly a luxury residence the house was small-scale, and simply furnished, but she liked it that way.

‘The staff from the main house will do the housekeeping here,’ Anatole explained, ‘and the kitchen there will always be on call. Tonight,’ he went on, ‘we’ll definitely make use of my grandfather’s chef!’

Lyn was grateful, and by the time she had sorted out her unpacking and got Georgy settled in his new nursery in the bedroom next to hers, she was glad to sit down to a dinner that someone else had prepared.

She still felt strange, but knew she must simply get on with settling in. This was to be her life now.

But for how long?

The thought arrowed through her head and she wished it had not. She didn’t want to think about the future right now.

All she wanted to do was be with Georgy—and Anatole...

With Anatole’s arms around her, his lips kissing her, his hands caressing her, his words murmuring in her ear as he took her to a place that made everything else in the universe disappear...

She wouldn’t think about anything else. Just what she had now.

Take each day...each night...and do what he asks you to do. Trust him.

It was all she needed to do.

* * *

The following morning they drove to the specialist cancer hospital outside Athens where Timon Petranakos was being treated.

‘I hope you do not mind, Lyn,’ Anatole said, ‘but for this first meeting I want to take Georgy to see Timon on his own.’

Lyn was understanding. ‘Of course,’ she agreed readily.

It was understandable that he should want that. This would be a very emotional encounter for a man, old and dying, who, still raw with terrible grief, had lost his beloved grandson but who now was to receive a blessing he had never hoped for: his grandson’s baby son. She did not wish to intrude on such a special moment.

Anatole was tense, she could see. So much was resting on this encounter, and she did not want to add to that tension. She leant across to give Georgy, already hoisted up in Anatole’s arms, a quick final mop of the face, ready to be presented to his great-grandfather, then she stood back, watching Anatole walk out of the visitors’ lounge at the swish private clinic. As the door closed behind them, taking Georgy from her sight, a little bubble of anxiety formed inside her. She deflated it swiftly.

What did she imagine was going to happen? That a frail, sick man like Timon was somehow going to whisk Georgy away, never to be seen by her again? Of course he wasn’t! She must stop fretting like this. Just as Anatole kept reiterating, everything would be all right...

She sat back on the chair and reached for a magazine to while away the time until Anatole emerged again. She could do little but glance at the pictures, and it strengthened her determination to get to grips with the Greek language without delay. This might only be the first day after their arrival, but the sooner she could cope with the language the better.