Securing the Greek's Legacy

‘Kyrios Petranakos wishes to see you without Baby,’ she announced loftily, and took the buggy handles from Lyn.

‘Oh,’ said Lyn, feeling mildly surprised and mildly apprehensive.

What could Timon Petranakos want? she thought. She reasoned it must be something to do with the forthcoming wedding.

Oh, please don’t say it’s going to have to be postponed because of all that’s going on in Thessaloniki!

She took a breath. Well, if it had to be postponed, so be it. Anatole was under quite enough pressure as it was.

She let the nanny wheel Georgy away, warning her that he was a bit grouchy today and getting a condescending smile in return, and then set off after the manservant who was conducting her to Timon’s quarters. When she was shown in he was in his day room, next door to his bedchamber—a huge room with the same ornate, opulent decor as the dining room that Lyn found a tad oppressive and overdone, but she appreciated it was a bygone style suitable for a man of his age and position in society.

When she was shown in his wheelchair was in front of his desk and he was clearly studying the documents laid out on it. He wheeled the motorised chair around to face her as the manservant backed out of the room, leaving Lyn facing Georgy’s great-grandfather.

There was something different about him. At first she thought it was something to do with his state of health, but then she realised it was his expression.

Especially his eyes.

They were resting on her, but the brief, penetrating glance she’d got used to was now a more focused stare. She stood still, letting him look her over. Somewhere deep inside her, unease was forming.

What was going on?

With a hideous plunging of her heart, she heard her voice blurting out, ‘Has something happened to Anatole?’

Dear God, was that what this was about? Had something happened to him? Something to do with the protest, violent clashes?

Please don’t let him be injured! Or worse...

Fear pooled like acid in her stomach.

‘Yes—something has happened to Anatole.’

She heard Timon’s words and faintness drummed through her. Then, at his next words, her head cleared.

Brutally.

As brutally as the harsh words came from Timon Petranakos in his hoarse voice.

‘Anatole is free—finally free. Of you!’

She stared. ‘What do you mean?’ she said, a confused expression filling her face.

A rasp came from him, and she could see his clawed hand clench the arm of his wheelchair.

‘I mean what I say!’ he ground out. ‘My grandson is free of you!’ His expression changed, his eyes hardening like flint. ‘Hah! You stare at me as if you cannot believe me! Well, believe me!’ The dark eyes pinioned her. ‘Did you really think,’ he ground out, his accent becoming stronger with the emotion that was so clearly visible in his lined face, ‘that I would permit him to be trapped by you?’

Lyn’s face worked, her senses reeling.

‘I...I...don’t understand,’ she said again. It sounded limp, but it was all she could think right now. What was happening? Dear God, what was happening? It was like being hit by a tsunami—a wall of denunciation that she had never expected! Never thought to receive! Her mind recoiled and she clutched at flying words and thoughts to try desperately, urgently, to make some kind of sense of them! Find some kind of reason for what was going on here.

Timon’s jaw set. The flint in his eyes, sunken as they were with age and illness, hardened.

‘Then understand this, if you please! Your dreams of being Kyria Telonidis are over! Over!’

A little cry came from her throat, tearing it like a raw wound. She wanted to speak, shout, yell, but she couldn’t—not a single word. She was silenced. Helpless to make sense of any of this—anything at all!

Timon was speaking again, his voice harsh and accusing. His words cut at her, slashing into her.

‘You thought to trap him. You took one look at him and thought you had it made. Thought you could use my grandson’s boy to trap my other grandson! To land yourself a life of ease and luxury that you have no right to! None! You saw your opportunity to make a wealthy marriage and a lucrative divorce and you took it!’

The bitter eyes flashed like knives, stabbing into her.

Shock spiked her riposte. ‘Anatole offered to marry me—it was his idea, not mine! He said it would make it easier to adopt Georgy—I agreed for Georgy’s sake!’ Lyn tried to fight back, tried to stand her ground in the face of this onslaught.

Timon’s face twisted in anger. ‘For your own sake!’

‘No!’ she cried out desperately. ‘It isn’t like that! It’s for Georgy! It’s all for Georgy!’

The lined face hardened. ‘Then you will be overjoyed to realise that you have achieved that! Marcos’s boy is here now—in the country where he belongs—and whatever those infernal, interfering, officious bureaucrats in England say, no court in Greece will hand him back. No court in Greece will take my great-grandson from me! And as for you—know that for all your scheming you have been well served in turn!’ His expression twisted. ‘Did you truly think that because Anatole took you to his bed he would actually go through with marrying you? He did it to keep you sweet—and it achieved his purpose—to get Marcos’s boy here the quickest way!’

‘No! I don’t believe it! No!’ She covered her ears with her hands, as if she could blot out the hateful, hideous words.

‘Well, believe it!’ Timon snarled at her. ‘Believe it to be justice served upon you—justice for your scheming, for your lies!’

She froze, her hands falling inert to her sides. Her face paled. ‘What do you mean—lies?’

His dark eyes glittered with venom. ‘Ah—now she is caught! Yes—lies! The lies you’ve told Anatole...’

Her face paled. ‘I...I don’t understand...’ Her voice faltered.

A claw-like hand lifted a piece of paper from his desk and held it up. Gimlet eyes bored into her. ‘Did you think I would not have you investigated? The woman who stood between me and my great-grandson? Of course I did!’ His voice changed, became chilled. ‘And how very right I was to do so.’

As if weights were pulling at them her eyes dropped to the paper in his hand. She could read the letterhead, read the name of an investigative firm, read the brief opening paragraph with her name in it...

She felt sick, her stomach clenching.

‘You don’t understand...’ she said. But her voice was like a thread.

‘I understand completely!’ Timon Petranakos threw back at her, dropping the paper to the desk.

Lyn’s hands were clenching and unclenching. She forced herself to shift her gaze to the dark, unforgiving eyes upon her. The claws in her stomach worked.

‘Have...have you told Anatole?’

It was the one question burning in her veins.

A rasp came from Timon. ‘What do you think?’ he exclaimed, and she could hear the bitterness in his voice, the anger.

‘I can explain—’ she started, but he cut her off with another harsh rasp of his voice.

‘To what purpose? You lied to Anatole and now you are caught out! It is justice upon your head—nothing more than justice that all your schemes were always going to be in vain! That you were never going to achieve your ambition to marry my grandson, enrich yourself for life! And use my great-grandson to do it! Well...’ He threw his head back, eyes raking her like talons. ‘Your schemes are over now!’ The claw-like hand reached for another paper on his desk, and thrust it at her. ‘Look—look! And see how all your schemes have come to nothing!’

She felt her arm reach out, her fingers close nervelessly on the thick document that Timon was thrusting at her. It was typed in Greek, with a printed heading, and the unfamiliar characters blurred and resolved. It looked formal—legal—and she could not read a word of it. But at the base was a date—two days ago—and, above it a signature.

Anatole Telonidis.

Timon was speaking again. ‘Here is a translation,’ he said. ‘I had it drawn up for you. For just this moment.’ He lifted another piece of paper. The layout was exactly the same as the Greek document, but this was in English. Only the signature at its base was absent. With trembling hands she took the paper, held it up. Again the words blurred, would not resolve themselves.

‘Keep it,’ said Timon Petranokos. ‘Keep them both. This document gives Anatole everything he wants—everything he’s been asking for! He has taken over as chairman. Total control. Full executive power. I’ve given it to him. And all he had to do to get what he wanted,’ he went on, the dark, sunken eyes glittering with animosity, ‘was undertake not to marry you.’ He paused. ‘He signed it without hesitation,’ he finished harshly, his mouth twisting.

He took another rasping, difficult breath, as if so much speaking had drained him of his scarce reserves of energy.