‘You can’t see straight at all! You can’t even see what’s right in front of you!’
Anatole’s harsh voice cut across her. Then it changed.
‘But I can understand why.’ He took a ragged breath. ‘I can understand everything now.’
He reached forward, took her wrist. Drew her away from the door towards the group of chairs. He sat her down in one, and himself in the other. She went without resistance. Her limbs were not her own suddenly.
Georgy, still on the carpet, seeing her close by, started to crawl towards her, a happy grin on his face. He reached her leg and clung to it with chubby arms. Her face worked.
‘Pick him up, Lyn,’ said Anatole.
She shook her head.
‘I can’t,’ she said. ‘I mustn’t—he isn’t mine.’
Her throat was aching, as if every tendon was stretched beyond bearing.
Anatole leant down, scooped up Georgy, put him on Lyn’s lap.
‘Hold him,’ he told her.
There was something wrong with his voice again. It was harsh and hoarse.
‘Hold him and look at me. Tell me again what you’ve just said. That you are going to walk out on Georgy. Abandon him.’
A vice closed over her heart, crushing it. ‘I’m...I’m not abandoning him. I’m...I’m doing what is right. What has to be done. What I should have done from the moment you first found him. He isn’t mine. He never was mine....’
Her throat closed again but she made herself go on, made herself lift her stricken gaze to the dark eyes that were boring into her like drills...
‘I should have given him to you straight away—when you first came to me! Then you would never have had to go through that charade, that farce—the one your grandfather called time on. The one...’ She swallowed. ‘The one that you were just about to end yourself away.’ She looked at him, her gaze heavy as lead. ‘I got a phone call from the town hall after Timon had spoken to me—a phone call confirming that the wedding had been cancelled. And then...’ She swallowed again. ‘Then I got your text, telling me the same thing.’
‘In that text I told you I would explain everything when I spoke to you later!’
Anatole’s voice seared her.
‘Timon had already made everything clear to me—and when I tried not to believe him he set me straight too. He showed me the document you’d signed—the one giving you the chairmanship of the Petranakos Corporation, the one affirming that you would not be marrying me. So what would have been the point, Anatole, in you telling me that yourself when I had it in writing already?’
Greek words spat from him.
Lyn’s gaze slid away, down to the baby sitting on her lap, placidly chewing on Anatole’s tie, content just to be on her knees. She wanted to put her arms around him but she must not. Not any more.
Anatole was speaking again and she made herself listen—though what could he say that she could want to hear?
‘The point, Lyn,’ he bit out, and each word was cut like a diamond from the air, ‘was that I would have told you the truth!’
‘I knew the truth,’ she answered. ‘Timon told me.’
‘Timon,’ said Anatole carefully—very carefully, ‘lied.’
Lyn’s eyes went to his. There was still that dull blankness in them. Why was he saying this? What for?
‘I saw the document you signed,’ she said. ‘I saw it in the English translation and I saw the original—the one in Greek with your signature on it. I translated it myself. It said what Timon told me it said. You are the new chairman and you won’t be marrying me.’
‘And did it tell you why?’
There was still that strangeness in his voice. She heard it, but knew she must not...
‘Timon told me why. Because you never intended to marry me. It was all a ruse, to get me to agree to bring Georgy out to Greece.’
‘Well,’ he said, speaking in the same clear, careful voice, as if she were hard of learning, ‘in that case why didn’t I just put you on the first flight back to London once Georgy was in Athens?’
She gave a shrug. ‘I don’t know. It doesn’t matter.’
It didn’t matter. Not now. Not now that everything she had hoped and dreamed was smashed to pieces. Not now when her heart was breaking—breaking twice over. For Georgy and for Anatole.
Georgy was looking up at her and absently she stroked his hair. It felt like silk beneath her fingers.
I’ll never hold him again on my lap. Never hug him or kiss him. Never see him grow up...
Her eyes went to Anatole, standing there—so very dear to her, so very precious.
And she had never mattered to him at all...
Pain curdled around her heart. She wished he would stop talking to her, stop asking her things—things that did not matter that could not matter ever again. But he was talking again. Still talking at her—like some nightmare post mortem...
‘Yes, Lyn—it does matter. Why would I want you to stay on in Greece, live with me in the beach house, sleep with me, if I’d already got what I wanted from you?’
Her brow furrowed. He was going on at her and there wasn’t any point—there wasn’t any point!
‘Well, maybe it was because I might still have come in useful for some reason or other! You might have found it helpful to have me on side when you applied to adopt Georgy. I’d be kept sweet and not contest you.’ Her voice changed. ‘Only that wouldn’t have been necessary, would it? Once you knew I was only Lindy’s stepsister, it meant I wouldn’t stand a chance of fighting you for Georgy. Then you could have—would have—done exactly what your grandfather did. Sent me packing!’
He looked at her. ‘Do you know why he sent you packing, Lyn?’
It was clear to him now—crystal clear. But she couldn’t see it yet. He had to show it to her.
She shook her head dully. Anatole’s eyes—his dark sloe eyes that could melt her with a single glance—rested on her.
‘He was frightened, Lyn. Once he knew that Lindy was only your stepsister he was frightened that you were using me—using me to strengthen your own claim to Georgy. By marrying me you’d become his adoptive mother if our claim went through, whether you were his aunt or only his step-aunt. It would have been too late then. He was scared, Lyn—scared you’d take Georgy back to England, divorce me there, go for custody. Hold Georgy to ransom.’ He paused. ‘It was fear, Lyn, that made him say what he said to you.’
She shut her eyes. Why was he saying these things? It was a torment to her! ‘And did he fake your signature on that document?’ she demanded, her eyes flying open again. ‘Did he?’
Anatole shook his head. ‘No—I signed it.’ He paused. ‘I had to. He gave me no choice.’ His voice was steady. Controlled. Very controlled. ‘I need you to listen to me, Lyn. I need you to hear what I am telling you. I would have told you in Greece, had you not run away.’
He took a heavy breath, keeping his relentless gaze on her. She was as white as a sheet, as tense as stretched wire.
‘I signed that document,’ he said, ‘because Timon was refusing to hand over the chairmanship unless I did. And you know what the situation was in Thessaloniki. But I did not want to sign it.’ He took another breath. ‘I understand now, as I did not then, that the reason he insisted on my signing it was because he already knew about you and Lindy! He already had that report from his investigators—an investigation I knew nothing about. That is what scared him—and that is why he used the only leverage he had: threatening not to give me the power I needed so urgently, that very day, so that I could end that disastrous strike, unless I undertook not to marry you. I only found out about you being Lindy’s stepsister when I rushed back to him from Thessaloniki—after you’d fled with Georgy! He told me then—told me and denounced you for taking the cheque he offered you. And that is why I’ve doubted you—that is why I was angry when I came here!’