Captivated by the Greek

‘Hi,’ said Mel casually, with a dazzling smile.

With not the slightest sign of apprehension she settled herself down at the table in one of the two remaining spaces. Nikos took his place beside her, opposite Fiona. He could see that the other males present were taking in Mel’s fantastic looks, despite the presence of their own partners.

A waiter glided up to the table and started the business of pouring wine and water, while another circled with bread rolls.

Mel shook out the stiff linen napkin at her place and draped it over her lap. Then she dug into the basket of warm bread rolls and helped herself.

‘I skipped lunch,’ she said cheerfully, and reached for the butter dish, where tiny pats of butter floated in iced water.

She busied herself tearing the bread roll in half and applying butter to it while all around her the rest of the party started to chat. The conversation was mostly about how they knew or knew of each other, and that, Mel realised, was through their work—which was, not surprisingly, all to do with finance, corporate stuff and the City in general.

She tucked into her roll and with half an ear listened to the chit-chat. With the other half she took the measure of the female whose intentions towards Nikos Parakis she was here to block.

Fiona Pellingham was very, very attractive, with her svelte, chic brunette looks enhanced by a clearly top-end designer evening dress in deep ruby-red. Mel had quickly assessed that Fiona was very much put out about her own presence.

The other two women present were not in Fiona’s league looks-wise, but they were dressed elegantly for the evening and had the appearance of being long-time partners of the men they were with.

Everyone, Mel decided, seemed perfectly amiable members of their own class and background—which was about a thousand times more privileged than her own. But so what? She wasn’t picking up hostility from anyone except Fiona, and she was being accepted for what she was: namely, Nikos Parakis’s ‘plus one’ for the evening.

While the others chatted away in their well-bred tones, talking about the City, business and the financial world in general—which Mel found out of her league, but interesting for that very reason—she settled down to make the most of what was clearly going to be a gourmet meal.

A delicious-looking salmon terrine proved as smooth and light as she could want. It was washed down very nicely, she discovered, with the crisp, cold Chablis that was served with it.

She was just setting down her glass, enjoying the delicate bouquet, when she realised she was being directly addressed.

‘So, what line are you in, Mel?’

It was the man sitting next to Fiona who had addressed her. The question had been politely asked, and Mel saw no reason not to answer in the same way. At her side, though, she could sense that Nikos had gone on the alert, ready to intervene. But she ignored him.

‘FMCG,’ she replied easily. ‘Food retail. I’ve been researching market segmentation and seasonal versus time-of-day product-matching against predicted demand.’

‘Interesting,’ her questioner responded. ‘Are you with one of the big retail analysts?’

Mel shook her head. ‘No, this is independent research—directly customer-facing.’

Beside her, she could swear she heard Nikos make a noise in his throat that sounded distinctly like a choke.

‘What will you be doing with the data?’ This from one of the others around the table.

‘Oh, it will go to my client to support his expansion strategy,’ she answered airily.

‘And is that something that the Parakis Bank will be funding?’

Fiona’s voice was superficially sweet, but Mel could hear the needles in it.

Before she could reply, though, Nikos’s voice interceded. ‘I’d have to wait until turnover reaches an appropriate level,’ Mel heard him say. His voice was dry.

She turned to him, her eyes glinting. ‘I’ll hold you to that,’ she said lightly.

Then, deciding that Sarrie’s business expansion plans—let alone her own role in his business—had better not get any more probing right now from all these high-powered City folk who dealt in turnovers of millions of pounds, she changed the subject. Time to disarm Fiona...

‘Nikos was telling me,’ she said, directly addressing the other woman, ‘what a rising star you are, and how much you’ve achieved.’ She made her voice warm and her smile genuine.

A slightly startled, but gratified expression crossed Fiona’s face. ‘Well, it’s been hard work,’ she acknowledged.

There was a definite thaw in her voice now—Mel was sure of it. She pressed on.

‘How real is the glass ceiling in the City?’ she asked, and widened her question to include the other two women there. ‘You seem to be unhindered by it.’ She went back to Fiona and let her approbation show in her face.