The Innocent's Surrender

‘Surely the new owners will keep them on,’ Molly suggested. ‘After all, the ships need to go on sailing.’

‘But not necessarily with Papadimos crews.’ Natasha zipped up her case. ‘Oh, God, why couldn’t those idiots make peace not war for once with Alex bloody Mandrakis? If they’d accepted his original offer, at least they’d have been left with something. But, no. They had to try and get the better of him.’

‘There was a picture of him in the paper the other day,’ Molly said idly. ‘Attending some film premiere with his latest squeeze. Admittedly gorgeous, but not someone I’d choose to mess with.’

‘You have wisdom beyond your years,’ Natasha said bitterly. ‘But—he’s done his worst, and all we can do now is try and pick up whatever pieces remain.’ She reached for the dark grey jacket that matched her skirt, and slipped it on over her crisp white shirt. Business clothes, she thought, for a business meeting, and sighed imperceptibly.

She added, ‘I almost feel sorry for Maria and Christina. They never bargained for this at those lavish weddings a few years ago.’ A note of mischief entered her voice. ‘But I bet they’re not treating their husbands with quite such doting devotion these days. In fact, with any luck, they’re giving them hell.’

And on that upbeat note, she grabbed her bag, and left for the airport.

Neil had offered to see her off, but she’d refused on the grounds that parking would be a nightmare and that, anyway, it was no big deal.

‘I’ll be back before you know it,’ she’d promised.

‘And I’ll be counting the hours,’ he’d returned, and taken her in his arms, his parting kiss displaying an unaccustomed hunger.

Something, she realised, that she’d found disturbing, and not altogether for the right reasons.

In effect, she thought as she sipped at the orange juice she’d ordered from the drinks trolley, it had been a candid reminder that, on her return, he was confidently expecting that they would be moving their relationship on a stage and becoming lovers. That she’d pretty much promised him that would happen.

‘Oh, God,’ she groaned under her breath. Don’t chicken out. Not again. Not this time.

You really like Neil. You may even be starting to fall in love with him. But how will you ever know—be sure—until you commit yourself, even in this most basic way?

The problem was she hadn’t been joking when she’d told Molly about the strictness of her upbringing. And it was difficult to shake off that kind of conditioning, even if you believed you might have met the right man.

For Thia Theodosia, Mr Right came with a wedding ring in his pocket, and treated you with total respect, knowing that your virginity was part of the dowry you brought him, until the ring was on your finger and the priest had pronounced you man and wife.

For her, it was that simple, and that iron-clad, and she would be distressed beyond measure if she thought that Natasha would ever consider a breach of that strict moral code.

And the fact that Natasha had begun to regard herself as some kind of curious anachronism would be no valid excuse.

But was it only the tradition in which she’d been raised that had held her back since she’d left Greece to live an independent life? Or was it more that she’d never been seriously tempted to break that unwritten sexual law?

And was she deeply tempted now—with Neil?

I wonder, she thought unhappily. I really wonder.

She considered Molly and Craig, who’d met at a party, fallen into bed together within twenty-four hours, become engaged a few weeks later and were waiting impatiently for Craig’s contract in Seattle to end so they could be married.

No one or nothing could have kept them out of each other’s arms, she acknowledged, their temporary separation being marked by letters, e-mails and nightly phone calls.

But perhaps I’m a different temperament, she thought. The slow, steady type as opposed to Molly’s headlong certainty about what she wants from life, and how to get it. Maybe that’s why we’ve been friends since school, and why we work so well together now.

So far Neil had seemed content to play by her rules, but that was not going to last much longer. She’d reached the same stage before, with other boyfriends, who’d got fed up when she kept backing off and had walked away.

She could read the signs. He wanted them to be like the other couples they knew. And when Molly and Craig were married, he’d expect her to live with him.

He had no idea, of course, how totally inexperienced she was.

And that could well be a major factor here, she realised. Perhaps she was just scared of the unknown. Simply lacked the courage to discover whether or not she’d be ‘good in bed’.

After all, wasn’t that the criteria by which everyone was judged these days?

He can make love in four languages…

She sat up, gasping, as Lin’s wistful words came back into her mind. And what had prompted that, for God’s sake?

Apart from the fact that Alex Mandrakis had engineered her brothers’ downfall, of course, she reminded herself wryly, and that was why she was on this plane at this moment. So it was going to be impossible to dismiss him totally from her thinking, however hard she might try.

His name was bound to crop up at some point, she thought, her mouth twisting. Probably more than once.

But at least he wouldn’t be around in person to administer the death blow. Some minion would do that for him.

As people said—this was business, not personal, which was something to be thankful for. She had no wish to set eyes on him ever again.

And now she would just have to relegate her heart-searchings about her love life with Neil until a more appropriate moment, she told herself firmly as the seat-belt light came on for the descent into Athens.

Because the next twenty-four hours would require a very different kind of courage from her, and nothing could be allowed to deflect her from that.

Nothing—and no one.

Chapter Three

NATASHA’S arrival in Athens occurred in the middle of a thunderstorm, but was otherwise painless. She had no baggage to reclaim, and a placard with her name on it was the first thing she saw when she emerged from Customs.

It was carried by a heavily built man in a pale linen suit who greeted her with unsmiling politeness, took her bag, and led her to a waiting limousine complete with uniformed chauffeur.

The air was like a hot, wet blanket smothering her and she was glad she’d decided on the cooler option of pinning her hair up into a loose knot on top of her head, rather than wearing it down.

She found herself being ushered into the rear of the car, occupying its luxurious seating in solitary splendour while her escort sat in silence beside the driver.

She leaned back, listening to the distant growl of thunder, and watching the rain pour down the windows, as she relished the rich scent of expensive leather.

No doubt the cost of this transfer would go on the lawyers’ bill, she thought with an inward grimace. It would have been far cheaper to get a cab, although, admittedly, not nearly as comfortable. And was it really necessary to send two people to collect her? After all, she was hardly likely to come all this way just to do a runner.

It was too dark to see anything, even without the distortion of the rain on the glass turning street lights and approaching traffic into a blur, so she closed her eyes and let her thoughts drift.

She had almost dozed off when she realised that the car was slowing down, then coming to a complete halt.

Now to face the family, she thought without pleasure. She sat up hurriedly, pulling her skirt over her knees, as the passenger door opened. Another man was standing there, holding a large umbrella, and for a moment, she assumed it was Manolis, the Papadimoses’ major-domo, and was just about to greet him when she saw that he was also a stranger. Realised too, that the brightly lit entrance she was being hustled towards was also completely unfamiliar to her.

She tried to hang back. ‘No,’ she said in Greek. ‘There has been some mistake. I should be at the Villa Demeter.’

‘No mistake, thespinis. This is the right place.’ The pair of them were on either side of her now, their hands implacably under her elbows as they urged her forward into a vast hall dominated by the wide sweep of an imposing marble staircase.

Natasha hardly gave her surroundings a second look. She was too angry for that, trying desperately to remember the name of the lawyer who’d sent them, because he’d be someone to complain to—and about—when this muddle was eventually sorted.