The Innocent's Surrender

Only too well, thought Natasha. My God, is this their idea of being wary?

Aloud, she said slowly, ‘Far be it from me to rain on your parade, but it may not be as simple as that. What if your bank demands his signature as an essential part of any deal? If they want to make sure that Mandrakis is definitely on side before they reach their decision?’

‘That is unlikely,’ said Stavros. ‘Because the nature of this new agreement is a matter of extreme delicacy, and the bank will hesitate to exert pressure on either party.’

He was being altogether too smug, and on the shakiest of foundations, Natasha thought, annoyed and concerned at the same time.

She said coolly, ‘I didn’t think banks were particularly delicate—not when enormous sums of money are involved. And, while the Mandrakis Corporation may be fireproof, because of, or in spite of, their new chairman, the Papadimos track record over the past year or so is not that great,’ she added, ignoring a choking sound from Irini. ‘They’d be taking a big risk.’

‘But they will not see it in that way,’ said Stavros. ‘Not if they believe that our families will soon be joined by more than a business agreement.’

Natasha stared at him. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said slowly. ‘I think you’ve lost me.’

‘We have suggested a different kind of partnership,’ said Andonis, and smiled. ‘A marriage with our family, no less. And that is what he is even now considering.’

Natasha’s gaze swung automatically to Irini.

No wonder she’s in such a foul temper again, she thought. And this time, I can actually feel sorry for her. Whether they mean it or not, it’s pretty ghastly finding yourself offered to someone like Alex Mandrakis, knowing you’ll be turned down, whether you want him or not.

Although being accepted would undoubtedly be a whole lot worse. Because who in their right mind would want to be married off, as part of a business deal, to a man who didn’t know the meaning of the word fidelity? And who changed his women as often as his elegant suits?

Most of her knowledge of him, admittedly, had been garnered from the gossip columns and glossy magazines in which he featured with such prominent regularity.

But she had seen him once in person at a reception in Athens which she’d attended with her friend Lindsay Wharton, whose father was attached to the embassy.

‘Oh, wow,’ Lin had whispered joyously. ‘Don’t look now, but one of the wonders of the world has just walked in, accompanied, of course, by the usual size-zero model. Oh, why didn’t I go on with that diet?’

‘What are you talking about?’ Natasha demanded, intrigued.

‘Alex Mandrakis,’ Lin sighed. ‘Sex on a stick, and loaded with it.’

Mandrakis, Natasha thought with a start. Now, there was a name to conjure up trouble within the Papadimos household. Basilis would never have let her come tonight if he’d known his arch-enemy’s son was going to be present.

All the same, she’d risked a glance, knowing that their paths were unlikely to cross ever again, so this might be her sole opportunity to see what all the fuss was about.

Even without Lin’s description, he was unmissable, being taller than anyone else around him, and all lean elegance in his evening clothes.

And he had a face that you wouldn’t forget in a hurry, either, she thought, her breath catching, his olive-skinned features strongly marked from his frank beak of a nose to the deep cleft in his chin, via a mouth that could best be described as sinful.

She hadn’t meant to linger on her appraisal, even though everyone else in the room seemed to be gawping at him too, but suddenly, as if alerted by some invisible antenna, he’d turned his head and those midnight-dark eyes under the straight black brows had looked right back at her, that astonishing mouth curving in a smile as his gaze swept over her in an assessment as candid as it was total.

Undressing her, some instinct had told her, with his eyes.

Natasha had felt a wave of warm blood wash from her toes to her hairline, as she prayed for the floor to split apart and swallow her into some fathomless depths forever.

But it hadn’t happened, and she’d had to be content with merely turning her back instead. Pretending he didn’t exist.

Now, as the memory stung her again, she said harshly, ‘If he has been suddenly transformed into Mr Shrewd, then he’ll know this is a set-up. After all, Irini has hardly been discreet over her views of the Mandrakis family as a whole, and Alex in particular.’

There was an odd silence. Once more the brothers exchanged glances, but this time they were both smiling broadly. Almost gleeful, in fact.

And if I were a child again, Natasha thought, I’d be searching my bed for lizards.

‘Irini?’ Stavros shook his head, enjoying the moment. ‘Even if she allowed it, we would not be so foolish. No, my little one, the bride we have offered Alex Mandrakis is yourself, Natasha mou.’

His satisfied beam widened. ‘So, what do you think of that? It is clever, ne?’

Chapter Two

‘CLEVER?’ Natasha’s voice rose. ‘Clever? It’s the most ridiculous idea I’ve ever heard in my life. The pair of you must have taken leave of your senses.’

Her condemnation was received in frosty silence, and she saw Maria and Christina exchange affronted glances at this lack of respect to their husbands.

‘But, Natasha, this is such a simple thing we ask you to do for us.’ Andonis leaned forward. ‘You have only to sign a letter which we shall send to Mandrakis, telling him you are willing to become his wife in accordance with our offer. Is that really such a difficulty?

‘Because I promise you that he will never agree to this proposal. He has no wish to marry anyone.’ He shrugged. ‘Why should he tie himself to one, when so many beautiful girls are willing to share his bed without honour?’

Ignoring the shocked squeals from Maria and Christina, he went on, ‘His age is, what? Thirty? In ten—fifteen years, perhaps—he will take a wife, in order to breed himself a son, if he can find a woman to have him.

‘Until then, Natasha mou, he will do just as he pleases.’

‘But do not worry,’ Irini broke in scathingly. ‘You are not likely to please him, with your pale hair and your white skin. A creature who looks as if no blood runs in her veins.’ She laughed scornfully. ‘How could you be wanted by any man? With Mandrakis, you will be quite safe.’

Natasha was jarred once again by the memory of amused dark eyes coolly scanning her seventeen-year-old body, and of Lin’s excited murmur, ‘They say he can make love in four languages. Isn’t he to die for?’ And to her vexation, she now found herself flushing at the thought.

There were a number of pithy retorts she could have made to Irini, she thought, including the information that she was currently dating a man in London who clearly didn’t find her in the least undesirable, but she controlled herself with an effort.

She could also understand why Madame Papadimos was absent. Thia Theodosia will know nothing about this nightmare, she thought. Nothing…

She said tautly, ‘Safe doesn’t actually enter the equation. I refuse to be even marginally involved with this crazy scheme. Please let that be clearly understood.’

There was a silence, then Stavros said heavily, ‘I will be honest. I am saddened, sister, by this lack of gratitude—this failure in your duty to the family that raised you.

‘This letter,’ he added reproachfully, ‘is a formality—no more. So, is it really so much to ask? Especially when he will be expecting to receive it from us. And when so much depends upon it.’

‘I thought you wanted to drag things out,’ Natasha returned curtly. ‘To keep him waiting.’

‘We have done so,’ said Andonis. ‘But now some gesture is needed. A little…propitiation to keep him interested.’ He chuckled. ‘And to keep him sweet.’

‘I don’t think sweet and Alex Mandrakis are words that belong in the same sentence.’ Restlessly, Natasha pushed her chair back and rose, walking over to the tall glass doors which opened into the garden. ‘You shouldn’t have brought me into this business,’ she said, staring into the warm darkness. ‘Not without asking me first. You had no right—no right at all.’

‘But where is the harm?’ Andonis demanded. ‘There will be no marriage between you and Mandrakis. We swear it. You have only to say you accept the terms we are offering. Give him something to think about.’

He looked at her appealingly. ‘The fact that a girl he has never seen is offering herself to him will appeal to his vanity and his arrogance. In the short term, it may cloud his judgement, and create a delay that is vital to us, and to the continued prosperity of the Papadimos family—in which you share, Natasha mou.’

He paused. ‘Perhaps you should remember that. Also how my father rescued you and treated you as his own,’ he added significantly. ‘Maybe it is time you repaid the memory of his kindness, with a little generosity of your own.’

She said coldly and clearly, ‘Your father wouldn’t have touched a deal like this, and you know it. He hated the Mandrakis family far too much to offer even a bogus olive branch.’

And Alex Mandrakis has seen me, even though he won’t remember it…

‘That is true,’ Stavros agreed. ‘But think what a fool this Alexandros will appear when we obtain our money, and his offer is brushed aside with our contempt. He will lose face with his shareholders, his board, and most of all, with his father. Old Petros will not easily forgive him for walking into our little trap.

‘And he has made other enemies. Once we have demonstrated that he is not fireproof, they too may move against him.’ He sighed gustily. ‘Our ultimate victory may be greater than we could hope for. And that is something our father would relish indeed. As you well know, sister.’

Yes, Natasha thought bitterly. Only too well. Where the Mandrakis family was concerned, Basilis too had seemed to abandon all logic and reason. He would never have forgone an opportunity to do them a serious mischief, if it had lain in his power.

But did it never occur to either Stavros or Andonis that what they had in mind might prove to be a double-edged sword, and that Alex Mandrakis might well have some similar plan?

Or did they believe they were the ones who were fireproof?

If so, she thought fatalistically, God help us all.

She said abruptly, ‘Very well. If there’s really no other way, give me the letter, and, for your father’s sake, I’ll sign.’

She paused. ‘But I still think it’s a truly terrible idea, and I hope it with all my heart that it won’t all end in tears.’

It wasn’t just that one letter, of course, she reflected later, as she lay in bed, listening to the soft swoosh of the ceiling fan above her. When it came down to it, there’d been a whole sheaf of documents relating to the refinancing that also required her signature, and she’d obeyed wearily, sitting at Basilis’s old desk in his former study, with Stavros and Andonis like twin sentinels fussily directing her pen.

Afterwards they’d been barely able to conceal their triumph at her capitulation, and she’d had no difficulty in refusing their offer to join them in the saloni for a celebratory drink, on the grounds that she had an early flight the next day and needed to get her rest.

Except that she couldn’t sleep, she thought, turning over and giving her inoffensive pillow a thump, as if that might improve the situation.

But her failure to relax had nothing to do with her physical surroundings. It was the nagging conviction that she’d just made a hideous mistake that was keeping her awake.

She wished with all her heart that she could go down to the study, retrieve the letter to Alex Mandrakis and destroy it. But it was locked away in the safe, along with the other documents, and she didn’t have the combination.

And telling the Papadimos brothers over breakfast that she’d changed her mind would make not an atom of difference, she thought bitterly. It was too late, and there was no way back.

What a pity, she thought wryly, that I can’t share Maria and Christina’s unswerving faith in their husbands’ perspicacity. In their belief that this ludicrous swindle has some outside chance of success.

She’d been almost tempted to confide in Thia Theodosia when she’d visited her on her way to bed. But she’d found the older woman lying on a couch, a book neglected in her lap, and gazing into space with eyes that seemed to see nothing but sadness, and she’d known at once that she could not add to her troubles.

So she’d sat with her for a while, bringing a smile to her lips with stories of some of Helping Out’s more eccentric clients, and then, as she’d always done, asking for her foster mother’s parting blessing.

But this time, she’d had an odd feeling that her request was prompted by more than mere convention. That, after the evening’s events, she needed all the protection she could get.

She felt almost as if she’d stepped through some barrier into an alternative universe, she told herself wryly, consoling herself that things would seem altogether better once she was back in England, and out of harm’s way, her debt to the Papadimos family finally paid.

London was her real world, she thought gratefully. The flat she shared with Molly while the latter’s fiancé was overseas, the company they were steadily building together, and now, of course, Neil.

Closing her eyes, she let herself reflect pleasurably and deliberately on Neil.

They’d met six weeks ago at a book-launch party for an author whose domestic life had been thrown into chaos when his pregnant wife had been taken into hospital with persistent high blood pressure, leaving him with two demanding older children, a total lack of catering skills and a fast-approaching deadline.

Natasha had moved in, restored order with a firm hand, and given the author the space he needed to finish his book, along with three meals a day. She’d also stayed on to help when the mother-to-be was eventually allowed home with strict orders to rest, and joined in the general rejoicings when seven-and-a-half-pound Nathan—‘The nearest we could get to Natasha for a boy’—had been safely born.

Neil was an executive with the PR company used by the publishers.

He was tall, distinctly attractive, effortlessly charming, and he’d made an unashamed beeline for her when she’d made a hesitant appearance in the doorway of the crowded room, looking round for James and Fiona.

He hadn’t haunted her side all evening, because he had work to do, but he’d sought her out again as she was leaving, asked for her card, and suggested they should have dinner some time.

Some time had proved to be the following night, she recalled, smiling into the darkness, and they’d been seeing each other regularly ever since.

‘So, is he the one?’ Molly had enquired teasingly only a few nights ago when Neil had brought Natasha home from the theatre, drunk the offered coffee as always, then taken his leave with the usual ruefulness. ‘Are you finally going to take that leap into the great unknown of sex?’

Natasha had flushed. ‘You think I’m mad to have kept him waiting this long, don’t you?’

‘Not altogether. “Treat ’em mean, keep ’em keen” would seem to be working in this case. And when it happens, he’ll know you really mean it.’ Molly allowed herself a small reminiscent smile. ‘But you’re far more hard-hearted than I was with Craig.’

‘Blame my sheltered upbringing,’ Natasha said lightly. ‘According to my Aunt Theodosia, sex before marriage does not exist. A girl’s innocence belongs to her husband, and no one else. Because any slips on the path of righteousness would only lead to misery, shame and despair.’

‘But the bride’s tough luck if she found out too late that the husband was lousy in bed,’ said Molly cynically.

Natasha shrugged. ‘How would she know?’ Her eyes danced. ‘Besides, Greek men are all fabulous lovers. Another belief I was taught in my formative years.’

‘Well, there’s a comfort,’ Molly said affably. ‘All the same, were you never tempted to test that interesting theory?’

‘No,’ Natasha returned with unnecessary emphasis as she carried the used cups into the kitchen. ‘Not even once.’

The sheet suddenly seemed to be tangling round her, and she pushed it away, sighing irritably, and got up from the bed. Her window was already slightly open in an attempt to capture some stray current of cool air, and she slid it back to its fullest extent, pushed open the shutters, and went out onto the balcony.

There wasn’t a breath of wind, however. The warmth of the night lay like a blanket across the city, and even the ceaseless noise of the Athenian traffic seemed muted as it warred against the rasp of the crickets in the garden below.

The moon was full, hanging in the sky like a great silver globe, almost close enough to touch, its radiance catching the cool shimmer of the swimming pool.

She looked down at it with sudden longing, feeling hot, sticky and frazzled. Each of the rooms in this part of the house had its own flight of steps to the pool area, but no one else had been drawn out into the open air. In fact, the shutters on each window were closed, and there wasn’t a glimmer of light showing, indicating that all the occupants were peacefully asleep.

Stelios, the security man whose task it was to patrol the perimeter wall, had gone past some fifteen minutes before, because she’d heard his soft footsteps and the subdued whine of his dog. He’d be safely back in his room now, drinking endless coffee, and keeping half an eye on the screens showing the film from the cameras positioned at each entrance, and at intervals round the outside of the wall. The rest of his attention would be devoted to whatever international sport was being shown on satellite TV.

Anyway, there was no camera covering the pool area. Maria and Christina had protested vociferously about any such thing, claiming it would be an intrusion into their sunbathing privacy. And Basilis had reluctantly given way.

So if she wanted to relax with a swim, there was nothing to prevent her.

Her mind made up, she fetched a towel from her shower-room, and made her way quietly down the marble steps and through the thickly encircling bushes and shrubs to the pool.

She dropped her towel onto its tiled surround, sent her nightgown to join it and stood naked for a moment, dipping an experimental foot into the water. Then, with a little sigh of pleasure, she slipped down into the cool depths, and swam a couple of slow, easy lengths before turning on her back and floating for a while, letting the stress of the evening ripple away in the moonlight that surrounded her.

Heaven, she thought, sighing softly as she swam back to the side, lifting herself out of the pool in one lithe movement. She twisted her hair into a thick rope, wringing the water from it, then shook it loose again before reaching for her towel and beginning to blot the moisture from her skin.

As she did so, it occurred to her that the noise from the city had become appreciably louder, and that was because the crickets were suddenly silent.

My fault probably, she thought, smiling to herself. I must have put them off their stroke.

And at the same moment, a first, faint breeze whispered through the tall, crowding shrubs, rustling their leaves and making her shiver as she pulled on her nightgown again.

She picked up her damp towel, and went swiftly and silently back to her room. The bed received her, and within minutes Natasha was deeply and dreamlessly asleep.

‘I’m sorry,’ Neil said. ‘I thought a weekend away together might be the next step for us, but I’ve clearly got things terribly wrong.’

‘No.’ Natasha reached across the table and put a placatory hand on his. ‘It’s not you—really it’s not. It’s me.’

‘Oh, God,’ he said, wincing. ‘Not that excuse, please.’ He looked at her broodingly. ‘Tasha, you haven’t been the same since you got back from that flying visit to Greece three weeks ago. You’ve been quiet—evasive, even. I haven’t been able to get near you. I thought that maybe some time away together, completely on our own, might get us back on track.’

‘It could. It will.’ She took a deep breath. ‘But you must know that I have…family problems. Serious ones.’

‘Shipping millionaires don’t have problems,’ he said. ‘They just buy another fleet of tankers.’

‘Unfortunately,’ Natasha said quietly, ‘in this case, the fleet being bought happens to be ours.’

She saw his brows lift, and nodded jerkily. ‘I’ve been reading hints in the business news for days now, and praying they weren’t true,’ she went on. ‘But this morning there was an unconfirmed report from Athens that a refinancing bid by the Papadimos brothers had failed, and both the Arianna line and the cargo ships have been acquired by an outfit called Bucephalus Holdings for some rock-bottom price.’

She groaned. ‘Oh, God, I knew it wouldn’t work. They thought they were being so clever, yet now they’re in a total mess, free-falling to nowhere. Their father must be turning in his grave. And why on earth didn’t they tell me what was happening instead of letting me read it in the papers?’

‘Probably too busy trying to save something from the wreckage,’ Neil suggested reasonably, then paused, frowning. ‘Bucephalus? Wasn’t that a famous horse?’

‘Yes,’ she said. She reached for her glass and took a substantial sip of wine. ‘It belonged to Alexander the Great.’

‘Who’s been dead for several thousand years,’ Neil pointed out. ‘His horse too. So hardly a threat.’

‘Unless he has a present-day counterpart,’ Natasha said grimly. ‘Or someone who thinks he is.’

‘Even so.’ He looked faintly puzzled. ‘Why should that affect you? I mean, I’m sorry your family’s suffered this awful loss, but you’ve always given the impression you never really wanted to be that involved in their business affairs anyway.’

‘I didn’t,’ she said shortly. ‘And now I won’t be, except, I suppose, for another trip to Athens for more damned paperwork. Although I can’t just turn my back and walk away, even then, because the only one who really concerns me in all this is Thia Theodosia. She’s going to be absolutely devastated. I’ve been trying to call the house today, but there’s no answer.’

‘Phone unplugged?’ Neil suggested. ‘Keeping the world at bay? You can hardly blame them.’

‘Don’t you believe it,’ said Natasha bitterly, and sighed. ‘Ah, well, there’s nothing that can be done now. It’s over.’

‘Not quite—if you have to go back to Greece at some point.’ He paused, adding gently, ‘But when that’s done, maybe we’ll have some time for each other.’

She realised how considerate he was trying to be, and how aloof she must have seemed recently, and made a conscious effort to shake away the troubling thoughts which had been crowding in on her—oppressing her—for weeks. Some of which she hadn’t dared consider too closely.

‘You can count on it,’ she said softly, and smiled at him.

The e-mail summoning her arrived a week later. It came from a firm of lawyers she’d never heard of, and advised her that her presence was required in Athens in order for the transaction with Bucephalus Holdings to be completed. It added that, on receipt of her flight details, she would be met at the airport.

Well, that was short and to the point, Natasha thought wryly, and quite unlike the other e-mails she’d been receiving from Stavros and Andonis, which were barrages of recrimination, accusation and self-justification. It took every scrap of patience she possessed to read them, let alone reply to them.

Everyone else’s fault, as usual, she thought wearily as she pressed the delete button on the most recent outpouring.

It was not lost on her either that her anxious queries about their mother were being totally ignored.

But when I’m there, she thought, I’ll be able to see for myself how she is.