‘Well, if they can’t, no one can,’ she retorted grimly. ‘He’s a Thiarchos, Beth. Surely even you’ve heard of Constantine Thiarchos! As in oil—and shipping, and God knows what else!’
Beth pulled herself together. ‘I—didn’t think,’ she mumbled, not altogether truthfully. But she hadn’t put the two names together. ‘How—how did it happen?’
‘His car hit a tree.’
Beth frowned. ‘Well, why would you think—–?’
‘He was the only person in the car, Beth.’ Justine was sounding impatient again. ‘And it was broad daylight, for heaven’s sake! He was a good driver. From what Mike says, he could handle that sports car of his like a professional.’
‘Even so—–’
‘Oh, I know. It will probably be treated as an accident. These things usually are. But Mike saw what happened, and he doesn’t—–’
‘Mike saw it!’
‘Yes.’ Justine sighed. ‘It only happened an hour ago. Near Founder’s Hall. That’s why I thought—Beth, are you all right? You sound—well, funny.’
‘I’m fine.’ Beth was relieved to hear that her voice sounded almost normal. She tried to think coherently. ‘So—what happens now?’
‘Well, there’ll have to be an inquest, of course. And his family will have to be informed. I believe his father lives in London. I imagine he’ll be coming to arrange everything.’
Beth nodded. ‘Poor Linda.’
‘Yes. I expect it’s pretty awful for her. They say they were really close. Not that his family would approve. People like the Thiarchoses don’t marry girls like her.’
‘Why?’
Beth tried to focus on the least horrifying aspect of the affair, and Justine made a scornful sound. ‘Darling, we’re too old to believe in all that romantic stuff. Let’s face it, it was just a college infatuation. He’d have left this summer, and they’d have never seen one another again.’
Beth pushed herself somewhat wearily to her feet. ‘I suppose you’re right.’
‘You know I am.’ Justine sounded irritatingly smug. ‘Now, how about you joining Mike and me for supper? I know it’s short notice, but I think we could all use a little company tonight.’
Beth hesitated, but the thought of preparing a lonely meal for one had lost some of its appeal. She didn’t want to be alone tonight. She didn’t want to think about Tony Thiarchos. She didn’t want to remember that without his grumbling about not being able to attend his cousin’s birthday party she’d never have conceived the idea of gatecrashing the event. He’d been inadvertently responsible for her present condition; for her meeting Alex Thorpe—and that was something else she didn’t want to think about …
ALEX’S fingers felt numb.
They shouldn’t have felt numb, he thought irritably, wondering how he could feel so cold on such a warm day. It was absurdly warm for May in England. But the chill he was feeling came from deep within himself.
He wanted to put his hands in his pockets, but standing beside his son’s grave with his hands in his pockets seemed disrespectful somehow. Not that Tony would have reproached him. His son had always been complaining about his father’s concern for doing the right thing.
Well, he wasn’t doing the right thing now, Alex thought bitterly, watching his son’s casket being lowered into a grave in an English churchyard. Tony’s grandfather had wanted—had demanded—that Alex bring Anthony’s body back to Greece for burial. Constantine had wanted his grandson laid to rest beside his wife and his mother, but Alex had ignored him. It was a small thing, a small rebellion, but Tony would defeat his grandfather in death as he had never done in life.
Besides, there was the girl to deal with. Tony’s wife, if that incredible scrap of paper was to be believed. Was she the reason his son had crashed his car? Because Tony had been afraid to tell his father and his grandfather he’d married without their consent?
Alex’s jaw hardened. He couldn’t believe that was so. It was too easy. Too simple a solution for something that surely had a deeper significance. But what? He had racked his brain trying to come up with an answer. He had hoped the girl could tell him. Linda. He tried out the name on his tongue. Linda Daniels—no, Linda Thiarchos. His lips twisted. His daughter-in-law!
The service was ending. Bending to scatter a handful of soil over the mahogany casket, Alex felt a crippling sense of pain. God, he wished he had someone he could turn to right at this moment. Even Lucia—though she was far away in South America, too wrapped up with her new life, and her new family, to spare the time to attend her eldest son’s funeral.
Besides, it was a maudlin wish. He and Lucia had never had anything in common—except their son—and their marriage had ended, as it had begun, in acrimony. Something else he had to thank his father for, he thought wearily. And if he thought Constantine had had a hand in this …
He straightened and, as he did so, his eyes were riveted by the sight of a tall slim woman, standing behind, and to one side, of his son’s wife. He blinked once, twice, and then shook his head, as if the tumult of his emotions had caused some blurring of his vision. But no. She was still there. Across the grave. Her hand resting lightly on the girl’s shoulder, as if offering silent support.
He looked down at the ground, incapable of believing that she was actually there. That Elizabeth Ryan was standing at the other side of the grave. And now, conversely, he hoped she hadn’t recognised him. It was obvious his name meant nothing to her. Alexander Thiarchos was a far cry from plain old Alex Thorpe.
But his fear that she might recognise him had nothing to do with who he was. On the contrary, in the past three months, he had used all the means at his disposal to try and find her. And that had meant employing the whole weight of the Thiarchos name to get a result. But it had been for nothing. As of this morning, he had been no nearer to discovering where she was or why she’d disappeared.
No, his fear now was that she might recognise him, and disappear again. And he wanted to know where she had been hiding. Needed to know, with an intensity that had bordered on the insane sometimes. It wasn’t just that such a thing had never happened to him before— though it hadn’t. No, he was furious that she had treated him like a fool.
He chanced another glance in her direction, keeping his head lowered, looking at her through the dark veil of his lashes. Yes, that was Elizabeth Ryan all right, if indeed that was her name. Good God, after all the money he had spent on private investigators, that she should turn up at his son’s funeral. Who the hell was she? What was she doing here?
The ironic thing was, he’d never once thought of calling his son and asking him if he knew her. It would have been difficult anyway, and it hadn’t occurred to him that Tony might know who she was. Perhaps he hadn’t. Perhaps she was just a friend of Linda’s. After all, both Nick and Christina had denied they’d ever invited her to the party.
‘Mr Thiarchos …’
The priest was at his shoulder, offering him his condolences, and Alex was obliged to lift his head to give his thanks. But he turned, so that the priest stood between him and the two women, as he exchanged a few words with the mourners, before they all trooped to their cars.
His brother, George, was there, of course, with his wife, Simone, and their two sons, Nick and George Junior. There were uncles and aunts, a whole army of cousins, and numerous other relatives and friends, who regarded any ceremony, happy or sad, as a reason for getting together.
Only his father was absent. Ostensibly, Constantine was recovering from a cold, but Alex knew the old man had stayed away, in the