In Petrakis's Power. Maggie Cox

Where is the office we’re going to?’

      ‘Westminster.’

      ‘Not far away, then. Well, you’d better go and get ready, too. Do you need anything ironed?’

      Getting to his feet and digging his hands deep into the capacious pockets of his dressing gown, her father seemed completely nonplussed by the question.

      Taking in a consciously deep breath to calm her disquiet, Natalie asked, ‘Do you want me to come with you and check?’

      ‘No, darling, it’s fine. I’m wearing my best Savile Row suit, and my one ironed shirt has been hanging in the wardrobe ready ever since I got the call that the meeting was today.’

      ‘Good.’ Giving him an approving smile, Natalie stole a brief glance at the fashionably utilitarian stainless-steel clock on the wall. ‘We’d better get our skates on, then. We don’t want to be late.’

      ‘For the execution, you mean?’ His grimace, clearly tinged with bitterness and regret, had never looked more pained. Yet the comment also contained a hint of ironic humour.

      ‘I know it must be hard for you to contemplate letting go of the business that you put your heart and soul into to building,’ she sympathised, ‘but maybe this could be an exciting new start for you. An opportunity to put your energies into something else … something a little less taxing that you could manage more easily. Even the direst situations can have a silver lining.’

      ‘And how am I going to start another business if I have barely a penny to my name?’

      ‘Is running a business the only way you can earn a living?’

      ‘That’s all I know how to do.’ Exhaling a leaden sigh, her father drove his fingers exasperatedly through his already mussed silver hair.

      Struggling with her personal sense of frustration at not being able to find an instant solution that would cheer him and give him some hope, Natalie dropped her hands to hips clad in the pyjama bottoms and T-shirt she’d borrowed from him to wear to bed and thought hard.

      ‘What if we ask this Petrakis if he could extend some humanitarian understanding and pay you a reasonable sum for the business? After all, if you say he has a reputation for being able to turn dirt into diamonds then surely he must know that he’s bound to make another fortune from your hotel chain? What would it hurt for him to pay you a fairer price?’

      ‘Sweetheart … I don’t mean this unkindly, but you know very little about men like Petrakis. How do you think he acquired his considerable fortune? It wasn’t from taking a humanitarian approach to making money! Whatever you say to him, however impassioned or eloquent your argument, it would be like water off a duck’s back.’

      Natalie’s grey eyes flashed angrily. ‘And that’s how the business world measures success these days, is it? Someone is only thought of as successful if he’s single-mindedly ruthless in his dealings and doesn’t give a fig about the psychological damage he might cause to anyone—not even a fellow entrepreneur who’s down on his luck—just as long as he can get what he wants?’

      Breathing hard, she knew how much she already despised the Greek billionaire even though she hadn’t even set eyes on him yet. But there was also something else on her mind. If this meeting with Petrakis was too devastating for her dad—and she’d certainly be able to tell if it was—then she couldn’t abandon him later on tonight to go and have dinner with the enigmatic Ludo. Even though she’d barely been able to cease thinking about the man since meeting him on the train yesterday …

      ‘Apparently that is the case. But don’t distress yourself by being angry on my behalf, love. I know I asked you to come with me for moral support, but this isn’t your battle. It’s mine. Now, I think we’d better go and get ourselves ready.’

      Giving a resigned shrug, her father turned on his heel. With a heavy tread he made his way down the varnished wood-panelled hall to his bedroom, as if carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

      ‘Ludovic … how are you? Traffic’s bloody awful out there today. Everything’s moving at a snail’s pace.’

      Ludo had been staring out of the window of his plush Westminster office, hardly registering anything on the road outside because his mind was fixed on one thought and one thought only. Tonight he was meeting the exquisite Natalie for dinner. He closed his eyes. For just a few short seconds he could imagine himself becoming entranced by the still, crystal-clear lake of her gaze all over again, and could conjure up the alluring scent of her perfume as easily as if she were standing right next to him. It was impossible to recall the last time he’d had this sense of excited anticipation fluttering in the pit of his stomach at the prospect of seeing a woman again … if it had ever happened at all. So, when the booming voice of his public-school-educated lawyer Stephen Godrich unexpectedly rang out behind him he was so immersed in his daydream that he almost jumped out of his skin.

      With a wry smile he pivoted, immediately steering his mind back into work mode. There would be time for more fantasies about the lovely Natalie later, after they’d met for dinner, Ludo was sure.

      Automatically stepping forward to shake the other man’s hand, he privately noted that the buttons on the bespoke suit jacket he wore had about as much hope of meeting over his ever-expanding girth as Ludo had of winning the Men’s Final at Wimbledon … An impossibility, of course, seeing as polo was his sport of choice, and not tennis.

      ‘Hello, Stephen. You’re looking well … in fact so well I fear I must be paying you too much,’ he joked.

      The other man’s pebble-sized blue eyes, almost consumed by the generous flesh that surrounded them, flickered with momentary alarm. Quickly recovering, he drew out a large checked handkerchief from his trouser pocket and proceeded to mop the perspiration that glazed his brow.

      ‘Being an inveterate lover of fine dining definitely has its price, my friend,’ he remarked, smiling. ‘I know I should be more self-disciplined, but we all have our little peccadillos, don’t we? Anyway … do you mind if I ask if your client has arrived yet?’

      Glancing down at the platinum Rolex that encircled his tanned wrist, Ludo frowned. ‘I’m afraid not. It looks like he may well be late. While we’re waiting for him I’ll get Jane to make us some coffee.’