The amber eyes flicked over Claire then did the same to Andreas, who was standing beside her holding Melanie. And Claire knew the old lady was superimposing her own and her late husband’s image over the top of them as she did so.
‘Perfect,’ she sighed out in eventual satisfaction. ‘Except for the child, of course,’ she then added censoriously. ‘I would have been banished from the family and my dear Tito would have been whipped to within an inch of his life. Now, get me that soft cushion over there,’ she went on impatiently. ‘Place it on my knee then let me have my great-granddaughter.’
Eager now—almost greedy in her desire to hold the baby, Claire moved to her bidding, collecting the requested cushion and laying it on the old lady’s lap. With infinite care, Andreas followed it with Melanie, then they both straightened to watch as the bony fingers of her only useful hand gently touched Melanie’s cap of silky black hair then stroked her baby cheek.
As if she sensed a stranger around, Melanie’s eyes flicked open and stared directly into the wizened old face leaning over her. It was an electrifying moment, though Claire didn’t know why it felt like that. But a few seconds later Andreas’s grandmother lifted her eyes up to his, and static was suddenly sparking between them.
‘You devil,’ she said.
That brief grim smile of his appeared. ‘And you are just too shrewd for your own good sometimes,’ he replied.
Then they both went on speaking in their own language while Claire stood by, utterly lost to the conversation, though she was aware that it took the form of a very sharp questionandanswer session that seemed to be including her because the old lady kept on glancing sharply at her.
The inquisition was concluded with a final thoughtful glance in Claire’s direction and a brief nod of her head. ‘Now send Althea to me,’ the old lady commanded, and her attention was back on the baby lying wide awake now on her lap. ‘And leave me to get to know my great-granddaughter in peace.’
‘What was all that about?’ Claire dared to ask after they’d left his grandmother with Althea safely ensconced to watch over Melanie.
‘She likes to think she still has control over everything, you know that,’ he drawled dismissively.
‘She called you a devil.’ And she’d meant it, Claire thought frowningly.
‘Maybe I am,’ he replied in a light, mocking vein that nonetheless still made Claire feel that, like his grandmother, he was being serious.
She was missing something here; she knew she was; she just didn’t know what the something was.
Then Andreas was diverting her thoughts into a whole new area that completely dismissed everything else for a while. Because he took her to his study and produced a set of legal documents that were, he explained, a formal application to the British authorities for them both to legally adopt Melanie.
Yet another stage of his carefully thought out game-plan, she mused bleakly as she set her signature to each page as Andreas indicated. A game-plan that had gone very smoothly for him—if you didn’t count that one small glitch in the middle when he’d given in to his baser instincts and seduced one of the expendable pawns.
‘Don’t look so worried,’ he said. ‘This will strengthen your claim on Melanie, not weaken it. Trust me.’
Trust me…It was quite a request when she was already being plagued by a feeling that there were things going on here that she didn’t know about.
But then, expendable pawns did not necessarily need to know the overall plan of the main player, did they? she mocked herself. Or was she just overreacting and reading too much into light, throw-away remarks that probably held no hidden agenda?
It suited her better to believe the latter when she still had one last ordeal to get through—namely playing the happy bride throughout the rest of that day—for her own pride’s sake, because her pride needed to remedy the poor impression she had given of herself in front of these people the last time they’d been together like this.
Maybe Andreas was of a similar mind because he never left her side for a moment and played the attentive groom to the hilt. And slowly—slowly Claire began to feel comfortable with him again; she even laughed once or twice at some smoothly whispered remark he made in her ear about one of his relatives.
It was nice. She even discovered that she was actually enjoying herself.
As the day softened into evening, people relaxed at whitelinen-covered tables with champagne glasses chinking and the light-hearted conversation eddying softly all around.
The stars came out. Several tall torches mounted on wrought-iron stakes that had been driven into the lawn were lit to add yet another dimension to the rather seductive scene. Then, to top it all, a group of musicians arrived and set up in a shadowy corner of the garden. Classical Greek music began filtering into the evening air.
Without a word, Andreas drew Claire to her feet and walked her over to the terrace then pulled her gently into his arms. Feeling shy and self-conscious when everyone turned to watch them, she looked down at her plastered wrist, which felt very cumbersome suddenly, and wondered flusteredly where she was supposed to rest it while they danced.
He solved the problem for her, by lifting it up and around his nape as he set them moving slowly to the music. It brought her too close to his body—reminded her of when she had last placed her arm around his neck like this—and she tensed up accordingly.
‘Stop it,’ he murmured softly. ‘Don’t spoil it.’
Don’t spoil it…She reinforced that remark, and made herself relax, made herself ignore that warm, hard body brushing against her own as they moved. She made herself pretend that the butterflies were not going wild inside her stomach. And she refused to so much as flicker a fleeting glance at the shadowy mouth that only required her to raise her head a half inch for her own mouth to be in burning contact with it.
‘You make an enchanting and very lovely bride, Claire,’ his dark voice inserted into the silence between them. ‘Some day some man is going to be very fortunate to claim you as his prize.’
But not you, she made bleak note, understanding exactly why he felt the need to say that. He was reinforcing his position just in case she might be dreaming of a more romantic ending while she danced with him like this.
‘I’ll look forward to it,’ she replied, wishing that her response could cut him as deeply as his words had done to her.
If he reacted at all Claire never found out because at the same moment Lefka appeared at Andreas’s elbow, the look on her face enough to warn them that something was dreadfully wrong. Bending towards the housekeeper, Andreas listened to what she murmured in his ear. And, as Claire had witnessed many times during the short period she had known him, she saw his expression completely freeze.
‘What’s wrong?’ she demanded anxiously when Lekfa melted away again.
‘One moment,’ he said, no emotion, no warning of what was to come showing in his flattened voice as he glanced around the people present and eventually caught the eye of his uncle Grigoris. The older man came hurrying over. By then Claire was trembling, though she didn’t know why.
Andreas murmured something to Grigoris in Greek. The older man’s face dropped in dismay. ‘Take care of my wife for me,’ he then added in English. And, without making eye contact with her once since Lefka had come to him, he turned and disappeared into the house.
‘Please…’ She turned her anxiety on Grigoris. ‘What’s happened? Where has he gone? Is it Melanie?’ she then added on a sudden jolt of maternal anguish.
Grigoris shook his steely head, his dark eyes—usually full of laughter—looking unbearably sad. ‘It is Yaya,’ he murmured huskily.
Then, while Claire stood frozen herself as realisation began to wash coldly through her, Grigoris placed a hand around her waist for support and turned to the rest