expect she thought it was the most challenging part,’ she answered lightly. ‘Playing against type.’
His response was ‘Yes, very probably,’ and then he made a comment about another of the cast. As they walked out onto the pavement, the chilly air hitting her, he guided her towards the left.
‘I do hope,’ she heard him say, ‘that you will agree to having a post-theatre dinner with me? I find that an evening performance is never best timed to eat either before or after.’
She felt her arm being taken. Not in a possessive way, let alone in any kind of intimate way, but simply lightly, cupping her elbow to guide her along the pavement. Guiding her where he wanted her to go.
For a moment she felt she ought to refuse, then she gave a mental shrug. She was hungry, and since she’d already gone to the theatre with him what harm would there be in going on to a restaurant? Besides, she wanted to talk about the play, and if she just went home there would be no one to talk to.
There never was, apart from Ian.
A pang went through her but she thrust it aside. She was lucky—beyond lucky!—to have Ian in her life now, and as for making friends in London—well, that was entirely up to her. She would volunteer for a charity, start up exercise classes, possibly evening classes as well—why not? And she’d soon have friends here—of course she could. She had a brand-new life, courtesy of Ian, and she would make the very most of it.
The restaurant Athan Teodarkis took her to was only a short walk from the theatre. It wasn’t, she was glad to see, either a very crowded, popular one, or a quiet, intimate one. There were a fair number of other diners there, but the lighting was not conducive to romantic dining à deux, and she felt reassured. Post-theatre seduction was evidently not, thank goodness, on her escort’s mind.
All that was on his mind, it seemed, was ordering from the menu, choosing wine, and then being perfectly prepared to discuss the production they’d just seen.
‘I have to admit,’ he opined, having nodded to the sommelier to fill their glasses and taken an appreciative mouthful of the wine, ‘that the play did irritate me in respect of the sisters’ endless preoccupation with wanting to go to Moscow but never going. I kept finding myself wanting to shout Just buy a train ticket!’
Marisa gave the requisite smile in response, but then said ruminatively, ‘But if you’re not used to travel, and you’ve always lived in one place, then going to a big city can be very daunting.’
Athan’s eyes rested on her a moment. ‘You sound like you speak from experience?’
‘Well, yes, I do. Up until recently I’d never left Devon. It sounds odd, in this day and age, but I’d never been to London.’ It was an admission she suddenly felt unsure about making, as if revealing it might put him off her. But it didn’t seem to.
‘What made you come here?’ His voice was neutral.
She gave a little shrug. ‘Oh, wanting to see the bright lights and so on. Usual reasons, really.’
The nonchalance in her voice did not deceive him. Yet he found himself unable to decide what was the cause of it. On the most cynical interpretation it could be, a blithe glossing over of an ambition to come up to London and catch the attention of a wealthy man … just as she had with his brother-in-law. But he had to acknowledge it might also be, simply because she felt that being seen as a country girl didn’t go with her sophisticated image.
Not that she was presenting a sophisticated image tonight, he also had to acknowledge. He’d been unable to suppress a flicker of slight surprise when he’d first set eyes on her and taken in her outfit for the evening. Demure had been the word that came to his mind, and it was an odd one for a female who was happy for a married man to lavish his money on her.
Once again he felt a flicker of emotion go through him. He was glad she hadn’t taken the opportunity to dress to kill this evening, to attempt openly to wow him. Instead, the fact that she was playing down her natural beauty was, he realised, really quite appealing …
He made another comment about the performance, drawing another response in kind from her, and by the time their first course arrived he was aware that he was, against his expectations, enjoying talking to her. Her views were intelligent and informed, and she revealed a sensitivity to the play’s characters’ various dilemmas that showed she understood the complexities of their situations—even that of the sisters’ feckless brother.
‘I suppose the brother is the least sympathetic character,’ she was saying, ‘though I suppose one has to allow that he made a disastrous marriage and make some excuses for him.’
Athan stilled. ‘Does an unhappy marriage excuse bad behaviour?’ He knew there was nothing audible in his voice other than dispassionate enquiry. His mouth, however, had tightened. However insightful she might be about Chekov, it didn’t blind him to the fact that she was still in the dock about the way she chose to live her private life.
‘Sometimes, perhaps,’ Marisa said slowly. ‘The second sister, Masha, wouldn’t have had an affair if she’d been happily married, would she?’
‘And that exonerates her, does it?’
Now the edge was audible in his voice, and Marisa looked across at him.
‘I think it depends on each individual situation,’ she said.
There was a shadow in her eyes as she spoke, and Athan did not miss it.
So, was that what she was telling herself? he thought. That Ian Randall was unhappily married, so that gave him—and her—carte blanche to have an affair?
‘Do you think Masha’s husband was right to forgive her?’ His question was blunt.
‘Well, divorce was probably impossible in those days, wasn’t it? He would just have to make the best of things, I guess.’
Athan reached for his wine. ‘Ah, yes, divorce—a very convenient option.’
Marisa looked at him. ‘But not one that’s always taken,’ she said.
She looked away again. This wasn’t a subject she wanted to discuss. It was too close, too painful, and the arrival of their main course was a welcome interruption.
As the waiters departed she picked up her knife and fork and said, deliberately seeking a new topic, ‘What brings you to London?’
Her voice was bright and enquiring. Glancing at her, realising she was deliberately steering him away from a subject that was obviously too close to the bone for her, Athan momentarily wondered how she would react if he told her the truth: I’m here to stop you having an adulterous affair with Ian Randall … my brother-in-law.
Instead, of course, he responded in a similar vein to her conversational opening.
‘Unlike the three sisters, I travel extensively for my work. I’m primarily based in Athens, but the company is international and travel goes with the ticket.’
A wistful look entered her eyes. ‘That must be wonderful,’ she said.
He gave a mordant smile. ‘It can get tedious,’ he answered. ‘One airport is very much like another in the end—and offices are very similar wherever in the world they are.’
‘Yes, I suppose it palls after a while.’
He looked at her speculatively. ‘Why don’t you try it some time—travel? If you’ll excuse me saying so, you have the means to do so, don’t you?’
Living in a Holland Park flat as she did, wearing the expensive closthes she did, it was a reasonable assumption for him to make—assuming, of course, he didn’t know that she was not a free agent and that her accommodation and wardrobe were provided by a lover who was London-based and would want to keep his mistress close by and not gadding about abroad.
Her response confirmed