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‘I left,’ she said, and it was as if wire were garrotting her throat, ‘because I had to appear as Sabine tonight.’
She was staring at him as if from very far away. Because I thought you’d had all you wanted from Sabine.
And he had, hadn’t he? That was the killing blow that struck her now. He’d had exactly what he’d wanted from Sabine because all he’d wanted was to separate her from Philip and to keep his money safe.
Behind the stone mask that was her face she was fracturing into a thousand pieces...
Her impassivity made him angry—the anger like ice water in his veins. ‘I’ll tell you how it will be,’ he said. ‘Philip will go back to Athens, safely out of your reach. And you—Sabine, Sarah, whoever the hell you are—will repay the twenty thousand euros that he paid into your bank account.’
Her eyes were still on him. They were as green and as hard as emeralds.
‘It wasn’t my bank account,’ she said.
Her voice was expressionless, but something had changed in her face.
A voice came from the doorway. ‘No,’ it said, ‘it was mine.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
SARAH’S EYES WENT to Max, standing in the doorway.
‘What the hell have you done?’ she breathed.
He got no chance to answer. Bastiaan’s eyes lasered him. ‘Are you claiming the account is yours? She went into that bank this afternoon.’
‘To pay in a cheque for three thousand euros my father had just sent me to help with the expenses of mounting the opera. I paid it directly into Max’s account.’
She was looking at Bastiaan, but there was no expression in her face, none in her voice. Her gaze went back to Max.
‘You took Philip for twenty thousand euros?’ There was emotion in her voice now—disbelief and outrage.
Max lifted his hands. ‘I did not ask for it, cherie. He offered.’
Bastiaan’s eyes narrowed. Emotion was coursing through him, but right now he had only one focus. ‘My cousin offered you twenty thousand euros?’
Max looked straight at him. ‘He could see for himself how we’re stretched for funding—he wanted to help.’ There was no apology in his voice.
Bastiaan’s eyes slashed back to Sarah. ‘Did you know?’
The question bit at her like the jaws of a wolf. But it was Max who answered.
‘Of course she didn’t know. She’d already warned me not to approach him.’
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‘And yet,’ said Bastiaan, with a dangerous silkiness in his voice, ‘you still did.’
Max’s eyes hardened. ‘I told you—he offered it without prompting. Why should I have refused?’ Something in his voice altered, became both defiant and accusing. ‘Are we supposed to starve in the gutter to bring the world our art?’
He got no answer. The world, with or without opera in it, had just changed for Bastiaan.
His eyes went back to Sarah. Her face was like stone. Something moved within him—something that was like a lance piercing him inside—but he ignored it. He flicked his eyes back to Max, then to Sarah again.
‘And the two hundred thousand euros my cousin now wishes to lavish on a fortunate recipient?’ Silk over steel was in his voice.
‘If he offered I would take it,’ said Max bluntly. ‘It would be well spent. Better than on the pointless toys that rich men squander their wealth on,’ he said, and there was a dry bitterness in his words as he spoke.
‘Except—’ Sarah’s voice cut in ‘—that is exactly what Philip is planning to do.’
