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Rosie reached the bedroom door on wobbling legs.
‘Can you type?’ Constantine enquired without warning and it was as if the previous conversation had not taken place.
’T-type?’ Rosie stammered helples
sly.
‘Take dictation?’ he prompted impatiently. ‘The fewer people who are in on this arrangement the better... but it’s bloody inconvenient not to have my personal staff around.’
‘I don’t type or take dictation,’ Rosie breathed through rigidly compressed lips.
Constantine angled a scathing, unsurprised glance over her slight, stiff-as-a-board figure. ‘But I bet you’d be a rousing success at climbing cutely onto any middle-aged employer’s lap.’
CHAPTER FOUR
AN HOUR later, Taki having delivered an embarrassingly unimpressive plastic carrier bag to the bedroom, Rosie turned from her incredulous examination of what Maurice had packed on her behalf and reached immediately for the phone.
‘Are the contents of this bag supposed to be a joke, Maurice?’ Rosie demanded, threading outraged fingers through the diaphanous nightdress, the silky little rasp-berry-coloured slip dress and sheer tights. Three-inch-heeled strappy velvet shoes and the box of make-up that had been a Christmas gift from his sister completed the collection of impractical items. Naturally there was neither a change of underwear nor a toothbrush included.
‘It’s your wedding night. I thought you might want to dress up.’
‘Ha, ha,’ Rosie gritted, unamused.
‘Has Voulos asked you to sign anything yet?’ Maurice prompted worriedly.
‘Not even the hotel register.’
‘I think he knew a pre-nuptial contract mightn’t be worth the paper it was written on if it ever came before a British court but he’s sure to try and get you to sign something surrendering any financial claim on him. On the other hand,’ Maurice mused, ‘should the Press get to hear about the marriage, his goose would be fairly cooked.’
‘Maurice, I’m very fond of you but right at this minute I am thoroughly ashamed of your greed!’ Rosie spelt out angrily, and slammed down the receiver.
She called Room Service and a menu was delivered. She wasn’t very hungry but she put in as much time as possible working her way through a pot of tea and a plate of chicken sandwiches. As a rule she never watched much television and she paced the floor in growing boredom and resentment, an unappreciative audience to the buzz of the fax and the stream of constant phone calls in the next room.
By seven, she was ready to go stir-crazy and wondering why she was allowing him to intimidate her into remaining hidden in the suite. What did it matter if anyone saw her downstairs alone? They would hardly be surprised. Her pretend bridegroom was patently a selfish, insensitive workaholic.
An utterly hateful, bad-tempered swine too, Rosie reflected fierily as she freshened up in the bathroom and reached for the sheer tights. The heart-stopping looks of a dark angel crossed with the temperament of a snarling beast. So brutally sarcastic as well. He never missed a chance to put her down.
Lack of physical size had always meant that Rosie’s tongue was her first line of defence. She was furiously conscious that for a few minutes in that room next door Constantine had overpowered her with the smooth, ricocheting speed and force of his derisive attacks. She hadn’t made a single dent in that tough hide of his! No, she had gone into retreat. And yet here she was, doing him a huge favour for free, and what thanks was she getting for it?
Well, tomorrow morning, when she tore up his precious cheque in front of him, she would be the party holding the moral high ground then, wouldn’t she? Rosie tilted her chin as she added a little colour to her lips and experimented with a touch of shadow on her eyelids. When she opened the door a crack, Constantine was talking in cold, quelling tones on the phone.
‘Tomorrow isn’t good enough,’ he was saying with icy precision. ‘When I say move, I expect a sprint, not a soft-shoe shuffle.’
Rosie peeped out, saw him poised with his back to the room, tiptoed along the wall and crept out as quietly as a mouse. In the corridor, she ignored his hovering security men and calmly slipped on her shoes while inwardly wincing at the sound of Taki’s harsh cough. However, when she stepped into the lift, the young security man stepped in behind her. And when she strolled into the low-lit, intimate bar on the ground floor he was still tailing her.
Well, at least his presence would save her from the boredom of having to pretend to read the glossy hotel brochure she had brought down with her, she reflected ruefully. She had planned to look occupied lest some cruising predatory male see her solitary state as some kind of invitation.
Every male head in the bar turned to follow her elegant passage. Titian curls rioted round the perfect oval of her face. Shoestring straps curved over smooth white shoulders, the raspberry silk flowing fluidly against slender curves, the hem caressing surprisingly long and shapely legs. Rosie selected a seat. Taki hailed a waiter and then went off into another choking bout of coughing.
‘You should be in bed.’ Rosie flicked the young Greek a look of grudging sympathy as she noted the feverish flush on his cheekbones. ‘But I bet you’d have to go into convulsions and drop dead before Constantine would notice.’
Shivering, he frowned, his grasp of English clearly of the basic variety, and then he started coughing again and spluttering what sounded like a croaking apology. Rosie groaned, ‘Oh, for goodness sake, sit down! You need a hot whisky with cloves in it. That should clear your head and help you to sleep.’
He slumped hesitantly down on a chair, regarding her with bashful, bemused eyes. Rosie ordered a double for him and urged him to drink it all down. He shook his curly dark head uncertainly.
‘Drink it!’ Rosie commanded with force.
He was much more obedient than Constantine. Indeed after that one drink Taki became astonishingly garrulous, but since he was talking in his own language Rosie couldn’t understand a word. She suspected that might be just as well. A look of intense admiration now glowed in the young Greek’s befuddled stare.
