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Well, perhaps, thought Nikos, striding off, in a place like this it made sense to conduct job interviews outdoors. He looked around him, his expression grim. However necessary such places were, they could hardly be cheerful places to work, in any capacity. Physical strength was probably a necessity too, he surmised, and Sophie hardly fitted the bill on that. She had looked as fragile as bone china when she’d stood in that slum she had to call home. His expression grew grimmer. The discovery of just how poverty-stricken her circumstances were had shocked him—the reason for them even more so.
Discomforting thoughts crowded his mind. Thoughts he did not want to think. About everything that had happened to her since he had thrown her from him that fatal night four years ago.
He reached the door the receptionist had indicated and stepped through. Beyond was a paved area with a lawn. It was secluded, but spacious, bordered by flowerbeds and ornamental shrubs, all very manicured. It must cost money to be here. Yet, however good the amenities, it was not a place one could ever want to spend time. How could it be?
He scanned the garden, looking past the occupants with a sombre countenance. Then, at the far side of the lawn, standing beside a wooden bench, he saw her. He arrowed his gait, making straight for his target, ignoring everything else but her. She did not see him coming, was absorbed in her conversation—her interview?—with a woman who was clearly a member of staff. Then the woman nodded and turned away, heading in a different direction, and in that instant Sophie saw him.
She could feel herself going faint. She must be hallucinating. It could not be—could not be!—Nikos, striding across the lawn towards her. What was he doing here?
How had he even known where she was going? She hadn’t thought she was likely to be able to get here today, but because the Job Centre had only been able to steer her towards evening work, she had seized the unexpected opportunity to come.
Nikos must have followed her here—it was the only explanation.
But why? Why would he do such a thing? For what purpose? Surely he’d said everything he’d wanted to say already—or else why leave her the way he had when she’d asked him to go? Nikos Kazandros was not a man who obeyed orders unless he wanted to.
Numbly, she faced him as he came up to her.
‘Job interview over?’ His enquiry was civil, but his eyes were veiled, as if he had spoken merely to mask his true question.
She looked at him blankly, unable to answer. Her mind was reeling.
I can’t take any more of this—I just can’t.
Mental and emotional exhaustion numbed her. His eyes were boring into her, like nails. She wanted to shut her eyes, shut him out, but she couldn’t. Why was he persecuting her like this? Why?
‘Nikos…’ Her voice was like a thread. ‘I can’t take any more.’ Her words were an echo of her thoughts. ‘I can’t.’
She wanted to blink him out of existence, because it was unbearable that he should be here.
He ignored her words. His eyes only flicked briefly around, taking in the scene, his expression controlled. ‘You are seriously considering working here?’ he put to her.
She opened her mouth to answer, but stayed her voice. Her head turned instead. Nikos followed her line of sight. Someone was approaching. As they came near, he could feel the blood drain from his face.
Thee mou—
The recognition was instant—the shock like a shot to his lungs.
Sophie was going forward, greeting the arrival. Her voice was soft, emotion trembling in it. ‘Hello, Dad,’ she said.
As if frozen, Nikos watched the hunched figure in the wheelchair being steered by a nurse. He raised his sunken head with visible difficulty, his gaze seeking Sophie with hazy effort. She went forward and stooped to kiss him tenderly on his cheek.
‘I got the afternoon off,’ she said to him, with the same soft, tender note in her voice, ‘so I’ve come to see you. How are you today?’
It was the nurse who answered—the same woman Nikos had seen talking to Sophie a moment earlier.
‘All the better for seeing you—isn’t that right?’ She addressed her patient for corroboration, and Nikos watched him making a slow nod. A word came from his lips, low, and enunciated with obvious difficulty.
‘Sophie.’
It was a single word, but there was a lifetime of love in it.
Nikos felt the cords of his throat contract, and could only stand, motionless, while Sophie sat herself down on the bench, the wheelchair positioned right beside it, so she could take the inert hand lying on her father’s lap.
The nurse glanced at Nikos. ‘You’ve got an extra visitor today, Mr Granton,’ she said. Her voice had a note of professional, determined cheerfulness in it. Nikos knew why. Anyone whose task it was to care for patients in such a condition had to be relentlessly upbeat—or they would be unable to carry on.
