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She spoke more about the upcoming party. The lights, the drinks, the people who were coming... And Costa attempted to carry on the conversation as he tried to work out the enigma called Mary who sat beside him as his mother chatted on.
Mary’s pained features in the pool were flashing in his mind. Had he hurt her? Wrongly assumed they had been driven by mutual desire? And what the hell was she playing at?
‘Are you listening, Costa...?’
Yolanda pulled him back to her party issues.
‘Nemo is sulking because of course I need him to work tomorrow. He’s head of security,’ she explained to Mary, ‘so I need him on duty. Honestly, the trouble of mixing business and pleasure.’
‘Indeed,’ Costa said, and hoped Mary knew that one was aimed at her.
‘Can you speak to him, please?’ Yolanda said. ‘He should be doing his checks soon.’
‘Sure.’
‘And then there’s poor Roula...’ Yolanda continued, and looked over to Mary. ‘I’m so sorry to bring her up in front of you, but better out than in—especially with my party tomorrow...’
‘It’s fine.’ Mary smiled, clearly rather grateful that Costa had given her a heads-up on that.
‘She is so low at the moment, Costa. She smiles and laughs, but I can tell there is something troubling her.’
‘Am I to speak to her too?’ Costa checked, tongue firmly in cheek. ‘Should we set up a little counselling tent for me at your party, so any disgruntled staff can drop in?’
‘Costa!’ Yolanda laughed at the very idea, but then she looked serious. ‘I’m sure it’s not a work issue.’
‘Then it has nothing to do with me.’
‘I’m not so sure...’
‘We never even dated,’ Costa snapped. ‘We were kids when you all cooked up our future.’ He was so fed up with hearing it, and also annoyed at his mother for her lack of tact. ‘And what the hell are you doing bringing it up now?’
‘Costa...’
It was a quiet warning. Only it wasn’t his mother who’d warned him he’d gone too far. Instead, it was quiet little Mary Jones from London! What had happened to her hanging off his arm and being kissed on demand?
He shot her a look to remind her of her role.
Mary didn’t see it; she was digging in her bag and trying to resume niceties. ‘I got this for you, Yolanda...’
She handed over the first ever bottle of perfume she had bought, blushing at the clearly last-minute nature of her gift, but glad it had come beautifully wrapped.
‘But it’s not my birthday until Sunday.’
‘I know. This is just to thank you for welcoming me.’
‘Mary!’ Yolanda beamed as she opened it, and then squirted it in the air and inhaled. ‘I love it!’
She squirted it on her neck and her wrists, and then jokingly on a clearly sulking Costa, who rolled his eyes but, obviously used to his mother’s ways, just put up with it.
‘See what Mary got for me.’
She turned eyes like silver headlamps to Mary then, and looked at her properly for the first time. She and Costa had the same stunning eyes—in colour only, though. Yolanda’s were far less guarded and, unlike Costa’s, Yolanda’s eyes, though suspicious, were open-hearted.
‘Enough about Roula. Costa is right—how rude of me to bring her up in front of you. So, Mary, how long have you been dating my son?’
‘A couple of months.’ She smiled and hoped she’d got that part right.
‘And have your parents met him, or am I the first?’
