AllFreeNovel
Share Us
And he hadn’t. It was only when he’d discovered his father’s illness was terminal that he’d been persuaded to consider marrying again. Ariadne was the perfect candidate: she was single, she was Greek and his mother approved of her.
A paved forecourt fronted the cluster of buildings that comprised barns and garages as well as his parents’ home. Ariadne brought the car to a halt and turned off the engine. But when Theo sprang out and Demetri made to open his door, her hand on his arm arrested him.
‘Wait,’ she said huskily. ‘Talk to me, Demetri. Tell me you haven’t changed your mind.’
Demetri stared at her, the lights that encircled the courtyard illuminating the anxious expression in her dark eyes. ‘Changed my mind?’ he echoed, suddenly feeling horribly guilty. He put out his hand and cupped her cheek. ‘Sweetheart, whatever gave you that idea?’
CHAPTER FOUR
WELL, she was pregnant.
Trying to think pragmatically, Jane took a deep breath and pushed the cartridge she’d been examining back into her bag. It was the third positive reaction she’d had in the last two weeks, and, however much she tried to persuade herself that these tests could be faulty, even she didn’t believe it could happen three times in a row.
Dammit!
Smudging back a tear, she sniffed ferociously. How could it have happened? She’d been so sure that when she and Demetri had made—had had sex, she amended, fiercely, her monthly cycle had been too far along for her to conceive. She’d always been so regular in the past. Though she had to admit that when they were living together, she hadn’t left anything to chance.
In the beginning, they’d both agreed that having children could wait. For a year or two, at least. And because Jane wanted to go on working, Demetri had opened a small gallery for her in the town of Kalithi itself. It had meant that she’d been able to keep in contact with Olga, who’d been happy to exchange antiquities and paintings with her erstwhile student.
It had all worked very well, and because she owned the gallery Jane had been able to accompany Demetri on his business trips whenever she chose. It had seemed an idyllic existence, and she’d never been happier.
But then Ianthe had revealed she was pregnant, and her whole house of cards had come tumbling down about her ears. Jane hadn’t been able to forgive Demetri for betraying her, her only relief in the knowledge that they had no children to suffer the break-up of their parents’ marriage.
She sighed. If she was honest, she’d have to admit that taking precautions hadn’t figured too highly in her thoughts when Demetri had kissed her. The sensual brush of his tongue had banished all other thoughts from her head. She’d wanted him, she acknowledged, just as much as he’d wanted her. It had been far too easy to convince herself that he wasn’t just using her for his own ends.
It wasn’t until two weeks later, when she still hadn’t had her period, that she’d even considered the alternative. And even then it had been hard to believe that that reckless consummation had had such a result. It was five weeks now since Demetri had come to her apartment. She’d already received notification that he’d contacted his solicitors about the divorce. Dear God, what was she going to do?
The appearance of her employer forced her to shelve the problem for the moment. Although Olga Ivanovitch was almost seventy, she strode into Jane’s office at the gallery with all the vitality of a much younger woman. A Russian Jew, whose parents had been living in Germany just before the last war, she and her family had fled to England. It was her father who’d founded the gallery, but Olga who had made it a success, moving the premises from Croyden to their present enviable position in the West End.
In long skirts and with a cloak floating freely about her tall generous figure, she looked a little like an ageing flower-child, Jane thought. But Olga had been her mentor, taking her on when all Jane had to commend her was a degree in fine arts from a redbrick university and an enthusiasm Olga had recognised that matched her own.
Now Olga brushed back her mane of incongruously red hair and said impatiently, ‘Did he come?’ And, although she’d lived in England long enough to have mastered the language completely, her accent still remained for artistic effect.
‘He came,’ agreed Jane, knowing at once who Olga was talking about. A famous collector of antiquities had expressed an interest in the set of bronzes Jane had brought back from Bangkok. He’d promised to call at the gallery that morning to examine them again and make his decision.
‘And?’ Olga couldn’t hide her excitement.
‘He bought them,’ Jane responded drily. ‘He wants them packed and delivered by courier to his home in Suffolk.’
