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‘OK,’ she said tersely. ‘Let’s go into the sitting room. I can’t imagine what we have to say to one another but I’m sure you’re going to tell me.’
Demetri stepped aside to allow her to precede him out of the bathroom and she was forced to brush past his still, forbidding frame. He was wearing a dark grey suit which he must have worn to whatever meeting he’d been attending that day, raw silk trousers and jacket, pearl-grey shirt, his tie pulled away from his collar. He looked disturbingly different from when he’d come to her apartment in London, but Jane knew he could look equally intimidating in turtleneck and jeans.
The living area seemed dark and Jane hastily switched on more lamps, anything to banish the sense of vulnerability she was feeling. Why had Demetri come to her rooms? Couldn’t whatever he had to say wait until tomorrow morning? And then she remembered. He’d said he was leaving for Athens in the morning, so at least she would be spared the possible humiliation of him walking into the bathroom to find her throwing up.
Nevertheless, he still disturbed her. Tall, dark and dangerous, she thought, a subtle play on the familiar words. The room was suddenly smaller, closer, more intimate. And she had to get the idea that he’d somehow found out about the baby out of her head.
She wanted to sit down, but Demetri was making no attempt to do so and she was damned if she’d give him the satisfaction of inviting him to make himself at home. So, she held up her head and regarded him as coolly as she was able, while her stomach quivered and threatened to embarrass her all over again.
Demetri paused just beyond the archway that led from the bedroom. He was tired and he knew this wasn’t the most sensible time to have a conversation with his soon-to-be-exwife. The very fact that she’d scuttled away as soon as she’d heard the helicopter proved that she’d had no wish to see him. Why hadn’t he heeded his mother’s words and waited until the following day before phoning her from Athens to assure himself that she’d received the divorce papers? Because the truth was he’d wanted to find out what Olga Ivanovitch had meant by calling him.
‘I had a phone call,’ he said now, and he could tell by the sudden tightening of her features that she was apprehensive of what was coming next.
‘A call?’ she echoed, her voice faintly squeaky. And then, gathering herself, ‘How does this concern me?’
‘The call was from Olga Ivanovitch,’ said Demetri flatly, and saw the look of consternation come into her eyes. What was she afraid of?
‘Olga?’ She spoke lightly. ‘But how—?’
‘Neh, you are wondering how she was able to reach me?’ And when she didn’t say anything, he went on, ‘I phoned her, you may remember? I was looking for you, to tell you my father had requested to see you, and evidently her phone recorded my number. Whatever, she made a point of taking note of it for possible future use.’
Jane swallowed. ‘But why would Olga want to get in touch with you?’
Demetri shrugged. ‘She did once sell my father a bronze statuette, did she not?’
The statuette that she had found, Jane remembered. Her introduction to Leonides Souvakis and ultimately his son…
Her hand moved almost protectively to the neckline of the robe. ‘And was that what she wanted? To tell your father of some new item of interest she’d found?’ It was unlikely, but the alternative was even less acceptable.
Demetri’s mouth compressed. ‘You think that is likely, bearing in mind she assumedly knows about his illness?’
Jane shivered, in spite of the heat of the room. ‘I don’t know what to think, do I?’ she exclaimed, deciding that after all she had nothing to lose by speaking out. ‘Why don’t you tell me what she said instead of playing your little games of cat-and-mouse?’
‘It is no game, glika mou.’ Demetri unfastened another button at the neck of his shirt, allowing a tantalising glimpse of brown flesh lightly covered with dark hair. His eyes narrowed, thick lashes veiling his expression. ‘Your employer is concerned about your health, Jane, not my father’s. She told me you are zerbrechlich—which I believe means fragile—at the moment, neh? She said I should not do anything to upset you. Now, what do you think she meant by that? What have you been telling her?’
‘Well, not the truth, obviously,’ retorted Jane quickly, inwardly cursing Olga for making a difficult situation worse. ‘You—you knew I wasn’t well when you phoned me. Olga worries about me, that’s all.’
‘Simfono. With that, I agree.’ He paused, and she knew he was registering the colour that had entered her pale cheeks as she spoke. ‘But you told me it was just a cold. Colds do not usually elicit such concern.’
