Chapter Twenty-Six

Cassie was taken aback, but only for a moment. When someone died suddenly – especially by their own hand – family members often took the blame on themselves.

‘Why do you say that, George?' she asked gently.

He was silent for a long moment, staring at the tabletop between them. ‘Her mother was right. If only I hadn't encouraged her musical ambitions .?.?. You see, Bronte, Sophia, she could seem tough, as if she was completely in control? When she was a little girl her mother would scold her for being bossy but even then I knew it was just a symptom of anxiety.'

‘Do you have any idea what caused it? The anxiety?'

‘I think she picked it up from her mother. When I met Chrysanthi I was a good deal older than her.' He pulled an embarrassed grimace. ‘Too old. I realise that now. She was an orphan like me, and had been brought up in children's homes, so neither of us had any family. I'd been away from Cyprus for most of my adult life working on the cruise ships. We were both .?.?. a little lost, rootless. When I first saw her she was working in a florist's shop in Larnaca.' He smiled at the memory. ‘She was .?.?. like a flower herself.'

‘What is the age difference, can I ask?'

Another grimace. ‘I was thirty-six – nearly twice her age.'

Wow. That was quite a gap – especially with Chrysanthi still only in her teens – but who was she to judge?

Fishing out his phone he tapped at it, before showing her an image. It looked antique, although that was more to do with its stagy set-up in an old-fashioned studio – silvery drapes hanging in the background, a random pot plant behind George's shoulder. George and Chrysanthi were formally dressed, him smiling straight into camera, her face half turned up towards him. Age-wise they might have been an older brother and a young sister, an effect magnified by them both having dark winged eyebrows, like gulls in flight.

‘The age gap didn't feel like an issue at first, but it was a fatal flaw. After we came to England I was working all hours building the restaurant business. The bigger it got, the more I had to be out in the evenings, entertaining investors and so on. She was too young to understand, so she became jealous, possessive.'

Maybe she understood too well.

Cassie prompted him gently, ‘And the source of Bronte's anxiety?'

‘Not long after we got married Chrysanthi gave birth to Bronte – Sophia – and her twin brother, Alexander. We .?.?. lost him when he was just three.' George crossed himself, ending the gesture by touching his lips. ‘Chrysanthi never recovered. And .?.?. she took her bitterness out on me.'

‘I'm so sorry,' said Cassie. She'd seen it happen several times, how the death of a child could drive a wedge between parents, creating a faultline that could eventually split them apart.

‘Her fear of losing Sophia too made her obsessively protective,' George went on. ‘That fear transmitted itself to Sophia and made her anxiety worse. Even after she'd grown up and left home her mother wouldn't stop, turning up at her flat with food parcels!' His voice became hoarse. ‘But I blame myself, not Chrysanthi. If I had realised how fragile Sophia was I would never have encouraged her to go professional. In the music business I've seen too many people soar, then crash.' He had raised a hand before letting it fall, in unconscious imitation of his daughter's fate.

‘You were her manager, right?'

He nodded. ‘I tried to look after her, really I did, but once she got the recording deal, the company edged me out of the picture. I shouldn't have let them. But she kept saying she could handle them, she could stand up for herself. She was good at pretending.'

Remembering her own Teflon nickname, Cassie nodded. She and Bronte really did have something in common: a talent for hiding inner turmoil.

‘Is it true that she'd fallen out with Melodik over .?.?. musical direction?' – feeling a bit of a dick for using the term.

‘Yes. Sophia was no fool, she wasn't planning some kind of folk album , but she was determined to get some Greek instrumentation in there.'

Cassie took a drink of her cooling coffee. ‘Had she recorded the melody and her vocals? Enough material for them to release an album?'

‘Yes, they leaned on her to record the basic tracks and told her there was "plenty of time to finalise the musical approach later".'

They shared a look. ‘So .?.?.' said Cassie. ‘Now they can do what they like with her voice and release an album which will make them a ton of money.' She met his gaze. ‘And you too I assume?' Risking the outright approach.

‘As her manager you mean? No, I never took a cut: I wasn't about to charge my own daughter commission.' He drew a deep sigh. ‘Anyway, her mother and me, we might not see eye to eye but we agree about one thing: if Melodik do release an album any profits that come to us will go into a trust in Bronte's name, to help artists with drug and mental health problems.'