CHAPTER TWO

E LIANA STEPPED OFF the train on to the platform. She felt dog-tired. She’d slept almost not at all, and the train from Athens to Thessaloniki seemed to have taken for ever. She’d dozed only fitfully in her seat during the five-hour journey, and she still had a bus ride to her destination.

She hefted her small pull-along suitcase, grateful it was on wheels, heading out of the station. As she passed the waiting taxis, her mouth thinned. A bus ride was all that she could afford. Just as her pokey studio flat in a run-down apartment block was all she could afford.

The meagre widow’s allowance made to her by Damian’s grudging father, Jonas, was supplemented a little by her work in a local supermarket, stacking shelves and minding the till. She would put in a shift this evening, tired as she was.

A wave of depression sank over her. Was this now all her life was going to be? Because how could it be otherwise?

Would to God I had never seen Leandros again...

Stirring up the past. Six years—six years —since she had last seen him. Surely she should have become immune to him in those six endless years? But all it had taken was that one single moment of seeing him again for her to know that Leandros Kastellanos, with every reason in the world to hold her in contempt for what she’d done to him, still had exactly the same power over her useless, pointless, pathetic senses as he ever had. As if those six long years had never existed.

It was a galling truth—a hopeless one.

I made my choice—I made my life—now I must live with the consequences.

And it was a life without Leandros—a life that could never have him in it again.

Never.

Leandros was back from Frankfurt. He’d returned via London and Brussels, but as he’d come back to Athens it had been as if the city closed over him again. Restlessness had possessed him, and he’d wanted to be off again on his business travels. But right now that wasn’t possible. Since his father’s death three years ago he’d taken over the running of the company, and it was more than a full-time job. Working lunches, like today’s, were the norm.

Today’s was in Piraeus, with a couple of directors of a shipping brokerage who were keen on Kastellanos investment funds. Leandros was in two minds about it, and wanted to discuss it with them in person.

The problem was he was finding it an effort to focus on business—ever since seeing Eliana again he’d been finding it so. Try to block them as he might, his thoughts kept gravitating back to her. They did so again now, as his chauffeured car made its way out of Athens south to Piraeus.

He’d heard about Damian Makris’s death in a road accident some eighteen months ago now—the news had been all over the press and had circulated amongst his circle of acquaintances. Though it had been shocking—how could it not be, for a young man still in his twenties to die?—Leandros had not wanted to think about it. Not wanted to think that now Eliana was no longer Damian’s wife but his widow.

Jonas Makris, Damian’s father, had made it big in construction, and was based in the north of the country, with lucrative building projects all over the Balkans. That Eliana had taken herself off to Thessaloniki with the man she’d preferred to him had been a sour source of what might have passed for comfort to Leandros. Their paths had never crossed.

Till that damn party for Andreas Manolis and his fiancée...

But at least she hasn’t shown up in Athens again—I can be glad of that.

The taunt he’d thrown at her—that she was now set on lining up a new husband, rich, of course, the only kind she went for—came back now, twisting his mouth. Well, she was welcome to go husband-hunting in Thessaloniki—or anywhere else that was not Athens.

Though maybe his taunt had been misplaced. Maybe she was perfectly happy being a wealthy widow, burning through whatever her hapless husband had left her.

He gave himself a mental shake. Hell, he was thinking about her again...

His car was arriving at the entrance to the prestigious yacht club where he was to meet his hosts for lunch. With an effort, he switched his mind into business gear, running through the issues that would need discussion and clarification if they were to reach agreement.

An hour later he had made his mind up. Though lunch had been lavish, and his hosts clearly very keen, he had not taken to them, and considered the deal they wanted carried too much risk for him. He veiled that decision from them—there was no point being blunt when it was not necessary. For now he let them think he would consider it, and they were happy enough with that as they moved on to coffee and liqueurs.

He was only half listening to what his hosts were saying—they were making general conversation about various aspects of the business and political life in Greece in which they all shared an interest—until one of them mentioned a name that suddenly drew his attention sharply.

‘A lucky day, though, for Vassily Makris. He’ll scoop the lot when old Jonas calls it quits.’

Leandros paused in the act of lifting his coffee cup.

‘Vassily Makris?’

If there was an edge in his voice, he veiled it. His engagement to Eliana had been brief, and unannounced—few had known about it, and few knew of his own connection to the widow of Damian Makris.

Her friend Chloe did, though. At that party her reaction had shown that plain enough.

His host nodded. ‘Yes—Jonas’s nephew. Damian was Jonas’s only son—his only child. There’s no grandchild either, apparently. Only a widow—Aristides Georgiades’s daughter. Jonas, understandably, was never happy that the marriage was childless. And the widow is the loser for that.’

‘Yes,’ Leandros’s other host corroborated. ‘Jonas has all but thrown her out on the street, from what I’ve heard. Of course if the Georgiades money had lasted she’d have been OK, but we all know what happened to that...’

Leandros frowned, before hearing himself ask a question he didn’t want to ask, but asked all the same.

‘Didn’t Aristides Georgiades’s property not pass to the daughter when he died? Some historic old place way out in Attica?’

‘No,’ came the answer. ‘Jonas Makris’s kept it—it went to him with the marriage. Had his daughter-in-law given him the grandson and heir—any heir at all!—he might have put it in the child’s name, but as it is it will all go to the nephew, Vassily.’

Out of nowhere, in his head, Leandros heard Eliana’s voice—a voice from long ago—talking affectionately about her childhood home.

‘My father loves it—he grew up there, and I did too. It’s one of those few remaining neoclassical mansions, built after Greek independence in the nineteenth century by my great-great-grandfather, with beautiful grounds and gardens, and a glorious view!’

Leandros’s thoughts came back to the present. So the old Georgiades family mansion was no longer that.

A random thought pricked.

That will have hurt her.

He shook it from him. Why should he care whether Eliana had lost her family mansion? Or that it seemed she hadn’t done well financially out of being widowed.

The conversation moved on, and Leandros was relieved.

I don’t want to think about her or know anything about her.

He was done with her. Had been done six years ago. And yet...

If she hasn’t profited from widowhood, and there’s no Georgiades money for her, then she’ll definitely be on the lookout for a new meal ticket.

Another thought came.

And with her beauty, it won’t take her long to find one...

Eliana was staring at her bank statement on the screen of her laptop. It made depressing viewing. Her income, such as it was, mostly went out again almost immediately, right at the beginning of the month, leaving her precious little to live on. As for credit cards... She had her own now, with a low limit—all that the bank allowed her in her new penurious circumstances. The credit cards she’d enjoyed as Damian’s wife had been stopped the day after his funeral—his father had seen to that. Seen to a lot else, as well.

He hadn’t bothered to confront her himself—had communicated only through his lawyer, who’d called at the villa she’d shared with Damian and informed her that she must vacate it, taking only her own personal possessions. And those did not, he’d spelt out, include any of the jewellery she’d worn as Damian’s wife.

‘They were not gifts to you, merely provided for you to wear,’ the lawyer had informed her.

The same had applied to her wardrobe as well, and all she’d been permitted to take had been what she’d brought with her when she’d married Damian. She would be granted a small allowance, and she must make do with that. She knew even that was grudgingly made, and had been done for the sake of appearances only. She had wanted to refuse it, but she was in no position to do so.

She knew well why she was getting such harsh treatment. Jonas Makris had been unforgiving of her for failing to present him with a grandson. He’d been keen on her marriage to his son originally—a trophy wife who was beautiful, well-born, and old money—and the fact that the ‘old money’ was all but gone had appealed to him, too, for it had meant he could dictate the terms of her marriage to Damian. Terms she’d agreed to. Just as she had agreed to terms with Damian.

Her face shadowed. Jonas had been a harsh father. She might never have loved Damian, but she had come to pity him.

Their marriage had been useful to both of them, but—

No, don’t go there. It’s a mess, and that’s all there is to it. And now you just have to cope with it.

And that included coping with a financial situation that was precarious in the extreme, and one from which there seemed to be no way out. She’d just have to budget yet more draconianly. Her eyes went to a rare extravagance that she had indulged in that day, reduced for clearance at the supermarket she worked at. She hadn’t been able to resist splashing out on it, unwise though it had been to do so. A colourful plastic toy boat—just right for bathtime fun...

She sighed. She’d ask for another shift at the supermarket...get a little more money in, feel a little less precarious. Night shifts paid a fraction better, and as she had no social life whatsoever, what did it matter if she spent her evenings working as well as her days?

But it was wearing—she knew that...felt it. Wearing, tiring and depressing. With no end in sight—none. Just on and on. She was stuck now.

She gave another sigh. There was no point dwelling on it. Her life was what it was. She had made her choice six long years ago, and now she was living with the consequences. Stuck with them.

In her head she could hear again the taunt that Leandros had made, out on the terrace at that hotel where she had so disastrously set eyes on him again, wishing with all her being that she had not.

‘Tell me, are you here to catch another husband? Another rich husband—the only kind you go for...’

His words mocked her—and condemned her.

She had no defence against them.

None.

Nor against the torment of seeing him again. The man she had once loved, and whose love she had so faithlessly betrayed.

Leandros was at his laptop and he was searching the Internet. He knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t stop himself. A demon was driving him as he typed her name into the search box.

Eliana’s name.

Photos leapt on to the screen. Photos from the glossy magazines and tabloids that loved to highlight those living the high life. And Eliana had done just that.

Leandros’s gaze bored into the screen. Image after image...

Eliana in a ball gown at some charity gala in Thessaloniki...at a private party on a yacht...at a fancy restaurant...at the opening of one of her father-in-law’s prestigious properties... The images went on and on. Eliana with the man she had preferred to himself, Damian Makris. Nothing much to look at—but then his appeal had not been his looks, but his family money.

Leandros frowned involuntarily. He’d barely known the man, but to be dead at twenty-nine was a cruel fate for anyone. His gaze rested now on a sombre image: Eliana without her husband at her side, in a black dress, her father-in-law beside her, leaving her husband’s funeral.

Thoughts flickered in his mind as he recalled what those two brokerage directors had said about how Jonas Makris had all but cast his daughter-in-law out of the family. And again that taunt he himself had thrown at her at that party in Athens. That she must be on the lookout now for a replacement for Damian Makris. A wealthy one, of course.

But not necessarily to marry.

Just someone to provide her with the luxury lifestyle that apparently she was now deprived of.

Someone...anyone...

Anyone who might find her beauty appealing...beguiling... Tempting...

Thoughts were circling now, coming closer like birds of prey—thoughts he must not have, must not allow. To do so would be madness—what else could it be? For six long years he’d blanked Eliana’s existence, refused to think about her, relieved that she was away up in Thessaloniki so he wouldn’t run into her. Wouldn’t see her with the man she had preferred to himself.

But that man was gone now.

So she’s available again—and missing her luxury lifestyle...

The birds of prey that were those thoughts he must not have circled closer, talons outstretched, taking hold of him...

His eyes went to her photo on the screen. He was unable to tear his fixed gaze away.

And everything that he had blanked for six long years came rushing back like a tidal wave. Drowning his sanity.

He felt his fingers move again on the keyboard, calling up another tab. Slowly, deliberately, he clicked through the screens, reaching the one he wanted.

Booking his flight to Thessaloniki.

Eliana had just got off shift and was dog-tired. She’d worked a twelve-hour day—seven in the morning till seven at night—not even stopping for lunch. She gave a sigh as she let herself in to her shabby, depressing studio apartment. Was this really going to be her life from now on? This miserable hand-to-mouth existence?

But what could she do to improve it? She had no marketable skills other than basic ones. She’d skipped on higher education in order to be with her father, and then, for those few, blissful months now lost for ever, tainted by the memory of how they’d ended, she’d thought that her future would be the everlasting bliss of being married to Leandros, making a family with him.

After that she’d been an ornamental, dressed-up doll of a wife for Damien, shown off to his father, to his father’s friends and business associates, dressed up to the nines, bejewelled, smiling, making polite small talk as Jonas Makris’s docile daughter-in-law. A daughter-in-law who had become an increasing disappointment to him in her failure to present him with the grandson and heir he demanded.

As for Damian...

Her mind slid sideways. Back into the grief she still felt at his death, at the waste of it all. The sheer sadness.

He’d left such a mess behind...

And she was caught up in it.

She gave a tired sigh. Her life now was what it was, and nothing would change it. Nothing could change it.

She went into the cramped kitchenette, with its cheap fittings and broken cupboard, stained sink and chipped tiling. She needed coffee—only instant, which was all she could afford these days. She’d brought back a sandwich from the supermarket, marked down at the end of the day, and that would have to do for supper with a tin of soup. Meagre fare, but cheap—and that was all that mattered.

She had just taken a first sip of her weak coffee when something unusual happened. Her doorbell rang. She replaced her mug on the worn laminate work surface, frowning. The rent wasn’t due, and no one else ever called except the landlord’s agent. The bell rang again—not at the door itself, but at the front door to the apartment block. Still frowning, she crossed to the door to press the buzzer to let it open.

She knew she ought to check who it was first, but the intercom had never worked, and she lacked the energy to trudge down to the main door. It was probably for a different apartment anyway.

She took another mouthful of coffee and then, moments later, there was a knock on her own door. The safety catch was on so, setting down her coffee again, she opened it cautiously—and froze in total shock.