His eyes flashed at her. She held his gaze, though it was like a heavy weight on her. So, she thought, Tony had been right— he did want something from her. But what? She needed to know. Only when she knew what the man sitting there, who by a vile accident of fate just happened to be her grandfather, wanted of her could she start to bargain for the money she wanted from him.
Play it cool, girl...play it cool... She lifted an interrogative eyebrow. 'And what is it, exactly, that you want me to do?' His brows snapped together at the sarcastic emphasis she gave to echo his.
'You'll find out—when I want you to.' He held up a hand, silencing her. 'I've had enough of you for now. You will go to your room and prepare yourself for dinner. We will have a guest. With your upbringing you obviously won't know how to comport yourself, so I shall tell you now that you had better change your attitude! In this country a woman knows how to behave—see that you do not shame me in my own house! Now, go!'
Andrea turned and left. The walk back to the door seemed much further than it had in the opposite direction. Her heart was pounding.
It went on pounding all the way back upstairs to her room. She shut the door and leant against it. So, that was her grandfather! That was the man whose son had had a brief, whirlwind romance with her mother, who had thrown her, pregnant and penniless, out of the country, and left her to bear and raise his grandchild in poverty, refusing to acknowledge her existence.
She owed such a man nothing. Nothing! Not duty, nor respect—and certainly not loyalty or affection.
What does he want of me?
The question went round and round, unanswered. Fretting at her.
In the end, to calm herself down and pass the time, she decided to make use of the opulent bathroom. Inside its lavish, overdone interior she could not but help revel in the luxury it offered.
The bath was vast, and it had, she discovered, sinking into its deep scented depths, whirling jets that massaged her body, easing the aching muscles in her tense legs. Blissfully, she gave herself to the wonderful sensation. Towering bubbles from the half a bottle of bath foam she'd emptied in veiled her whole body, from breasts to feet.
You walk perfectly well...
She heard the harsh accusation ring in her head again, and her mouth tightened.
When she emerged from the bathroom, entering her lavishly decorated bedroom suite, swathed in a floor-length towel, it was to see a maid at the open door of her closet, hanging up clothes. The girl turned, bobbing a brief curtsey, and hesitantly informed Andrea that she was here to help her dress.
'I don't need any help,' said Andrea tersely.
The girl looked subdued, and Andrea immediately regretted her tone of voice.
'Please,' she said temporisingly, 'it's quite unnecessary.'
She walked past the huge bed, covered in a heavy gold and white patterned bedspread, and across to the room-sized closet. Whatever Yiorgos Coustakis had imagined she'd bought with her gleaming gold store card, all she was going to appear for dinner wearing was a chainstore skirt and blouse. But suddenly she stopped dead.
The racks were full, weighed down with plastic-swathed clothes.
'What— ?'
'Kyrios Coustakis ordered them to be purchased for you, kyria. They were delivered just now by a personal shopper. There are accessories and lingerie as well,' said the maid's softly accented voice behind her. 'Which dress would you like to wear tonight?'
'None of them,' said Andrea tightly. She reached for the hanger carrying her own humble skirt and blouse.
The maid looked aghast. 'But...but it is a formal dinner, tonight, kyria,' she stammered. 'Kyrios Coustakis would be very angry if you did not dress appropriately...'
Andrea looked at the maid. The expression on the girl's face made her pause. There was only one word for the expression, and it was fear.
She gave in. She could defy her grandfather's anger, but she was damned if he would get the chance to terrorise one of his own staff on her account.
'Very well. Choose something for me.'
She went and sat back on the bed while the girl leafed through the clothes hanging from the rail. After a few moments she emerged with two, deftly removing the protective wrapping from them and laying them carefully across the foot of the bed. Andrea inspected them. Both were clearly very expensive, and although it was the short but high-necked cocktail length one that she preferred for style, she nodded at the other one, a full-length gown.
'That one,' she said.
It was emerald-green, cut on the bias, with a soft, folding bodice and a long, slinky skirt. Andrea found her hand reaching out to touch the silky folds.
'It is very beautiful, ne?’ said the maid, and sounded wistful as well as admiring.
'Very,' agreed Andrea. She glanced at the girl. 'I don't know your name,' she said.