‘Monsieur Tramontes, I wonder if I might have a word with you?’
He must be someone notable, for immediately the bank director made a murmuring conclusion and took his leave.
Nikos turned his attention to the man who had addressed him, trying to place him. ‘Have we met?’ he asked, with an enquiring look and a slight civil smile.
The man did not smile in return. ‘No,’ he said with a shake of his head.
Nikos frowned. ‘Forgive me, you seem familiar...’
The man nodded, acknowledging the comment. He reached inside his jacket pocket, took out a silver card case and extracted a card. He proffered it to Nikos.
‘This may account for it,’ he said.
Nikos took the card, glanced down at it.
And froze.
All thoughts of Diana, his cold, frozen trophy wife, vanished.
CHAPTER TEN
DIANA WAS IN the rose garden, cutting blooms. Summer sun slanted through the trees that sheltered Greymont from the world beyond, birdsong twittered overhead, and a woodpigeon pecked hopefully nearby. Warmth enveloped her—and peace.
But not in her heart. Not in her soul. Only torment filled her.
How long can I bear this?
Two years, Nikos had told her, holding her to the damning contract she had made—made when she had not known the price she would have to pay, when she had not realised the danger in which she stood, deluding herself, never dreaming she would not be able to bear to pay, but must. Two endless years to endure this hideous, bitter existence. Chained to a husband she had once thought a gift from heaven, who was now keeping her in this hell.
Her only respite was the time she could spend here, at Greymont, when Nikos went abroad and did not want her at his side. Then and only then was she allowed to flee back here, take consolation in the refuge it offered her.
The irony was biting—it was because of Greymont that she was trapped in her tormented mockery of a marriage to Nikos. A marriage she could not escape for it was the price she was paying to keep Greymont, to keep it safe.
And safe it was. That was her only comfort. Yes, she had halted all the repairs, but the most critical work had already been completed. The structure of the house was secure, and that was her greatest relief. As for the rest of it—well, she could not even think that far...not yet, not now. Perhaps in the distant future, when she had finally freed herself from Nikos, she would be free...
Free?
The word mocked her, sliding a knife into her flesh.
She could never be free of him.
It was too late.
With a smothered cry she went on cutting, placing the scented blooms—their petals so perfect, so fragrant, so beautiful—into the willow basket at her feet, then, sufficient gathered, she headed indoors. She would arrange them for the drawing room, a task she always found solace in.
But as she left the rose garden and glanced down the long driveway curving far away along the rising ground towards the distant lodge gates she paused, frowning. Two cars were heading along the drive. She could just make them out through the lime trees bordering the avenue. Both cars were long and black, with tinted windows.
Who on earth...? She wasn’t expecting anyone.
She made her way indoors, through the garden room door, hastily depositing the blooms in water but not pausing to arrange them. Then she washed her hands and went out into the hallway to open the front door, not troubling to call for Hudson to do so.
She stepped out on to the wide porch. As she did so the two cars drew up in front of the house and immediately the one behind disgorged a handful of dark-suited men, looking extremely businesslike. A moment of fear struck Diana, then astonishment. One of them came up to her, and as he spoke she realised they were all of Middle Eastern appearance.
‘Mrs Tramontes?’
She nodded, and then, with another ripple of astonishment, saw that one of the men was opening the passenger door of the first car, and someone was emerging. A woman who was sailing up to her, imperiously dismissing the dark-suited men who backed away dutifully, still scannin
g the environment as if sharpshooters might be lurking on her roof.