‘Hey,’ she complained, peering over his arm so she could look at her sister. ‘Those smiles are supposed to belong to me!’ she scolded.
As she heard her voice, Melanie’s eyes found her face and stuck firmly to it. ‘That’s better,’ Claire grinned, so engrossed in the baby that, far from being disturbed by his closeness, she didn’t even notice the way she was leaning against Andreas so she could monopolise the baby’s attention.
If she had, she would have realised how still he had gone. How his hooded eyes had become even more hooded as he settled them on the top of her golden head.
‘What a seductive picture,’ a beautifully cultured but coldly sarcastic voice intruded. ‘I wish I had my camera,’ it drawled. ‘Then I could capture the image for posterity and you could hang it on the wall as an example of perfect family harmony …’
Two heads came up, one dark, one fair, both faces revealing different expressions. Claire’s was startled by this totally unexpected attack; Andreas’s was—resigned.
‘Desmona …’ he greeted smoothly. ‘How—nice to see you.’
But it wasn’t nice. Desmona wasn’t nice and Andreas wasn’t being nice. The warm Greek air had suddenly turned chilly and Claire shivered accordingly as she watched the other woman begin walking towards them along the shaded terrace.
She was outstandingly beautiful. A tall and willowy silver-blonde in her early thirties, at a guess, whose silver-blue-silk-encased body glided gracefully as she moved. Money, class and a lifetime of believing herself to be special were reflected in that walk, Claire noted.
Though it was Desmona’s eyes that held her thoroughly captivated. If Andreas’s eyes could remind her of black ice sometimes, then the silver-grey ones looking at her now could have been set in permafrost, and they intimidated enough to have Claire inching backwards in wary retreat.
The back of her head hit a firmly cushioned shoulder at the same time as an arm curved around her, angling across her rigid back so long, lean brown fingers could rest on her narrow waist. Claire never even considered the idea of moving away from him—not while those silvery eyes were fixed on her anyway.
Was she family? Did she live here? she wondered curiously.
I hope not, she prayed, with a small shudder.
‘This, Claire,’ Andreas informed her levelly, ‘is my sister-in-law Desmona Markopoulou …’
Sister-in-law? With a small start, she flashed him a frowning glance. She was sure he had told her that he was the only grandson.
‘Widowed sister-in-law.’ It was Desmona herself who unwittingly cleared the puzzle as she came to a smooth stop just in front of them. But Claire didn’t even like the way she said that.
‘May I be the first to welcome you to your new home?’ Desmona murmured graciously.
‘Thank you,’ Claire politely replied.
She was offered a
long-fingered, very slender white hand. Claire’s own palm began to tingle in anticipation of having to brush against the other woman’s satin-smooth skin.
Then the need to touch each other at all was suddenly saved when Claire remembered belatedly that her right hand was in a sling—at about the same moment that Desmona noticed it.
‘Oh, you are injured,’ she remarked. Her English was superb, spoken with an accent that was barely noticeable.
Claire smiled nervously. ‘An accident.’ She didn’t bother to elaborate. ‘So I am afraid I can’t …’ She gave a jerky gesture towards Desmona’s outstretched hand; the hand fluttered a little then dropped.
Clearly picking up on the tension suddenly surrounding them all, Melanie let out another protesting cry. Desmona’s eyes flicked from Claire to the baby, and in the sudden taut silence which followed something in her expression subtly altered.
‘She is like you, Andreas,’ she remarked casually enough, though.
‘She is my daughter,’ he answered just as casually. ‘What else would you expect?’
No reply was forthcoming, but the silence lashed to and fro with the kind of bitter words Claire could sense but not follow.
Then the silver eyes were shifting back to Claire, and the cold mask, which had slipped slightly, was suddenly back in place as Desmona politely excused herself before walking gracefully away along a formally set pathway that took her around the side of the house.
‘Good grief,’ Claire breathed as the air left her body in a single relieved whoosh. ‘What was all that about?’
For a moment Andreas didn’t answer, his attention thoughtfully fixed on Desmona’s steadily receding figure. Then he surprised Claire with a short, sardonic laugh. ‘You have just met the family choice for my bride,’ he said dryly.
‘Your late brother’s wife?’ she gasped, tipping her head back to stare at him in shocked disbelief.