‘Of course!’ Silvia exclaimed delightedly. ‘We have time to shop, Isobel! It’s about time we treated ourselves to something new!’
I hate you, the other pair of eyes informed him. The sulky mouth simply looked more kissable.
‘Whose party is it?’
With the smoothness of a born gambler, he turned his attention to his mother-in-law and explained about his younger brother Nikos’s wedding next week and how tonight’s party was being held at Nikos’s future in-laws’ home, which was a half-hour’s drive out of the city towards Corinth.
‘You don’t play fair,’ Isobel told him in flat-toned Greek. ‘You know I don’t want to go.’
‘What did you say?’ her mother demanded.
‘She said she didn’t think it was fair to expect you to shop and spend the evening partying,’ he lied smoothly. ‘So we will solve the problem the rich man’s way, and I will have a selection of evening gowns sent out here for you to peruse at your leisure.’
The rich man part was said to tease yet another smile from Silvia. The daughter didn’t smile. But he did get a flashing vision of retribution to come. ‘Try anything stupid just to get back at me, and I will retaliate,’ he warned in Greek.
‘What did he say?’ Silvia wanted to know.
‘He said choose something outrageously daring,’ Isobel responded defiantly.
He laughed. What else could he do? He knew he had asked for that. It was fun having a wife that spoke his language, he decided.
But it was also time to cut and run, before she decided to corner him somewhere private and he did not get any work done today. Rising to his feet, he bid Silvia farewell and stepped round the table to kiss his wife’s stiff cheek, then strode away, still feeling those wonderful barbs that had launched themselves at him.
‘Don’t you want to go to this party, Isobel?’ her mother asked when she saw the way she glared at Leandros’s retreating back.
Isobel turned her head to look at her mother, who had known about her problems with Leandros three years ago, but who had never been told about the problems Isobel had had with his family. ‘I’m just a bit nervous about meeting people again,’ she answered. ‘It’s too soon.’
‘When you fall off a horse the best thing to do is get right back on it,’ was her mother’s blunt advice—while thoroughly ignoring the fact that mounting the dreaded horse had come about three years too late. ‘And if I can see that you two looked so happy you have to be right for each other, then give other people the chance to make the same discovery,’ she added sagely.
Isobel was about to open her mouth and tell her mother the hard facts about those other people, then changed her mind, because what was the use in stirring up trouble before it arrived? She was here—though she still wasn’t sure how it had happened. She was staying—though she wished it didn’t fill her with such a nagging ache of uncertainty.
Silvia sat back in her chair and released a happy sigh. ‘Gosh, I feel reborn today,’ she said. ‘It makes me want to sing.’
She did sing—all morning. She loved every gown that arrived—within the hour—complete with every accessory she could require. By the time Silvia went off for her afternoon siesta, Isobel was glad to escape to her room and wilt. But she couldn’t wilt completely because she was expecting Leandros to walk in at any moment and she wanted to be ready for him.
However Leandros was running late. The few hours he had intended to spend at work had gone smoothly enough. Time began to get away from him when he went to the boot of his car to put away the briefcase he had left in his office the day before, and discovered that the jacket he had been wearing still lay where he had placed it before chasing after Isobel. He saw the edge of the envelope straight away. It was sticking out of one of the pockets but it was only when he reached down to slide it free that he remembered what it contained.
Two minutes later he was heading into the city, not out of it. A few minutes after that and he was striding into the bank with his wife’s safety deposit box key and her letter authorising him to open the box. His curiosity was fully engaged as to what Isobel’s idea of family heirlooms actually consisted of…
By the time he did eventually arrive home it was to find Isobel sitting cross-legged upon the bed, wearing what looked like one of his own white T-shirts—and nothing else from what he could see.
She must have just come from the shower. Her hair was wet, and she was sitting with her head thrown forward while she combed the silken pelt with slow, smooth strokes, allowing the excess water to fall onto a white towel she had laid out in front of her.
‘If you want a shower, I suggest you use a different bathroom,’ she advised without lifting her head. ‘Otherwise I might decide to murder you while you’re naked and vulnerable in this one.’
He started to grin as he stood leaning in the doorway. In truth, after the trick he’d pulled this morning he had expected her to show her protest by refusing to come near this room.
‘Not you, my sweet angel,’ he denied lazily. ‘You would see my quick death as being too kind to me.’
‘Don’t bank on it.’
‘OK. I will live dangerously, then.’ With that he levered away from the doorframe, came into the room and closed the door.
She still did not deign to lift her head as he walked across the room and placed two black velvet jewellery cases into the top drawer of a chest. Studying her as he removed his jacket and tie, he tried to decide whether to simply jump on her and give her no chance to defend herself, or whether to annoy her by ignoring her as she was ignoring him.
The former was tempting, but the latter should win since the shower seemed the best venue for the both of them. Her hair was wet already. The T-shirt belonged to him, and, having issued the threat, she would not, he knew, be able to remain sitting there passively without being drawn to carry out it out.
With a click and a scrape he undid his trousers and heeled off his shoes. Isobel’s comb continued its smooth strokes while he removed his socks, then his under-shorts, which left only his shirt to conceal the fact that he was already very much aroused by this little game. He needed a shave so he strode into the danger-zone of the bathroom, paused long enough to reach in and spring the showerhead to life before he picked up his electric razor and began using it.