The man approaching was clad in a business suit, like Nikos, but he was a good twenty years older, thought Mel, and unlike Nikos very overweight.
He nodded at Nikos, then addressed Mel. ‘Has my wife let you get a word in edgeways?’ he asked with heavy humour. ‘She does like to dominate the airwaves.’
It was said humorously, but Mel could detect underlying irritation at his wife’s garrulity.
‘It’s been very...interesting,’ Mel said politely.
John Friedman laughed again, a little too heavily, and then his attention was drawn to the small figure hurtling towards him.
‘Dad! Dad!’ he was calling out excitedly. ‘Come in the pool!’
Mel watched him hug the pool-wet boy and ruffle his damp hair.
‘I can’t wait!’ his father assured him. ‘But I need to get changed first, OK?’ His eyes went to his wife, who was still lounging back on the recliner. ‘Will you spend any time with our son in the pool?’
There was a clear jibe in the question, and it drew an acid response from his wife.
‘And wreck my hair? Don’t be ridiculous. Besides, it’s time for cocktails.’
‘It’s too early for cocktails—especially for you,’ John Friedman said immediately. And pointedly.
Nyree’s mouth thinned mutinously and it looked as if she was going to make an angry retort. To Mel’s relief—for witnessing this marital acrimony was uncomfortable—Nyree’s husband had turned to Nikos.
‘You made a persuasive case in there,’ he said, very much banker-to-banker now. ‘Maybe we should discuss some potential mutual opportunities?’
‘I’d be glad to,’ Nikos said promptly.
‘Good.’ John Friedman nodded. ‘Get in touch next time you’re in New York.’
‘Make it soon!’ Nyree enthused, her gaze fastening greedily on Nikos again.
Nikos gave a non-committal smile and took Mel’s hand, squeezing it meaningfully. He wanted out, she knew. And so did she. For all their superficial politeness, the atmosphere was uncomfortable, and the tension between Nyree and her husband was palpable. But they said goodbye politely, even though Mel could hear regret in Nyree’s voice, and saw her eyes linger on Nikos.
As she and Nikos moved away Mel could hear Nyree start up. ‘Oh, my God, John—your suit is soaking wet! Why do you let the boy maul you like that? It’s ridiculous. You make far too much fuss of him.’
Her husband’s voice cut across her. ‘One of us needs to. You won’t—so I do. I’m his father. And do you have to try and flirt with every man you see—even when they’re obviously not interested in you?’
Mel grimaced as they got out of earshot, heading through the hotel grounds to pick up a taxi at the front. ‘Eek—not a happy marriage, I think. Nor a great start for that little lad of theirs, I fear.’
There was an edge to Nikos’s voice as he replied. ‘No, indeed.’ His expression was set. That barbed exchange they’d been witness to had been all too familiar. The sniping, the acid tones, the mutual accusations and complaints... He’d grown up with them. They weren’t any easier to witness in other couples any more than between his own parents.
Mel cast him a curious, slightly guarded look. There’d been a lot in the suppressed way he’d said that.
He caught her glance and made a rueful face. ‘Sorry, but they just remind me of my own parents. All smiles and bonhomie to others, but with each other constant tension and backbiting. Absolutely everything becomes a verbal skirmish.’
She gave him a sympathetic smile. ‘It sounds very...wearing,’ she said, trying to find a word that wasn’t too intrusive into what was, she could tell, a sensitive issue for him.
He gave an unamused snort. ‘That’s one word for it,’ he said. ‘Two people locked together, hammering away at each other and making themselves and everyone else miserable.’
Mel looked concerned. ‘Why on earth did they ever marry each other, your parents?’ she asked.
‘Would you believe it? They were infatuated with each other,’ he said sardonically. ‘My mother was the catch of the season—the belle of every ball—and every man was after her. She kept them all guessing, playing them off against each other, but my father ended up winning her because she was bowled over by him.’
His voice twisted.
‘Then I came along and everything went pear-shaped.’ He gave a hollow laugh that had no humour in it. ‘My mother hated being pregnant—as she constantly tells me still—I ruined her figure, apparently. And my father stopped paying her the attention she craved. And then—worse—he felt jealous of the attention she gave me when I was little, so he started straying. That incensed my mother even more than his neglecting her, and the whole damn thing just spiralled downwards until they reached a point where they couldn’t even be civil to each other.’