Georgios tilted his head thoughtfully. “You intend to tell your mother.”
“We will forever be over a barrel unless I do—and I do not particularly relish the idea of being in a position of weakness. Yes, I’ll tell her, but when the time is right. Not now. It would devastate her if the news were to break.”
“So you’ll pay Miss Westbourne?”
“No. I’ll enter a dialogue with her—through you. Allow me to read the letter before I advise you further.”
Georgios nodded.
“You said there was a second matter?” Anastasios asked quickly, as the group began to separate a little, preparing to move towards the house.
Georgios looked from Maggie Xenakis, the grieving widow, back to Anastasios. “There is something else in his will. A sealed envelope, in fact, that even I was not privy to until after he passed.”
Anastasios’ attention was caught. “And? Are you going to tell me what it contains?”
Georgios also kept his eyes on the family. Though the huddle had broken up, they continued to stand close to the grave, solemn, somber, a group. At that moment, Anastasios’ youngest brother Leonidas looked in their direction, a single dark brow raised quizzically. Despite how much time had passed, it was difficult to look at Leo and not see his twin, Valentina, who hadn’t been lucky enough to see her sixth birthday. Her absence was palpable today, for all of them, but perhaps Leo most of all.
Anastasios shook his head, once: both a reassurance and a command.Don’t come here. We’re fine.
“The matter is delicate.”
Anastasios would have laughed if it weren’t so devastating to their mother. “Even more than the threat of a secret affair and twenty-four-year-old love child going public?”
“Yes.”
Anticipation ran down Anastasios’ spine like ice water. What the hell had his father exposed them to?
“There is someone else.”
Anastasios cursed in his mother tongue, the word searing the air around them. “Who?”
“A young woman, in London.”
“London.” Anastasios took an involuntary step back, as their conversation from three days earlier chimed in his mind. His father had been going to London a lot in the past year. It was inexplicable. Weekly trips made little sense. He knew from his investigations that he hadn’t been spending extra time with Dimitrios.
“Her name is Phoebe Whittaker, and in his estate, he’s left her a large sum.”
Anastasios closed his eyes as the reality punched him hard in the gut. “I see.”
“That’s not all.”
His laugh lacked humour. “No? I’m sure it’s enough for now.”
“She is also twenty four years old.”
Anastasios’ head whipped around, his eyes hitting the older man with the force of a speeding car. “You have to be kidding?”
“I’m sorry, Tasso. I’m as surprised as you.”
“Wait a moment. Are you suggesting this is another daughter, or his lover?”
“A mistress.” Anastasios compressed his lips. Georgios continued, “I have looked into the matter as thoroughly as I could, without raising suspicion. It’s not possible.”
“How can you know that?”
“She is Australian, for one, and I found records of her parents, photographs of her at school. Until eighteen months ago, she hadn’t left Australia.”
“And now she lives in London.”