Читать книгу His Virgin Mistress - Anne Mather, Anne Mather - Страница 9

DEMETRI was having breakfast on the terrace when Joanna appeared. At this hour of the morning the air outdoors was extremely pleasant, and the view from this elevated position never failed to lift his spirits.

And they’d needed lifting, he conceded grimly, picking at a currant-filled roll between generous gulps of the strong black coffee he favoured. His earlier encounter with his father’s mistress had left him feeling piqued and morose. And provoked; definitely provoked. Though not in any way he wanted to acknowledge.

Now here she was again, slim and alluring in a sleeveless top and clinging silk shorts which had surely not come off the peg in some downtown department store. Her legs were bare and her glorious mane of hair had been secured in one of those loose knots atop her head. Strands of white-gold escaped to caress her cheeks, and although when she saw him she made a half-hearted effort to tuck them back behind her ears, they refused to be tamed.

Oh, she was beautiful, he thought bitterly, forced to push back his chair and get to his feet as she came towards him. But what the hell was she doing with his father? He simply didn’t buy into May and December love affairs. She wanted something from this relationship, and he’d swear on a stack of Bibles that it wasn’t sex.

The morning mail had been spread out on the table in front of him, but he shuffled it together at her approach. He guessed his father wouldn’t be far behind her, and the last thing he wanted to do was talk about private business matters with her present.

He was pleased to see that she wasn’t wholly relaxed about meeting him again. He wondered if she’d told Constantine about seeing him earlier that morning. If she had, he could probably look forward to his father’s displeasure as well. Particularly if she’d mentioned that he’d been swimming in the nude.

Perhaps she hadn’t noticed. After all, she hadn’t noticed he was there at all until he’d vaulted out of the pool. Thank heaven for towels, he reflected drily. They could hide a multitude of sins.

‘Mrs Manning,’ he greeted her politely, inclining his head, and she managed a faint smile in return. But she was definitely antsy, and he decided to take pity on her. ‘Are you and my father joining me for breakfast?’

‘No,’ Her denial was swift. But then, as if realising she had been a little hasty, she added, ‘That is, your father won’t be joining us.’

‘Why not?’ Demetri’s eyes moved past her almost accusingly. ‘Is something wrong?’

‘He’s—tired, that’s all,’ she told him quietly, apparently not knowing what to do with her hands. She finally folded them together over her midriff, inadvertently drawing his attention to the narrow strip of pale flesh exposed between her top and her shorts. ‘He asked me to tell you he’ll see you later today.’

Demetri’s jaw clenched. He wasn’t used to being given news about his father from a third party. He’d had to comply while his father was in the hospital, but being given information by a doctor was vastly different from hearing it from her.

‘Are you sure you are telling me everything?’ he asked, regarding her from beneath lowered lids, and he felt rather than saw the quiver of emotion that rippled over her at his question.

But, ‘Of course,’ she said quickly. Then, to his surprise, ‘May I join you?’

Demetri frowned. ‘Please,’ he said without expression, but his thoughts were busy as she hurriedly seated herself in the chair across the table from his own. Was it only his imagination, or was this a deliberate attempt to divert him? He subsided again into his own chair. ‘Have you eaten?’

‘I—no.’ She moistened her lips. ‘But I’m not hungry. Perhaps I could have some coffee—’

She broke off as a white-aproned maid appeared at Demetri’s elbow. The girl—for she was little more—gave her employer’s son a proprietary smile before saying in their own language, ‘Can I get you anything else, kirie?’

Demetri hesitated. And then, deciding that Mrs Manning couldn’t be allowed to starve, he replied, ‘Yes. Some toast and coffee for my guest, if you will? Thank you.’

The maid withdrew and Demetri, feeling a little more in command, lay back in his chair. ‘Tora,’ he said pleasantly, ‘perhaps you will now explain to me why my father is really not joining us for breakfast.’

A hint of colour entered her face. ‘I’ve told you—’

‘No.’ His denial was soft but implacable. ‘You have told me nothing. Are you saying he is not well enough to get out of bed?’

Her cheeks were definitely pink now. ‘He said to tell you he was going to be lazy this morning,’ she insisted. ‘I’ve explained that he’s feeling tired. The journey from England, yesterday’s reception, and then dinner last night. He’s not used to so much activity. Not—not all at once.’

‘And entertaining a much younger woman?’ suggested Demetri dangerously. ‘Let us not forget your role in his recovery—or lack thereof. Whatever. Perhaps you are tiring him out, Mrs Manning.’

His words were unforgivable, and he knew a moment’s remorse at his own cruelty. He had no excuse for blaming her for his father’s weakness. Cancer didn’t discriminate between its victims, and he should be grateful that she had brought the old man some comfort during his convalescence. Grateful, too, that to all intents and purposes his father had beaten the disease. And who knew that she hadn’t had some part in that, as well?

Nevertheless, he despised himself for the sudden sympathy he felt when she turned her face away, blinking rapidly. She could be acting, of course, but he suspected he had upset her, and common sense told him that that was not the wisest thing to do. He had told Spiro he would handle this with kid gloves, but instead he was trampling finer feelings underfoot.

The return of the maid put an end to his self-admonishment. And if Joanna had been thinking of walking out on him, her actions were baulked by the serving woman setting a steaming pot of coffee and a linen-wrapped basket of toast at her elbow.

‘Afto ineh entaxi, kirie?’ Is that all right? the maid asked, looking at Demetri, and he drew a deep breath.

‘Ineh mia khara, efkharisto.’ It’s fine, thanks, he responded, but Joanna was looking at him now, and she looked anything but pleased.

‘Did you order this?’ she demanded, uncaring that the maid was still standing beside the table, clearly understanding the tone of her voice, if not the words.

Demetri wasn’t used to being embarrassed in front of his staff, and a muscle in his jaw jerked spasmodically as he strove to hide his anger. ‘You have to eat something, Mrs Manning,’ he said, aware that he no longer thought of her that way. Her first name was becoming far more familiar to him, and that was dangerous. ‘Efkharisto, Pilar. You may leave us.’

A gesture of his hand sent the young maid scurrying back into the villa, but he was going to have no such swift compliance from Joanna. ‘I said I only wanted coffee,’ she said, her blue eyes glittering now, her earlier emotion banished by a surge of indignation. ‘I am not hungry, Mr Kastro. In fact, I can’t think of anything I’d like less than sharing a meal with you!’

Demetri was outraged. ‘You asked if you could join me, Mrs Manning,’ he reminded her harshly, and her lips twisted in sudden distaste.

‘That was a mistake,’ she informed him, reaching for the pot of coffee and pouring herself a cup. Her hand was unsteady, he noticed, but he got little satisfaction from it. ‘It was before I realised what a small-minded, selfish boor you are!’

Her voice was shaking by the time she’d finished, but with an admirable dignity she got to her feet. Then, picking up her coffee cup, she turned away, evidently intending to drink it in more congenial surroundings.

‘Wait!’ Despite the resentment he was feeling, Demetri was loath to let her go like this. ‘Signomi,’ he said through clenched teeth. ‘I am sorry. I did not mean to offend you.’

‘No?’ She’d paused, regarding him with scornful eyes. ‘You virtually accuse me of exhausting your father with my demands and then try to tell me you didn’t mean to offend me? Come on, Mr Kastro. Surely you can do better than that?’

Demetri breathed deeply. ‘I spoke—without thinking,’ he declared, but he could see from her expression that she didn’t believe him.

‘On the contrary,’ she said, ‘I think you knew exactly what you were saying. You might wish you hadn’t exposed your feelings quite so openly, but that’s all. Don’t worry, Mr Kastro. I shan’t tell your father what you said. I, at least, have more respect for him than that.’

She would have turned away then, but he moved swiftly round the table to detain her. ‘All right,’ he said tersely, aware that she was looking up at him now with a certain amount of apprehension. ‘All right. You are right and I am wrong. It was a deliberate attempt to provoke you.’ He paused. ‘But, Theos, Joanna, you cannot have expected to come here without arousing some resentment.’

‘Why not?’ She blinked, and then said faintly, ‘You called me Joanna. Was that another mistake?’

Demetri stifled an oath. ‘No,’ he said impatiently. Then, wearily, ‘You must surely see that it is ludicrous for us to call one another Mrs Manning and Mr Kastro? My name is Demetri. Only my enemies call me Demetrios. And if we are to come to any kind of an understanding we should perhaps try and be civil with one another.’

Joanna hesitated. ‘I notice you didn’t suggest that we might be friends,’ she remarked drily, but she was definitely thawing.

‘Let us take each day at a time,’ Demetri ventured, gesturing towards the breakfast table. ‘Please. Will you sit with me?’ He paused, and then added ruefully, ‘My coffee is getting cold.’