Читать книгу Modern Romance December 2015 Books 5-8 - Мишель Смарт, Kate Walker - Страница 12
ОглавлениеWHEN TALOS PUNCHED his finger to the bell of Amalie’s front door he knew she must have been waiting for him. She pulled the door open before his hand was back by his side.
She stared at him impassively, as if what had occurred between them earlier had never happened. As if she hadn’t lost her calm veneer.
Without a word being exchanged, he followed her into the kitchen.
On the table lay a tray of pastries and two plates. A pot of coffee had just finished percolating. Amalie was dressed for her part, having donned a pair of black jeans that hugged her slender frame and a silver scoop-necked top. Her straight dark hair had been brushed back into a loose bun at the nape of her slender neck. She wore no make-up, and the freckles across her nose were vivid in the harsh light beaming from above them.
It was clear to him that she had seen reason. And why on earth would she not? She was a professional musician. He shouldn’t have to resort to blackmail.
Time was running out. For the gala. For his grandfather. The chemotherapy he was undergoing had weakened him badly. There were days when he couldn’t leave his bed—barely had the strength to retch into a bucket. Other days Talos found him in good spirits, happy to sit outside and enjoy the Agon sunshine in the sprawling palace gardens.
Talos remembered again that he had planned to return home after the auditions on Saturday and spend the rest of the weekend with his grandfather. Instead he’d been compelled to force through—and quickly—the purchase of that awful Parisian building. And for what? Because the only professional violinist he’d found capable of doing justice to his grandmother’s final composition was playing hardball.
No one played hardball with Talos Kalliakis. No one. To find this slender thing standing up to him...
But she had seen reason. That was all that mattered now.
He allowed himself a smile at his victory, and sat in the chair he’d vacated only six hours before.
Defeat had never crossed his mind. It was regrettable that he’d had to resort to blackmail to get his own way but time was of the essence. The Jubilee was only a month away. There was still time for her to learn the piece to performance standard and for her orchestra to learn the accompanying music. He wanted them note-perfect before they took to the palace stage.
Amalie’s arm brushed against his as she placed a mug in front of him. He found his attention caught by her fingers, as it had been earlier, when he’d had them trapped in his hand. It was the nails at the end of those long, elegant fingers that had really struck him. The nails of her left hand were short and blunt. The nails of her right hand were much longer and shapely. He’d puzzled over those nails all day...over what they reminded him of.
He’d also puzzled over the reaction that had swept through him when he’d pinned her to his lap after her anger had rushed to the surface.
Talos was a man who enjoyed the company of beautiful women. And beautiful women liked him. Women he didn’t know would catch his eye and hold it for a beat too long. When they learned who he was their gazes would stay fixed, suggestion and invitation ringing from them.
Never had he met a woman who so obviously disliked him. Never had he met anyone—man or woman—outside his immediate family who would deny him anything he wanted.
Amalie Cartwright was a pretty woman in her own unique way. The defiant attitude she’d displayed towards him infuriated and intrigued him in equal measure.
What, he wondered, would it be like to light the fire he’d glimpsed that morning in a more intimate setting?
What would it take to twist that fire and anger into passion?
He had felt the shift in her when her whole body had stilled and her breath had shortened and then stopped. The same time his own breath had stopped. One moment he’d been staring at her fingers with bemusement, the next his body had been filled with an awareness so strong it had knocked the air out of him.
He’d never experienced a reaction like it.
And now, watching her take the same seat as she had that morning, he could feel that awareness stirring within him again.
The following month held infinite possibilities...
‘Monsieur,’ she said once she had settled herself down and placed her green gaze on him, ‘earlier you appealed to my better nature—’
‘Which you disregarded,’ he interjected.
She bowed her head in acknowledgement. ‘I had my reasons, which I am going to share with you in the hope of appealing to your better nature.’
He regarded her carefully but kept silent, waiting for her to speak her mind. Surely she wasn’t trying another angle to turn the solo down?
‘I’m sorry but I lied to you—I do not have a prior engagement on the gala weekend.’ She gnawed on her bottom lip before continuing. ‘I suffer from stage fright.’
The idea was so ludicrous Talos shook his head in disbelief and laughed.
‘You?’ he said, not bothering to hide his incredulity. ‘You—the daughter of Colette Barthez and Julian Cartwright—suffer from stage fright?’
‘You know who I am?’
‘I know exactly who you are.’ He folded his arms, his brief, incredulous mirth evaporating. ‘I made it my business to know.’
He caught a flash of truculence in those green eyes, the first sign that the calm façade she wore was nothing but a front.
‘Your French mother is the most successful mezzo-soprano in the world. I admit I hadn’t heard of your father before today, but I understand he is a famous English violinist. I also learned that your father once played at Carnegie Hall with my grandmother, when he was first establishing himself.’
He leaned forward to rest his chin on his hands.
‘You were a noted child prodigy until the age of twelve, when your parents removed you from the spotlight so you could concentrate on your education. You became a professional musician at the age of twenty, when you joined the ranks of the Orchestre National de Paris as a second violin—a position you still hold five years on.’
She shrugged, but her face remained taut. ‘What you have described is something any person with access to the internet could find out in thirty seconds. My parents didn’t remove me from the spotlight because of my education—that is what my mother told the press, because she couldn’t bear the shame of having a daughter unable to perform in public.’
‘If you are “unable to perform in public”, how do you explain the fact that you perform in public at least once a week with your orchestra?’
‘I’m a second violin. I sit at the back of the orchestra. We have an average of eighty musicians playing at any given performance. The audience’s eyes are not on me but on the collective orchestra. It’s two different things. If I play at your grandfather’s gala everyone’s eyes will be on me and I will freeze. It will bring humiliation to me, to my mother—and to your grandfather. Is that what you want? To have the world’s eyes witness your star performer frozen on stage, unable to play a note?’
The only person who wouldn’t be ashamed of her was her father. She might have referred to it as a joint decision by her parents, but in truth it had been her father who’d gone against her mother’s wishes and pulled her out of the spotlight. He’d been the one to assure her that it was okay to play just for the love of the music, even if it was only in the privacy of her own bedroom.
Talos’s eyes narrowed, a shrewd expression emanating from them. ‘How do I know you aren’t lying to me right now?’
‘I...’
‘By your own admission you lied about being busy on the gala weekend.’
‘It was a lie of necessity.’
‘No lie is necessary. If you can’t handle eyes on you when you play, how were you able to join the orchestra in the first place?’
‘It was a blind audition. Everyone who applied had to play behind a screen so there could be no bias. And, before you ask, of course I practise and rehearse amongst my colleagues, But that is a world away from standing up on a stage and feeling hundreds of eyes staring at you.’
He shook his head slowly, his light brown eyes unreadable. ‘I am in two minds here. Either you are speaking the truth or you are telling another lie.’
‘I am speaking the truth. You need to find another soloist.’
‘I think not. Nerves and stage fright are things that can be overcome, but finding another soloist who can do justice to my grandmother’s final composition is a different matter.’
Never mind that time had almost run out. He could spend the rest of his life searching and not find anyone whose playing touched him the way Amalie’s had in those few minutes he had listened to her.
Talos had never settled for second best in his life and he wasn’t about to start now.
‘What do you know about my island?’ he asked her.
She looked confused at the change of direction. ‘Not much. It’s near Crete, isn’t it?’
‘Crete is our nearest neighbour. Like the Cretans, we are descended from the Minoans. Throughout the centuries Agon has been attacked by the Romans, the Ottomans and the Venetians—to name a few. We repelled them all. Only the Venetians managed to occupy us, and just for a short period. My people, under the leadership of the warrior Ares Patakis, of whom I am a direct descendent, rose against the occupiers and expelled them from our land. No other nation has occupied our shores since. History tells our story. Agonites will not be oppressed or repressed. We will fight until our last breath for our freedom.’
He paused to take a sip of his coffee. He had to hand it to her: she had excellent taste.
‘You are probably wondering why I am telling you all this,’ he said.
‘I am trying to understand the relevance,’ she admitted thoughtfully.
‘It is to give you an awareness of the stock that I, my family and our people come from. We are fighters. There isn’t an Agonite alive who would back down in the face of adversity. Stage fright? Nerves? Those are issues to be fought and conquered. And with my help you will conquer them.’
Amalie could imagine it only too well. Talos Kalliakis ready for battle, stripped to nothing but iron battle gear, spear in hand. He would be at the front of any fight.
It was her bad fortune that he had chosen to fight her.
But her stage fright wasn’t a fight. It was just a part of her, something she had long ago accepted.
Her life was nice and cosy. Simple. No drama, no histrionics. She refused to allow the tempestuousness of her childhood seep its way into her adult life.
‘I have arranged with your directors for you to come to Agon in a couple of days and to stay until the gala. Your orchestra will start rehearsals immediately and fly out a week before the gala so you can rehearse with them.’
Her pledge to be amiable evaporated. ‘Excuse me, but you’ve done what?’
‘It will give you a month in Agon to acclimatise...’
‘I don’t need to acclimatise. Agon is hardly the middle of a desert.’
‘It will also give you a month to prepare yourself perfectly for the solo,’ he continued, ignoring her interruption, although his eyes flashed another warning at her. ‘No distractions.’
‘But...’
‘Your stage fright is something that will be overcome,’ he said, with all the assurance of a man who had never been struck with anything as weak as nerves. ‘I will see to it personally.’
He stopped speaking, leaving a pause she knew she was supposed to fill, but all she could think was how badly she wanted to throw something at him, to curse this hateful man who was attempting to destroy the comfortable, quiet life she had made for herself away from the spotlight.
‘Despinis?’
She looked up to find those laser eyes striking through her again, as if he could reach right in and see what she was thinking.
‘Do you accept the solo?’ His voice hardened to granite. ‘Or do I have to make one hundred musicians redundant? Do I have to destroy one hundred careers, including your own? Have no doubt—I will do it. I will destroy you all.’
She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, trying to extinguish the panic clawing at her throat.
She believed him. This was no idle threat. He could destroy her career. She had no idea how he would do it, she knew only that he could.
If she didn’t loathe him so much she would wonder why he was prepared to take such dark measures to get her agreement. As it was, she couldn’t give a flying viola as to his reasons.
If she didn’t comply he would take away the only thing she could do.
But how could she agree to do it? The last time she’d performed solo she’d been surrounded by her parents’ arty friends—musicians, actors, writers, singers. She’d humiliated herself and her mother in front of every one of them. How could she stand on a stage with dignitaries and heads of state watching her and not be shredded by the same nerves? That was if she even made it on to the stage.
The one time she’d tried after the awful incident had left her hospitalised. And what she remembered most clearly about that dreadful time was her father’s fury at her mother for forcing her. He’d accused her of selfishness and of using their only child as a toy.
A lump formed in Amalie’s throat as she recalled them separating mere weeks later, her father gaining primary custody of her.
She was lucky, though. If times got really hard she knew she could rely on both her parents to bail her out. She would never go hungry. She would never lose her home. Her colleagues weren’t all so fortunate. Not many of them were blessed with wealthy parents.
She thought of kindly Juliette, who was seven months pregnant with her third child. Of Louis, who only last week had booked a bank-breaking holiday with his family to Australia. Grumbling Giles, who moaned every month when his mortgage payment was taken from his account...
All those musicians, all those office workers...
All unaware that their jobs, security and reputations hung in the balance.
She stared at Talos, willing him to feel every ounce of her hate.
‘Yes, I’ll come. But the consequences are something you will have to live with.’
* * *
Amalie gazed out of the window and got her first glimpse of Agon. As the plane made its descent she stared transfixed as golden beaches emerged alongside swathes of green, high mountains and built-up areas of pristine white buildings... And then they touched down, bouncing along the runway before coming to a final smooth stop.
Keeping a firm grip on her violin, she followed her fellow business-class passengers out and down the metal stairs. After the slushy iciness of Paris in March, the temperate heat was a welcome delight.
From the economy section bounded excited children and frazzled parents, there to take advantage of the sunshine Agon was blessed with, where spring and summer came earlier than to its nearest neighbour, Crete. She hadn’t considered that she would be going to an island famed as a holiday destination for families and historical buffs alike. In her head she’d thought of Agon as a prison—as dark and dangerous as the man who had summoned her there.
Amalie had travelled to over thirty countries in her life, but never had she been in an airport as fresh and welcoming as the one in Agon. Going through Arrivals was quick; her luggage arriving on the conveyor belt even quicker.
A man waited in the exit lounge, holding up her name on a specially laminated board. Polite introductions out of the way, he took the trolley holding her luggage from her and led the way out to a long, black car parked in what was clearly the prime space of the whole car park.
Everything was proceeding exactly as had been stated in the clipped email Talos’s private secretary had sent to her the day before. It had contained a detailed itinerary, from the time a car would be collecting her from her house all the way through to her estimated time of arrival at the villa that would be her home for the next month.
As the chauffeur navigated the roads she was able to take further stock of the island. Other than expecting it to be as dangerous as the youngest of its princes, she’d had no preconceptions. She was glad. Talos Kalliakis might be a demon sent to her from Hades, but his island was stunning.
Mementoes of Agon’s early Greek heritage were everywhere, from the architecture to the road signs in the same common language. But Agon was now a sovereign island, autonomous in its rule. The thing that struck her most starkly was how clean everything was, from the well-maintained roads to the buildings and homes they drove past. When they went past a harbour she craned her neck to look more closely at the rows of white yachts stationed there—some of them as large as cruise liners.
Soon they were away from the town and winding higher into the hills and mountains. Her mouth dropped open when she caught her first glimpse of the palace, standing proudly on a hill much in the same way as the ancient Greeks had built their most sacred monuments. Enormous and sprawling, it had a Middle Eastern flavour to it, as if it had been built for a great sultan centuries ago.
But it wasn’t to the palace that she was headed. No sooner had it left her sight than the chauffeur slowed down, pausing while a wrought-iron gate inched open, then drove up to a villa so large it could have been a hotel. Up the drive he took them, and then round to the back of the villa’s grounds, travelling for another mile until he came to a much smaller dwelling at the edge of the extensive villa’s garden—a generously sized white stone cottage.
An elderly man, with a shock of white hair flapping in the breeze above a large bald spot, came out of the front door to greet them.
‘Good evening, despinis,’ he said warmly. ‘I am Kostas.’
Explaining that he ran the main villa for His Highness Prince Talos, he showed her around the cottage that would be her home for the month. The small kitchen was well stocked and a daily delivery of fresh fruit, breads and dairy products would be brought to her. If she wished to eat her meals in the main villa she only had to pick up the phone and let them know; likewise if she wished to have meals delivered to the cottage.
‘The villa has a gym, a swimming pool, and spa facilities you are welcome to use whenever you wish,’ he said before he left. ‘There are also a number of cars you can use if you wish to travel anywhere, or we can arrange for a driver to take you.’
So Talos didn’t intend to keep her prisoner in the cottage? That was handy to know.
She’d envisaged him collecting her from the airport, locking her in a cold dungeon and refusing to let her out until she was note-perfect with his grandmother’s composition and all her demons had been banished.
Thinking about it sent a tremor racing up her spine.
She wondered what great psychiatrist Talos would employ to ‘fix’ her. She would laugh if the whole thing didn’t terrify her so much. Whoever he employed had better get a move on. She had exactly four weeks and two days until she had to stand on the stage for the King of Agon’s Jubilee Gala. In those thirty days she had to learn an entirely new composition, her orchestra had to learn the accompanying score, and she had to overcome the nerves that had paralysed her for over half her lifetime.
