CHAPTER THREE

      SPIRO was waiting with the chauffeur-driven limousine, and Sylvie climbed into the back with some reluctance. The night air outside was magical, soft and warm and silky smooth, faintly scented with the perfume from the flowers that grew in such profusion in the gardens surrounding the apartment building.

      Andreas gave the chauffeur his instructions, then got in beside her, his weight automatically depressing the cushioned, upholstery. Sylvie was intensely conscious of him only inches away from her on the leather seat, his thigh and the powerful length of his leg reclining indolently. Yet he made no attempt to speak to her again, and aware of her impulsive rejoinder earlier, she endeavoured to restore their previous amicability.

      ‘Will—will I be meeting any of the other members of your family this evening—Andreas?’ she enquired, using his name deliberately. ‘Apart from your mother and father, of course,’ she added, and looked at his shadowy profile half defiantly, defending her use of his Christian name. After all, they were distantly related, she told herself again, and she had no intention of compounding his opinion of her youthfulness by addressing him as Mr, or Kirie, Petronides.

      There was a pregnant silence, when she thought he wasn’t going to answer her, but then he said quietly: ‘My two youngest sisters are unmarried, and still live with my parents. They will be present this evening, naturally, and Leon will be there, but of course, you know that.’

      Sylvie didn’t, but she acknowledged that it was reasonable. She wondered if she would see Nikos, too, but perhaps he would already be in bed. She doubted he would recognise her. Apart from one visit to London with both his parents when he was three years old, her only contact with her nephew had been through the medium of Christmas and birthday cards, and the occasional family photograph.

      She was considering this when the limousine began to slow down, and she saw through the windows of the car that they had entered a quiet square, lined with tall white-painted houses. It was evidently a residential square, many of the houses possessing shutters and colourful window boxes, and the limousine halted at the foot of a flight of steps leading up to a narrow black door.

      ‘A moment,’ said Andreas, by way of explanation, and without waiting for the chauffeur he thrust open his door and stepped out on to the pavement. As he did so, the door to the house opened and a young woman appeared, bidding goodbye to whoever was behind the door, and descending the steps eagerly towards them. She was tall and slim and elegant, her full-skirted dress swinging gracefully about her knees, her dark hair shoulder-length, and tipped slightly upward. She was very attractive, in a dark Grecian sort of way, and Sylvie watched with some envy as Andreas bent to kiss her, and her hand strayed possessively over the fine mohair of his collar. She knew without being told that this had to be Eleni, and she guessed her call earlier had been returned, and the new arrangements explained to her.

      Andreas led the girl back to the car, and she climbed inside as gracefully as she had descended the steps, seating herself beside Sylvie and bestowing upon her a rather tentative smile. How old was she? Sylvie wondered. Twenty-one or twenty-two? She couldn’t be much older, but her manner was shy and reserved. Sylvie, for her part, smiled in return, and encountered Andreas’s thoughtful appraisal as he got back into the vehicle.

      ‘Eleni, I’d like you to meet Leon’s sister-in-law, Sylvana,’ he remarked, seating himself on one of the pull-down seats in front of them, as the limousine moved off again. ‘She is going to look after Nikos, until his mother feels capable of meeting her responsibilities.’

      ‘Oh, but—–’ Sylvie opened her mouth to protest that that was not at all the arrangement, but Eleni forestalled her. ‘How do you do, Sylvana,’ she greeted her politely, holding out a slim white hand for Sylvie to take. ‘Andreas has told me of your kindness in coming here. I hope you will enjoy your stay in our country.’

      ‘I’m sure I shall.’ Sylvie shook hands with Eleni, and forced some enthusiasm into her voice, but she couldn’t help wishing her situation was not so ambiguous. What about Dora? she wanted to cry, but so far the nursemaid’s name had not been mentioned.

      Eleni folded her hands in her lap, and Sylvie noticed the exquisitely designed ruby, set in a circlet of diamonds, that occupied the third finger of her left hand. An engagement ring? she pondered. Andreas’s, perhaps? So far he had said nothing about the girl but her name.

      Her presence prevented Sylvie from asking any more questions. She could hardly question Andreas about his relationship to the girl, with Eleni sitting there listening, and besides, he seemed quite content to exchange an occasional word with the Greek girl, in their own language, of course.

      Presently, however, Eleni turned to her again. ‘How is Margot, Sylvana?’ she asked, surprising her by the question. Then she added: ‘We met last year, at Michael’s wedding. Do you know Michael, Sylvana? He is Andreas’s youngest brother.’

      ‘I’m afraid not.’ Sylvie shook her head. ‘And do call me Sylvie. Sylvana’s such a mouthful!’

      ‘Such a what? A mouthful?’ Eleni looked confused, and Andreas broke in to explain.

      ‘She means—it is too long, too formal, Eleni,’ he said, glancing coolly at the younger girl. ‘She wishes you to address her as Sylvie.’

      ‘Oh, I see.’ Eleni gave a rueful little laugh, and Sylvie felt bound to elucidate.

      ‘My mother chose rather—flowery names,’ she confessed apologetically. ‘And while Margot is—well, Margot, I’ve always thought of myself as Sylvie.’

      Eleni gave a small shrug of her shoulders. ‘Oh, I see. Poli kala. So—is your sister ill? Is that why she has sent you to act as her deputy?’

      Sylvie was conscious of Andreas looking at her