The Greek Tycoon's Achilles Heel. Lucy Gordon
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be up to it after…well…’
He fell silent, alarmed by the grim look that had come over Lysandros’s face.
‘Quite,’ he said in a quiet voice that was more frightening than a shout. ‘Well, it’s a long time ago. The past is over.’
‘Yes, and your father said that all his fears were groundless because when you returned you were different, a tiger who terrified everyone. He was so proud.’
‘Well, let’s hope I terrify Homer Lukas. Otherwise I’m losing my touch.’
‘Perhaps you should be scared,’ Stavros said. ‘Such threats he’s been uttering since you recently bilked him and his son of billions. Stole billions, according to him.’
‘I didn’t steal anything, I merely offered the client a better deal,’ Lysandros said indifferently.
‘But it was at the last minute,’ Stavros recalled. ‘Apparently they were all assembled to sign the contracts, and the client had actually lifted the pen when his phone rang and it was you, giving him some information that you could only have acquired “by disgraceful means”.’
‘Not as disgraceful as all that,’ Lysandros observed with a shrug. ‘I’ve done worse, I’m glad to say.’
‘And that was that,’ Stavros resumed. ‘The man put the pen down, cancelled the deal and walked out straight into your car, waiting outside. Rumour says Homer promised the gods on Olympus splendid offerings if only they would punish you.’
‘But I’ve remained unpunished, so perhaps the gods weren’t listening. They say he even uttered a curse over my wedding invitation. I hope he did.’
‘You’re really not taking anyone with you?’
Lysandros made a non-committal reply. He attended many weddings as a duty, sometimes with companions but never with one woman. It would interest the press too much, and send out misleading signals to the lady herself, which could cause him serious inconvenience.
‘Right, let’s get going,’ Stavros said.
‘I’m afraid I’ll have to catch you up later,’ Lysandros excused himself.
‘But you just said you’d go with me—’
‘Yes, but I’ve suddenly remembered something I must do first. Goodbye.’
There was a finality in the last word that Stavros dared not challenge.
His car was waiting downstairs. In the back sat his wife, who’d refused to come in with him on the grounds that she hated the desolate house that seemed to suit Lysandros so perfectly.
‘How can he bear to live in that vast, silent place with no family and only servants for company?’ she’d demanded more than once. ‘It makes me shiver. And that’s not the only thing about Lysandros that makes me shiver.’
In that, she knew she was not alone. Most of Athens would have agreed. Now, when Stavros had described the conversation, she said, ‘Why did he change his mind about coming with us?’
‘My fault. I stupidly mentioned the past, and he froze. It’s almost eerie the way he’s blotted that time out as though it never happened, yet it drives everything he does. Look at what happened just now. One minute he was fine, the next he couldn’t get rid of me fast enough.’
‘I wonder why he’s really going to leave early.’
‘He’ll probably pass the time with a floozy.’
‘If you mean—’ she said a name, ‘she’s hardly a floozy. Her husband’s one of the most influential men on the—’
‘Which makes her a high class floozy, and she’s keeping her distance now because her husband has put his foot down. Rumours reached him.’
‘He probably knew all the time,’ his wife said cynically. ‘There are men in this city who don’t mind their women sleeping with Lysandros.’
Stavros nodded. ‘Yes, but I gather she became too “emotional”, started expecting too much, so he dropped the husband a hint to rein her in if he knew what was good for him.’
‘Surely even Lysandros wouldn’t be so cruel, so coldblooded—’
‘That’s exactly what he is, and in our hearts we all know it,’ Stavros said flatly.
‘I wonder about his heart,’ she mused.
‘He doesn’t have one, which is why he keeps people at a distance.’
As the car turned out of the gate Stavros couldn’t resist looking back to the house. Lysandros stood there at the window, watching the world with a brooding air, as though it was his personal property and he had yet to decide how to manage it.
He remained there until the car had vanished through the gates, then turned back into the room, trying to clear his mind. The conversation had disturbed him and that must be quickly remedied. Luckily an urgent call came through from his manager at the port of Piraeus, to say that they were threatened with union trouble. Lysandros gave him a series of curt orders and promised to be there the next day.
Today he would attend Homer Lukas’s wedding as an honoured guest. He would shake his rival’s hand, show honour to the bride, and the watching crowds would sigh with disappointment not to see them at each other’s throats, personally as well as professionally.
Now, more than ever, his father’s advice rang in his head.
‘Never, never let them know what you’re thinking.’
He’d learned that lesson well and, with its aid, he would spend today with a smile on his face, concealing the hatred that consumed him.
At last it was time for his chauffeur to take him to the Lukas estate. Soon he could see Homer’s ‘Parthenon’, in which the wedding was to take place, and it loomed up high, proclaiming the residence of a wealthy and influential man.
A fake, he thought grimly. No more authentic than the other ‘Greek setting’ in Las Vegas.
His thoughts went back to a time that felt like another world and through his mind danced the girl on the roof, skinny, ordinary, yet with an outspoken innocence that had both exasperated and charmed him. And at the last moment, when she’d opened her arms to him, offering a comfort he’d found nowhere else in the world and he’d almost—
He slammed his mind shut. It was the only way to deal with weakness.
He wondered how she’d come to be one of the wedding party; probably the daughter of one of Estelle Radnor’s numerous secretaries.
She might be here today, but it was probably better not to meet again after so long. Time was never kind. The years would have turned her into a dull wife with several children and a faithless husband. Where once she had sparkled, now she would probably seethe.
Nor had he himself been improved by time, he knew. A heaviness had settled over him, different from the raging grief that had possessed him in those days. That had been a matter of the heart and he’d dealt with it suitably, setting it aside, focusing on his head, where all sensible action took place.
He’d done what was right and wise, yet he had an uneasy feeling that if he met her now she would look right through him—and disapprove.
At last they arrived. As he got out of his car and looked around he had to admit that Homer had spent money to great effect. The great temple to the goddess Athena had been recreated much as the original must have looked when it was new. The building was about seventy metres by thirty, the roof held aloft by elegant columns. Marvellous statues abounded, but the greatest of all was the forty-foot statue of Athena, which had mysteriously developed the face of Estelle Radnor.
He grimaced, wondering how long it would be before he could decently depart.
But, before he could start his social