Greek's Pride. Helen Bianchin
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at his command. Yet there was a lurking cynicism, a slight wariness apparent beneath the sophisticated veneer, almost as if he expected her to instigate an attempt at conversation, initiating a subtle invitation—to God knew what? Her bed?
Innate pride tinged with defiance lent her eyes a fiery sparkle and provided an infinitesimal tilt to her chin as she checked the hands of the clock positioned high on the marble-slabbed wall.
Two lifts reached the ground floor simultaneously, and she stood back, opting to enter the one closest her, aware too late that the man seemed intent on following in her wake.
The lift filled rapidly, and she determinedly fixed her attention on the instrument panel, all too aware of the man standing within touching distance. Despite her four-inch stiletto heels he towered head and shoulders above her, and this close she could sense the slight aroma of his cologne.
It was crazy to feel so positively stifled, yet she was supremely conscious of every single breath, every pulsebeat. It wasn’t a sensation she enjoyed, and she was intensely relieved when the lift slid to a halt at her chosen floor.
Alyse’s gratitude at being freed from his unsettling presence was short-lived when she discovered that he too had vacated the lift and was seemingly intent on entering the same suite of offices.
Moving towards Reception, she gave her name and that of the legal partner with whom she had an appointment, then selected a nearby chair. Reaching for a magazine, she flipped idly through the glossy pages with pretended interest, increasingly aware of the man standing negligently at ease on the edge of her peripheral vision.
With a hand thrust into the trouser pocket of his impeccably tailored suit he looked every inch the powerful potentate, portraying a dramatic mesh of blatant masculinity and elemental ruthlessness. Someone it would be infinitely wiser to have as a friend than an enemy, Alyse perceived wryly.
Something about him bothered her—an intrinsic familiarity she was unable to pinpoint. She knew they had never met, for he wasn’t a man you would forget in a hurry!
‘Miss Anderson? If you’d care to follow me, Mr Mannering will see you now.’
Alyse followed the elegantly attired secretary down a wide, spacious corridor into a modern office offering a magnificent view of the city. Acknowledging the solicitor’s greeting, she selected one of three armchairs opposite his desk and graciously sank into its leather-cushioned depth.
‘There seems to be some urgency in your need to see me,’ she declared, taking time to cross one slim nylon-clad leg over the other as she looked askance at the faintly harassed-looking man viewing her with a degree of thoughtful speculation.
‘Indeed. A most unexpected development,’ Hugh Mannering conceded as he reached for a manilla folder and riffled through its contents. ‘These papers were delivered by courier yesterday afternoon, and followed an hour later by a telephone call from the man who instigated their dispatch.’
A slight frown momentarily creased her brow. ‘I thought Antonia’s estate was quite straightforward.’
‘Her estate—yes. Custody of your sister’s son, however, is not.’
Alyse felt something squeeze painfully in the region of her heart. ‘What do you mean?’
He bent his head, and his spectacles slid fractionally down his nose, allowing him the opportunity to view her over the top of the frame. ‘I have copies of legal documentation by a delegate of the Stefanos family laying claim to Georg—’ he paused to consult the name outlined within the documented text ‘—Georgiou. Infant son of Georgiou Stavro Stefanos, born to Antonia Grace Anderson at a disclosed maternity hospital in suburban Perth just over two months ago.’
Alyse paled with shock, her eyes large liquid pools mirroring disbelief as she looked at the solicitor with mounting horror. ‘They can’t do that!’ she protested in a voice that betrayed shaky incredulity.
The man opposite appeared nonplussed. ‘Antonia died intestate, without written authority delegating legal responsibility for her son. As her only surviving relative, you naturally assumed the role of surrogate mother and guardian.’ He paused to clear his throat. ‘However, technically, the child is an orphan, and a decision would, in the normal course of events, be made by the Department of Family Services as to the manner in which the child is to be cared for, having regard to all relevant circumstances with the welfare of the child as the paramount consideration. An application to adopt the child can be lodged with the Department by any interested party.’ He paused to spare her a compassionate glance. ‘A matter I had every intention of bringing to your attention.’
‘Are you trying to say that my sister’s lover’s family have as much right to adopt her son as I do?’ Alyse demanded in a fervent need to reduce reiterated legalese to its simplest form.
The solicitor’s expression mirrored his spoken response. ‘Yes.’
‘But that’s impossible! The clear facts of Georgiou’s chosen dissociation from Antonia’s letters would be a mark against him in any court of law.’
Tears welled unbidden as Alyse thought of her sister. Six years Alyse’s junior, Antonia had been so carefree, so young. Too young at nineteen to suffer the consequences of a brief holiday romance abroad. Yet suffer she did, discovering within weeks of her return from an idyllic cruise of the Greek Islands that her capricious behaviour had resulted in pregnancy.
A letter dispatched at once to an address in Athens brought no response, nor, several weeks later, with the aid of a translator, did attempted telephone contact, for all that could be determined was that the number they sought was ex-directory and therefore unobtainable.
Truly a love-child, little Georgiou had survived by his mother’s refusal to consider abortion, and he’d entered the world after a long struggle that had had the medics in attendance opting for surgical intervention via emergency Caesarian section. Fate, however, had delivered an incredibly cruel blow when complications which had plagued Antonia since giving birth had brought on a sudden collapse, followed within days by her tragic death.
Shattered beyond belief, Alyse had stoically attended to all the relevant arrangements, and employed a manageress for her childrenswear boutique during those first terrible weeks until she could arrange for a reliable babysitter.
Now, she had organised a satisfactory routine whereby a babysitter came in each morning, and the boutique was managed during the afternoon hours, thus ensuring that Alyse could spend as much time as possible with a young baby whose imposing Christian name had long since been affectionately shortened to Georg.
‘I can understand your concern, Alyse. Mr Stefanos has offered to explain, personally, the reasons supporting his claim.’
Undisguised surprise widened her eyes, followed immediately by a degree of incredible anger. ‘He’s actually dared to come here in person, after all this time?’
Hugh Mannering regarded her carefully for several seconds, then offered slowly, ‘It’s in your own interest to at least listen to what he has to say.’
The solicitor depressed a button on the intercom console and issued his secretary with appropriate instructions.
Within a matter of seconds the door opened, and the tall compelling-looking man who had succeeded in shattering Alyse’s composure only half an hour earlier entered the room.
She felt her stomach lurch, then contract in inexplicable apprehension. Who was he? She had seen sufficient of Antonia’s holiday snapshots to be certain that the reflection depicted on celluloid and this man were not one and the same.
Hugh Mannering made the introduction with polite civility. ‘Alyse Anderson—Aleksi Stefanos.’
‘Miss Anderson.’ The acknowledgment was voiced in a deep, faintly accented drawl, and an icy chill feathered across the surface of her skin. His eyes swept her features in raking appraisal, then locked with her startled gaze for a brief second before he directed his attention to the man opposite.
‘I