was now, while he was a baby— before emotional ties could be formed, before he grew to love her, and could be wounded by parting with her. Now was the time, she knew, for her to be strong—to let him go to his grandmother, to be cherished and loved, protected and safe.
As every child should be.
And there was yet one more reason for giving Ari up to his grandmother. One that she could not ignore. One that the monstrous offer by Nikos Theakis made it impossible to ignore.
A million pounds. So much money. How could she possibly say no to that?
Nikos stood, as he had stood only a few days before, in the dingy living room of Ann Turner’s flat, watching with rigid features as she signed away her custody rights to his nephew. But as she put her name to the last of the legal papers, and shakily got to her feet, he allowed himself the satisfaction of letting his opinion of her show in his face.
Ann flinched. It was quite visible. Then his lawyer was picking up the papers and placing them inside his briefcase. At the door, a young nanny held Ari. For a second the emotion was so overpoweringly strong that she swayed with the need to snatch him back. Never, never let him go! But it was too late. The nanny, with a last sympathetic smile at Ann, was going, followed by the lawyer.
At the doorway, Nikos paused. Ann Turner was clutching the back of the chair, her face white. For a second Nikos frowned, then his face cleared, resuming its expression.
‘You may cash your cheque now, Miss Turner,’ he said softly, and his words licked over her like a whip.
But Ann was beyond his scorn. Beyond anything but the silent scream in her head that she could not do what she had just done. Yet even as the scream sounded in her mind Nikos Theakis was walking out, the front door closing behind him.
Its echo haunted her, tearing at her through the years ahead.
CHAPTER ONE
Four years later…
THE FAMOUS LONDON toy shop was crowded with children and parents as Ann threaded her way through, studying the myriad toys on offer. Most were far too expensive, but some gave her excellent ideas. It was strange being back in England. She’d hardly been back here at all in the years since she’d taken Nikos Theakis’ cheque—and given Ari away.
Four years—and still guilt assailed her over what she had done. Oh, Carla, did I do the right thing? Tell me I did. Tell me that Ari is loved and happy.
That was all that mattered—that he was growing up, as Nikos Theakis had said he would, in an idyllic childhood. Orphaned, yes, but with family to love him and material wealth in abundance. Not all children were so fortunate.
She steeled herself. Yes, that was what she had to remember. Yet it was with a heavy sigh that she continued her perambulation. Being back in England brought back all the memories of Ari as a baby. Would she even recognise him if she saw him now? Her heart ached. Of all the strictures that Nikos Theakis had laid upon her, the loss of contact had been the worst to bear. But it was the price she’d had to pay.
Familiar blackness filled her as she thought of the man who had taken Ari from her. Remembered the vile things he’d said about Carla, the contempt in his eyes when she’d taken his cheque. His banning her from ever seeing Ari again.
Eyes shadowed, she rounded a display of soft toys, pausing to check the price and flinching when she saw it. Then, across the aisle, she heard a voice that stilled her utterly.
‘Ari, my darling, speak English—remember we are in England now.’
As if in slow motion, Ann’s head turned. A little way away was a huge railway track, laid out with trains whizzing around. Children crowded to see it. Right in her line of sight was a small child, flanked by two women with their backs to Ann.
‘That’s the train Uncle Nikki is buying me!’ came a piping voice.
The younger woman beside him turned to smile. Ann saw her profile and gasped, her hand flying to her throat. Four years might have passed, but Ann recognised instantly the nanny who had taken Ari from her arms. The little boy beside her must be…must be…
She felt faint with shock, staring, transfixed. Even as emotion convulsed her, the nanny’s gaze shifted outwards slightly and caught hers. Ann could see her expression change as she recognised her. Then the older woman saw the nanny’s expression, and turned as well.
It was Ari’s grandmother. It had to be! For a moment the older woman, elegantly beautiful, but with a frail air about her, returned Ann’s stare with mild curiosity, and then her brow puckered questioningly. She murmured something to the nanny, who nodded slowly, assessingly, then walked across to Ann.
‘You will excuse me, please,’ she said in an accented voice, curious and a little hesitant, ‘but…is it possible…? Could you possibly be…? You have a look about you of my grandson.’
Ann swallowed, unable to move, her throat still tight as a leash. Then, into her eyeline came another figure. Much taller, male, clad in a black cashmere overcoat, striding towards the train display from the cash desk. Ann’s breath caught in her throat. Simultaneously the man’s head skewed round, his eyes searching for his mother, absent from his nephew, who was still absorbed in watching the trains scurrying round the track. They lighted on Ann and he stopped dead.
In a second she made her decision. She took half a step forward.
‘Yes, I am Ann Turner. Ari’s aunt,’ she announced.
After that it became a blur. The expression on Sophia Theakis’ face turned to pleasure, and she reached out her hands to take Ann’s and draw her forward. Immediately Nikos Theakis strode up, his face like thunder. But his attempt to intercept the greeting was too late.
Sophia Theakis held up one small but imperious hand to her son. ‘Nikki, this is quite extraordinary,’ she said, speaking English. ‘Look, this is little Ari’s aunt. I can scarcely believe it!’
Her son’s face might have been carved from stone. ‘Extraordinary indeed,’ he drawled, and the menace in his voice vibrated like a warning.
But Sophia Theakis did not hear it. Instead, she was drawing Ann towards where her grandson was still riveted by the train display. She laid a gentle arm on his shoulder, spoke something low in Greek and turned him around. For the first time in four long years Ann looked into the face of the little boy she had last seen as a tiny baby.
His face blurred as her eyes hazed with tears. She dropped down to a crouch and took his little hands.
‘Hello, Ari,’ she said quietly.
The child frowned slightly. ‘Ya-ya says you are my thia. But I haven’t got a thia, only a thios—Uncle Nikki. Are you married to Uncle Nikki? Then you would be my thia,’ he reasoned, with impeccable logic.
Ann shook her head slightly. His grandmother said something, again in Greek.
‘But I haven’t got a mummy any more. She and my Daddy live in heaven,’ said the little boy.
‘Your mummy had a sister, Ari,’ said Ann, her voice husky as she spoke. ‘That sister is me.’
‘Where have you been?’
