He furrowed his brows. ‘Doing what?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. Chores. Stuff. Something to make me feel like a real person who’s connected with the world, rather than some sort of mindless doll who gets everything done for her. A bit of cleaning, perhaps. Maybe even some cooking.’ She bit her lip. ‘But when I offered to peel some potatoes for Maria the other day, she acted like I’d threatened to detonate a bomb in the middle of the kitchen.’
He seemed to be picking each word carefully, like someone selecting diamonds from a barrel of stones. ‘Probably because she didn’t think it was appropriate.’
‘And why wouldn’t it be?’
‘Because...’ He sucked in a breath and made no attempt to hide his sudden irritation. ‘You are not on my staff, Keeley, not any more. You are now the mistress of my household and I would prefer it if you acted that way.’
She sat up ramrod-straight. ‘You sound like you’re ashamed of me!’
‘Don’t be absurd,’ he clipped out. ‘But it isn’t possible to flit between the two worlds—you must realise that. You can’t be peeling potatoes one minute, and asking someone to serve you tea the next. You need to be clear about your new role and demonstrate it to everyone else, so nobody gets confused. Do you understand?’
She swallowed. ‘I think I’m getting the general idea.’
He caught hold of her hand. ‘And things will probably settle down once you’ve had the baby.’
‘Yes, probably. At least that’s something I can do,’ she said lightly.
There was a pause as he circled his thumb over her palm. ‘Though we will need a nurse, of course,’ he added.
At first she thought she must have misheard him. ‘I’m sorry?’ she said, but her heart had started to race with some dark and nameless fear as she looked into his face.
‘A nurse,’ he reiterated. ‘A nursery nurse, I believe they’re called.’
‘But...’ She could feel tiny little beads of sweat pricking at her forehead. ‘I thought since you’d been so hands-on with Pavlos, you wouldn’t want us to have any outside help with the baby. Was I wrong about that too, Ariston?’
She saw his face darken. Was he angry at the mention of his brother’s name—for her daring to bring up a subject he had very firmly closed on the night of their wedding?
‘Obviously, you will do the lion’s share but I shall be out at work for most of the day.’
‘And?’ she questioned in confusion as his voice tailed off.
His eyes briefly caught the gleam of lights as the car slid to a halt outside the restaurant. ‘And we will need a nurse who speaks Greek, so that my son will grow up speaking my tongue. For that is vital, given the heritage which will one day be his.’
His words were still reeling around Keeley’s head as they entered the upmarket Greek restaurant—one of very few in central London, or so Ariston informed her as they were led towards the best table in the room. But she didn’t care about the stunning trompe l’oeil walls painted with bright blue skies and soaring marble pillars, which made you feel as if you were standing in the middle of an ancient Greek temple. She was so reeling at this latest bombshell that she could barely take in the names of Ariston’s formidable-looking colleagues or their beautiful wives, who, to a woman, were sleek and dark and polished. She recited their names silently in her head, like a child learning tables. Theo and Anna. Nikios and Korinna.
And of course they all kept slipping into Greek from time to time. Why wouldn’t they, when it was their first language? Even though they seamlessly switched to English to include her, Keeley still felt like a complete outsider. And this was what it would be like when she had the baby, she realised as she stared down at her glass of melon juice. She would be on the periphery of every conversation and event. The English mother who could not communicate with her half-Greek child. Who remained on the outskirts like some silent ghost. She swallowed. Unless she did something about it. Started being proactive instead of letting everyone else decide her destiny for her. Since when had she started behaving like such a wuss? If she didn’t like something she ought to change it.
The men were deep in conversation as Keeley looked across the table at Korinna, who was playing with her dish of apple sorbet instead of eating it.
‘I’m thinking about learning Greek,’ Keeley said suddenly.
‘Good for you.’ Korinna smiled before lifting her narrow shoulders in a shrug. ‘Though it’s not an easy language, of course.’
‘No, I realise that,’ said Keeley. ‘But I’m going to give it my very best shot.’
She was just returning from the washroom when she crossed paths with the young waiter who had been looking after their table all evening, and he moved aside to let her pass.
‘You are enjoying your meal, Kyria Kavakos?’ he questioned solicitously.
‘Oh, yes. It’s delicious. My compliments to the chef.’
‘You will forgive me for intruding?’ he said, in his faultless English. ‘But I couldn’t help overhearing you saying you wanted to learn Greek.’
‘I do. I’m just trying to work out the best way to go about it.’
He smiled. ‘If you like, I could help. My sister is a teacher and she’s very good. She teaches at the Greek school in Camden but she also gives private lessons and is very keen to expand. Would you like her card?’
Keeley hesitated as he offered her a small cream card. She told herself it would be rude to refuse such a kind offer and that perhaps this was an example of fate stepping in to help her. They said that working one-to-one was the best way to learn a new language and this could be an empowering gesture on her part. Wouldn’t it be a brilliant surprise for Ariston if he realised she was making an effort to integrate into a culture which was so important to him?
She would show him what she was capable of, she thought. And he would be proud of her.
‘Thank you,’ she said with a smile, taking the card from the waiter and slipping it into her handbag.
ARISTON LET HIMSELF quietly into the apartment to hear the unmistakable sounds of someone slowly reciting the Greek alphabet. He stood very still. They were coming from the music room, which was situated at the furthest end of the penthouse, and they were being spoken by a voice he didn’t recognise. He frowned as he heard a second voice stumble over the letter omicron—traditionally a difficult letter for non-Greek speakers to pronounce—and suddenly realised that it was his wife who was now speaking. He began to walk along the corridor and the sight which greeted him took him completely by surprise. A beautiful young Greek girl wearing a sweater and a very short denim skirt was standing outlined against one of the giant windows and his wife was sitting near the piano, reading aloud from a textbook. They looked up as he walked in and he saw uncertainty cross over Keeley’s features as her words died away.
The smile he gave was intended to be pleasant but his words didn’t
