He wouldn’t tell me anything if he didn’t think it was in your best interests.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, really.’ His mother gave a resigned sigh. ‘Matt, I don’t want to interfere—–’
‘Then don’t.’
‘—but I care about you as well. And—and I do wish you’d get this—this infatuation for Melissa Mainwaring out of your system.’
‘Right.’ Matthew lifted a hand to summon the waiter again. ‘Shall we look at the menu?’
Caroline opened her mouth to make a protest, and then closed it again. What was the use? she asked herself impotently, feeling all the pangs of frustrated mother-love as her son turned to speak to the restaurant manager. Matthew was such an attractive man; he had everything to live for. Yet he was allowing a spoilt little bitch, who hadn’t got an intelligent thought in her empty little head, to tear his life to pieces.
An hour later, as she was enjoying her second cup of coffee, Caroline risked broaching the subject again. As they ate—and she had noticed Matthew had only picked at his food—the conversation had ranged from the previous night’s gala to the preparations for the forthcoming birthday celebrations. It had been the kind of conversation she could have had with anyone. Certainly not the intimate těte-à-těte she had hoped to achieve. Which was why she decided to bring Melissa’s name back into the proceedings. Like a wound that was festering, her son’s infatuation with the woman wouldn’t heal until it had been thoroughly aired.
‘And—when are Melissa and her prince planning to get married?’ she enquired tensely. ‘They are going to get married, aren’t they? I’m sure I read something about it in last week’s tabloids.’
Matthew replaced the cup he had been holding back in its saucer. He should have known better than to imagine his mother would leave well alone. And, of course, she was right. There had been a report that Brigadier Alfred Mainwaring’s daughter was going to marry the prince of some unpronounceable Eastern European country. The nuptials were planned to take place in June, and no doubt Caroline knew that as well as he did.
‘Soon,’ he remarked now, meeting his mother’s innocent gaze with cool deliberation. ‘Why? Do you think you’ll get an invitation? How would they describe you? Oh, yes. The mother of the best man!’
Caroline’s lips tightened. ‘Joke if you like, but you are—or rather you would be, if you’d stop feeling sorry for yourself. I never thought a son of mine could behave so mindlessly! Perhaps you are your father’s son, after all.’
Matthew’s mouth twisted, and with an exclamation of disgust his mother thrust back her chair and got to her feet. ‘I’m going to my room,’ she declared angrily, and then, conscious of the stir she was creating, she put a steadying hand on the edge of the table. ‘Come and see me tomorrow,’ she added in an undertone, as if regretting her hasty announcement. ‘And think about your grandfather’s birthday. Needless to say, he expects you to be there.’
Matthew did think about what his mother had said, as he walked back to his apartment. The luxurious penthouse he had bought with his own money occupied the top floor of a tall block of apartments in Culver Mews in Knightsbridge, and although he knew Victor wouldn’t approve Matthew enjoyed the unaccustomed exercise. It reminded him it was too long since he had been to the gym, and that Victor’s obsession with his personal protection meant he had too few opportunities to walk anywhere. And, although it was a cold day, with a threat of rain in the air, the daffodils were out in the park, and the early cherry blossom was already appearing on the trees.
It reminded him of what Greece was like at this time of the year, and most particularly Delphus, the island where his grandfather had his home. The sprawling villa where he had spent the early years of his childhood did hold some happy memories for him, and it would be good to see Yannis again, and Nicos, and all the aunts and cousins he remembered from his youth.
But it wasn’t just the idea of obeying his finer instincts, and pleasing his mother for once, that occupied his thoughts as he strode past Hyde Park Corner. It was what his mother had said about Melissa that stuck in his mind. And, although thinking of her with Georgio Ivanov still tore his gut, he was unwillingly aware that she had a point. He should have married her when he had the chance. Goodness knew, she had been eager enough to take the plunge. It had been the one sour note in their relationship, that he had been so unwilling to make their association legal. A lack of commitment was how she had put it, on those increasingly frequent occasions when she had accused him of not loving her enough.
Matthew pushed his hands deeper into the pockets of his leather jacket. Love! His lips twisted. He doubted Melissa knew the meaning of the word. No one who professed to love someone as much as she had always professed to love him could have fallen out of love so quickly. And he was cynically aware that Melissa’s ‘love’ was more probably available to the highest bidder. Oh, he might have been her first choice, both sexually and financially, but Ivanov was offering marriage, and that all-important ring on her finger.
For himself, he had never felt any urgency to seek that legitimising scrap of paper. What they had had—or rather, what he had thought they had had—was far more binding than a contract that could just as easily be broken. But he was becoming aware that what Melissa had wanted from him was more than his undying devotion. She had wanted security, the kind of security she could only get if he signed on the dotted line.
So, why should he be so surprised? he asked himself now. His parents’ marriage had fallen apart as much because his father was unambitious as through any character weakness on his part. He had long since learned how convenient his father’s sudden death had proved to be, for, although his mother might sometimes sentimentalise about his passing, she was not her father’s daughter for nothing. All his life, the great god Mammon had ruled his family’s actions. And he had been a fool to think that Melissa was any different from the rest.
Victor was waiting when the lift doors slid back at the twenty-second floor. As Matthew stepped on to the hushed luxury of the Chinese rug that virtually filled the panelled foyer, the man came to meet him in obvious disapproval.
‘You walked,’ he declared, brushing drops of rain from the soft fabric of the jacket his employer slung off, with an impatient finger.
‘I walked,’ agreed Matthew, heading for the inner hallway that led to his study. ‘Rob didn’t call, did he? He knew I was having lunch with my mother.’
‘Mr Prescott didn’t call, no,’ Victor assured him tersely, and then, with a change of tone, he added, ‘But you do have some mail. The lunchtime delivery came while you were out.’ He adopted an expectant expression. ‘Would you like to see it?’
Matthew paused, with his hand against the panels of his private sanctum. ‘Now, what’s that supposed to mean?’ he enquired shortly. ‘You know I always glance through the afternoon mail at dinnertime. It’s probably only bills, in any case.’ He hesitated. ‘Or do you know something I don’t?’
A trace of colour invaded Victor’s bullish features. ‘Now, how would I—–?’
‘Victor!’
The man sighed. ‘Well—there appears to be a letter from Miss Mainwaring,’ he admitted nervously. ‘I thought you might wish to see it. As—as—–’
‘As I appear to be drowning in self-pity, right?’ suggested Matthew, tamping down the unwilling thought that Melissa might have come to her senses.
‘No,
