your life?’
‘Oh, I—’
Jane was still trying to think of an answer when Olga spoke again. ‘Isn’t it time you thought about getting a divorce?’
Sometimes Olga’s perception was truly startling, Jane thought incredulously. At any other time, she might have admired her ability to sense what she was thinking. But not today. This was one occasion when Jane would prefer to keep her thoughts to herself.
While she waited for Jane to answer, Olga rummaged in her pocket and drew out a pack of her favourite Gauloise cigarettes. Placing one between her lips, she flicked her lighter, inhaling deeply before blowing a stream of blue smoke into the air above their heads. Jane had never liked the smell of cigarettes and this morning she found it nauseating. Feeling the bile rising in her throat, she made an incoherent little sound and then rushed wildly out of the room.
In the small bathroom that adjoined the gallery, she was violently sick. Leaning against the tiled wall afterwards, a tissue pressed to her mouth, she thought it was a long time since she’d felt so ill. What had she eaten, for God’s sake? She’d only had toast for breakfast, so it couldn’t be that. Mind you, she hadn’t really wanted any breakfast. She’d been feeling distinctly out-of-sorts since she’d got out of bed.
And then, feeling immensely stupid, she realised what was happening. It wasn’t food-poisoning. It wasn’t even the smell of Olga’s cigarette, although heaven knew they were an acquired taste. No, this had to be the start of morning sickness, and if she needed any further confirmation of her condition, this was it.
A tentative tapping at the door roused her. ‘Jane? Jane, are you all right?’ Naturally, it was Olga. ‘Is something wrong?’
Everything, thought Jane heavily, struggling to pull herself together. But she managed to say, ‘No, I’m OK, Olga. I think I must have eaten something that disagreed with me and when I smelled your cigarette—’
‘Mein Gott!’ Olga sounded horrified. ‘My cigarette has made you ill?’
‘No. No, not really.’ Jane felt ashamed. She couldn’t let Olga take the blame for something that was her own fault. She opened the door to find the old woman waiting outside, wringing her hands anxiously. ‘Sorry about that.’
Olga said something Jane couldn’t understand and then wrapped her arm about the younger woman’s shoulders. Thankfully, she’d ditched the cigarette but Jane could still smell the scent of tobacco on her clothes.
‘Leibchen,’ she murmured with evident concern. ‘Are you sure you and Mr Hunter are just good friends?’
‘What do you mean?’ Jane tried to sound confused but it didn’t quite come off.
Olga sighed, looking down at her with considering eyes. ‘Because…well, because I am wondering if there might be another reason for you feeling—unwell, no?’
‘Another reason?’ Jane swallowed.
‘Do I have to draw you a picture, leibling?’ Olga turned to take her by the shoulders, making it impossible for Jane to avoid her calculating stare. ‘Is it possible that you might—be fooling yourself?’
‘Fooling myself?’Jane blew out a breath, wondering if it was worth pretending she didn’t understand. Giving in, she said, ‘Are you suggesting I might be pregnant? Is that what you think?’
Olga shook her head. ‘I’m simply saying it’s a possibility you should consider, no? You wouldn’t be the first young woman to fall for the charms of a handsome young man like Mr Hunter.’
Jane pulled away from her. ‘I’ve told you!’ she exclaimed fiercely. ‘Alex and I—Alex and I have never—’
‘Never?’ Olga was sceptical.
‘Never,’ retorted Jane crossly. ‘Now, can we talk about something else?’ She scrubbed at her mouth one last time and then started back towards her office. ‘Have you given any thought as to where we might find the other pieces Sir George is looking for?’
Olga shrugged, following her more slowly, and Jane knew the old woman still wasn’t convinced of her answer. However, until she’d decided what she was going to do, Jane didn’t feel capable of discussing her situation with anyone. For heaven’s sake, she still hadn’t come to terms with the fact that she was pregnant herself.
But, throughout the rest of the day, Jane found her thoughts constantly drifting to the dilemma she was facing. What was she going to do? How soon would she have to decide whether she was going to keep the baby or not? For, although her salary was generous, there was no way she could afford the cost of child-care in London on her own.
The alternative was to tell Demetri about the baby. But how could she tell her husband she was expecting a baby when he was already preparing to get a divorce? And there were other people involved, not least the woman he hoped to marry. As well as his mother. Jane could well imagine Maria Souvakis’s reaction when she discovered her son had fathered another child. With the despised English girl.
Jane packed up early and left for home, telling Olga she was feeling shivery. She hoped mentioning another ailment would divert her employer’s mind from the suspicions she’d voiced earlier. But feeling the woman’s eyes upon her as she ran down the steps from the gallery, Jane wasn’t confident she’d succeeded.
It was raining and she took the bus home, afraid that if she took the underground the smell of cigarette smoke would make her sick again. And it was such a relief to walk into the quiet, airy spaciousness of her apartment, so good to sink down onto the sofa with a freshly-made cup of tea.
However, she hadn’t been sitting there for very long before the phone rang. Her mother, Jane guessed, assuming that she’d phoned the gallery and Olga had directed her here. It was to be hoped her employer hadn’t decided to confide her fears to Mrs Lang. It might account for the timeliness—or untimeliness— of her call.
She contemplated not answering for all of ten seconds. But the possibility that it might be someone else had her reaching for the receiver. ‘Yes,’ she said, aware that her tone was less than cordial, and then she nearly dropped the instrument when Demetri’s rich, dark voice came on the line.
‘I see your temper hasn’t improved,’ he remarked drily, the slight echo indicating he was calling long-distance. ‘Who has upset you this time?’
Jane caught her breath. Then, gathering her scattered senses, she said, ‘Nobody’s upset me, Demetri. I haven’t spoken to you in weeks.’
Demetri snorted. ‘Always ready with the acid comment,’ he said wryly. ‘I suppose you were expecting me to call.’
Jane frowned. ‘Why would I expect to hear from you?’ she retorted, wondering if there was a letter in today’s mail she’d overlooked. This had to be something to do with the divorce. There was no other reason for Demetri to contact her. That he knew of, at least.
‘I spoke to your mother earlier,’ Demetri explained with more patience than she’d have expected. ‘I didn’t have the gallery’s number so I was forced to contact her. She gave me the number—not without some reluctance, I have to admit— but, as you know, the effort was wasted. You’re an elusive woman, Jane.’ He paused. ‘I trust you’re feeling better.’
Jane
