and she could not afford the payments. It was as much as she could do to pay the rent on the large bedsitter she had found. It was an airy room, but she had to share the kitchen and bathroom, and when Nicky grew older she would have to find something larger.
But she had been prepared for that. Prepared for all the eventualities and sacrifices that would be necessary, because she loved Nicky.
She had got him a place with a registered childminder, a girl only a few years older than herself with twins of Nicky’s age, and a pleasantly untidy house and garden. Manda Lane was a serene, unruffled personality and Harriet had taken to her immediately, and, what was more important, so had Nicky, who although too young to fully comprehend the rapid change in his circumstances, was nevertheless disturbed by it, and inclined to cling.
Life wasn’t easy, and money was tight, but she was coping.
And then had come the letter from Alex Marcos’ solicitors, informing her that he was claiming custody of his brother’s child, and offering her payment in compensation.
She had been stunned by the letter’s cruelty and insensitivity, and had dashed off an impetuous refusal of his terms by return of post.
The next communication had been couched in slightly more conciliatory terms, but with no alteration in the basic demand. Nicky was to leave England and take up residence in Greece in his uncle’s charge, and she, Harriet, was to relinquish all claims to him. Her reply to this showed no lessening of her own determination. There had been a lengthy pause, and she had begun to hope, idiotically, that Alex Marcos had thought better of engaging in what the media called a ‘tug of love’ over a child who was a total stranger to him.
He didn’t need Nicky, she had persuaded herself. He had so much else—wealth, property, business interests which took him all over the world, and if the gossip columns were to be believed, more female company than was decent.
‘We were born the wrong way round,’ Kostas had said once ruefully. ‘Alex is a wild man, a rover, a true pagan. That is the role of the young brother, ne? Whereas I—I am the tame, domesticated man. Very dull.’
He had laughed and looked at Becca, and something in their eyes and intimate smiles had brought a lump to Harriet’s throat. There was nothing dull about their lives together, she’d thought.
Led by her thoughts, aloud she said, ‘Judging by what one reads in the papers, I’d have said Alex Marcos is the last man in the world to want to saddle himself with a small child. Won’t it cramp his usual style?’
Mr Philippides almost gaped at her, and she saw with satisfaction that a faint film of perspiration had broken out on his swarthy forehead.
He said repressively, ‘That is hardly a subject for discussion. You forget, thespinis, that the child Nicos is his heir.’
Harriet smiled. ‘And he forgets that Nicky is my heir too.’
‘Po, po, po,’ Mr Philippides gestured impatiently. ‘Let us speak seriously, Thespinis Masters, and practically too. What can you possibly hope to give the child in comparison to the Marcos family?’
‘I can give him love,’ Harriet said bravely. ‘Nicky isn’t a commodity, as Mr Marcos seems to think, judging by the insulting offer he made to me.’
Mr Philippides avoided her gaze ‘That was perhaps—unfortunate.’
‘That is putting it extremely mildly,’ said Harriet.
Mr Philippides leaned forward. ‘You must not mistake yourself, my dear young lady, that the child will not be cared for. As well as his uncle, his grandmother is also anxious to receive him.’
‘What a pity they weren’t equally anxious to receive my sister.’ Harriet’s tone held a note of steel.
She could remember Kostas’ distress at the implacable silence which greeted his marriage. ‘Mama and Alex!’ he had raged. ‘All my life I have taken their orders—obeyed them dutifully. But all that is forgotten now. In their eyes I have transgressed—and neither of them will forgive or forget.’
Harriet’s heart muscles contracted at the thought of little Nicky growing up in such an atmosphere.
Mr Philippides sighed. ‘It could hardly be expected they would welcome such a match,’ he said, clearly making an effort to be placatory. ‘You do not fully understand, dear young lady, that in our country such matters are often still arranged. A bride had already been chosen for the late Mr Marcos. His marriage to your sister caused great offence—deep embarrassment.’
‘Then why didn’t Alex marry her himself, if it was so important?’ Harriet snapped. ‘As for Nicky being his heir, that’s a ridiculous argument. He’s bound to marry and have children himself one day—if he can find any woman fool enough to tie herself up to him—and where will Nicky be then?’ She thumped the desk with her clenched fist. ‘He has—everything, Mr Philippides— and I only have Nicky. I won’t give him up. If Mr Marcos wants him, he’ll have to fight for him!’
‘I hope that is not your final word, Thespinis Masters.’ As Harriet rose to her feet, Mr Philippides stood up too.
‘No,’ said Harriet. ‘My final word is—tyrant. A Greek word, I think. In England, we don’t believe in them.’
She marched to the door without a backward glance.
Her bravado had faded slightly when she reached the street. In fact she was shaking so much, she had to pause for a few moments in the doorway until she had regained her self-control
The interview had not in fact taken as long as she had anticipated, and there was still nearly three-quarters of an hour left of her lunch break, although she had little appetite.
It was a fine sunny day, and several of the pubs she passed on her way back to her own office had awnings out, and tables on the pavement. Reasoning that she couldn’t do a full afternoon’s work on an empty stomach, no matter how churned-up that stomach might be, Harriet sat down at one of the outside tables, ordering a tomato juice and a cheese sandwich.
She might have promised Alex Marcos a fight, she thought sombrely, but Mr Philippides had been right when he said she could not win. He had everything going for him—money, power, resources. How could she hope to convince anyone, let alone a court of law, that she would be a more suitable guardian for a small child?
She sighed, and tossed the remains of a crust to a hopefully strutting pigeon.
Besides, couldn’t it be argued that by attempting to keep Nicky, she was actually being selfish? She did want Nicky to have all the advantages that the Marcos family could provide, but she could not. Had she any real justification for depriving him of them?
She thought wistfully how lonely life would be without Nicky. At just over two and a half, he was beginning to talk quite fluently, and enjoy the nursery rhymes and stories she read to him. The thought of losing that close and loving relationship for ever—of abandoning him to people who were strangers, who even spoke an alien language—chilled her to the bone.
If the relationship between Kostas and his brother had been a normal one, the situation could have been so different, she thought sadly. But the Marcos family had never even acknowledged Becca, and the feelings of her younger sister would have no significance at all in their reckonings. The fact that they had cynically offered her
