Kostas, she thought. He had always been reticent on the exact nature of the quarrel which had driven him to England, away from his family, but if it was to escape an unwanted marriage with a comparative stranger, then it was quite understandable.
When he and Becca had met, it had been several months before he had even told her that he was related to the Marcos family. In fact their romance had nearly ended when Becca discovered the truth, because she felt almost overwhelmed by it. She was a gentle girl, and the jet-setting lifestyle of the man who was to be her brother-in-law repelled and frightened her. It took all the persuasion and all the assurances that Kostas was capable of to convince her that his was a very different personality.
Harriet suspected that the unconcealed hostility of the Marcos family to the marriage had almost come as a relief to Becca. Kostas was working as an accountant and earning sufficient to provide for their needs, and that was all she wanted.
Harriet sighed. If only Alex Marcos or his mother had seen them together, she thought passionately, had seen how much they loved each other, then they must have relented. But at the same time, a small cold voice deep inside her told her that she was being sentimental. A man as ruthlessly successful as Alex Marcos would regard any such change of heart as a sign of weakness.
She got up, brushing a few stray crumbs from her navy pleated skirt, and began to walk along the street, not hurrying, looking into the windows of shops she passed with unseeing eyes.
There was a danger, and she could see it, of making Nicky the centre of her world. She rarely went out now in the evenings. For one thing, baby-sitters cost money, but more importantly it seemed wrong not to spend as much time as possible with Nicky at the only time it was possible—after work. She had never grudged him one minute of her time, or felt deprived, but sometimes when she heard the other girls she worked with chatting animatedly about boy-friends and outings, she felt as if she occupied another world.
At twenty-one, she was hardly likely to be written off as a spinster, the archetypal maiden aunt, she knew. She wasn’t conceited, but she was aware that her pale fair hair and wide grey eyes had an attraction all their own. But she also knew that Nicky’s existence in her life was a drawback as far as men were concerned. Roy, for instance.
She flushed slightly as she remembered that she had actually been considering becoming engaged to Roy. Then the accident had happened, and her life had changed overnight, and somehow Roy wasn’t there any more. She’d been bewildered, and more than a little hurt, because she had counted on his support. But he had been almost brutally frank.
‘I’m sorry, love,’ he’d said, ‘but I didn’t bargain for a ready-made family. I don’t want to have to share your attention with a kid who isn’t even my own.’
Harriet had told herself she was well rid of him, and knew that it was true, but the hurt still lingered, and made her chary of accepting such invitations that did come her way.
Claudia who occupied the adjoining desk at the office pool was always trying to make dates for her, and urging her to go out more, insisting that she owed it to herself. But Harriet felt that it was Nicky who was owed—owed as settled and secure an environment as she could create for him, at least for the time being.
Claudia was waiting agog for her return. ‘What happened?’ she hissed.
Harriet shrugged. ‘We talked. I lost my temper.’
Claudia grinned. ‘It’s amazing,’ she said. ‘You are the image of a cool blonde, and yet it’s like an ice-cap over a volcano. Was it the great man himself?’
Harriet shook her head, and Claudia made a frustrated noise.
‘Damn, there goes my last chance of finding out what a really sexy man is like! I expected you to come reeling back here with stars in your eyes and no buttons left on your blouse.’
‘You’re joking, of course.’ Harriet was acid.
‘Not really,’ Claudia grinned. ‘After all, he must have something. Look at the birds he pulls!’
Harriet smiled cynically as she wound papers and carbons into her typewriter. ‘Oh, he’s got something all right,’ she agreed. ‘Money.’
Claudia snorted. ‘Bet it’s more than that. Haven’t you ever seen a photograph of him?’
Harriet shrugged. ‘The odd newspaper one. But they don’t tell you much except he hasn’t got two heads. It’s a pity he hasn’t, really,’ she added thoughtfully, ‘then everyone would know what a monster he is.’
‘Miss Masters!’ The typing pool supervisor materialised beside Harriet’s desk, looking severe. ‘Miss Greystoke has buzzed. You’re wanted in the chairman’s suite.’
Harriet’s fingers stilled on the keys of her machine. She was a good efficient worker, and she had sometimes taken dictation for the managing director and the company secretary when their own girls were away, but the chairman was another kettle of fish altogether. None of the typing pool ever filled in for the remote and efficient Miss Greystoke. And anyway, if Miss Greystoke had buzzed, it was reasonable to suppose that she was there, and not requiring a substitute.
‘When you’re quite ready, Miss Masters,’ the supervisor reminded her sarcastically.
The chairman’s suite and the other executive offices were one floor up, and Harriet walked up the stairs, trying to tuck errant strands of hair back into the smooth coil she wore on top of her head. What on earth could Sir Michael want her for? she wondered in alarm. In the two years she had been with the company, she had never even spoken to him. When Kostas and Becca had been killed, it had been the company secretary Mr Crane who had dealt with her, and he had been kindness himself. But perhaps Sir Michael didn’t think she was worth the time and the money she had been allowed. But if so, was it likely he would summon her to tell her so himself?
She was totally mystified by the time she reached Miss Greystoke’s office. Miss Greystoke was looking at her watch ostentatiously when she knocked politely and went in.
‘At last,’ she said coolly. ‘You’re to go straight in.’
‘Yes.’ Harriet hesitated. ‘Do—do you know by any chance what it’s about?’
Miss Greystoke looked as if she was about to be withering, then suddenly relented, perhaps noticing for the first time Harriet’s pallor.
‘I haven’t the slightest idea. There was a message waiting when I got back from lunch.’ She smiled. ‘But don’t look so worried. He’s not a bad old stick, you know,’ she added, lowering her voice.
Harriet returned the smile nervously. She walked over to the door of the inner office, squared her shoulders resolutely, pressed the handle down and went in.
Unlike Miss Greystoke’s office, which was artificially lit, the chairman’s room had windows the length of one wall, and the sudden glare of sunlight almost dazzled Harriet as she stood hesitating, just inside the door.
For a moment, all she was aware of was a man’s figure standing at one of the windows, and then as he turned and came towards her, she realised in an odd panic that whoever this was, it wasn’t Sir Michael.
For one thing, this man was at least twenty years his junior, black-haired with a dark, harshly attractive face. He was tall too, and expensive tailoring did full justice to the breadth of his shoulders and his lean hips and
