The Daughter of Night (22 page)

'Must you creep everywhere?' she scowled ferociously. 'It's very upsetting.'

'So are the contents of your wardrobe.' He reached over her shoulder and flicked through the hangers. 'Why on earth haven't you bought yourself some new clothes? The only thing you've bought since we've been married is that black evening thing. Come on, we've got an hour to spare before lunch. Let's get you something decent to wear this afternoon.'

Hester had been going to say 'no', but something stopped her—possibly the knowledge that she really hadn't anything suitable, not for a confrontation with Vilma and Athene, who would be dolled up to the nines. On the other hand, she was reluctant to spend any of the money she had in the bank. She might need that—there would be a bedsit to find and the landlady would expect rent in advance—and until she could contact Crispin, start to work and work for a month, she'd have no salary. Of course, she could always ask Crispin for an advance, but she dismissed that thought almost as soon as it entered her head. Crispin knew she had married a rich man and his eyebrows would vanish over the top of his head if she appeared to be poverty-stricken.

She could always go back to Poplar, though, it wouldn't cost her anything much to live in the flat with Mia, but she couldn't ask Mia for money. Every penny her foster-sister could save was put towards her plane fare to Switzerland. This was no time for pride.

'As long as you're paying,' she answered brightly, 'I'll buy everything in the boutique that fits me. Let's go. It's only a cold lunch, so it won't spoil.'

Demetrios paid for her purchases, and she gulped at the amount while maintaining a sophisticated appearance.

'Cleaned you out, darling,' she murmured as he fiddled with something small in one pocket of his wallet. 'What's that?'

'A new calculator.' He flipped back the flap that covered the pocket and she could see the digital display. 'Very useful things, these—small enough to keep in your pocket but they keep me up to date with the money in the various accounts.'

'Men and their toys!' she sniffed. 'I'd have thought an accountant could do little sums like that in his head!' She tripped past him and out on to the pavement, carrying some of the bags and boxes and leaving him to bring the rest.

'You expect a lot.' Demetrios tossed the parcels into the back of the car, opened the door for her and then slid behind the wheel. 'Even I can't keep track of eight different accounts—therefore the calculator. It has a better memory than I have.'

'I wonder you admit it,' Hester marvelled, then peeped inside the bag which she had clung to jealously. 'Did you like it—the dress, I mean?'

'Mmm,' he flicked her a wicked look. 'If it hadn't been for the saleswoman I'd have made love to you on the spot.' He watched the road, swerving to avoid oncoming traffic, and when he next spoke, all the laughter had gone from his voice and he was deeply serious. 'What's the matter, Hester? You've been on edge all morning. Are you bothered about meeting your mother?'

Hester shrugged. 'Could be.'

'But why? You've met her before, twice, I think. There was the time in the hotel after the wedding and then when she came down here…'

'You've been having me watched!' Hester exclaimed. 'Well, of all the underhanded things to do!'

'You weren't being watched,' he laughed at her stupidity. 'There's never been any need to watch you, my darling—you lose your temper and everything spills out. You told me yourself, remember? And you hoped I'd missed it, but I don't miss much, and certainly not something as blatant as that. You said Vilma noticed the resemblance between Katy and Athene although it was only from a photograph in our sitting room, and even if you hadn't mentioned the sitting-room, I'd have known anyway. That's the only photograph there is of Katy. After the kidnap attempt, I had all photographs of her destroyed—that way, she was just another little girl, she couldn't be picked out from among half a dozen others.'

'Elementary, my dear Watson!' Hester subsided in her seat.

'Then let's take it one elementary step further. What did Vilma want—money?'

'Work it out for yourself.' Her eyes glinted with a spark of triumph. 'She knows I don't have any. As a matter of fact, she said I was like her—another Greek wife, housed, fed, clothed and occasionally sprinkled all over with diamonds, but no money.'

Demetrios took one hand off the steering wheel, felt in his pocket among the loose change and extracted a fifty-pence piece. 'Buy yourself some sweets,' he said as he tossed it in her lap.

Hester's fingers closed over the coin, it was warm from his pocket and she thought she'd keep it for ever. Many girls would have been insulted, but not her. Apart from the black dress and the clothes he had just bought her, it was the only thing Demetrios had given her—she didn't count the pearls, he hadn't given her those—he'd decorated her with them with as little thought as he would have given to hanging a glass bauble on a Christmas tree.

Love was such a funny thing—one minute it was love and the next, utter misery. Loving him, being loved by him, was heaven—it was the high of her life, but one couldn't stay up on the peaks for ever and the higher she went, the further she had to fall and the deeper the pit into which she fell.

Slowly she relaxed, sinking back into the rich leather upholstery. This afternoon would tell. If Demetrios loved her he would trust her, but until then, she would make life good for both of them.

'Sorry,' she muttered. 'But it's like you said, I'm not looking forward to this afternoon. Couldn't I just stay here? You don't need me when you meet Vilma.'

'And miss the chance of showing off my wife in all her new finery? I wouldn't dream of it.' He reached out a hand and clasped her cold fingers comfortingly. 'Don't worry so much, my sweet. Trust me instead. I'm telling you, everything will be all right.'

'Will it?' she enquired bleakly. 'I love you. I didn't want to, not like this—it robs me—makes me dependent…'

'And what's wrong with that?' His hand touched hers again. 'Get yourself together, my sweet, otherwise I shall have to pull the car off the road and we'll provide a fine sight for any passers-by to gawp at.'

Hester's depression lifted as she pictured them, clinging to each other, rather abandoned, and all in the enormous dignity of the Rolls. She giggled. 'I couldn't think of anything I'd like better!'

'You'll wait till we get home,' he told her sternly.

Hester carefully adjusted the tilt of her cream straw boater and pirouetted so that the pleated skirt of her her apple green silk shirtwaister swung about her slender legs. 'Nice?' she queried of her husband, who was lying lazily on the bed and watching her every move. Somehow it seemed no longer improper to dress in front of him, and in any case, she had had no option. He had been sprawled there when she had come from the bath with only a towelling robe over her bra and panties and he had refused to move.

'Mmm,' his dark eyes flickered over her appreciatively. 'Come here,' and he held out a lazy hand.

'Not on your life!' she laughed softly. 'I've put a lot of work into looking like this and you'll spoil it. You'll rumple me up and eat my lipstick.'

'Hardhearted woman,' he growled, 'and after I bought you the finery!'

'Not all of it.' Hester contemplated her slender legs and admired the sheen of pure silk stockings and the way her pale, high-heeled shoes flattered her feet. 'Shoes, bag and gloves—left-overs from my wedding outfit—a shame to waste them.' She touched the filmy lace that decorated the collar and tight cuffs of the dress. 'They match this and the hat. It saved a lot of money.'

'Thrift—that's what I like.' Demetrios levered himself up from the bed and reached for the clothes brush to flick away a piece of lint from his trousers. 'Well, if you won't, you won't. Come on, let's get it over. We'll find somewhere quiet to have dinner on the way home.'

The hotel suite was as bland and lacking in personality as ever, and Hester wrinkled her nose. 'I'm so glad we don't live here, it would be like living in the middle of a caramel pudding. Thank you for the house, Demetrios.'

'So it is.' His eyes sparkled at her. 'Nearly tasteless and goes with everything—I hadn't noticed it before. Shall I order tea now or would you wait till our visitors arrive?'

'We'll wait,' she giggled. 'Just imagine what it would be like trying to say "good afternoon" through a mouthful of cucumber sandwich! It
will
be cucumber, won't it?'

'I imagine so, and with the choice of Indian, China or Earl Grey tea.'

'Very Edwardian, just like
The Importance of Being Earnest
.' She chuckled. 'We'll have Earl Grey and keep everything in period.'

'Mmm.' Demetrios crossed the room to the service phone. 'I'll order now and tell them to send it up when Vilma arrives.'

Hester sat hard on the impulse to tell him to order for four—it wasn't necessary, her gaiety was a cover-up for extreme nervousness because she knew that, of course, Athene would come with Vilma—what good was a story without the supporting evidence? And an extra cup and saucer could readily be obtained.

The door to the suite opened just before he put down the phone and she heard his, 'Now,' before she looked up. Vilma swanned in without even a knock, looking beautiful as ever but in some way brittle and preserved, like a blown and varnished eggshell— weightless and delicate. Athene followed her, but today the Greek woman was not out to catch the eye. Her silver-grey dress was a perfect foil for Vilma's blue, it looked almost dim, and Hester knew now what Vilma had meant when she said that Athene preferred to stage-manage.

The last time they had all been together in this suite, Athene had been out of character—sparkly and with a desire to make an impact. That had been bad enough, but today, softly grey and in the background, she was quiet, almost withdrawn. But the iron was showing through; Athene was much more dangerous like this. Hester met the implacable gaze of dark, Byzantine eyes, and it was all she could do to hold her own steady in the face of such hostility.

Fortunately, the waiter practically followed the visitors in and in the general hoo-ha of arranging everything just where she could manage it easily, Hester had time to cool herself down to an outward appearance of pleasant anticipation of a cup of tea. She poured while the weather, politics, the depression and its effect on business and the latest musical were discussed, complimenting herself on putting up quite a good show, considering she knew very little about any of them but the weather—and then Demetrios spoiled it all.

'What did you want to see me about, Vilma?' He evidently wasn't going to waste time on idle chat.

Vilma stopped saying what she thought about the musical's success and looked across at him, her eyes like two blue china beads, round, hard and utterly lacking in expression. 'You don't show much finesse, Demos, but I suppose it
would
be better to get it over.' She picked up a tiny, triangular sandwich, put it on her plate and then ignored it while she set her cup and saucer down on the wide arm of her chair—and then quietly, in an emotionless voice, she told her story, word for word as she had told it to Hester.

Hester recognised each well-rehearsed phrase and her heart sank. It was all right for her, she'd heard it before and she knew it wasn't the truth, but if she had been a completely dispassionate listener, simply hearing it for the first time, she would find it most convincing, and Demetrios
was
hearing it for the first time!

He sat there in his chair, completely silent, his eyes never leaving Vilma, giving her his whole attention until she'd finished, and then he looked at Hester. She returned his gaze calmly, searching his eyes for something—and then it was there. A bubble of happiness swam up into her throat and burst, swamping her with relief so that she nearly cried for the glory of it. He hadn't said a word—he didn't have to! That one long look was enough, it said more than any words could ever have conveyed, and it was at that moment that Athene broke the silence, in Greek, fast and fierce like a volcano spewing out lava. It went on for nearly half a minute until, surprisingly, Vilma interrupted the flow.

'Do be quiet, Athene!' Her voice was cold and cutting like a well sharpened knife. 'I can only guess what you're saying, but you're wasting your breath. Can't you see that? Hester could have stolen the Crown Jewels and Demos wouldn't give a damn—she could have planned to rob the Bank of England and he'd probably help her do it.' Her voice rose a little and the knife cut more savagely. 'Look at them, Athene! Don't you see what you want is out of reach? Demos is besotted with her. For God's sake, show a little dignity! It was a good try, but you've lost and so have I. Bury your dreams and settle for second best, as all of us have to do at one time or another. There are some things even your money won't buy!'

Dark, Byzantine eyes slid over Demetrios, lingering briefly, and then passed on to Hester, and she shrank from the venom in their depths. Involuntarily, her hand went out to her husband and was taken in a firm, warm grip that comforted her. She closed her eyes and when she opened them Athene was gone, a dark-eyed, grey little ghost who would haunt her no more.

Demetrios broke the rather uncomfortable silence which had fallen. 'And now, Vilma, shall we finish with fairy tales? How much do you want, and why?'

'How much?' Vilma shrugged as she took a sip of tea and Hester looked at her mother with a new respect. That brittle, well-preserved look wasn't that of an eggshell—that was only what it looked like. It was bullet-proof steel; nothing, but nothing would make an impression on it. Vilma would be dignified, even in defeat. 'Ten thousand,' she shrugged again gracefully. 'Gambling debts, Demos. You know how Sandros is about things like that, I can have what I like as long as I've got something to show for it. I suppose I should have put them down on that list I gave you, but,' another shrug, 'you've always disapproved of me…'

'On the contrary,' Demetrios gave her a long, speculative look, 'I don't disapprove of you at all, as a wife for my uncle, that is. In fact, in my opinion, he couldn't have married anyone better suited to be his wife. You're selfish and self-centred, but that only serves to keep you faithful to him—you wouldn't cheat on him with another man, you'd stand to lose too much and you know it, and cheating on Uncle Sandros like that is about the only way you could really hurt him.' He reached into his pocket and drew out the leather case which contained his cheque book and calculator. 'Your story wasn't nice, but I don't give you all the credit for it. I've never before known you to work anything out in such detail, or even plan that far ahead. You generally act on impulse and then rely on your femininity and a sob story to get you out of trouble.'