Mediterranean Nights: The Mistress Purchase / The Demetrios Virgin / Marco's Convenient Wife. PENNY JORDAN

can never be sacrificed for expediency!’

      Initially, when he had seen Sadie at the trade fair, Leon had assumed that she was made much in the same mould as her cousin. But now he wasn’t nearly so sure.

      But he could not afford the luxury of sympathy, Leon warned himself, and unless he had misjudged her Sadie would certainly not welcome receiving it from him.

      Raoul gave a careless shrug.

      ‘Fine—if that’s what you want to do. After all, you’re going to be the boss!’

      Going to be, but was not as yet, Raoul reminded himself angrily after Leon had gone.

      There was no way he was going to allow Sadie to mess up this deal for him, and no way he was going to risk leaving it to Leon to persuade his cousin to change her mind. Not when Raoul knew that he could do so much more easily and quickly.

      In the privacy of his elegant hotel suite, Leon completed the telephone conversation he had been having with his chief executive in Sydney and then went to stand in front of the large window that opened out onto his private balcony.

      Sadie’s ownership of the Myrrh formula was a complication he had not anticipated, as was Sadie herself. But he had no intention of using Raoul’s suggested underhand tactics to rectify it! Underhandedness and deceit were weapons of engagement that were never employed in the Stapinopolous business empire—even though once they had been used against it to devastating and almost totally destructive effect.

      Leon’s expression hardened. Those dark years when his family had almost lost the business were behind them now, but they had left their mark on him. However, right now it wasn’t the past he was thinking about so much as…

      A little grimly Leon acknowledged that he wasn’t sure which had distracted him the most—the tantalising length of Sadie’s slim legs encased in the jeans she had been wearing, or the intensity with which her eyes had reflected her every emotion.

      She was, he decided grimly, impossibly stubborn, fiercely passionate and hopelessly idealistic. She was a go-it-aloner, a renegade from the conventional business and profit-focused world of modern perfumes. She was, in short, trouble every which way there was. A zealot, a would-be prophet, intent on stirring up all kinds of disorder and destined to cause chaos!

      She would make his board of directors shake in their corporate shoes and question his financial judgement for even thinking about wanting to get involved in a business in which she played even the smallest part.

      Did she really believe that it was feasible to produce what amounted to a handmade scent in the quantities needed to satisfy a mass-market appetite at an affordable price, using old-fashioned methods and natural raw materials?

      He was already facing opposition from some members of his board over his plans to acquire Francine—but it was an opposition he fully intended to quash! An opposition he had to quash if he was not to find himself in danger of being voted off his own board!

      ‘Why Francine?’ one of his co-directors had demanded belligerently. ‘Hell, Leon, there are dozens of other perfume houses in far better financial condition, with more assets, and—’

      ‘It is precisely because Francine is Francine that I want it,’ Leon had countered coolly. ‘The name has a certain resonance. An allure. And because of its current run-down state we can acquire it at a reasonable cost and build up a completely new profile for it. The new Francine perfume, when it comes on the market, is going to be the perfume to wear.’

      ‘The new Francine perfume?’ one of the others had questioned. ‘Hell, Leon, if there’s to be a new perfume why buy the damned outfit at all? Why not just get some chemist to come up with a new perfume for us and get some actress or model to front it for us? That’s what everyone else is doing.’

      ‘Which is exactly why it is not going to be what we shall do,’ Leon had responded briskly.

      He was taking a very big gamble. He knew that. For every classic fragrance there were a hundred perfumes that had been forgotten, buried in obscurity. Leon wasn’t a fool. He knew that he had his detractors and his enemies in the shark-infested waters of the business world in which he lived; he knew too that there were also those who were simply plain jealous of his success. And all of them, whatever their motivation, would enjoy seeing him fail and fall.

      Launching a new perfume was always a risk, even for a well-established perfume house with a stable of existing popular products. All Francine had was a name and a couple of old-fashioned formulae.

      A couple, but not Myrrh, it now seemed.

      Broodingly, Leon turned his back on the view. On the bedside table amongst his personal possessions was a small framed photograph. Going over to it, he picked it up and studied the delicately pretty feminine features of its subject, a sombre expression darkening his eyes.

      The Sadies of this world didn’t really know what life was all about. Handed a silver spoon at birth, they could take what they wanted from life as a right.

      Was she really oblivious to the fact that only a small handful of women could afford the luxury of the kind of scents she blended? Or did she simply not care?

      Well, he cared. He cared one hell of a lot—as she was about to discover!

      As she drove past the flower fields belonging to Pierre, Sadie exhaled a deep breath of pleasure and satisfaction. Pleasure because both the sight and the scent of growing flowers always lifted her spirits, and satisfaction because she had the power to prevent the Greek Destroyer from wrecking the precious heritage her grandmother had passed on to her.

      Pierre and his brother grew both jasmine and roses. A swift, delicate-fingered person could pick half a kilo of the jasmine blossoms in an hour, and the picked blossoms sold at a hefty price—as Sadie had good cause to know. The delicacy of the jasmine flower meant that it required year-round care by humans rather than machines. And in the rose fields stood the precious, wonderful Rose de Mai, from which the rose absolute which Sadie used in her perfumes was made.

      Pierre and his wife Jeannette came hurrying out to the car to welcome Sadie, embracing her affectionately.

      ‘So Francine is to be sold and soon you will be creating a fine new perfume for the new owners? That is excellent news. A talent such as yours should be recognised and allowed to truly shine. I am already looking forward to saying that I know the creator of the next classic scent,’ Pierre announced teasingly, once Sadie was seated at the scrubbed kitchen table, drinking the coffee Jeannette had made for her.

      Sadie frowned as she listened to him. She had expected Pierre to share her own feelings towards the sale of the business, instead of which he was making it plain that he thought it was an excellent opportunity for her.

      ‘It is true that Leon… he… the would-be owner does wish me to create a new perfume—but, Pierre, he is only interested in mass-market perfumes made out of chemical ingredients,’ Sadie objected.

      Pierre shrugged. ‘He is a businessman, as we all must be these days, and perhaps not totally au fait with the complexities of our business. He does not have your knowledge perhaps, petite. Therefore it is up to you, in the name and memory of your grandmère, to help him,’ Pierre pronounced sagely.

      ‘Help him!’ Sadie’s voice was a squeak of female outrage. ‘I would rather—’ she began, and then stopped as Pierre overrode her.

      ‘But you must do so,’ he said calmly. ‘For if people like yourself do not give their knowledge and their expertise to those who are coming new into the business then how are we to go on? This is a wonderful opportunity for you Sadie!’ Pierre repeated emphatically.

      ‘It is?’ Sadie stared at him whilst Pierre nodded his head in vigorous confirmation.

      ‘Indeed it is, and your grandmother would be the first to say so if she were here. Ah, I can remember hearing her tell her father that she longed for the House of Francine to produce a new perfume—a fragrance which would rival that of the most famous perfumery.’