Innocent Obsession. Anne Mather

him late at night, you understand? He is—how do you say it?—strung up?’

      ‘Highly strung?’ suggested Sylvie doubtfully, realising that like Andreas and Leon, and all the other members of his family, Nikos was expecting to see his mother, and Marina nodded.

      ‘That is so—highly strung,’ she agreed vigorously. ‘Since Margot went away he has many bad dreams, no?’

      ‘You gossip too much, Marina,’ her mother admonished, overhearing their conversation and glancing round reprovingly. ‘Nikos is like any other small boy. He has the imagination.’ She paused. ‘But, naturally, we did not wish to upset him tonight.’

      Marina grimaced when her mother turned away, and moved her shoulders expressively. ‘Mama wanted to tell Nikos that his mother was not coming,’ she whispered to Sylvie behind her hand, ‘but Andreas would not let her.’

      Sylvie’s response to this not unexpected confidence was muted by their entrance into a large, imposing apartment. Sylvie supposed it was a salon, or a drawing room, or perhaps simply a reception room, but whatever its designation, it was certainly impressive. It was not a cluttered room, indeed its lines were excessively plain, but it was this as much as anything that added to its formality. From a high, moulded ceiling, the textured walls were inset with long sculpted windows, hung with heavy silk curtains in shades of blue and turquoise. The gilt-edged mirrors, set at intervals about the walls, reflected stiffly formal chairs, and tables of marble, the patina of polished wood only broken by a bowl of long-stemmed lilies. Their delicate perfume fitted the room, creating an almost sepulchral atmosphere, but although it was undoubtedly spectacular, Sylvie did not like it. She was almost prepared to believe she had been brought here deliberately, for some sort of family inquisition, but none of the others appeared awed by their surroundings, and she guessed familiarity bred contempt.

      An aproned maid waited to offer them drinks before dinner, and copying Marina’s example, Sylvie took a tall glass of some light amber-coloured liquid. She was not accustomed to alcohol, but this seemed innocent enough, and it was not until Marina had sipped hers and breathed: ‘Champagne! Is it not delicious?’ that she realised that was what it was.

      While his mother was involved in conversation with Eleni, Leon took the opportunity to propel himself across the room towards Sylvie. He exchanged a look with Marina, who had been keeping her company, and then, when she made her excuses and joined her father and Andreas, Leon suggested that Sylvie should sit down on the chair beside him.

      ‘You know why I wish to speak with you, I am sure,’ he remarked in a low tone, after she was seated. ‘Andreas had no information earlier as to why Margot is not here. I want you to tell me the truth. Does she want a divorce?’

      ‘No!’ Sylvie’s denial was uttered on a rising note, which she quickly stifled as other eyes turned questioningly in their direction. ‘No,’ she repeated, half inaudibly. ‘Honestly, Leon, that’s the truth.’

      ‘Then why is she not here?’ he demanded, his dark eyes glittering with suppressed emotion. ‘She knows the situation. She knows I am unable to come to London at this time.’

      Sylvie expelled her breath unevenly. ‘Leon, she’s got a part—in a play. You know the kind of thing she does. Well—–’ she sighed, ‘it’s a good part for her, and she wants to do it. It—it means a lot to her.’

      ‘More than we do,’ remarked Leon bitterly, his thin hands moulding the arms of his wheelchair.

      Sylvie hesitated. ‘I—I don’t think that’s true,’ she ventured, albeit unconvincingly. ‘She—she just—needs this—stimulation. But she needs you, too. In her own way.’

      Leon’s mouth tightened. ‘You mean as a safety net, do you not? In case this career she is pursuing does not work out.’

      Sylvie shook her head. ‘No.’ Though she had said virtually the same thing ten days ago. ‘Leon, give her a break. Let her try and prove herself. She may fail.’

      Leon looked down at his knees, swathed by a soft fur rug. ‘I have given her many breaks, Sylvie,’ he said heavily. ‘How many does she expect?’

      Sylvie felt terrible. If only she had known Leon was ill, she would never have agreed to come here, not under any circumstances. It was the support of a wife Leon needed at this time, a mother for Nikos. How could Margot be so callous?

      ‘Have you told my brother why Margot is not here?’ enquired Andreas’s harsh tones above their heads, and Sylvie looked up in sudden confusion.

      ‘Yes.’ It was Leon who answered, leaning back in his chair now, his hands on the arms relaxing almost submissively. ‘She has told me, Andreas. It seems I must be patient once again.’