The Greek Tycoon's Bride. HELEN BROOKS

‘I am pleased to meet you, Sophy,’ he said evenly, before turning again to Jill with an abruptness which made Sophy feel she had been cursorily dismissed. She blinked, staring at the cold male profile with a feeling of dislike as she heard Andreas say, ‘The car is waiting outside, if you are ready, and I know my parents are anxious to welcome you into their home. Shall we go?’

      ‘Yes, of course. Thank you,’ Jill said quickly.

      Andreas had summoned a porter with an inclination of his head as he had been speaking and Jill’s quiet voice fell into an empty void as he spoke to the young man in rapid Greek.

      Jill looked, and had sounded, utterly bemused, and as Sophy watched her sister smooth her straight silky fringe with nervous fingers, she frowned to herself. Jill was supposed to be coming here to relax and meet Theodore’s family in a spirit of reconciliation, and in Sophy’s opinion the Karydises were darn lucky her sister had bothered to make the effort, considering past history. This brother certainly needn’t act as though it was the family doing Jill a favour, she thought aggressively.

      She watched her sister’s face, framed by its curtain of wispy ash-blonde hair which hung to her shoulders, and noted the tension written all over it with a further deepening of dislike for Andreas Karydis. She flicked back her hair, which was shorter than Jill’s and cut to frame her face in a gleaming chin-length bob, as her soft full mouth tightened. Who did this family think they were, anyway? Royalty, by the look of it.

      And then she cautioned the quick temper which her mother had always insisted came from her father’s side of the family, and of which Jill had no trace. She didn’t know what Andreas was thinking; she could have read all this wrong. Maybe the distant, aloof manner he had displayed with her and Jill was habitual with the man. Jill had told her that Theodore’s argument with his family had begun long before he’d met her, but that when Theodore had chosen an English wife it had been the final straw.

      That had been in the early days of her sister’s marriage, and when she had asked Jill why Theodore had quarrelled so bitterly with his kith and kin and come to England, Jill had been vague and changed the subject.

      It had been two or three years later before her sister had admitted Theodore had refused to discuss his past life with his wife, and that she had no idea what had caused the rift. Even Christos, whose name Theodore had been given by a friend of a friend back in Greece before he’d left his native land, and with whom Theodore had struck up an immediate rapport on seeking him out on arriving in England, did not know, according to Jill.

      A mystery. And Sophy had never liked mysteries. Everything had to be clear and straightforward, as far as she was concerned; she couldn’t have married Theodore for all the tea in China! Not that he would have asked her in the first place. A rueful smile touched her mouth. Jill’s husband had always made it plain in a hundred little unspoken ways that he’d had as little time for her as she had had for him. She had just never been drawn to the strong, silent, macho type of male; Heathcliff might be great in the book but a dark, brooding, moody type of man would be sheer murder to live with, as far as she was concerned.

      And then she came out of her reverie as, the luggage being in place on the trolley, Andreas turned and took Jill’s arm, saying politely, ‘Shall we?’, his glance taking in Sophy and Michael before he strode off with Jill pattering along at his side.

      Sophy smiled stiffly and hoped she hadn’t betrayed the jolt her senses had given as the piercing eyes had met hers. Strength and authority seemed to radiate from the man and it was too much, too overwhelming to be comfortable. Even the clothes he wore were a representation of the dark power that was in every glance, every gesture. All around them were colourful dresses and bright shirts, Bermuda shorts and cheeky tee-shirts vying with more elegantly flamboyant clothes worn by both sexes, but still undeniably cheerful and showy.

      Andreas was wearing a brilliant white shirt, open at the neck, and plain charcoal trousers, and he was a monochrome of severity in all the brightness.

      As they exited the building the full force of the June sun hit, the heat wrapping them round like a hot blanket, and Michael’s awe-struck voice as he said, ‘Wow! It’s really, really hot,’ brought his uncle turning round with a smile on his face.

      ‘England is not so warm, eh?’ he said indulgently, his tone of voice and the look on his face completely different with his small nephew than it was with the two women. ‘It is normally in the eighties here in June, but even hotter in July and August. You will find yourself spending much time in your grandparents’s swimming pool, I think. Like a little fish, eh?’

      ‘A swimming pool?’ Michael was elated, his big brown eyes shining. ‘They have one of their own?’ he asked in wonderment. He had recently learnt to swim at the local swimming baths and, although barely proficient, adored the water.

      Andreas nodded. ‘But one end is very deep,’ he warned quietly, his eyes smiling into the little round face topped by a mass of curly light brown hair. ‘You must never venture into the water unless you are with a grown-up, Michael. This is a rule for all the children who visit my parents’s home, yes?’

      ‘Who are the other children?’ Michael asked immediately.

      ‘Relations and friends of the family. Do not worry, little one. You will meet them all in good time,’ his uncle said easily.

      Andreas had been leading them across the vast car park as he had talked to Michael, and now, as he approached a long sleek limousine complete with driver, Michael’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. ‘Is this your car?’ he asked breathlessly. Cars were his passion. ‘Your very own?’

      ‘Yes, do you like it?’ Andreas asked, smiling at the enthusiasm.

      Sophy had been viewing the light exchange between the two with something akin to amazement, and as she glanced at Jill she saw the same emotion in her twin’s eyes. The youngest member of their little party was clearly not in the least intimidated by his formidable relation!

      ‘It’s beautiful,’ Michael breathed reverently, stroking the silver metal with a respectful hand. ‘And this is my favourite colour.’ He walked round the car slowly, goggle-eyed.

      ‘Mine too.’ Andreas grinned at the small boy, and the two women exchanged a cryptic glance, reading each other’s minds as they so often did. It looked as if Andreas and Michael were friends already.

      The chauffeur had been busy piling the luggage into the cavernous boot of the vehicle, and now Andreas called him over, his voice composed as he said, ‘This is Paul, my driver and also my friend.’ As the small lean man smiled a smile which showed blackened teeth, Andreas continued, ‘Mrs Karydis, Paul, and my nephew, Michael. And this is Miss…?’ as he included Sophy in the sweep of his hand.

      ‘Sophy Fearn. Mrs Sophy Fearn,’ Sophy said, smiling sweetly into the gnomelike face of the driver. The ‘Mrs’ was a small victory, nothing at all really, but it felt wonderful to be able to trip Theodore’s brother up on even a tiny detail.

      There was a startled pause for just a second or two and then Andreas recovered immediately, his hard, handsome face hiding his thoughts as he said quietly, ‘I do apologise, Sophy. I was not aware you were married but of course I should not have assumed.’

      No, you shouldn’t. Sophy held his eyes for just a moment, allowing her gaze to say the words she couldn’t voice, and then she smiled coolly, her voice polite and unconcerned as she said, ‘Not at all, Andreas, it’s perfectly all right. And I’m a widow actually,’ she threw in for good measure.

      The grey eyes widened for a split second and again she knew she had surprised him. ‘I’m sorry.’

      Sophy was aware of Michael fidgeting at the side of them and knew her nephew was longing to ride in the car, and so she kept the explanation brief, merely shrugging as she said, ‘My husband died three years ago and time helps.’ She hoped, she did so hope he wasn’t as crass as one or two of their friends had been with their sympathetic remarks after Theodore’s death along the lines of, ‘Such bad luck, the pair of you having such tragedies,’ and ‘I can’t believe you’ve