Greek Mavericks: His Christmas Conquest. Cathy Williams

he had interrupted their afternoon.

      The dynamics of a provincial office. If office wasn’t a laughable overstatement, because nothing here resembled Theo’s offices—a huge smoked glass building, with each of its eight floors devoted to the efficient running of an empire that had tentacles stretching from his inherited shipping business to a thousand other concerns, all thriving, all diverse. And, at the top of the impressive building, a monument to modern architecture, sat Theo’s domain, a suite of partitioned offices where members of his close staff worked in silent productivity.

      He dragged his attention back to Sophie, who was trying hard now to produce a crisp businesslike manner which was not in keeping with the ruffled hair, the flushed cheeks and the casual attire of faded jeans and an oversized rugby shirt.

      ‘I guess I could spare a few minutes,’ she conceded. He must think her blind not to have noticed the scathing look he gave her premises. He might be a hot shot writer, but she doubted he would have known where to start if he had been in her shoes. She grabbed her bag which, as usual, seemed to be stuffed with too many things and nodded at him. ‘I’ll only be a short while,’ she said to the others, smiling when Moira told her to take her time, that they were fine to carry on sifting through the paperwork without her for a bit.

      ‘I would appreciate it if you could phone me with queries in the future,’ was the first thing she said as they left the office. ‘I realise that I’m responsible for what goes on in the cottage but, unless it’s an absolute emergency, I would rather you waited until after working hours.’ Next to him, she felt ridiculously small yet she was an average five foot six. He just seemed very tall and very big. Oppressive, in fact, she thought. And how did he manage to look so expensive when he was really only wearing some cords and a cream jumper with a very ordinary suede jacket? She glanced across at him, cross with herself for letting him get to her. Again.

      He pushed open the door to the café without answering and Sophie slipped past him, brushing against the suede jacket and feeling her body stiffen in sudden self-consciousness.

      ‘So what seems to be the problem? You said that Catherine and Annie were doing their jobs…’

      ‘To perfection…’

      ‘Then what?’

      At three-thirty on a cold autumn afternoon, Theo was amused to see that the café was practically full. Old biddies were chatting over plates of scones and pots of tea. Where the hell did they find the time? At three-thirty in the afternoon, in London, or New York or Paris or Tokyo, he would have been chairing a high-powered meeting or pacing his office, with his PA there, rattling off a million and one things that needed to be done sooner than yesterday and preferably sooner than the day before. He would have kept going, sometimes until late into the night when exhaustion would finally kick in and sleep would be the only option. An option he would have delayed forever because with sleep came the memories.

      What was it with the time down here? It seemed to be like elastic, stretching interminably in a twenty-four hour period. Even with his calls, his emails, his extensive reports, he still seemed to have time on his hands at the end of the day.

      These people here seemed to have nothing better to do than while away the time over tea and cakes.

      He found that he himself was ordering a pot of tea, when the waitress came across.

      ‘So?’ Sophie prompted. Those unsettling green eyes rested on her face and she flushed.

      ‘It’s the heating,’ Theo found himself improvising. Now that he was up close and watching her squarely in the face, he could see that her huge brown eyes were fringed with thick, very dark lashes which made a startling contrast to the blonde hair. ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to show me the workings.’ Theo had never asked anyone to help him with anything for as long as he could remember and certainly never something as fundamentally straightforward as the heating system of a house. If his mother could hear him now, she would roar with laughter, he thought uncomfortably. ‘Not that I can’t figure it out on my own…’sheer Greek pride forced him to qualify.

      Sophie looked at him warily, then she smiled. So he did have chinks in that armour! Even though he came across as the sort of man who could climb Mount Everest during his lunch break!

      That genuine hesitant smile was disconcerting enough to make Theo frown, and Sophie, seeing the frown, misinterpreted it as embarrassment at being caught out unable to succeed at doing something.

      ‘I know,’ she said with pseudo-concern, ‘it’s terrible for a man having to admit that he actually can’t do something, isn’t it?’ She thought back to the many DIY jobs her father had attempted doing, only to end up calling in the experts. He had been clever at science and enthralled at what mankind was capable of inventing, but show him a flat pack and he had inevitably been stuck. ‘Still, you’re a writer so I suppose you have an excuse.’

      ‘And why is that?’

      ‘Because writers aren’t really supposed to know how to do practical stuff, like working out the heating or fixing a washer or…replacing a light bulb.’

      Theo was outraged at her generalised assumption that he was a woolly-headed idiot but condemned to accept it with grudging good humour. He wondered why he had conjured up such a ridiculous story. Frankly, he wondered why he had bothered. People had already called to find out whether he needed company, including one acquaintance, Yvonne, who had mistakenly translated his previously polite responses as active encouragement. So why the hell was he seeking out the company of a woman who, aside from everything else, did not have a respectful bone in her body?

      ‘Is that right?’ he drawled, sitting back and sipping some of the tea and watching as she tucked into the obligatory scone with jam and cream.

      ‘Yes. Although maybe you’re different as you don’t write fiction.’

      Theo watched her lick a drop of cream from her finger. His so-called profession was something he certainly did not wish to linger upon.

      ‘Okay, I’ll pop in after work and have a look. There shouldn’t be a problem, really. One thing we’ve always made sure to look after has been the heating system in the house. It gets too cold here to take any chances.’

      ‘You being…you and your father…’

      Sophie stilled. She wiped her fingers on the napkin and looked across to the waitress for the bill.

      ‘That’s right,’ she said. ‘So, if anything, the timer switch needs adjusting. I should have thought that you would want the heating on more than normal because you’re probably indoors all day working.’ The bill came and she protested vigorously when Theo insisted on paying.

      ‘How did he die?’

      He wasn’t overstepping the mark—Sophie knew that. He was being polite, maybe even sympathetic, but she still resented the question. It was none of his business. Asking her personal questions was out of line. He was a tenant, not a friend, and not even a particularly nice tenant.

      ‘I assume it’s not a secret,’ Theo said dryly, ‘but if you’d rather change the subject, then that’s fine.’

      ‘He had a heart attack. It was quite sudden. He wasn’t old and he was very fit and healthy.’

      The memory of Elena’s death came back to him with such ferocity that he drew in his breath. A different start to her day, a different road travelled, maybe not stopping to take his call, and her life would not have shattered into a thousand pieces.

      ‘So you have been left to sort out his affairs,’ he said abruptly and Sophie, relieved to escape the sadness of the topic, grasped the diversion gratefully and nodded.

      ‘It’s a bit of a mess, to be honest. I guess I’ll have to get some financial person in at some point to help, but right now I’m doing the best I can.’ She looked at her watch and stood up. ‘Will you be staying on here for another pot of tea?’ she asked politely. ‘Because I’ve got to go now. It’s a bit cold and breezy, but the shops will be