PAGAN ADVERSARY (3 page)

you hurt Kostas, so she was hurt too. That's all.' --'A very moving

story,' he said cynically. 'Kostas would seem to have chosen a rare

gem for his wife. Unfortunately my knowledge of him and his

judgment makes that doubtful. However, I give you credit for

believing what you say, and for having affection for your sister. But

let us not forget that the real issue is Nicos.'

'Nicky isn't an—issue! He's a child, a little human being. He's my

nephew as much as yours, and whatever you may think I'm quite

capable of bringing him up. And that's what I intend to do,' she added

in a little rush.

As she fumbled with the door handle she was afraid that he might

come after her and stop her leaving, but he didn't move, and at last she

got the door open and shot through it into the outer room under Miss

Greystoke's startled gaze.

As she reached the corridor she was crying, and she made straight for

the staff cloakroom on the ground floor. Fortunately it was

unoccupied, and she sank down on the bench against the wall and let

her emotions have their way with her. She was sick and trembling

when the tears finally stopped, and the face which stared back at her

from the mirror looked pale and ravaged. She bathed her eyes with

cool water, and let the tap run over her wrists in an attempt to steady

her racing pulses. Then she snatched her blazer from its peg and slung

it round her shoulders.

Her thoughts weren't particularly coherent, but the necessity to get

Nicky out of London predominated. She had no idea where to go, or

how to find a hiding place which Alex Marcos' money would not

disclose, but speed was of the essence.

She had a little money in her bag, and more at the flat, and some

savings in a building society. If she went to one of the big stations in

the rush hour, she thought feverishly, it was unlikely anyone would

remember a girl with a young child. She would travel as far as she

could afford, and pretend Nicky was hers—that she was an unmarried

mother. She could disguise herself, she thought wildly, dye her hair,

or buy a wig. If she could lie low for long enough, surely Alex

Marcos would get tired of looking for them and return to Greece.

She bit her lip. There was no way she could make that sound

convincing to herself. I said I'd fight him, so I'm damned if I'll just

give in without a struggle, she thought.

She felt guilty about leaving the company without a word of

explanation, or handing in her notice but she had no alternative. She

didn't think anyone had seen her leaving the building, but she kept

glancing behind her as she anxiously waited for a bus.

Manda looked surprised as she opened the door. 'You're early,' she

exclaimed. 'I've just put him down for a nap.'

'Yes,' Harriet forced a smile. 'I'm sorry, Manda, but I must take him

with me. And he won't be coming tomorrow—or until further notice.

In fact I don't know if—or when.

Manda gave her a searching look. 'The kettle's just boiled,' she said.

'Go and make yourself a cup of something while I get Nicky up and

put his coat on. On your own head be it too,' she added as Harriet

moved obediently towards the kitchen. 'He's hell if he's woken before

he's ready.'

Nicky was plainly disgruntled when he appeared in Manda's arms,

but still too sleepy to be real hell. He held his arms out imperatively to

Harriet, who look him, her welcoming smile wavering as she felt his

warm little body curling trustingly into her lap.

'Don't squeeze him to death,' advised Manda, refilling her own cup.

'What's the matter? Has the Wicked Uncle appeared and started

putting pressure on?' "

Harriet nodded, and Manda sighed. 'Well, I suppose it was inevitable.'

She put out a hand and affectionately ruffled Nicky's thick dark hair.

'Goodbye, love. Our yard today—a millionaires' playground

tomorrow. Can't be bad.'

'He's not having him!' Harriet's voice was fierce.

'I admire your spirit, but I don't think you're being very realistic.'

Manda sounded almost matter-of-fact. 'Greeks are very patriarchal,

you know, and Nicky has Marcos blood in his veins. And just

suppose you did persuade his uncle to let you keep him—do you

think Nicky would always be grateful? Unless he was superhuman,

he might start reckoning up on some of the things he'd missed out on.'

'That's—horrible,' Harriet said slowly.

'Yes, isn't it?' Manda agreed. 'But being an orphan doesn't

automatically confer sanctity as well, you know.'

'So you think I should just—give him up?' Harriet was astounded.

'No.' Manda frowned. 'Of course not. But surely you should be able to

do some kind of deal with the Marcos man—agree that Nicky should

spend a certain amount of time with you each year.'

Harriet groaned. 'After what's happened today, I don't think he'd

agree to Nicky even sending me a Christmas card!' She gave Manda a

succinct account of the day's events, and her intentions, and Manda

looked startled.

'For God's sake, Harriet, don't do anything hasty. If you grab Nicky

and start dashing all over the country with him, you'll be giving Alex

Marcos the gun to shoot you down with. He may be an arrogant

swine, but you won't beat him by acting like a madwoman. You run

away and you'll just be playing into his hands.'

'Whose side are you on?' Harriet joked weakly.

'Nicky's.' Manda gave her a gentle smile. 'Take him home if you want,

but do some good, hard thinking once you get there. If you don't you

could end by losing out completely, and that would be a bad thing for

you both.'

Harriet's thoughts were sober as she walked along, pushing the baby

buggy. Nicky was fast asleep, his dark lashes making half-moons on

his pink, cheeks. She looked down at him with tenderness. The

thought of losing him was frankly intolerable, but Manda's words had

hit home.

At first, as she turned into her road, she was barely aware of the car,

and when she did notice it, it was with a kind of detached curiosity.

There were plenty of cars in the road, especially at weekends, all the

popular models and mostly with elderly registrations, but this was

very different.

A Rolls-Royce, she thought incredulously, and her step§ began to

slow instinctively, her white-knuckled hands gripping the handle of

the buggy.

There was a uniformed driver in the front seat, and his passenger was

already getting out, tossing his half-smoked cigar into the gutter as he

waited for her.

Alex Marcos said with a glittering smile, 'Welcome home, Miss

Masters. So this is Nicos. Thank you for bringing him to me.'

HARRIET stood staring at him. Her lips moved almost helplessly,

'But—I didn't --'

'Oh, I am quite sure you did not,' he said sardonically. 'Nevertheless,

the boy is here, and I am here, which is what I wanted.'

Harriet looked down at the sleeping Nicky, and knew that Alex

Marcos' gaze had followed her own.

'He is very much a Marcos,' he said after a pause, his voice

expressionless.

'He has my sister's eyes.' Harriet's grip tightened almost defeatedly on

the handle of the pushchair. She swallowed. 'Will you be taking him

now—or do I have time to pack his things?'

'You speak as if I planned to kidnap the child.' He did not bother to

disguise the note of irritation in his voice. 'I do not, I promise you.

However, this is hardly the place to discuss the matter. Shall we go

indoors before we begin to attract unwelcome attention?'

Harriet hesitated, but really she had very little choice, she thought

angrily as she began to manoeuvre the pushchair up the rather

overgrown path to the front door.

In the hall, she bent to release Nicky. Alex Marcos was at her side.

'Give him to me.' His voice was authoritative, and he took Nicky from

her, not waiting for any sign of assent on her part, leaving her to fold

the buggy and lead the way up the stairs.

As she unlocked her own door, she was thankful that the room was

tidy and clean. She hated coming home at the end of a long day to any

kind of mess, and she was glad now that she had made the usual effort

to clear up before leaving that morning. She was thankful too that the

small clothes-horse only held a selection of Nicky's garments, and

none of her own.

'He has not woken,' Alex Marcos said from behind her. 'What shall I

do with him?'

Harriet indicated the cot in the corner, shielded from the rest of the

room by a small screen which she had recovered herself in a collage

of bright pictures cut from magazines.

'He'll sleep for a while,' she said with something of an effort. 'Until he

realises it's teatime.'

She watched him put Nicky down in the cot, his movements deft and

gentle. Unusually so, she thought, because he could not be a man who

was used to children.

He straightened, and turned unsmilingly, the brilliant dark gaze going

over the room in candid assessment. Harriet felt an absurd desire to

apologise for it. The square of carpet had come from a saleroom, as

had much of the furniture. The rest had been picked up from junk

shops and lovingly repaired where necessary, and polished, but few

of the pieces were beautiful, and none of them were valuable. And

besides, there was something in Alex Marcos' sheer physical

presence, she realised crossly, that made the surroundings seem far

more cramped and shabby than they actually were.

No, she was damned if she would apologise that it was only a room

and not a flat, or justify herself in any way. This was her home, and he

could make whatever judgments he liked. At the same time, she was

his hostess, however reluctant.

She said slowly, 'Can I offer you some refreshment?'—some imp of

perversity making her continue, 'I've some sherry left over from

Christmas, some instant coffee, or tea-bags.'

He inclined his head mockingly. 'You are most gracious.

Perhaps—the coffee.'

She had hoped he would stay where he was, but he followed her along

the passage to the first-floor communal kitchen. She could just

imagine what he thought of that too, from the elderly gas cooker to

the enormous peeling fridge. She opened the cupboard where she

kept her provisions and crockery and extracted the coffee and a

couple of pottery mugs, while the kettle was boiling.

Alex Marcos was lounging in the doorway, very much at his ease, but

not missing a thing, Harriet thought.

. She said, 'There's no point in waiting here. The kettle takes rather a

long time.'

'I imagine that it might,' he said, smiling faintly.

'It must all be very different from what you're used to,' she said stiffly.

'You should have stayed in the West End, where you belong.'

His brows lifted. 'You have never visited Greece, it is clear, Miss

Masters, or you would know that for many of our people such a

kitchen would be the height of luxury.'

'But you're not among them.'

'That is true. But my own good fortune does not lead me to feel

contempt for the way others lead their lives.'

That wasn't the picture Kostas had painted, Harriet thought, as they

went back to the flat. He had spoken with feeling of unyielding pride

and arrogance, of a total inability to make allowances for the

weakness or feelings of others, or to forgive—and with good reason,

considering the way he had been treated by his family. Not his

marriage, not Nicky's birth, had done anything to heal whatever

breach was between them. Harriet was aware that the Marcos family

had been notified when Kostas was killed, but she had frankly never

expected to hear from them again. Certainly there had been no

flowers, no message of condolence at the funeral. For months there

had been silence—and then the bombshell about Nicky had exploded.

Nicky still hadn't stirred when they got back, and Harriet moved

round quietly taking his aired clothes from the clothes-horse and

folding them, before putting them away in the small chest of drawers.

She opened the window a little too, letting some of the later afternoon

sunlight into the room, along with the distant noise of traffic, and the

overhead throb of a passing jet..

This was the time of day she usually looked forward to—tea with

Nicky, then playtime before she got him ready for his bath and bed.

But for how many more times? she wondered desolately.

As she turned away from the window, she found Alex Marcos was

watching her, and there must have been, something about the droop

of her shoulders which had betrayed her, because his voice had