Kate Proctor - No Mistress But Love

The balcony was large and paved with jewel-like mosaics: huge earthenware and marble urns spilled out a profusion of flowering plants, the delicate scents of which had mingled to float in the air with a softly heady fragrance.

The white pedestal table at which she was seated was set for two, crystal wine goblets and heavy silver cutlery glittering and gleaming in the soft light cast by clusters of candles in marble holders of varying heights and positioned in such a way as to enable the two diners to face one another, unimpeded by their presence. To the side of the table was a white trolley, on which sat several silver-canopied dishes and a napkin-wrapped opened bottle of red wine.

‘The chef seemed to have no knowledge of your preferences in wine,’ he said, taking the seat opposite her, ‘so I selected something that should blend in with your culinary tastes…though I wouldn’t necessarily bet money on that,’ he murmured drily, reaching over and removing the covers from some of the dishes.

Unsettled by his tone, Lindy glanced nervously across the table at him. He was laughing at her, she thought uncomfortably, suddenly acutely conscious of how completely out of her depth she was in such exotic surroundings and in such sophisticated company.

‘It’s just that you have such…how can I put it?…unusual tastes in Greek food,’ he murmured, obviously having intercepted her look of discomfort and feeling obliged to offer a token panacea. ‘Anyway, do help yourself.’

Feeling about as at ease as a peasant might, having been invited to dine at a king’s table, Lindy helped herself to small portions from a few of the dishes. Her tastes in Greek food probably did add up to the equivalent of steak and kidney pie and custard, she thought self-consciously, but that was only because she had never had anyone to guide her. In a fit of petty vindictiveness soon after their arrival Tim had informed her she was not to mingle with the guests, so she had only twice eaten in the hotel’s superb dining-room. She had taken to selecting her meals from whatever took her fancy in the kitchen—the cosy, paternalistic chef giving her little tasters from one dish or another and often chuckling with undisguised mirth at the selections she made…had he been able to speak even a few words of English he would no doubt have explained what he had so frequently found amusing about her selections. Far from finding her ignorance amusing, Niko Leandros plainly found it repellently primitive!

‘I’m sorry—I’ve been unforgivably rude,’ he said, cutting across her mortified thoughts and startling her with the genuine contrition in his tone. ‘Greek food isn’t necessarily to everyone’s taste.’

‘Oh, but I love it!’ exclaimed Lindy. ‘It’s just that…well, anyway…I enjoy the dishes I’ve tried very much.’

‘It’s just that what?’ he probed, frowning when she explained her sorties into the kitchen. ‘I can’t understand why you haven’t been eating in the dining-room,’ he said. ‘There you’d have been served conventionally balanced meals.’

‘I…I just preferred not to,’ she stammered.

Every time she opened her mouth she seemed to be stepping into a potential minefield, she thought wearily, wondering how long it would be before she tripped herself up irrevocably.

It wasn’t the most relaxed of meals she had ever participated in, and certainly not in the remotest way romantic, despite the fairy-tale surroundings and her princely companion…probably because of him, she thought morosely, for her Adonis of a companion had lapsed into a decidedly uncompanionable silence which had lasted throughout a meal patently not to his taste.

It was when two of the waiters arrived to clear things away and place a tray of coffee inside for them that Lindy began to see things with a troubling clarity. She began wondering what the waiters were making of all this—the manager nowhere to be seen, and his wife now ensconced in the private suite of a member of the Leandros family. The only shred of consolation she managed to derive from her tortured thoughts was that true friendship with any other member of staff had been denied her…and that was hardly any consolation at all, because all she wanted to do was curl up and die from the humiliation of it all.

‘Are you familiar with Greek coffee?’ he asked, having escorted her inside as the waiters had bustled out and now reaching over to pour the coffee.

Lindy nodded. ‘Though I’m afraid I learned the hard way,’ she admitted, remembering the mouthful of coffee grounds she had almost swallowed as she had attempted to drain that first cup she had sampled—needless to say, Tim hadn’t warned her and had been waiting for her to do just that.

He smiled as he handed her a cup, a smile that turned her heart over violently, then filled it with an aching sadness as it suddenly recognised this man’s total unattainability.

‘Mr Leandros——’ she broke off as he pulled a comically protesting face and felt the sadness embed itself deeper into her heart ‘—Niko,’ she conceded with the ghost of a smile, ‘if…if you’re right and Tim doesn’t show up——’

‘I’d say the likelihood of his showing up is extremely remote now—wouldn’t you?’ he enquired, his eyes, usually so alert and watchful, trained on the coffee-cup in his hand.

‘Yes…well, what I was going to say was that…well, naturally I’d work whatever notice is required of me…and then I’d like to go home.’

‘I have no idea what is required of you contractually; I’d guess the contact was solely with your husband and you were no more than an appendage—my late uncle tended to have a pretty chauvinistic attitude to women.’

‘Your late uncle?’ queried Lindy, having difficulty remaining civil; the very idea of any woman, let alone herself, being regarded as an inconsequential appendage to a man made her see red.

‘Yes—late,’ he snapped. ‘He was the member of the family—a great-uncle, to be precise—who owned this island and, thereby, the hotel.’

‘And he must have died recently…I’m sorry to hear that,’ muttered Lindy, offering her condolences more out of politeness than any feeling they would be appreciated.

‘You knew him?’ he drawled.

‘You know I didn’t,’ she replied, her hands clenching in fury in her lap.

‘I can’t say I did either,’ he startled her by admitting. ‘One of his eccentricities—of which he had many—was to have as little to do with his relatives as possible. He used to take off whenever any member of the family showed up here.’

Lindy made no reply, though it did occur to her that regarding it as perfectly normal to win a woman in a game of poker would probably be described by most as an example of outright eccentricity.

‘Unfortunately I was incapacitated shortly after his death, and the family’s financial advisers decided to go ahead and find a replacement for the management team already here but due to leave in August. Personally I’d simply have wound down the entire operation then and there—a hotel geared solely to being a holiday haven throughout the year to a couple of dozen exceptionally wealthy clients is an anachronism in this day and age.’

‘Perhaps it’s just as well for the staff that you didn’t have a say in the matter,’ retorted Lindy. ‘Because they’d all be out of jobs.’

‘Ah, yes,’ he murmured sarcastically, ‘that abundant compassion of yours leaps once more to the fore. The fact is that I have rather a large say in all matters—since I’m the one the old boy left all this to.’

Mentally kicking herself for having walked straight into such a put-down, Lindy picked up her cup and took a mouthful from it—a mouthful, as it turned out, mainly of coffee grounds. Praying the floor would open up and swallow her, she was reduced to spitting what she could back into her cup and hating her companion, who simply stared at her in disdainful silence for several seconds, before leaping to his feet and leaving the room.