The Stephanides Pregnancy

CHAPTER EIGHT

ELEGANT in a short sleeveless dress that had a tiny flower print on a yellow background, Betsy carne down to breakfast.

'Thanks for the pearls… ' she said woodenly, taking a seat at the dining table.

Cristos waited while the manservant tried to attend to her needs before she attended to them on her own account and then dismissed his employee with a nod. 'I think it would be a good idea if you didn't read any newspapers today,' he imparted.

Betsy was no great fan of reading newspapers but in one sentence he had ensured that she would spend the whole of the day perusing the printed word. 'Why?'

'I've always attracted a lot of press coverage. I'm used to it. It doesn't bother me.' Concerned dark golden eyes rested on her delicate profile. 'But you have no experience of how the tabloids sensationalize personalities and #vents. I don't want you to be distressed.'

Chin at an angle, Betsy was already standing up. 'Where are the newspapers?'

'Betsy-'

'Don't try to tell me that I can't read what's been written about us!' she exclaimed. 'I'm not a little kid!' – 'OK… but first I have to explain something about the kidnapping. A member of my own family was behind it,' Cristos delivered grimly.

That did grab her attention. 'You're joking me… a relative of yours?'

'I wish I were joking.' Cristos told her about Spyros Zolottas, who had, she now learned, been one of the men who had died in the helicopter crash with Joe. Tyler. 'Unlike my grandfather, I believed that the leopard could change his spots. I was wrong. Spyros decided to use his knowledge of my movements to stage a kidnapping and extract money from Patras. He was with me the first time I saw you. Obviously he realized how he could use my interest in you to his advantage. '

'He's the man you said arranged for me to pick you up that weekend as a surprise,' Betsy recalled.

'To meet you, I was prepared to overlook my security team's concerns and expose myself to a degree of vulnerability that made the kidnapping more likely to succeed.'

'So it was your cousin who was responsible for it all…' For a wordless moment she sat there slowly shaking her head, but deep down inside more turbulent reactions were being born. 'But you're only telling me this now because the newspapers have got a hold of it… am I right? When did you find out that Spyros whatever-you-call-him was behind it all?'

'When I made my first phone call to Patras after we had escaped.'

'But you didn't tell me. We had spent almost a week living together. We were lovers facing the same fears and challenges… and yet you dido' t think that I had the right to know who had put us on that island?' she demanded shakily, her temper and her hurt rising by equal degrees.

'It was a family matter,' Cristos countered with measured care. 'When Spyros was killed, my grandfather felt that his family had suffered enough. He saw no advantage and neither did 1 in publicly exposing Spyros' wife and daughters to the disgrace of his criminal behavior.'

Betsy was barely listening. Her mind was hopping like a rabbit from mortified peak to peak. 'Was Petrina excluded from the same information?'

'No.'

A bitter laugh fell from her lips. 'That says it all.' 'Theos mou…it says what?' Cristos demanded,

plunging upright in an expression of mounting frustration.

'Even though 1 went through that kidnapping with you, 1 was nobody on your terms. 1 really was just the silly slapper you seduced to amuse yourself!' Betsy vented painfully.

'That is not how 1 thought of you… '

'How you behaved tells me exactly how you thought of me!' Tempestuous emotions were pulling at Betsy and a wounded sense of rejection and inadequacy lay at the heart of her agony. 'When 1 think of how you dared to accuse me of being involved with the kidnappers an‹t all the time one of your own blasted relations had organized the whole thing!'

'I know it looks and sounds bad-'

'And you have never yet apologized for misjudging me!'

'I thought we had gone beyond that level.'

Rising to her feet, Betsy settled furious green eyes on him. 'Where are the newspapers?'

'The library,' Cristos advanced, darkly handsome face taut. 'I won't apologies for believing that it's my duty to protect you from anything that might upset you-'

'Go lock yourself up behind bars, then!'

In the library, Betsy sat down to study the papers.

She was shattered to realize that her whole family had come under scrutiny with her. One of her parents' neighbors had used their anonymity to make cruelly cutting comments about Corinne Mitchell. Betsy's eyes filled with tears for she knew how her mother would writhe to see herself castigated in print for all their friends and relatives to see. That Gemma was an unwed mother was also pointed out with a glee that could almost be felt. Stories were angled at presenting Betsy as an ambitious young woman who could only have taken a job as a chauffeur in the hope of meeting and marrying a rich man. Salacious stabs were made as to what must have occurred on the island. Never had she felt more humiliated.

However, at the turn of a page, Betsy learnt that there were still greater depths for her to plummet to in the humiliation stakes. There was more than one two-page spread on Cristos' long and colorful reign as a womanizer.

'I don't want you looking at rubbish like that,' Cristos ground out from behind her.

'I'm sure you don't…' Her tummy churning, Betsy was studying a photo of Cristos getting into a brawl on her behalf at their wedding. She was trying not to feel hideously responsible for what the gossip columnist asserted was a very rare loss of temper for Cristos and 'very revealing of his state of mind on the day he married his pregnant bride'. That was followed by a quote purporting to be direct from Petrina Rhodias in which the Greek heiress referred to Cristos as 'a man of honor shamelessly entrapped by his own decent values'.

'Did Petrina phone you to commiserate with you?' Betsy launched at him, quivering with pain and humiliation.

His jaw line squared. 'What kind of a question is that to ask me?'

'I heard you on the phone to her this morning!' 'As 1 haven't spoken to Petrina today, that is an impossibility-'

'I heard you say her name!' Betsy practically sobbed in her distress.

His ebony brows had pleated and then the light of comprehension flashed through his lustrous dark eyes. 'I did speak to Spyros' eldest daughter before breakfast. She is called… Petrine. Petrina and Petrine. Could you have misheard me?'

Betsy flushed. The difference between the two names was almost indistinguishable and she felt foolish. At the same time she was intensely relieved that she had jumped to the wrong conclusion. 'Yes, obviously I did mishear you,' she conceded almost cheerfully. 'Sorry, my mistake.'

'Spyros' wife and daughters have only just learned that he was responsible for the kidnapping. They are extremely upset and wished to express their regret for what he did to us both.'

'I hope you assured his family that 1 don't consider them in any way to blame for what happened.'

'Of course. That is generous of you,' he responded approvingly. 'Will you eat some breakfast now?' 'I'm not hungry.' Betsy gathered up the necklace she had removed in a hurried movement. 'I really ought to be ringing Mum and Gemma-'

'Later… ' Cristos advised, removing the pearls from her fingers and turning her round so that he could deftly fasten the necklace back into place. 'You've had a rough morning and we're leaving for the airport soon-'

'But it's my fault that poor Mum and Gemma have been lampooned in print along-'

Stunning golden eyes lodged to her, Cristos had pressed a silencing fingertip to her tremulous mouth. 'No, it is not your fault. You did nothing to ask for that coverage. Take my advice. Let the dust settle first. '

At his behest she ate a light breakfast.

They were travelling to the airport when she began mulling over what he had said to her earlier. 'What did you mean when you said you hadn't spoken to Petrina Rhodias… today?' she suddenly queried.

His brilliant gaze narrowed, superb bone structure taut.

Betsy had lost color. 'When did you last speak to her?'

'Yesterday. She phoned me before our wedding,' Cristos admitted flatly.

The silence was as taut as elastic stretched to the edge of endurance.

'I've got no right to ask… l know that, but I'm not going to give you a moment's peace until you tell me what she said,' Betsy confided in a driven rush of unsparing honesty.

His devastatingly handsome features set. 'She asked me not to marry you. May we drop the subject now?' Betsy stared out the window but she was quite unaware of the scenery beyond the tinted glass. So now she knew. On the day of her wedding, Petrina had waved a come-home-and-all-will-be-forgiven flag. And why not? Petrina had been engaged to Cristos. Betsy had been the other woman. Cristos had only married her because she had fallen pregnant by him. A man of honor, shamelessly entrapped by his decent values. Since men did not have the ability to conceive that was rather an unfair assessment, Betsy thought wretchedly. But was that secretly how he felt as well? Cristos closed a hand over hers. 'You're my wife now. Stop dwelling on the past.'

'I can't help it…one minute I'm feeling guilty about your ex-fiancée and the next I'm feeling sorry for me.' 'I suspect she was the source who tipped off the press about Spyros having me kidnapped and also about your pregnancy. Only Petrina knew the score on both those counts.'

As a device to ease her conscience that revelation worked; Betsy started feeling a lot less guilty. Had Petrina Rhodias deliberately set out to destroy their wedding day? Betsy suppressed a shiver, for such calculated malice was foreign and very threatening to her. At the same time, however, she was also carefully thinking over what Cristos had revealed. Clearly, he had not staged a diplomatic cover-up for Betsy's benefit. He had not gone to Petrina and simply said that " he was sorry but he must break off the engagement because he was in love with someone else. No, it. seemed that he had told the beautiful blonde the truth and nothing but the brutal, unlovely truth: that he felt he had to marry Betsy because she was carrying his child. Betsy very much wished he had lied.

'We have our whole lives ahead of us, yineka mou' Cristos drawled, level dark golden eyes resting on her tense face with a degree of censure. 'Even more importantly, we have the birth of our child to look forward to.'

Her fingers flexed in his. 'Are you really looking forward to the baby?'

His slow, charismatic smile curved his wide, sensual mouth and her mouth ran dry and her heartbeat quickened because he looked so spectacularly attractive. 'Of course I am. I don't care if it's a boy or a girl either.'

Her tension evaporated. She had had so little time to think about the baby. First she had been afraid that she was pregnant, then had come the confirmation and the fear of how she would cope, finally the guilt that she should be happy that Cristos, who didn't love her, should be willing to marry her. Now she found herself wondering whether she would be blessed with a boy or a girl. Whichever, she would be content. In the same way, she swore- to herself with determination, she would appreciate what she did have with Cristos rather than brood about what she did not have.

Cristos received a couple of what appeared to be important phone calls soon after the Stephanides private jet landed in Athens. Lean powerful face grave, he settled himself into the limousine beside her and regarded her with veiled dark eyes. 'I'm about to take you back to my home, give you a brief tour and then head straight into the office, yineka mou.'

Very much taken aback at the thought of just being abandoned in a strange house in a strange country virtually the minute she had arrived there, Betsy breathed in deep. 'No problem,' she told him, reminding herself that she was not a wimp.

Respect banished the wary aspect from his keenly intelligent gaze. 'As you may have gathered there's no room in my schedule right now for a honeymoon.'

'You never said there would be.' Betsy pinned on a smile, working hard at hiding her disappointment. If anything she felt distinctly foolish for having assumed that he would at least spend a few days with her before he returned to running his business empire. It had become obvious even before the wedding that Cristos worked pretty long hours.

'When I'm less busy, I promise I'll take you away somewhere special and do all that newly married stuff with you.' Cristos was still watching her like a hawk. 'You do realize that you're reacting to all this bad news like a woman in a million.'

'Yes… ' Her ready sense of humor sparkled in her green eyes. 'Saintliness is much more likely to induce guilt than recriminations,' she pointed out sweetly.

After a startled pause, he laughed with true appreciation and tugged her across the seat into the strong circle of his arms. After that response she would have braved the Amazon jungle on her own and she snuggled back into him warm with love. A little voice in her subconscious whispered that surely he would have made the effort to find time for a honeymoon with Petrina Rhodias. She jumped on that dangerous inner voice and snuffed it off like a flame threatening a destructive blaze.

His shore-front estate on the Greek mainland took her breath away. She knew Cristos. She had expected an impressive house and was not at all surprised that it overlooked the sea he loved. But she had not been prepared for an historic mansion, the thickly wooded acres of grounds and the private beach or even the two dozen staff lined up to greet her. He made a special point of introducing her to Omphale, an apple-cheeked middle-aged lady with a big cheery smile, who had been his nurse when he was a child.

'Did you tell Omphale I was expecting?' Betsy whispered suspiciously as they crossed a big echoing hall full of light.

Cristos said nothing.

Betsy realized that there was nothing tactful he could say. So many stories about their marriage had appeared in the English newspapers that it was highly unlikely that her condition could still be a secret in Greece. 'It's OK… I’m not being silly-'

'I would have wanted the staff to know anyway, thespinis mou,' Cristos confided abruptly. 'How else can they look after you properly? We need to get you signed up with an obstetrician here too. I'll ask around the family for a personal recommendation. It also occurs to me that Greek lessons might-be a good idea.'

'I love it when you get bossy… it makes me feel like I'm starring in a madly exciting costume drama where some big tough man talks down to some twittering little woman. Yes, sir, no, sir, three bags full, sir!' For good measure, Betsy raised a hand in what she hoped was a fair stab at an army salute.

. Cristos clamped her to him and kissed her breathless. Framing her lovely face with long, spread fingers, he finally drew back from her with pronounced reluctance. His mobile phone was buzzing again.

'I don't need a tour of the house… ' Hot pink stained her cheekbones. Almost imperceptibly she was leaning forward, vulnerable green eyes meeting his smouldering appraisal. 'Well… you could show me the bedroom,' she managed, framing that invitation as boldly as she dared.

He groaned out loud. 'I can't… don't tempt me.'

He answered his mobile phone, paced away a few feet to speak in low, urgent Greek. He swung back. 'I must go.'

'Trouble at the ranch?' she quipped tightly, striving not to reveal how desperately cut off she felt by his rejection.

He frowned in incomprehension.

'Problems at the office?' she rephrased, feeling very superfluous to his requirements, for he was so obviously mental miles away already.

Stunning golden eyes collided with hers with unexpected force and he laughed and shook his handsome dark head in seeming wonderment. 'No, of course not. What an imagination you have!'

'I'll see you tonight then…' 'It may be late,..'

'Then kiss me again,' she heard herself say. He obliged.

'It may be very late,' he confessed when she was holding onto him to stay upright and his own voice had developed a husky edge.

'You'd better kiss me again… to keep me going,' she mumbled.

'If I do it again, it will hurt even more to walk away.

You are so beautiful, "yineka mou.'

'I'll sit up for you,' she promised, watching him back slowly towards the entrance.

Both of them had been so intent on each other that they had not noticed the silver-haired elderly man who was standing there watching them. Cristos cannoned into him and swung round with an exclamation of surprise.

Betsy was welded to the spot. One look at the'" tall visitor with his spare, sculpted bone structure and deep-set eyes and she knew exactly where Cristos had inherited his good looks from, for the family resemblance was pronounced.

'Betsy… allow me to introduce my grandfather, Patras Stephanides,' Cristos proclaimed with warm pride and affection.

Patras Stephanides walked towards Betsy and stretched out both his hands in an expansive invitation to her. 'Will you forgive a foolish man for his prejudice?' he asked in a voice roughened by emotion.

'Of course.' With a misty smile she grasped his hands and stood while he kissed her with solemn care on either cheek. 'But there's a price,' she warned him. 'There's hours and hours of film on our wedding and 1 shall make you sit through every minute of it.'

The old man's poker-straight carriage relaxed a little and his appreciative smile lightened his serious expression. 'I shall look forward to my punishment.' He skimmed a wry glance back at his restive grandson. 'Don't let me keep you late, Cristos. 1 am aware that you are exceptionally busy at present-'

'Ne… yes,' Cristos breathed, his attention on Betsy. 'But-'

'A young woman who can tease me within thirty seconds of meeting me is not in the least afraid of me,' Patras quipped with unconcealed approval. 'Stop worrying about your wife. 1 will look after her. That is what family is for. Good times and bad times must be shared. I'm afraid that for the space of two weeks 1 forgot that most basic principle.'

Betsy already knew that she was going to like Patras. She always felt most at home with people who were blunt and open in expressing their views. Cristos was more subtle, more sophisticated and much harder to read. His grandfather, on the other hand, was making no bones about his regret at having missed their wedding and his eagerness to heal the breach with his grandson and his bride. She was more than willing to meet the old man halfway. She would have made as much effort even if she had not liked Patras Stephanides. Cristos had been troubled by that breach and for his sake, much more than her own, she was overjoyed that his grandfather had had a change of heart.

'Where do I take you in this house to offer you tea or coffee?' she asked Patras with a rueful grin. 'Cristos didn't get time to show me round.'

'Later, if you will permit me, I will act as guide. I was born here, as was Cristos.' He took her out to a shaded loggia where a slight breeze cooled the air. 'At this hour this is the best place.'

Refreshments were served. Patras answered her questions about the house, which had been in the family for generations. He told her about his collection of classic cars and promised to invite her over to his home for lunch and a tour of inspection.

Just before he departed, Patras studied her with wry acceptance. 'One look was enough to tell me what attracted my grandson to you. You're his Helen of Troy.'

After a startled pause, Betsy laughed. 'Hopefully nobody is about to start a war over me!'

'Don't underestimate Cristos.' Patras looked pensive and rather somber. 'I'm glad you love him, though. That is as it should be.'

She went bright pink.

The old man awarded her discomfited face an amused glance. 'I saw how you look at him…it relieved all my concerns.'

Three weeks later, Betsy sat on the top step of the stairs and watched Cristos walk into the dimly lit hall. It was two in the morning.

'And what time of day do you call this to come home?' Betsy enquired with pretend annoyance.

His proud dark head came up, the aura of weariness cast off when he saw her perched on the stairs waiting for him. A softer line eased the hard set of his mouth. 'A time when you should be in bed, Mrs. Stephanides.'

Betsy padded down the staircase, a slender figure in a simple white wrap. 'I'm not planning on staying out of bed for very long,' she confided, pink washing her cheeks because she was trying to give him a saucy look of invitation.

He grinned.

'For the baby… ' He tossed her the package in his hand.

She unwrapped a brightly colored toy and a faraway look came into in her eyes: she was imagining a little boy thumping the life out of the drum. It had become a ritual. Every couple of days, Cristos brought back something for the nursery. The drum would join a mobile, a boy toy train set that would require a room of its own, a cute stuffed dog and a little board book that had reminded Cristos of one that he had had as a child.

'Are you hungry?' she asked him.

'I could be tempted…' Dropping a powerful arm round her slight shoulders, Cristos headed her back up the stairs.

Betsy wondered if he was ever going to stop playing macho man and confide in her. Was he convinced that he had to protect her from all stress simply because she was pregnant? Or was it a Greek male thing? This silent, steely refusal to admit that anything was amiss on the work front? She needed no crystal ball to know that the Stephanides empire was facing challenging times. But Cristos had ignored her every subtle invitation to share his concerns and had denied that there even was a problem.

At the same time he continued to work eighteen hour days. Only when he was at home after midnight was the phone silent but within a few hours his relentless punishing schedule would begin again. Around eight, his personal staff would arrive to brief him before he even left the house. He would have a working breakfast and walk out to the limousine, dictating orders, listening to bulletins read off sheets. The tension in the air betrayed how serious were the issues at stake and the reality of the crisis.

Crossing the threshold into their bedroom, Cristos rested back against the door, pulled her close and released a low, slow sigh of satisfaction. 'I shouldn't say it… but 1 love it when you sit up waiting for me. It makes coming home special.'

'That's the point… I aim to make myself indispensable.'

Be tipped her head back. His brilliant dark golden eyes inspected her lovely face and the crackling energy of the coppery-red mane flowing round her shoulders. 'You're the most amazing woman… you haven't complained once.'

'I'm running a book,' she teased. '"

Long fingers knotted slowly into strands of her bright hair. 'I didn't have you picked as the restful, sympathetic type. I underestimated you. I'll never forget how unselfish you've been-'

'Do you think all women are as spoilt and demanding as little kids no matter what the situation?'

'Your predecessors were… ' With a slumberous sigh, Cristos bowed his brow down briefly on top of her head and then straightened again. 'I'll go and get a shower.'

The instant he departed, Betsy sped across the vast room to spread wide the French doors and light the candles waiting in readiness out on the balcony. Dragging in the giant floor cushions she had assembled, she tossed a couple of throws over them to create a relaxed atmosphere. Last of all, she brought in the capacious hamper, poured some wine for him and arranged the mouth-watering spread of dishes.

Shedding her wrap, she curled up on the cushions and thought about how ridiculously, incredibly happy she had been since her arrival in Greece. The business emergency that was responsible for forcing Cristos to work such impossible hours had made remarkably little impression on their relationship. But then they had both made a huge effort to make the most out of every minute they could spend together.

There had been early morning swims, midnight barbecues on the beach listening to the surf and snatched snack lunches in his office where sometimes they ditched eating for kissing because they were so desperate to be together. If he had one minute free, he called her and they talked on the phone.

During her very first week in Greece she had been engulfed by the warm and generous hospitality of Cristos' large extended family. There was not a day of the week when she needed to be lonely, for there

was always someone wanting to entertain her by taking her out shopping, sightseeing or simply visiting. Perhaps she had learned to appreciate Cristos most when she'd realized just how popular he was with his own relations. For his sake, she had been given the benefit of the doubt and wholeheartedly accepted into his family.

She got on with Patras like a house on fire and he had already developed the habit of dropping in to see her most days. He had assumed responsibility for squiring her about to events where she might have felt a little self-conscious shorn of a male escort. So, she had dined out several evenings in high style and was indeed a little giddy at the amount of socializing she had done.

Cristos emerged from the bathroom, a white towel knotted round his lean hips. Scorching dark golden eyes took in the effect of Betsy, her porcelain perfect skin and stunning shape enhanced by a strappy gold satin nightdress, sprawled among the cushions, and glittered with raw male appreciation. 'Theos mou… you could seduce a saint with one smile, thesspinis mou.'

'No saints round here that I know of…'

Cristos groaned. 'Agreed. Are you going to make me eat first?'

Betsy nodded very seriously. 'You know the rules.' 'Do I get a massage later?' Cristos shot her a gleaming look of pure devilment that had the same effect as a megawatt charge on her susceptible heart.

'Forget it,' Betsy advised, her color heightening, her pride still stinging from the recollection of his response to her very first massage attempt a couple of nights earlier. '} do not massage people who laugh themselves sick in the middle of my best efforts.'

Eyes bright with unholy amusement, Cristos flung himself down on a cushion opposite and reached for a piece of barbecued chicken. 'It was that very strange New Age music that really sent me off the edge. You do a very good line in a sexy picnic;' he pointed out in teasing consolation.

She watched him eat. He was truly the most important thing in her world. She wondered how she had ever imagined that she loved Rory because she would not have compromised an inch for Rory or gone out of her way to smooth his path. Whereas Cristos, she just adored, and he might not love her but he did make her feel hugely important to him and hugely appreciated. Around him, she was really beginning to believe that she was a stunningly beautiful, rampantly sexy woman. He told her she was and he made her feel good about herself.

When he had finished eating he reached for her and peeled off the golden scrap of silk and carried her to bed.

'There's just one thing} want to say… about this stuff going on at work that you don't want to talk about,' she framed in a rush.

Superb bone structure tautening, Cristos looked blank. 'What are you referring to?'

'All} wanted to say was… ~ can live without this big house and all the staff and the luxury-'

'} couldn't;' Cristos slotted in with feeling.

'Yes, you could. At the end of the day, things like that aren't what is most important.'

'Betsy… ' Cristos surveyed her with a deeply pained expression. '} very much appreciate the message that you are trying to give me but there is nothing for you to worry about. I am very wealthy and I have every intention of staying that way, pethi mou.'

'But-'

The hard, hungry onslaught of his mouth silenced her. He buried his mouth in the delicate bluish hollow below her collar-bone where a tiny pulse beat and slivers of delicious awareness awakened her body to the animal attraction of his.

'You're so sweet…' Cristos said raggedly, tugging her back against his lean, powerful length to mould the pouting tenderness of her breasts.

The pleasure was a hot and insidious seduction as powerful as an invasion force. She did not and could not resist him. Afterwards, he held her close and murmured her name and she reveled in their closeness.

'Promise me I can meet you for lunch tomorrow. I know dinner's out because you'll be working late but I want to do something to mark my birthday.'

Cristos tensed. 'If I admit I haven't got you anything yet, are you likely to string me up?'

'No…it would be too quick and clean for you. Don't be daft,' she whispered snuggling up to him forgivingly, for when he was frequently so preoccupied he barely knew what day it was she saw no reason why he should have thought to look up her birthday. 'Worry about a presses next week… tomorrow I just want you and I to get together somewhere other than your office for lunch.'

'I'll arrange it. It's the least you deserve,' he assured her.’

The next morning a member of his staff called to inform her that Cristos would meet her at a restaurant at one. Betsy took real care getting dressed up. Her linen dress was the rich colour of amber and the shade looked amazing against her skin and her hair. She was the first to arrive at the restaurant and it was so up market an establishment that she felt desperately self-conscious seated at her table in what felt like the most prominent spot in the room.

Cristos was late. Surreptitiously, she tried to raise him on his mobile phone but it seemed to be switched off. She rang his office, only to be told that he was out and had not left word of his whereabouts. Believing that he had deliberately chosen to do that so that they could eat without interruptions, she assumed he was already on his way. Time passed painfully slowly. He was late but he would come. For goodness' sake, it was her birthday! She began to rehearse witty but rather stinging comments with which to greet him. She tried his mobile again without success. She did not try his office again because she did not like advertising the reality that she was still sitting waiting for him. It was after two when she left the restaurant, cut to the bone, tears closing up her throat in a painful knot.

The limousine got stuck in traffic. She switched on the television, desperate for something, anything to take her mind off her angry, hurt mortification. She was trying to think herself into a more reasonable frame of mind. Presumably some crisis had blown up and he had simply forgotten about her. Was she so self-important she could not accept an oversight?

The news was on, a background buzz in a language she didn't yet understand. She wasn't really looking at it until she saw that it was Cristos on camera. She sat forward then, intent on the screen. He was entering a large modern building, lots of people all around him.

The crowd waiting in the foyer parted and a female figure sped towards him. It was Petrina Rhodias and she flung herself in Cristos's arms. The camera work became positively frenzied, zooming in to show that not a paper width separated the former engaged couple. Petrina looked shockingly beautiful in spite of the tears on her face. She also looked ecstatically happy and Cristos was not fighting her off, imposing a touch of married-man-decent distance or pushing her away.

Betsy hit the off button on the remote control. The car phone was ringing. She stared at it. She just knew it was Cristos calling her but she couldn't face speaking to him. She used the override button on the rear passenger door lock just to climb out into the midst of the bumper-to-bumper traffic and lose herself in the throng of shoppers in the busy street.

Cristos had stood her up on her birthday to stage a public reconciliation with Petrina. A month ago that would have struck her as being as strange as the presence of cameras at the event. She would have been ignorant of how things had once been for Cristos and Petrina. But by asking the right questions of his chattering cousins she had learned a good deal. He said Petrina had once been the leading couple in Athenian high society, two young, beautiful and very rich people from socially and commercially prominent families. Their breakup had been equally big news. The public had once paired the Stephanides heir and the Rhodias heiress like salt and pepper and Betsy had become uncomfortably aware that some people believed that regardless of his marriage Cristos would somehow end up back with Petrina. "

Was he back with Petrina? Or was what she had seen on television just a staging post on the path to that ultimate end? How did she know that Cristos had told her the truth three weeks ago when he'd sworn that he had been speaking to Spyros'daughter, Petrine, and not his former fiancée, Petrina? The truth was that Betsy had wanted to believe the explanation he had given her. When you were head over heels in love with a guy, Betsy reflected wretchedly, the last thing you wanted to do was doubt his honesty and his level of commitment.

If she even began to count the number of things that Cristos must have in common with Petrina Rhodias, she would run out of fingers. Petrina appeared to be his perfect match. But they had not been quite Adam and Eve. The fatal flaw had been Petrina's reluctance to attach the strings of fidelity to Cristos. When Betsy had conceived, the perfectly matched couple had been destroyed because Cristos could not bring himself to walk away from his own child.

But before Betsy had married Cristos, she had warned him that she did not want to be his sacrifice. Now her pride was warning her not to make a complete fool of herself… How could she fight to hang onto a guy who didn't love her? If he wanted Petrina back, there was nothing Betsy could do to change that unless she was prepared to use guilt as a weapon to keep him with her. However, she didn't want Cristos on those demeaning terms… What was the point of confronting him about Petrina? Of condemning and crying? She couldn't make Cristos love her, could she? Her only option was to surrender with dignity and go back home to London.

Betsy sat on a bench in a busy square striving to talk herself into the dignified option. But there were problems. One, she couldn't bear the idea of Petrina having Cristos. Two, she hated both of them with a vengeful passion that had nothing forgiving or dignified about it. Three, underneath the hatred, she still loved him and walking away from him was easier to think about than actually do.

Tiny shooting pains were tensing her tummy muscles. She had had those same little stabs on a couple of occasions in recent days but, as they had caused her only the most brief and minor discomfort, she had ignored them. She would mention them at her next visit to the obstetrician. A sharper stab made her draw in a surprised breath.

At that point, she emerged from the distancing fog of her unhappy, circuitous thoughts. Fear for her baby seized a hold of her and blanked out everything else. When she stood up the pain got worse and she staggered, doubling over. Suddenly arms came out of nowhere to support her and she registered that she had not contrived to shake off her bodyguards.

'Hospital…' she said jerkily and then she began to pray.