Wife by contract, p.1
Wife by Contract, page 1
Wife by Contract
By
Flora Kidd
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
WIFE BY CONTRACT
Her marriage to Damien Nikerios had brought Teri position, as the wife of an immensely rich Greek shipping magnate, money, beautiful homes in Greece—and the humiliation of knowing that Damien had only married her as a cover-up for his affair with his father's wife. Yet for the sake of her family Teri had to put up with it. But for how long could she stand it?
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First published 1980
Australian copyright 1980
Philippine copyright 1980
This edition 1980
© Flora Kidd 1980
ISBN 0 263 73372 6
CHAPTER ONE
An antique crystal chandelier hung from the middle of a high plaster ceiling which had been carved long ago with a pattern of roses and cupids. The same pattern had been carved on the warm wooden panelling of the room. It was a beautiful room, once the ballroom of an elegant Regency house in the West End of London, but now there was roulette in it instead of the sound of violins and graceful measured dancing.
There were four tables. The biggest crowd was around the table nearest the centre of the room, almost directly under the chandelier, and it was towards that table that a dark-haired, wide-shouldered man who was dressed in formal black and white dinner clothes walked slowly yet purposefully, his hands thrust in the pockets of his well-tailored trousers.
As he approached the table another man, his fair face flushed and his grey eyes sparkling with anger, pushed his way out of the crowd.
'What's happening?' asked the dark man.
'She's losing and she won't give up,' replied the younger man. 'I can't' get her to leave the table, so I've told her I'm going home. That should make her stop.'
He marched off, and the dark man went on to stand behind the group of men and women who were watching, his gaze fixing on the young woman who was sitting on the other side of the wheel.
She had a lot of silvery blonde hair. It was drawn back from her high rounded forehead and held in the middle of her head by a wide bandeau of black velvet. Behind the bandeau it hung in a mass of carefully disordered ringlets to her shoulders, which were bare except for the narrow strips of black silk holding up the bodice of her dress.
Light glittered in her white-gold hair and gleamed on the smooth ivory-tinted skin of her shoulders, casting a deep shadow in the cleft which divided her breasts. Her face was very pale and the pink tip of her tongue pushed at the lower lip of her softly curved lips. Long mascaraed eyelashes quivered about her dark blue eyes as she stared at the spinning roulette wheel.
It was slowing down and Teri Hayton's lips parted slowly as she watched the little ivory ball drift down the curve of the wheel and bounce on the ridges above the numbers. Then it stopped with a click. The wheel slowed even more, carrying the ball around with it. When the wheel stopped revolving completely the croupier announced the winning number.
There was a shriek of triumphant laughter from a woman sitting on Teri's left. She had won for the first time that evening. The croupier's rake reached out to collect up the chips. Teri watched her last bet go with the rest. Now she was in even more of a mess than she had been when she had first come to this club earlier in the week, determined to win enough money to pay off the enormous debt which her father had left when he had died recently. Now she had not only lost her savings but she was also in debt to the club which had covered her bets this evening.
Looking around, she caught the croupier's eye and arched her eyebrows at him enquiringly as he asked people to place their bets again. He shook his head slowly from side to side. That meant the house wouldn't cover any more of her bets. Teri's glance moved on around the people who were watching. Jim had gone as he had threatened he would. She was alone and would have to find her way back to Richmond as best she could.
Standing up, she excused herself and turned away from the table. Tall, her slender figure seeming more slim in the clinging black gown, she made her way out of the room and went down the curving staircase to the entrance hall, moving slowly and gracefully, her bright head held high, a faint smile tilting her lips, refusing to show to the world that she was desperate.
At the cloakroom in the hallway she presented a ticket and the woman in charge brought her a long black velvet evening cloak which was lined with oyster-coloured satin. Teri was just about to lift the cloak from the counter and swing it about her shoulders when an arm clothed in smooth black barathea stretched in front of her.
'Allow me,' said a quiet masculine voice.
She turned quickly, her finely plucked eyebrows arching haughtily. The man was only slightly taller than herself. He had very wide shoulders and a broad chest. Above the collar of his white evening shirt his square-chinned face was olive-skinned and on either side of his bold downward-curving nose his eyes were very dark, almost black, set beneath thick strangely peaked eyebrows. Lustrous black hair coiled on his broad sloping forehead and grew down the sides of his lean cheeks.
'Thank you,' she said coolly, and turning her back to him let him place the cloak over her shoulders. He seemed familiar, but she couldn't think for the moment where they had met. 'Do I know you?' she asked, turning back to him as she fastened the long velvet ties of her cloak in a bow beneath her chin.
'You know of me, I expect, but we haven't been introduced,' he replied politely, and although his English was perfect there was a crispness to the words which made her suspect he hadn't learned it in England. 'I've been watching you play this evening… and other evenings,' he added.
So that was where she had seen him, standing among the others who had crowded around the table. He had been like a black moth hovering among brilliantly winged butterflies, somewhat sinister and—Teri gave him a fleeting glance—and satanic. She felt a tingle of apprehension go through her and decided she must get away from him, so giving him her coolest and most dismissing look she said, 'Thank you again. Goodnight.'
She turned on her heel and made for the panelled front door, smiling graciously at the doorman when he opened it for her. She stepped out into the lamplit night and the door closed behind her. For a moment she lingered, feeling the raw damp wind whip through the velvet cloak, chilling her bare skin, and wishing she had left when Jim had, wishing she could afford a taxi to take her to Richmond instead of just the Tube.
'I'd be glad to drive you anywhere you wish to go.'
The dark man was there right beside her, yet Teri was sure he hadn't been with her when she had stepped through the door. She took fright suddenly and hurried down the steps, not looking where she was going, her glance sweeping the street in search of the taxi. On the bottom step the heel of her black patent evening sandal turned under her and she lost balance. The man was beside her immediately, a hand on her arm, helping her to her feet.
'There's an English saying, isn't there, that pride always comes before a fall,' he mocked. 'And you are proud, so proud you won't admit to yourself that you're in one hell of a mess.'
'How do you know I am?' she demanded, turning on him and wrenching her arm free from his grasp. Deeply shadowed in the street lighting, his face seemed even more satanic. 'Who are you? The devil?' she exclaimed.
His laughter was softly scoffing and she felt the hairs rise on her neck.
'Perhaps I am your particular devil right now,' he drawled. 'The name is Damien Nikerios. I believe it must be familiar to you. I'm here in London to meet you. In fact I've been trying to meet you for two weeks, but you've proved to be very elusive. There are matters to be discussed and arranged…'
'There is nothing to be discussed or arranged between us, Mr Nikerios,' she retorted. 'I intend to pay back the money you lent my father, don't worry. The devil will get his due. Goodnight.'
Once again she turned her back on him and began to march along the street, but she didn't get very far alone. Within a few second
'Do you intend to walk all the way to where you live?' he asked pleasantly.
'No. I shall take the underground to Waterloo Station and from there I shall take a train to Richmond,' she said coolly.
'Is that safe for you, at this time of night, dressed as you are?' he said.
'What do you mean, dressed as I am?' She swung towards him, pulling her cloak closely and shivering slightly. It was really very cold, cold enough for snow, even though it was late March and almost springtime.
'That dress you are wearing is very revealing, provocative, one might say,' he drawled suggestively. 'And a woman like you, alone at night, could be on the receiving end of some unpleasant attentions from some unpleasant people.'
'Look, Mr Nikerios,' she replied, speaking to him with the sort of weary patience the native of a country often uses to a foreign visitor, 'this is my town and I've been travelling by Underground for many years late at night, and nothing unpleasant has ever happened to me yet.'
'There's always a first time. I have a car parked on a street near here and as I said before, I'll be glad to drive you. We could talk on the way.' He noticed her shiver again. 'You'd be much warmer and safer…'
'With Damien Nikerios?' she interrupted acidly. 'I doubt it. Your reputation with women is well known.'
'You're very like him,' he said quietly, ignoring her jibe.
'Like whom?'
'Alex… your father. Proud, reckless, independent. He was a great guy,' he went on softly. 'You and he must have been good friends. I bet you miss him.'
'Oh, I do, I do!' It was an involuntary response to the first kind comment anyone outside her family had made about her father since he had died. The next second she was all pride again, her head up. 'We were good friends. That's why I can't understand why he didn't tell me about his arrangement with you.'
'I could explain, but not here. It's too cold. If you won't let me drive you will you come and have some supper? There's a small restaurant near here. We could have a drink and something to eat and then you can go back to Richmond.'
'And if I refuse? What will you do?' Teri challenged.
'I'll walk with you to the Underground station, travel with you to Waterloo and then to Richmond. Now that I've caught up with you I'm not letting you out of my sight until we have come to some sensible arrangement.'
'You really like to have your own way, don't you?' she taunted, but the taunt lost much of its sharpness because her teeth chattered suddenly with cold.
'No more than you do,' he replied equably. For a few moments she struggled with her pride. After all, she had managed to avoid meeting this man for two weeks now and had sworn she wouldn't have anything to do with him. But she was hungry and very told and there was something about him, a warm sympathy reaching out to her in spite of his satanic appearance, which attracted her.
'All right.' She gave in abruptly. 'But I must catch the last train.'
'You will,' he said. 'This way.'
It wasn't far to the restaurant and to step in through its doorway was to be transported from the dismal darkness of the March night into the bright sunshine of Greece. Under glowing golden lighting rough white walls sparkled and warm floor tiles glowed. Multicoloured ikons and tapestries hung on the walls and from speakers, concealed somewhere, came the rhythmic beat of bouzouki music. A young waiter dressed in black pants and black shirt with a cheeky red scarf tied round his neck greeted Damien Nikerios as if he were an old friend, smiled at Teri as if she were the. only woman in the world, and led them through an archway into another more secluded dining area.
Taking a seat, Teri slid the cloak from her shoulders so that it was draped over the back of her chair and looked around her with interest while Damien Nikerios studied the menu.
'Are there places like this where you come from?' she asked.
'Pardon me?' He looked up from the menu, obviously having heard her speak but not having taken in the sense of what she had said.
'This place,' she said. 'It's supposed to be like a taverna in Greece, isn't it?'
He looked round the room, then looked back at her. Amusement gleamed in his eyes and pulled at his mouth.
'It's a fairly good imitation of a Greek taverna, yes,' he replied. 'Probably it's cleaner and less smelly. Have you never been to Greece?'
'No, I haven't.'
'Would you like to go there?'
'Doesn't everyone? To see the Acropolis in Athens, the Sanctuary at Delphi and other ancient remains? You are Greek, aren't you?'
'Mostly Greek. Three quarters, I would guess. The other quarter is solid Anglo-Saxon. My father is, of course, wholly Greek, but my mother is of mixed Greek and American descent and she's told me often enough that I'm very like her father. He was a New Englander and claimed that one of his forebears signed the Declaration of Independence.'
'But you're not like him in looks, surely,' Teri remarked.
'No. In temperament. Stubborn as a mule, she calls me.' His crooked smile was self-mocking. 'What would you like to eat?'
'Would it be possible for me to have an omelette?'
'I'll ask.'
The young waiter came back with a bottle of yellow liquor and two glasses. Damien Nikerios spoke to him in Greek and after placing a dish of titbits on the table, cheese, olives, slices of fish and meat, he answered in the same language as he poured liquor into the glasses.
'He says the chef will be delighted to make an omelette for such a lovely lady as you,' said Damien Nikerios, amusement rippling the usually smooth flow of his deep voice. 'Any particular filling?'
'Mushrooms, please, if there are any,' replied Teri, and smiled at the waiter.
'Madam, for you I will go and pick them myself,' he said flamboyantly, bowing to her with his hand over his heart, flashing his eyes and his perfect white teeth at her.
'You've obviously made a conquest there,' murmured Damien Nikerios when the waiter had gone. He picked up his glass and raised it. 'To our better acquaintance,' he drawled.
'What is it?' she asked, eyeing the glass of liquor suspiciously.
'Ouzo. It tastes of aniseed.'
'Won't it go to my head?'
'Try it and see,' he replied, gazing at her, the blackness of his lashes making his eyes seem even darker and conveniently hiding any expression in them.
She sipped it a little. He was right, the drink did taste of aniseed and seemed innocuous enough. She helped herself to some of the titbits and drank a little more.
'Were you really hoping to win enough money at roulette this week to pay off the debt your father owed to me?' he asked.
'Yes. It was a long shot, a gamble I had to take,' she replied, and drank some more ouzo. She was beginning to feel warm at last and less afraid of the man who was sitting opposite to her. He wasn't quite so devilish-looking as he had first appeared to her and she realised now that her own desperate feelings when she had been leaving the gambling club had caused her to distort his looks.
'Why?' he asked bluntly.
'Well, I had to try and do something,' she blurted. 'You see, I can't possibly let you take everything from us, the house where my mother lives, the shares which my father owned in Hayton's which she and I and my brother Dick should have inherited and which my father offered to you as security when he borrowed from you. Dad's death was a great shock to us…'
'I'm sure it was,' he murmured, lifting the bottle of ouzo and refilling his own glass and hers. 'And I'm truly sorry it happened the way it did. A car accident, wasn't it?'
'Yes.'
'I was shocked too, when I heard of it.'
'Then why didn't you come to his funeral if you thought so highly of him?' she retorted.
'Because I didn't get news of his death until after the funeral was over, when his lawyer wrote to me reminding me of the terms on which Alex had borrowed the money from me,' he replied calmly. 'I came as soon as I could and went to see the lawyers.' He gave her a level underbrowed glance. 'They tried to contact your mother, but were told she had gone away and did not wish to see me. They were also told you did not wish to see me. That was when I asked for the address of your home and drove out to Richmond. No one was at home. There has been no one home for the past two weeks.' His mouth curved sardonically.
