The Innocent's Surrender

Natasha realised that the brightly lit entrance she was being hustled through was completely unfamiliar to her.

‘What is this?’ she demanded huskily. ‘Where am I? Tell me at once.’

Silent, impassive, the men halted in front of a pair of double doors and knocked. The doors opened noiselessly.

They didn’t push her in. It wasn’t quite as crude as that. But somehow she was stepping forward, and they were moving backwards, and the doors were closing again behind her. Leaving her standing there, alone.

Except that she was not alone.

It was a very big room, but all Natasha noticed was the bed, lit on either side by tall lamps, like a stage set. Illumining, she realised dazedly, the man who was sitting in that bed, leaning back against a mound of snowy pillows, naked down to the sheet discreetly draped across his hips, and probably beyond, as he worked on the laptop computer open in front of him.

He unhurriedly completed whatever task he was engaged on, then Alex Mandrakis closed the lid, put the laptop on the adjacent table and looked at her.

‘Ah,’ he said softly. ‘The beauty I was promised, here at last.’

Sara Craven was born in South Devon and grew up in a house full of books. She worked as a local journalist, covering everything from flower shows to murders, and started writing for Mills & Boon® in 1975. When not writing, she enjoys films, music, theatre, cooking, and eating in good restaurants. She now lives near her family in Warwickshire. Sara has appeared as a contestant on the former Channel Four game show Fifteen to One, and in 1997 was the UK television Mastermind champion. In 2005 she was a member of the Romantic Novelists’ team on University Challenge—the Professionals.

Recent titles by the same author:

RUTHLESS AWAKENING

THE SANTANGELI MARRIAGE

ONE NIGHT WITH HIS VIRGIN MISTRESS

THE VIRGIN’S WEDDING NIGHT

Chapter One

‘SO,’ NATASHA KIRBY said, glancing round the lamplit table, her gaze steady, her voice cool and even. ‘Is someone going to tell me what’s going on? What I’m doing here? Or do I have to guess?’

There was an awkward silence, then Andonis leaned forward, his smile cajoling. ‘Why, sister, it is only that it has been some time—too long—since you paid us a visit. Po,po,po, does there have to be a problem before we invite you here, for a little family party?’

‘No,’ Natasha agreed levelly. ‘But I usually come in the spring and early autumn in order to see your mother. Invitations at other times are rarely so last-minute—or so pressing,’ she added drily. ‘And if this is a party, I certainly don’t see many signs of celebration.’

On the contrary, she thought, the atmosphere at the house was more reminiscent of a wake. Her antennae had picked up on it as soon as she’d arrived. Although it was hardly surprising in view of recent events.

And while the meal itself had been splendid—her favourite lamb dish, she’d noted cynically, oven-baked with tomatoes, garlic and oregano until it melted off the bone—the conversation round the dinner table had been strained, almost muted.

Even Irini, the youngest of the late Basilis Papadimos’s three children, had been quieter than usual, as if she was deliberately reining back her normal overt hostility to her English foster sister. Which should, Natasha recognised, have been a relief. Yet, somehow, wasn’t…

There was another uncomfortable pause, while she watched Andonis look at his older brother, his shoulder lifting in a shrug that was almost resigned.

And Natasha sat back in her chair, sighing under her breath, as she thought, Oh God, there’s trouble. I knew it.

The problem was she did know. Because she knew them all—much too well. And had done since her childhood, she thought wryly.

Since the moment, in fact, when Basilis, that great, loud bear of a man who’d been her father’s friend, had swooped down in those bleak, traumatic days after Stephen Kirby’s sudden death and carried her off to his palatial home outside Athens, ignoring all the protests from the child-support agencies in London.

‘I am her godfather,’ he had rumbled, his eyes fierce under the heavy eyebrows, daring anyone to oppose him. ‘And, to a Greek, that bestows a lifetime of responsibility. Stephanos knew this, always. Knew I would happily accept his daughter as my own. There is no more to be said.’

And when the millionaire owner of the Arianna shipping line spoke with such finality, it was generally better to obey.

She had been welcomed gently by Madame Papadimos, who told her that she must call her Thia Theodosia, then smoothed her soft fair hair with caressing fingers, and gave her a handkerchief scented with sandalwood when the inevitable, bewildered tears began to rain down her white face.

The sons of the house, Stavros and Andonis, greeted her more exuberantly, clearly seeing in her another female victim, alongside their younger sister, Irini, for their teasing and practical jokes.

But being a joint target had not created any kind of bond between Natasha and the Greek girl, only two years older than herself. From the start, Irini had never exhibited even an atom of the philoxenia—the love of strangers—that was the heart of Greek hospitality. On the contrary…

Even though she was grieving, Natasha had soon realised that Irini had resented her from the first step she’d taken over the Papadimoses’ family threshold, and that little had happened since to change that in any way. That to the other girl she would always be the outsider—the interloper that her father had imposed upon them.

And sadly the attitude of Basilis himself had not helped the situation. Young as she was, Natasha became uncomfortably aware that Irini’s life was already one long, painful contest for her father’s attention. A contest that she seemed not to be winning.

Because where his only daughter was concerned, Basilis was kind enough but invariably remote in a way he never was with the boys. Or, Natasha had to admit, with herself, whom he treated with wholehearted affection.

And whether Irini behaved like an angel, or turned into a whining, spiteful, needy devil, as she could do at the drop of a hat, it made no noticeable difference. So, without any real incentive to be good, she usually chose the other option, with nerve-shattering results.

‘And to think her name means peace,’ Stavros had commented sourly one day, after a particularly spectacular row with screaming and door-slamming. ‘She should have been named Hecate of the Three Heads, because she whines like a dog, bites like a snake and looks like a horse.’

He’d been punished for his unkindness, but Natasha knew that he and Andonis had still used the name on the quiet to torment their sister.

And for all she knew, they might be doing so to this day, which could be why the other girl’s mouth had thinned into a line of ill-natured grievance, and her dark eyes snapped at the world with undisguised suspicion.

As she’d got older and more perceptive, Natasha had often wondered why Thia Theodosia, who must have realised the reason for Irini’s tears, tantrums and sheer bad temper, didn’t intervene—point out to her husband the damaging disparities in his treatment of his children.

But perhaps it was because Madame Papadimos had her own personal battle to fight. She had always seemed frail, a shadow to her husband’s larger-than-life vibrancy, but now, since Basilis had died suddenly of a heart attack two years ago, she seemed to be slowly but deliberately fading out of the family picture, apparently content to live quietly in her own wing of the villa with Hara, her devoted nurse-companion, in close attendance.

Nor had she joined tonight’s dinner party, which Natasha felt was a bad sign in more ways than one, as neither Stavros nor Andonis ever willingly discussed business matters in front of their mother. If this had been a purely social occasion, she would have been there.

Their wives, of course, were a different matter. Both Maria and Christina Papadimos were present—and both clearly on edge, their smiles too forced, their bursts of laughter far too shrill.

I suppose, Natasha thought, sighing inwardly, it’s up to me to get the ball rolling, or we’ll be here all night and tomorrow, too, and I need to get back to London, and my real life.

She looked round the table. ‘So, let’s drop the social niceties and have the truth—shall we? I presume that I’ve been summoned to discuss the recent well-publicised problems of the Arianna line.’

‘There is nothing to discuss.’ Irini might not have said much so far, but the familiar basilisk glare was suddenly back in full working order. ‘Decisions have already been made. You are only expected to agree. To sign where you are bidden. No more than that.’

Natasha bit her lip. This, she knew, had always been a bone of contention—that Basilis had decreed in his will that she, the foster child, should have a place on the Papadimos board, with full voting rights and the same level of salary as the rest of the family.

She had waived the salary, and rarely attended any of the board meetings, but, in view of the stories that had been appearing in the newspapers over the past months, she realised ruefully that this might have been a big mistake.

Because the Arianna line had been stalked by disaster of late. The Arianna Queen had suffered a serious outbreak of food poisoning, affecting almost two thirds of her passengers. The Princess had been detained at Malta when the crew had gone on strike in a dispute over late payment of their wages, and two of the smaller boats had experienced engine faults, resulting in their cruises being curtailed. And the Empress, their new flagship, had been deluged with complaints after the maiden voyage, about poor workmanship in the staterooms and bathrooms that didn’t work properly.

And that, she thought, was only the passenger line. The cargo vessels that comprised the Leander fleet had experienced problems, too, with an oil tanker running aground and the inevitable spillage, and a fire on board another ship.

Natasha had read all these horror stories, appalled, knowing that none of these things would have happened when Basilis was alive and in charge, because he was a man with a nose for trouble.

In fact, just before his heart attack, he had been talking about instituting a mass refit on the whole fleet of cruise ships, particularly the galleys, which were showing their age, and the engine rooms.

She could only assume that after his death, in an act of blatant unwisdom, these eminently sensible—indeed necessary—plans had gone quietly into abeyance. Certainly she’d never been consulted about any cancellation or postponement to the modernisation of the Arianna line, or she’d have fought tooth and nail for Basilis’s wishes to be adhered to.

It was the only course of action that made economic sense. How could the brothers not have seen it?

Not that Stavros and Andonis often listened to advice, especially from women. And in this, she was forced to admit, they resembled their father, who took the unenlightened view that the female of the species was of more use in the bedroom than the boardroom. And who had shocked Natasha rigid on her eighteenth birthday by summoning her to his study to outline his plans for her own forthcoming marriage.

Apparently, she’d learned with horror, her pale blonde hair, creamy skin and wide, long-lashed green eyes had found favour among a number of the susceptible young men in the wealthy social circles that the Papadimos clan moved in. The question of whether or not she had a brain had not come under consideration by any of her would-be suitors.

She was regarded solely by them all as a trophy bride.

But, Basilis had announced magnanimously, she would be permitted to make her own choice among them. Nor would she go to her husband penniless, the sum of money which her father’s will had left in trust for her having multiplied in value under his stewardship. All this, she must understand, in addition to the dowry that he would settle on her himself.

Which, in his assumption, made everything all fine and dandy.

My God, Natasha had thought, trying to suppress the appalled bubble of laughter welling up inside her, looks and money. I’ve suddenly become the catch of the season, if not the year.

It had taken, she recalled, hours of patient persuasion to convince Basilis that his plans for her were doomed. That she had her own vision of her future, that clashed fundamentally with his on a number of points, and that marriage didn’t feature—or not for some years, anyway. And any future husband would be expected to respect her intelligence and her need for independence.

Hours of standing her ground against his roared disapproval and voluble reproaches. Hours, too, of resisting the more subtle emotional blackmail he used as a last resort, when anger and pleading had clearly failed.

And hours of assuring him with perfect truth that she loved him dearly, and that she would be eternally grateful for his care of her while she was growing up. That she owed him more than she could ever repay.

But that she was now in charge of her own destiny, which she was sure rested in England rather than her country of adoption. And that it was there that she would try to carve out a life for herself.

Also she had been very careful not to hint, as she might have done, that it was Irini who could be in need of his matchmaking abilities, as no queue of hopefuls appeared to be lining up to woo her.

Now, she looked away from the other girl’s glare and said quietly, ‘I see. And may I ask what exactly is on this dotted line that’s been prepared for me?’

Stavros reached over with the wine bottle. ‘It is merely a small matter of negotiation,’ he said soothingly. ‘A delaying tactic. No more than that.’

Natasha moved her glass out of range, regarding him stonily. ‘Indeed?’ she queried drily. ‘Well, if it’s so trivial, why bring me all this way? Why not just send the papers to my solicitors in London—as we agreed last time I was here?’ She paused. ‘I do have a business to run, you know.’

Without surprise, she heard a contemptuous snort from Irini, followed by Stavros and Andonis explaining in unison that it was not quite that simple. That it was a family matter, and therefore better dealt with on a personal basis, without lawyers being troubled.

‘Oh, God,’ Natasha muttered under her breath, watching Christina chewing at her lip, and Maria tugging at the gold chains that festooned her plump neck as they exchanged frankly uneasy glances. Things must be much worse than I thought.

Eventually the full story began to emerge, her foster brothers taking the narration in turns, rather like a Greek chorus from some ancient drama. Strophe, she thought wryly, and antistrophe—as Basilis had painstakingly explained to her on their visits to the theatre to watch the plays of Aeschylus and Sophocles.

Only it was a very different tragedy she was hearing this time. A tragedy of mismanagement, greed and stupidity on a fairly grand scale, with disaster right there, waiting in the wings. Because now there were big questions being asked by their insurers, and the shareholders were running scared, which, for the first time, made Basilis’s once-powerful empire seem vulnerable. Something she had never thought could happen.

And where, she asked herself as disbelief warred inside her with something very like hysteria, where was the god in the machine, so beloved in classical drama, who would descend to save the day?

‘But we are taking steps to regulate the situation,’ Stavros announced grandly. ‘To begin with, we plan a major refit of all the passenger accommodation on the Arianna line,’ he added, as if it were suddenly all his own idea, and Natasha found she was biting her lip again—hard.

‘Well,’ she said. ‘That’s—good.’ And certainly better late than never.

‘Except that the necessary finance is proving more difficult to obtain than we thought,’ Andonis added.

But there’d been money set aside, Natasha recalled, startled. So what had happened to that? Better, she thought, not to ask, perhaps.

But if they’d asked her here hoping for a loan, then they’d be seriously disappointed. Helping Out, the small business she’d started with the inheritance from her father, was established now, and doing well enough for her to have taken on a partner, and be thinking about expansion.

Because there were always emergencies, large and small, in people’s lives. They might simply need their dogs walking, or their children collecting from school or nursery, or someone to house-sit while they were on vacation. Or there could be elderly relatives to be visited, or taken shopping.

And, in the worst-case scenario of accident, illness or bereavement, they wanted someone calm and trustworthy to step in and take over. To make sure that meals were cooked, laundry was done and life went on with an element of stability until matters settled down.

And it was infinitely satisfying to know that Helping Out had an excellent name for reliability, and that most of her clientele came on personal recommendation, even if they were a little surprised to find that both she and Molly Blake were only just past their twenty-first birthdays.

The business provided Molly and herself with a decent living, because, while their fees were not extortionate, they did not sell the services of their staff cheaply. They employed good people, and made sure they were paid accordingly, and were not afraid to pitch in themselves when required.

But at the moment, there wasn’t a lot of financial slack.

‘Of course, we are exploring every avenue,’ Stavros continued. ‘And we hope that the necessary loan will be available to us very soon.’ He paused. ‘But while the details are being finalised, we have to deal with another problem.’

A kind of shiver went round the table—as if a chill breeze had suddenly rippled across a cornfield.

‘Unfortunately, news of our difficulties has reached other people.’ Andonis took up the tale of woe. ‘And if there is blood in the water, there will always be sharks circling. It was rumoured that some of our rivals were considering a hostile takeover, which was quite bad enough.’

‘Until two weeks ago.’ Stavros spoke with gritted teeth. ‘When we received an offer to buy outright a half-share in both the Arianna line and the cargo fleet.’

There was a silence, then Natasha said carefully, ‘And you regard this as a problem, instead of a possible solution?’

Andonis banged his fist on the table. ‘It was an insult.’

‘You mean, they were offering peanuts?’ Natasha mused aloud. ‘Well, that often happens with an initial bid.’

‘No,’ Stavros said harshly. ‘The money could be considered fair.’

‘And could always improve,’ she suggested tentatively. ‘If, as you say, there’s room for negotiation, it might be the answer.’

And if I were in your situation, she added silently, I’d take the cash, while it’s there, because this might be as good as it gets. And, although the thought of an outside partner has always been anathema up to now, maybe beggars can’t be choosers.

‘That is not possible,’ Andonis said, glancing at his brother, their brooding anger almost tangible. ‘Not when it comes from such a source.’

And Natasha drew a ragged breath as suddenly realisation dawned. Oh, God, she thought. Not that again. Not another episode in this eternal family feud. Please—please—don’t let it be that.

Knowing all the time that her prayer would not be answered.

She said quietly, ‘In other words—the Mandrakis Corporation.’ And watched the general recoil, as if she’d uttered some disgusting obscenity. She made an attempt at reason. ‘But surely that’s all behind us now that Thio Basilis is dead and Petros Mandrakis has retired.’

‘Then you are a fool to think so,’ Irini said with contempt. ‘Because in his place sits his son, Alexandros.’ She spat the name.

‘Alex Mandrakis?’ Natasha questioned incredulously. ‘The playboy of the western universe, and darling of the gossip columns? Oh, give me a break here.’ She snorted. ‘Judging by his reputation, he’s far more interested in making love than war.

‘Besides,’ she added brusquely, ‘he probably thinks the Arianna line is a string of polo ponies.’

Andonis pulled a wry face. ‘Perhaps that is how he was. But he is now the head of the Mandrakis empire, and he is making everyone aware of the fact.’

‘But for how long?’ Natasha queried drily. ‘Until the après-ski beckons from the Alps, or the Floating Harem starts its summer cruise of the Med?’ She was referring to the tabloid Press’s nickname for the Mandrakis yacht, Selene, but regretted it when she saw Irini’s outraged expression.

She shook her head. ‘Leopards don’t change their spots, brother, and he’ll soon get bored with being the latest tycoon, and revert to his former way of life.’

‘I wish we could think so,’ Andonis admitted. ‘But our information says that it is not so. That he is indeed his father’s son, and has therefore become a force to take account of. So we need to be wary.’

‘His father’s son,’ Natasha repeated silently. She stifled a sigh. If only the same could be said of either of you two, she thought without pleasure.

‘Because he is as much our enemy as his father ever was, or more.’ Irini was speaking again. ‘And he will not be content, that one, until the whole Papadimos family is finished—starving in the gutter.’

Natasha’s lips tightened. ‘A little extreme surely,’ she said. ‘Stavros has just admitted that he’s offered a fair price for a share in both lines.’

‘Because he knows it will not be accepted,’ Andonis said. ‘That we would rather die first.’

Unlikely, Natasha thought drily. Not if push actually comes to shove.

‘However,’ Stavros said with faint triumph, ‘we have let his interest become known among the bankers we have approached, and have said that we are giving the matter our serious consideration.’

She frowned. ‘Why would you want to do that?’

‘Because having Alex Mandrakis as a business partner,’ Andonis said, ‘would be considered excellent security for any loan. A licence to print money, in fact.

‘Already attitudes to our request for refinancing are changing.’

Stavros nodded. ‘In fact, an offer in principle was made almost as soon as we had explained our own terms for this partnership. Terms that appear to bind our mutual interests together like hoops of steel, and which we have already submitted to Alex Mandrakis.’

There was a note in his voice that was almost gloating. ‘The delaying tactic I spoke of, little sister. Because he, of course, will eventually refuse these terms. We count on it. But not immediately, because he is clearly intrigued, and has even asked for certain…assurances from us, which we are prepared to give him, although, again, not immediately.’

‘We wish, you understand, to string him along,’ Andonis explained kindly. ‘To make him believe these negotiations might even be genuine. That we are prepared, as you say, to let bygones be—bygones.’ His eyes flashed. ‘But we are not, Natasha mou, and by the time he discovers this we will already have our loan, and he will no longer be necessary to our requirements. You understand.’