Mills & Boon is proud to present a fabulous

collection of fantastic novels by

bestselling, much loved author

ANNE MATHER

Anne has a stellar record of achievement within the

publishing industry, having written over one hundred

and sixty books, with worldwide sales of more than

forty-eight MILLION copies in multiple languages.

This amazing collection of classic stories offers a chance

for readers to recapture the pleasure Anne’s powerful,

passionate writing has given.

We are sure you will love them all!

I’ve always wanted to write—which is not to say I’ve always wanted to be a professional writer. On the contrary, for years I only wrote for my own pleasure and it wasn’t until my husband suggested sending one of my stories to a publisher that we put several publishers’ names into a hat and pulled one out. The rest, as they say, is history. And now, one hundred and sixty-two books later, I’m literally—excuse the pun— staggered by what’s happened.

I had written all through my infant and junior years and on into my teens, the stories changing from children’s adventures to torrid gypsy passions. My mother used to gather these manuscripts up from time to time, when my bedroom became too untidy, and dispose of them! In those days, I used not to finish any of the stories and Caroline, my first published novel, was the first I’d ever completed. I was newly married then and my daughter was just a baby, and it was quite a job juggling my household chores and scribbling away in exercise books every chance I got. Not very professional, as you can imagine, but that’s the way it was.

These days, I have a bit more time to devote to my work, but that first love of writing has never changed. I can’t imagine not having a current book on the typewriter—yes, it’s my husband who transcribes everything on to the computer. He’s my partner in both life and work and I depend on his good sense more than I care to admit.

We have two grown-up children, a son and a daughter, and two almost grown-up grandchildren, Abi and Ben. My e-mail address is mystic-am@msn.com and I’d be happy to hear from any of my wonderful readers.

Legend of Lexandros
Anne Mather

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Table of Contents

Cover

About the Author

Title Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

DALLAS let herself into the flat, juggling with her key, her handbag, and a pile of exercise books which she had brought home for marking. She allowed the books to cascade on to the table in the minute entrance hall of the flat, and pushing open the lounge door, called:

‘Jane! I’m home. Are you in?’

There was no reply, and Dallas glanced at her watch thoughtfully. It was already quarter to six, and as Jane’s office closed at five o’clock, that could only mean one thing. Paris Stavros was bringing her home, and they had made a detour on the way.

Dallas sighed heavily, and removing her sheepskin coat she flung it wearily over an armchair. Then, determinedly straightening her shoulders, she walked through to the kitchen to prepare their evening meal. Chops were sizzling appetisingly under the grill when she heard the door open, and Jane came into the lounge humming cheerfully to herself. Dallas walked to the kitchen door and looked at her sister questioningly. ‘You’re late.’

Jane nodded. ‘Paris brought me home. We called at Joe’s.’

‘I thought so.’ Dallas nodded, and turned back to attend to the potatoes she was frying. ‘Are you going out this evening?’

Jane had walked into the bedroom. It was a small flat with only one bedroom which they shared. Now she came to the bedroom door, and called:

‘Yes, I am. Why? Have you any objections?’ Her tone was sarcastic.

Dallas made a helpless movement. ‘Only the usual ones,’ she replied, and waited for the explosion. As usual she was not disappointed.

Jane stormed into the kitchen, ‘Honestly, Dallas, you infuriate me! This is the third time this week. You simply won’t believe that Paris loves me, will you?’

‘Frankly … no.’ Dallas applied the opener to a can of peas with some savagery. ‘I may be foolish and old-fashioned, Jane, but I can’t really see the only son of the owner of the worldwide Stavros Shipping Line falling for a … well, for a typist like you. Particularly one who works in his father’s London branch office!’

Jane’s cheeks were scarlet now. ‘What were you about to call me? A nonentity, perhaps?’

Dallas shrugged. ‘Well, it’s true, isn’t it? I mean, be honest with yourself, Jane, just for once. You’re no oil painting, and you haven’t a penny to your name. Why should he be interested in you when he can have his pick of practically any girl both here and in his native Greece! He only wants you for kicks, Jane, and the sooner you realise it the better. Once you begin to bore him, it will all be over. I just don’t want you to get hurt, that’s all.’

‘You have a funny way of showing it,’ grunted Jane moodily. ‘Anyway, I know that all you’ve said is true, in as much as the facts fit the personalities, but Paris loves me! He’s told me so, and I believe him!’

‘Oh lord!’ Dallas raised her eyes heavenward.

‘Well, I know what I’m talking about,’ Jane averred hotly. ‘Anyway, how would you know whether he loves me or not? I don’t believe you know what love is. After all, Charles is hardly anyone’s idea of the perfect lover!’

Dallas controlled her temper with difficulty. ‘I must know a little more than you do,’ she replied. ‘In any case, despite your dislike of Charles, I find his love-making perfectly adequate.’

Jane screwed up her nose rudely. ‘It is possible to deceive yourself into believing anything—–’

‘My point exactly,’ Dallas interrupted her.

‘—and as you’ve had no other boy-friends since Charles made the scene your experience is as limited as mine,’ finished Jane triumphantly.

Dallas sighed. ‘All right, maybe I don’t know any more than you do, but at least my common sense tells me that Paris will never get around to discussing marriage lines and wedding rings with you, at any rate.’

‘Paris acts a whole lot older than his years,’ said Jane, examining her fingernails.

‘That I can believe,’ remarked Dallas dryly. ‘And that’s another thing. He’s experienced, and you’re not.’ She reached for her handbag and lit a cigarette. ‘In any case, he’s only spending six months in the London office, isn’t he? When does his term give out? Soon, I imagine, and what then?’

Jane turned away. ‘He has another eight weeks yet.’ She looked at Dallas over her shoulder. ‘The fact that he is actually learning the business from the bottom up should prove to you that he’s not just a playboy.’

‘At his father’s instigation, I’ve no doubt,’ replied Dallas, inhaling deeply, savouring the relaxation the cigarette engendered.

‘You just won’t try to understand,’ cried Jane angrily. ‘You’re so complacent! So sure you know everything!’

‘I’m not sure of anything right now,’ replied Dallas, frowning.

‘You’re becoming just like Charles,’ retorted Jane, in disgust. ‘You’re only twenty-two, but you act at least fifteen years older.’

‘Don’t you dare criticise Charles,’ exclaimed Dallas. ‘At least he’s a decent, honest man.’

Jane flounced away to wash and change, and Dallas sighed again, and began dishing up the meal for which she had no appetite. It was always like this. They argued and argued, and got no further forward. Dallas felt sure that Jane secretly thought that she was jealous, whereas in actual fact she would have been glad to see Jane dating a boy with a background similar to their own. It was all very well for Jane to talk, but she was not to know that their father had told Dallas to take care of Jane, to look after her always, for she was too much like their mother, who had run away with another man when Dallas was only ten. Jane, at five, had not known much about it, but Dallas had felt the pain and frustration that enveloped her father, never to leave him entirely.

Her father had been an archaeologist, and had spent many weeks away from his wife and family on ‘digs’. Dallas had always been interested to hear all about it on his return, but her mother had hated the lonely life she was forced to lead, and had eventually found someone who could provide her with all the entertainment she craved. They had seen little of her since the divorce, and now she was living in America, and their only communications were birthday and Christmas greetings.

So Dallas felt doubly responsible for her young sister, and there was no one, apart from Charles, to whom she could turn. And she hesitated turning to him, anyway, because he and Jane had never hit it off and were openly antagonistic towards one another. It was for this reason that Dallas had delayed their wedding for so long, concerned about Jane’s reactions to living with Charles.

Charles lived with his mother in Maidenhead. His mother owned a large house there, and as she was a semi-invalid, being permanently confined to a wheel-chair, it had been decided that Dallas and Charles should live with her after their wedding. Dallas got along quite well with Mrs. Jennings, and found this idea acceptable, but Jane was too carefree and careless of other people’s feelings to ever get along with the Jennings family for long.

After Jane had left that evening, Dallas went into the bedroom to get changed before Charles arrived. He was coming to spend an evening at the flat. They didn’t go out together very often; Charles liked television and so long as he could see his favourite programmes he didn’t mind staying in. Dallas sometimes wished they could go out more often, but with the memory of her mother’s behaviour still strong in her mind, she crushed these thoughts with impatient intolerance.

Now she stripped off the dark brown tweed suit which she had worn for school and glanced half critically at herself in the dressing-table mirror. Did Jane really think she was getting like Charles?

Then she shrugged such thoughts away as being disloyal. After all, teaching a class of eight-year-olds as she did required that she dress with some modicum of severity, for otherwise her youthful appearance would maintain no discipline. Besides, Charles did like her in plain clothes and he liked the french pleat in which she invariably dressed her hair. Both girls had long hair, but whereas Jane’s was blonde, Dallas’s was a glorious red-gold in colour. Studying her features momentarily, she thought that apart from her eyes, her hair was probably her most attractive feature. And Charles was thirty-seven, after all, and naturally he didn’t want everyone to think he was going out with a girl far too young for him, her musing continued.

When her thoughts strayed to other things Jane had said, she felt a little disturbed. Her relationship with Charles had never troubled her before, but was it possible that the reasons she had accepted Charles so readily were mixed up with a longing for security and someone else to turn to?

She determinedly thrust such thoughts aside. She was becoming fanciful, and allowing Jane’s behaviour to play upon her thoughts too much. It would not do! It simply would not do!

Shedding her underwear, she walked into the tiny alcove which they called a bathroom, and showered hastily. Then she dressed in a warm green woollen dress, which had seen better days, and rewound her hair into its knot. She refused to consider her reflection any further. Charles liked her like this, and he was all that mattered.

Charles arrived at eight o’clock, punctual to the minute. He was a man of medium height and build, only slightly veering to plumpness. He had known the girls since they were children, having been friendly with their father, and when their father died quite suddenly he had been responsible for getting them this flat, and dealing with the sale of the house in Earl’s Court which had been too big and expensive for them to keep on alone.

He kissed Dallas warmly, and said: ‘Hello, darling. How are you? You’re looking a little peaky this evening.’

Dallas shrugged. ‘Oh, can’t you guess, Charles? I’ve had another row with Jane.’

‘Over Paris Stavros?’

‘What else?’

‘Well, I wish you wouldn’t, Dallas,’ said Charles, rather irritatedly. ‘After all, she isn’t a child, and sooner or later she has got to learn that all the apples on the branch aren’t sweet ones.’

‘Don’t be pompous,’ said Dallas, sighing. ‘Jane is my responsibility, after all, and I can’t just let her ruin her life.’

‘You’re over-dramatising the situation, as usual,’ retorted Charles, shaking his head. ‘Paris Stavros is only eighteen, when all’s said and done. He’s not had time to build up much of a reputation! You’d think he was a lecherous old playboy to hear you talk!’

Dallas had to smile at this, and she lit a cigarette thoughtfully, waiting for Charles’s exclamation: ‘Dallas, must you smoke so much?’

She shook her head. ‘Why not? I don’t smoke all day. I deserve some relaxation, don’t I?’

Charles deigned not to answer this, and seating himself in front of the television set, said: ‘Is there anything exciting on this evening?’

‘There’s that detective series you enjoy,’ remarked Dallas, feeling strangely restless. ‘Charles! Why don’t we go to the pictures, for a change?’

Charles glanced round frowning. ‘We never go out on Thursday evenings,’ he exclaimed, aggrieved.

‘Oh, all right, all right!’ Dallas sank down on to the couch beside him. ‘Have you had a busy day?’

Charles was an accountant, with a firm here in the city.

‘So-so,’ he answered absently. ‘Oh, look, Dallas. The programme is just starting!’

Dallas nodded, and drew deeply on her cigarette. Whether it was the continued arguments with Jane, or whether something inside her was beginning to rebel she didn’t know, but quite suddenly she could see their lives going on in the same way for years to come, and it was quite frightening. Was this all it was about? If only Charles wasn’t such a stick-in-the-mud. She had always excused him on account of his age, but after all, thirty-seven wasn’t so old. Lots of men didn’t become so set in their ways at that age. It could only be the influence of his mother, and for the first time she wondered if they were doing the right thing, going to live with her after their marriage. It was all very well, and Dallas knew that old Mrs. Jennings was the kind of person who required someone to live with her, but she could get a companion, and they could buy a new house, in one of the new suburban developments, and then they would really have something worth saving for.

‘Charles,’ she said tentatively, ‘I don’t think living with your mother after we’re married is such a good idea after all.’

Charles paid little attention to her. He was engrossed with the television play. Dallas nudged him. ‘Did you hear what I said?’

‘What? Oh no, what was that? Can’t it wait until after this is over?’

Dallas stiffened. ‘No, it can’t. I … I don’t want to live with your mother after we’re married.’

Charles stared at her, aghast. ‘What?’ he said again. ‘Why?’

Dallas swallowed hard. ‘Because you’re getting too like her. You’re old before your time. Good heavens, Charles, you’re only thirty-seven, but you act sometimes twenty years older.’

Charles’s face was bright red now, and Dallas felt awful. But it had to be said.

‘Dallas, have you taken leave of your senses?’ He stared at her. ‘The house at Maidenhead is far too big for just Mother alone. Besides, it would be a waste of money buying another house.’

Dallas stubbed out her cigarette. ‘Why? Because you can’t afford it?’

Charles twisted his hands together. ‘I can afford another house, Dallas. But I have no intention of wasting money for no reason.’

Dallas shrugged. ‘All right, then. What if I tell you that those are my conditions for our marriage?’

Charles’s mouth dropped open, and then he hastily closed it. ‘You can’t be serious, Dallas. Have you been drinking by any chance?’ he asked suspiciously. ‘This isn’t at all like you.’

‘How do you know what I’m like? You never bother to find out. You merely sit staring at my television all evening, then eat your supper and go.’

‘Dallas!’

‘Well, it’s true. I must have been sitting with my eyes closed before, but they’re open now. It’s no good, Charles. We’re young. We deserve a bit of freedom, of time to be alone together, and if we’re living with your mother she’ll always be around, wanting you to help her into bed, or into the bath, or into her clothes! It’s no good. We need a home of our own. I’m quite willing to continue working until such time as we have everything we need.’

‘After our marriage, you will not work,’ said Charles firmly. ‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’ His tone changed. ‘Dallas, darling Dallas, be reasonable. The house at Maidenhead is so big. If you like we needn’t even live with Mother. We could have the house equally divided into two flats.’

Dallas hesitated. ‘I don’t know,’ she began, wondering whether she was being unreasonable, and all because of Jane!

‘Think about it, then,’ said Charles, looking hopefully at her. ‘It would break Mother’s heart if she thought she was causing trouble between us.’

Dallas wondered if this were true. Mrs. Jennings was too closely involved with her son to allow him to leave her very easily.

‘All right,’ she said now, and Charles leaned forward and switched off the television, looking round gently at her.

‘Come here,’ he said softly, drawing her towards him, and she allowed him to pull her into his arms and put his soft mouth against hers.

* * *

Much later in the evening Dallas was worried again, and she could tell from Charles’s expression that she was annoying him.

‘For goodness’ sake, Dallas,’ he said. ‘It’s eleven-fifteen, that’s all. Jane will be home very shortly!’

‘But, Charles,’ she began awkwardly, ‘can’t you try and understand? Paris Stavros isn’t the kind of boy to be content with dating Jane for nothing. Everyone can see he only dates her for kicks. What if she allows him to … well …’

Charles lifted his jacket from the back of the couch, and shook his head. ‘If Jane gets herself into trouble, she’ll have to get herself out of it,’ he replied coldly.

Dallas stared at him disbelievingly. ‘Don’t be so callous,’ she cried. ‘Jane is only a baby!’

‘Well, don’t expect me to mother her when she comes to live with us,’ remarked Charles. ‘She’ll soon be shown the door if she misbehaves in Maidenhead. There are too many people there who know me—–’

‘What!’ Dallas put her hands on her hips. ‘What have you got to do with it? Surely you’re not going to tell me that your reputation stands in any danger of being smirched!’

‘Don’t get het-up.’ Charles decided to take a different line. ‘All right, Dallas, all right. I’ll have a word with her when she comes.’

‘No, don’t do that,’ exclaimed Dallas, shaking her head. ‘You’re only likely to antagonise her into further trouble. I can deal with her, or at least, I’ll try.’

Charles put an arm around her shoulders. ‘I’m sorry if I seem unfeeling, but you seem to have all the responsibilities and it’s not fair.’

‘I am the eldest,’ Dallas answered.

Charles was buttoning his overcoat against the cold night air when Jane breezed into the flat, shedding her suede coat and knee-length boots in the hallway.

‘Hello, you two,’ she called. She usually attempted to be friendly towards Charles, Dallas had to concede.

Charles thrust his hands deeply into his overcoat pockets.

‘Do you know you’ve had your sister half out of her mind with worry?’ he asked, in a low angry voice.

Jane rubbed her nose and looked at Dallas. ‘Oh, really? I’m sorry, Dallas. You know how time flies when you’re having a good time!’

Charles grunted, and Dallas said: ‘Charles!’ warningly, but he went on: ‘No, we don’t. We’ve been waiting for your arrival since ten-thirty. I presume that’s a reasonable time to expect a seventeen-year-old home.’

Jane shrugged, her face flushed. ‘Can’t Dallas catechise me herself?’ she asked cheekily, resenting his tone.

Charles stiffened. ‘Now you listen to me, young woman,’ he began, but Dallas shook her head.

‘Now, Charles, please. I can handle this.’

‘Obviously you can’t, or she wouldn’t talk to you like that,’ said Charles angrily. ‘You’d better change your ways, Jane, before Dallas and I are married, or you may find yourself without a roof over your head!’

Jane stared at him angrily. ‘All right. I’m quite capable of taking care of myself. I’ll keep the flat on. Get someone to share it with me.’

Dallas inwardly groaned at the worsening situation, breaking up the argument before it came to blows.

‘Go on, Charles,’ she said. ‘I’ve told you, I can handle this.’

Charles turned and marched out of the room, followed rather more slowly by Dallas. She hardly noticed the kiss he gave her, so intent was she upon returning to the lounge to have it out again with Jane.

But when she returned, Jane was in the bedroom undressing, and she said, before Dallas could speak:

‘Oh, don’t start again. I know, I know what you’re going to say. But it’s no good. I won’t give him up.’

Dallas shrugged. ‘All right.’

Jane looked strangely at her. ‘What am I supposed to glean from that remark?’

‘Exactly what you like.’ Dallas stretched wearily. ‘I’m sick of this whole business. Where did you go this evening, just out of interest?’

‘To a club run by a friend of Paris’s—a Greek. We danced a lot, and had a few cokes. It was a good evening.’

‘Do you drink alcohol?’ Dallas’s question was soft and undemanding, despite its pointedness.

Jane flushed. ‘No, of course not. I’m under age.’

‘Would that stop you?’

‘Oh, Dallas, stop it! I’m tired.’

‘You have a nerve!’ Dallas turned away. ‘Anyway, why don’t you bring him here sometimes? If I met him myself, maybe I wouldn’t feel so concerned.’

‘Paris, here?’ Jane laughed. ‘I couldn’t do that.’

‘Why not?’

‘Well … I mean … his apartment is huge, with gorgeous furniture …’

‘You’ve been to his apartment? When? I thought you always went to clubs?’

Jane grimaced. ‘Heavens, what have I said! Why shouldn’t I go to his apartment?’

Dallas unloosened her hair from its knot and it fell in a cascade of colour about her shoulders. Caught off guard, Jane said:

‘Why don’t you always wear your hair loose? You look so much younger! You make me feel so mean, Dallas, because I know you’re only a little older than I am, and you’re having a hell of a time with me, aren’t you?’ She half smiled. ‘It’s only when you look so schoolmarmish, and Charles is there beside you like a bloodhound, that I forget who you really are. Dallas, please try and understand.’

‘It’s no good, Jane,’ said Dallas wearily. ‘We stand at opposite sides of the line. You can’t see what’s under your nose, and I can’t believe he’s sincere!’

Jane hunched her shoulders. ‘Well, there’s nothing you, or Charles, can do. I love Paris, and I intend to go on seeing him.’ She tugged angrily at her hair with a comb. ‘Whatever you say!’

* * *

A week later Dallas had made a decision, brought about mainly by the fact that Jane was no longer telling her the truth. Her breath had smelled strongly of alcohol two evenings when she came home, and Dallas, who had been in bed pretending to be asleep, had lain awake for hours after Jane’s breathing had become smooth and regular. Jane was also beginning to look drawn and tired, for late nights combined with early mornings were making their presence felt. Dallas seemed continually in a state of anxiety, and she wished wholeheartedly that Paris Stavros would find himself another girl-friend soon.

Unable to expect any useful assistance or advice from Charles, Dallas decided her only course of action was to try and contact Alexander Stavros, the boy’s father. It seemed a vain hope; Alexander Stavros lived in Greece, and she had no earthly idea how she could reach him there.

Besides, even if she could contact him, why should he care what happened to her sister, so long as Paris was happy? Unless the threat of a scandal might deter him. Maybe he was a man with a heart; maybe she could appeal to his better judgement.

Dallas felt desperate. She was clutching at straws and she knew it. And then, as though fate was lending her a helping hand, she read one morning, in her newspaper going to work, that Alexander Stavros had arrived in England the previous day to visit his son, and to have trade talks with British businessmen. A casual word about it to Jane that evening brought forth a veritable stream of information about him, gleaned no doubt from Paris himself, and within a short time Dallas knew that he was staying at the Dorchester, and would be there for approximately a fortnight.

Deciding not to mention her decision to Charles, Dallas telephoned the Dorchester the following morning and asked to speak to Mr. Stavros. A polite receptionist advised her that Mr. Stavros was not in the hotel, but if she wished she might speak to one of his secretaries.

‘One of his secretaries!’ exclaimed Dallas, in astonishment, and then, swallowing hard, she said: ‘When will Mr. Stavros be back?’

‘I really couldn’t say,’ replied the receptionist smoothly. ‘Excuse me, but who shall I say has called?’

‘I … I … he won’t know me,’ began Dallas awkwardly, and would have said more, but the receptionist interrupted her.

‘I would suggest you speak to one of the secretaries,’ she said, in a cool tone. ‘Mr. Stavros doesn’t take calls in the normal way. I’m sure Mr. Saravanos would be able to help you.’

Dallas hesitated for a moment. ‘But this is a personal matter,’ she said, running her tongue over suddenly dry lips. ‘Is there no way I can contact Mr. Stavros direct?’

‘Excuse me, but I have other calls to attend to,’ said the receptionist, avoiding a direct answer.

‘Very well.’ Dallas was forced to ring off. She came out of the telephone kiosk dejectedly. It was mid-morning break at the school, and she had slipped across the road to make her call. There seemed no alternative but to ring again tomorrow and speak to one of the secretaries.

The next day she could not concentrate on her work. She put off making the call to the Dorchester all day, hating the way she was having to put herself into such an awkward position. What would Alexander Stavros think of her when she did get to see him, or should she say ‘if’? It was doubtful indeed whether a man in his position would bother about a nobody like herself.

She went home after work, made the evening meal for Jane and herself, and then waited until Jane had dressed for a date with Paris and gone out before thinking seriously about ringing the hotel again. To humble herself in this way was alien to her nature and the thought of asking him now to stop his son from meeting Jane seemed stupid and childish.

She felt sure she would never have the nerve to go through with it, no matter what the consequences to Jane might be. It could only look bad. She would seem like the ugly sister trying to keep Cinderella from the ball.

She smiled at her thoughts, and then hunched her shoulders. It was all very well deciding in the heat of the moment to see Alexander Stavros, but now, in cold blood, it was fast becoming untenable.

She washed the dishes, wiped down the draining board, and eventually put the dishes back into the cupboard. Then she walked into the lounge.

The television was playing away to itself, so she switched it off and walked into the bedroom. She sat in front of the dressing-table mirror studying her reflection for a few minutes, trying not to think of the task ahead of her.

Then she pulled open the dressing-table drawer to take out a handkerchief when something else, caught on the lace of the handkerchief, fell with a thud on the carpet. Bending, she picked it up. It was a bracelet, but such a bracelet as Dallas had never seen before. It was, or looked like, solid gold, with inlaid stones of red and blue which looked like rubies and sapphires. Dallas dropped it hastily back in the drawer, as though it burned her. She had no doubts as to its origin; Paris must have given it to Jane, but why?

Any doubts left in her mind as to the advisability of her task fled away. She had no choice but to try and do something before it was too late.

She changed into navy blue stretch pants and a scarlet anorak of Jane’s. It was a cold evening and such attire was more suitable than the short skirts she usually wore. But she smiled to herself when she thought of Charles’s displeasure if he could see her now. He hated casual clothes, and preferred Dallas to wear tailored suits and dresses, with little adornment. Her hair had come loose from its immaculate pleat, so instead of putting it up again, she combed it out, leaving it loose about her shoulders. She touched a coral lipstick to her mouth, and then ran down the steps out of the block of flats. The telephone kiosk was a couple of blocks away and Jane was often saying they should have one of their own, but Dallas could see no point when in a little over four months they would be living in Charles’s semi-detached house at Maidenhead which already had a phone.

Charles was not coming up to town this evening and Dallas felt a carefree liveliness assail her as she walked to the telephone. Sometimes Charles was a little too overbearing.

The kiosk was already occupied, so she stood around stamping her feet to stop the chilling wind from piercing the warm quilted lining of the anorak, and then when the man emerged, she slid inside thankfully. It was March, but so cold it could have been January, and spring seemed a long way away.

Dallas rang the Dorchester, and inserted her money, and when the receptionist answered, a man this time, she felt relieved. At least she would not have the ignominy of asking the same questions to the same girl.

But when she asked for Mr Stavros, the man’s answers were practically the same as the girl’s had been. So deciding she might as well speak to the secretary, a Mr. Karantinos, she was put through to the suite.

A maid answered at first, and then she heard the accented tones of Stephanos Karantinos.

‘Oh … er … good evening,’ said Dallas, biting hard on her lip. ‘Would it be possible for me to speak to Mr. Stavros? It’s a personal matter.’

‘Mr. Stavros is changing for an evening engagement,’ replied Stephanos Karantinos. ‘Surely I can be of assistance. You say it is of a personal nature. In what way is this so?’ He was polite, but unyielding.

Dallas sighed. ‘It’s to do with Paris, Mr. Stavros’s son. He is at present going around with my sister Jane.’

‘Yes?’ The voice was clipped. ‘This is what you wish to speak to Mr. Stavros about?’

‘Yes. I … I … want it stopped!’

She was aware she had shocked the man, but in an amused way, for he burst out laughing, and she felt unreasonably angry.

‘It’s no laughing matter,’ she exclaimed hotly, and then heard the sound of voices as though someone else had joined him and was asking what the joke might be. There was more laughter, and then another voice reached her ears, a deep attractive voice, with barely a trace of accent.

‘Alexander Stavros speaking. To whom do I address myself?’ His tone was mocking, but Dallas was too relieved to be actually speaking to Stavros himself to care.

‘My name is Dallas Collins, Mr. Stavros,’ she answered shakily. ‘This … this is rather difficult for me, but my sister Jane works for your company in the London office, and she is at present infatuated with your son Paris. I want you, if you will, to use your influence to stop this affair before anything unfortunate happens.’

‘Unfortunate? For whom?’

‘For Jane, of course.’

‘Indeed?’ There was silence for a moment, and then he continued: ‘It seems to me, Miss Collins, that you are interfering in something which is actually no concern of yours.’

‘No concern? Jane is only seventeen. Our parents are dead, and I am legally her guardian!’

‘Paris is only eighteen, Miss Collins.’

Dallas sighed heavily. ‘I know that. Look, Mr. Stavros, I can quite see that this might sound rather ridiculous, but if you knew the circumstances …’ Her voice trailed away.

‘Calm yourself. Miss Collins. Things are never as bad as they seem.’ She could tell from his tone that he was not so amused now. ‘I am not satisfied that Paris could do your sister any harm, Miss Collins. He is an intelligent boy, not a moron!’ He seemed to be thinking for a few moments, and then he said: ‘I do not care to discuss my private affairs over the telephone. I have a dinner engagement, but I will cancel it. I suggest you come here to see me, Miss Collins, so that we may discuss this matter more fully.’

‘Oh, but …’ Dallas swallowed hard. ‘I … I couldn’t do that!’

‘Why not? This is not a clandestine meeting, Miss Collins. My secretary, Stephanos, will be present. No matter what you may think of my son, I can assure you I have no interest in you personally.’

His tone was arrogant and assured, and Dallas felt like banging the phone down and forgetting she had ever rung him. But she couldn’t do that so she said with ill grace: ‘All right, Mr. Stavros. But I can’t think of anything more to say.’

Alexander Stavros merely said: ‘I’ll expect you in fifteen minutes, yes? Or is that not long enough?’

‘I … I’ll do my best.’ Dallas rang off, and came out of the kiosk frowning deeply. Now what had she let herself in for?

A bus deposited her near the Dorchester hotel, and she approached its entrance with some trepidation. She wished she had had time to go home and change before this meeting, but Stavros’s arrogant command to be at the hotel in fifteen minutes had left no room for anything, although she was supremely conscious of the shortcomings of pants and an anorak as attire for an evening in the West End of London. Still, she argued with herself, she had no desire to impress the man. If he took a dislike to her, he might wish more readily to resolve the relationship between his son and her sister.

She approached the reception desk cautiously, aware of the curious eyes turned in her direction, and expecting every moment to be brought up short by the sound of an arresting voice. But nothing happened, and the receptionist himself had obviously been forewarned of her arrival because he treated her with respect, and asked her politely to wait while he rang the Stavros suite.

In a few minutes which actually seemed like aeons to Dallas, she was approached by a small, slim dark man with greying hair, and a kind and good-natured appearance. Dallas rose hastily to her feet. Was this Alexander Stavros, then? Heavens, she thought, at least he looks understanding, even though his appearance did not quite line up with her picture of him after hearing that arrogant voice over the phone.

But her expectations were doomed from the start. ‘Good evening, Miss Collins,’ he said, smiling. ‘My name is Stephanos Karantinos. I am secretary to Mr. Stavros.’

His secretary! Dallas sighed, and said: ‘I’m Dallas Collins, how do you do?’

‘Come,’ he said, taking her arm. ‘Mr. Stavros is waiting to see you.’

A lift transported them to the upper regions of the hotel, and Stephanos Karatinos looked rather strangely at Dallas.

‘Tell me, Miss Collins,’ he said, leaning against the wall of the lift as it glided silently upwards, ‘is your sister like you?’

Dallas shrugged. ‘I … I … well … in some ways.’

Stephanos Karantinos slid his hands into the pockets of his trousers. ‘Paris has good taste,’ he remarked, as casually as though they were discussing the weather, and Dallas turned bright red with embarrassment.

She was relieved when the lift halted and Stephanos straightened, and indicated she should precede him along the pile-carpeted corridor that confronted them. She was a mass of nerves and she hardly knew what to expect.

Double white doors admitted them to the suite of rooms taken over by the Stavros company, and Dallas paused on the cream-coloured pile carpet just inside the suite doors feeling hopelessly out of her depth. Stephanos Karantinos closed the doors, and crossed the short space which gave on to two shallow steps which separated the rest of this huge lounge from the entrance.

Dallas stared about her in astonishment. She had never, not even with her father, experienced such luxury—white leather chairs and scarlet drapes, Swedish wood and lots of low divans covered in rugs. She stood there in her pants and anorak feeling like the cat who went to look at the queen.

And as though to deepen this image a woman rose lazily from one of the divans at their entrance and stared across at Dallas mockingly, scarlet-tipped nails vivid against the black cigarette holder she was using.

Dallas’s eyes were drawn to her as she was the only other occupant of the room, and she wondered who the woman was. Her hair, very dark and sleek, was swept into a high knot on top of her head, and the pure white silk sheath she was wearing clung lovingly to every line of her body, leaving little to the imagination. Dallas supposed she was beautiful, but there was something repulsive about the slanted eyes, and small, yet perfect, mouth.

Stephanos Karantinos turned at the foot of the steps, and said:

‘Come in, Miss Collins, and sit down.’ He indicated a low chair, and Dallas walked slowly forward and did as he asked. ‘Mr. Stavros will not be long. Will you have a drink? A cocktail, perhaps?’

Dallas shook her head. ‘I don’t think so, thank you.’

‘Oh, come on. Something, at least.’ Stephanos grinned. ‘I will mix you a long light drink myself. Something you will enjoy, I can assure you.’

Dallas half smiled, trying to relax, while the other woman looked on smilingly. ‘Stephanos can be very persuasive,’ she said. ‘But not always polite. He hasn’t introduced us, so let me introduce myself. I’m Athene Siametrou.’

Dallas managed a faint greeting, while Stephanos Karantinos mixed her drink, and then handed her a long glass.

‘Athene needs no introduction,’ he remarked dryly. ‘She can be relied upon not to let herself be overlooked.’ His tone was light, but with an undertone of sarcasm, and Dallas wondered why.

To her surprise and relief, however, the drink was delicious—a mixture of lime and lemon and Advocaat, and something else which she couldn’t quite put a name to, it was very warming, and she sipped it gratefully.

She was accepting a cigarette from a box which Stephanos Karantinos had offered her when a door to one side of the apartment opened, and she glanced up nervously to see a man entering the room. For a brief moment their eyes met, and then Dallas looked sharply away, trying to concentrate on lighting her cigarette. But in that split second she had registered everything about him and she wondered why she suddenly felt an intense feeling of dismay. He was certainly nothing like she had imagined, her idea being confused with vague pictures of successful businessmen sporting balding heads and overweight bodies, and unfeelingly predatory features.

Alexander Stavros was none of these things. He was tall, and lean, and wore his clothes immaculately. He was intensely dark; dark-haired, dark-skinned, and dark-eyed, and although Dallas knew he must be forty or more, he certainly did not look it. She could imagine that he attracted women like a magnet; he presented so much of a challenge, for as well as his obvious physical attraction, he was wealthy, and she wondered whether his wife found it difficult to retain his interest when she had so much competition. Her own reactions were difficult to assimilate. She was so conscious of the insignificance of her own position, and she could not help but wonder what his relations were with Athene Siametrou, and whether a man like this could possibly care about the moral obligations of his son.

He took out a slim platinum case, extracted a cheroot, and placing it between his teeth he lit it before speaking. Then he walked lazily across the room to where Dallas was sitting, feeling as though her knees were about to start knocking together. His eyes were appraising and she felt apprehensive.

Athene Siametrou rose to her feet again. She had subsided on to the divan earlier, but with Alexander Stavros’s entrance she became animated once more. With a husky, entreating tone in her voice she said something swiftly in Greek, or so Dallas surmised, and gazed up into Alexander Stavros’s eyes.

Stavros shook his head abruptly, and said: ‘Speak English, Athene. Our visitor cannot understand you.’ His expression was sardonic. ‘But I understand you very well, and you understand me, and therefore there will be no more talk of our engagement this evening. Yes?’ He looked down at Dallas thoughtfully, before continuing: ‘I had thought I mentioned that you should go. Why are you still here?’

Dallas shivered. She thought that if ever he spoke to her like that, in that cold, almost hateful voice, she would curl up inside. But Athene merely sighed herself, and said:

‘You are a pig, darling.’ She looked down at Dallas condescendingly. ‘Take it easy, Miss Collins. You are dealing with complete ruthlessness … on occasion. On other occasions he can be quite … charming.’ She laughed, and swept up the steps to the entrance where she lifted a dark-brown fur, and slung it carelessly about her shoulders. ‘Goodbye, darling! See you soon!’

She went out, closing the door with a flourish, and causing a mild chuckle from Stephanos Karantinos’s direction.

Dallas sipped her drink, avoiding Alexander Stavros’s eyes as he seated himself opposite her, legs apart, his hands hanging loosely between.

‘Now,’ he said, his eyes intent. ‘You are Miss Collins.’

Dallas looked up. ‘Yes, I’m Dallas Collins.’

Alexander Stravos nodded, and then glanced across at Stephanos. ‘Get me a drink!’ he said. ‘You know what.’

Stephanos straightened up from his lounging position near the window and walked across to the cocktail cabinet which occupied one corner of the room.

‘And what is your objection to your sister going out with my son?’ Stavros asked, drawing on his cheroot.

Dallas stubbed out her cigarette in a nearby ashtray, playing for time. Now that it had come to the point she felt bereft of reasons.

‘I … well … Jane is an impressionable child. Paris’s attentions are destroying all her girlish ways. She has become avaricious and discontented.’

‘Oh, come now!’ Stavros’s face mirrored his amusement. ‘You can’t possibly blame this on my son!’

‘But I do!’ Dallas’s confidence returned at his attitude. ‘Jane was quite contented to live the kind of life she has always lived until she started dating your son. Naturally, he moves in a different circle from her, the girls have more clothes, more money, they can do as they like, they don’t have jobs to do all day like Jane.’

Alexander Stavros shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘Surely your sister is quite capable of seeing these things for herself.’

‘Jane takes Paris seriously! She really believes that people from different walks of life, different backgrounds, can meet on equal terms if they love one another!’

‘And I take it you do not.’ Stavros’s tone was derisive.

Dallas flushed. ‘Do you?’

Stavros rose to his feet before replying. When he did he ignored her question. ‘Tell me, Miss Collins, have you ever been in love?’

‘I … of course!’

‘So it is not a question of jealousy, so far as your sister is concerned?’

‘Jealousy?’ Dallas stood up now. ‘How dare you?’

Stephanos Karantinos handed Stavros his drink, and at his employer’s nod left the room.

Dallas walked to the steps, standing down her half-empty glass.

‘It seems I’m wasting my time,’ she said, coldly, fortified by her own anger at his words. ‘Goodbye, Mr. Stavros!’

‘Wait!’ Stavros swallowed half his drink, and turned away. ‘It was only a thought, one which I didn’t place any faith in, anyway.’ He seemed preoccupied for a moment. ‘Have you asked your sister to stop meeting Paris?’

‘Of course.’

‘And she refuses?’

‘Yes.’

Stavros shook his head. ‘And what do you expect me to do?’

‘Well, obviously, you are his father. Your control over him must be practically absolute.’

‘Not necessarily, although I will admit that I control his income, and without his income Paris is less … shall we say … effective.’ He smiled, rather sardonically, Dallas thought. ‘It is certainly an original experience for me to meet someone with apparently such little regard for money. Most of my acquaintances judge everything by the price for which it can be bought. This applies to people as well as things. A less, shall I say, conscientious person than yourself might see in this situation a chance to inveigle money out of it.’

Dallas stiffened. ‘As you say, I am not that kind of person!’

Stavros walked lazily across to the apartment windows, and looked down on the fairyland of lights that was London spread out below him.

‘Don’t be so quick to sense offence, Miss Collins,’ he said dryly. ‘You created this situation, I did not.’ He leaned back against the window frame. ‘Tell me about your background. What do you do?’

Dallas’s cheeks burned again. ‘What I do is not important.’

‘No, but I am interested.’

Dallas sighed. ‘Well, I’m a teacher.’

‘Is that so?’ His expression resumed its amused appearance. ‘You do not look like any schoolteacher of my acquaintance.’

‘Appearances can be deceptive,’ said Dallas shortly.

‘Yes, I’ll accept that. And is that your whole ambition? To be a teacher, I mean.’

Dallas resented this questioning, but could see no way to avoid it if she wanted Alexander Stavros to use his influence on her behalf. She felt certain he was aware of this, too, and was merely amusing himself by seeing how far she was prepared to go to answer his queries.

Now she said: ‘Naturally, I want to get married. Have a family.’

‘So? And there is a man in your scheme of things, who you have met already, who will provide these things for you?’ The sarcasm was evident in his voice. ‘One, of course, who is from your own small sphere!’

‘As a matter of fact, yes,’ retorted Dallas coldly. ‘I am engaged to be married.’

‘I see. And your sister, what will she do when you get married?’

‘She will live with Charles and myself, naturally.’

‘And does she want to?’

Dallas was tired. ‘Whether she wants to or not is not important. We can give her a home, and security, and that’s all she needs.’

The room echoed with the sound of his laughter. ‘My dear Miss Collins,’ he exclaimed, sobering, ‘you can’t be serious! Do you honestly believe that so long as a person is fed and watered, and given a place to sleep, life goes on its natural course?’

‘No … that is …’ Dallas bent her head. ‘You’re deliberately misunderstanding me, Mr. Stavros. Jane was perfectly happy before she met Paris. Once his influence is lifted, she will be happy again.’

‘And you, Miss Collins, are too naïve to be true!’ His tone was harsh and angry now. ‘There are people who live ecstatically happy lives and yet, by so doing, do not conform to any of your petty little rules! Just because you are prepared to accept less than complete contentment, do not expect everyone to be the same.’ He stubbed out his cheroot savagely, and Dallas felt her spirits sink to their lowest ebb. If she had really angered him, then her hopes that he might help her were doomed from the outset.

She climbed the shallow steps and walked to the door slowly. When she reached the door, she turned and looked back. Alexander Stavros was standing moodily in the centre of the room, his hands thrust deep into his pockets, his dark eyes brooding. Dallas felt a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach as she looked at him, and she found herself wondering again what his wife was like. For the first time in her life she found herself confronted by a situation she couldn’t control. She had always considered herself sane and sensible, and certainly not the type of person to ever be attracted to a man like this, and yet Stavros could not help his attraction, any more than she, as a woman, could help being aware of it, and she thought it was as well that she would never meet him again. Perhaps Jane’s involvement with Paris Stavros fitted into the same category. And as Paris had shown an immediate interest in Jane, her sister could not help but feel flattered.

‘So,’ he said slowly, ‘you are leaving, Miss Collins. I have … enjoyed our little conversation. It has been quite enlightening, believe me!’

Dallas did not reply. There seemed nothing more to be said. She merely opened the door, and closing it felt a feeling of depression sweep over her.

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