Edward shrugged. ‘Wild, reckless, always getting herself in the tabloids.’
Demos nodded thoughtfully. In some ways he was surprised he hadn’t seen or heard of Althea before last night. He undoubtedly frequented Athens’s nightspots, although in general he preferred more discreet venues. He didn’t read the tabloids, however, and he realised with a wry grimace that he was probably considered too old for Althea’s crowd.
‘How old would the daughter be now?’
‘Twenty-two? Twenty-three?’ Edward leaned forward, his curiosity piqued. ‘Why do you ask, Demos? What is your interest in her?’
‘I met her last night.’
‘Met?’
Demos chuckled. ‘Yes, met. That’s all. And I wondered.’ Yet it was more than that, Demos knew. A lot more. He was not about to tell Edward the truth. That he’d met her and wanted her. That she intrigued him, challenged him, fascinated him in a way no other woman had.
And he wasn’t even sure why.
Edward returned to his breakfast. ‘I would usually warn you off colleagues’ daughters,’ he said wearily, ‘knowing your reputation with women. But this time I won’t bother. I’m not sure a girl like Althea Paranoussis has a heart to break—or at any rate a reputation that needs guarding.’
It was a more polite way of saying what Angelos had said last night, and Demos was surprised by his instinct to defend Althea from her accusers. What little he knew of her supported such statements. He thought of Angelos’s easy familiarity with her, with her body, and suppressed a grimace of distaste. Althea didn’t need defending. Perhaps she didn’t even deserve it.
And yet…
‘Although,’ Edward continued thoughtfully, ‘I’ve heard from various business associates that Paranoussis wants to see his daughter married.’
‘Married?’ Demos repeated, nearly spluttering over his coffee. He thought of his conversation with her last night; she was determined to stay clear of marriage. A free spirit—just what he wanted.
Edward sipped his coffee. ‘Marriage would steady her as well as the family’s reputation.’
‘Is it that bad?’ Demos asked. Most rich young girls were spoiled and shallow, at least in his experience. Surely Althea’s brand of entertainment was no worse than theirs?
‘Perhaps not to you,’ Edward replied with a little shrug, ‘but Attica Finance is a conservative organisation. Spiros wants to see his daughter taken care of.’
‘And out of the way?’
‘Out of trouble, perhaps.’ Edward paused, his fork suspended halfway to his mouth. ‘Does it matter so much to you, Demos? She’s just a girl.’
Just a girl. Edward’s tone was casually dismissive, yet Demos was shrewd enough to see the flicker of suppressed interest in Edward’s eyes.
He leaned back in his chair. ‘I don’t know how much it matters,’ he finally said, choosing to be candid. ‘I just met her.’
‘She might suit you,’ Edward replied. His eyes sparkled with both mischief and possibility. ‘Like you, she wants to have a good time. Socially she has all the connections…’
‘I don’t need connections.’
Edward’s little shrug was a silent eloquent reminder of his background, Demos knew. The son of a grocer, with his mother now married to a butcher and still living in a working class suburb of Piraeus. No matter how his life looked now, he’d always know where he’d come from.
‘Think about it,’ Edward said lightly, and began to butter his toast. ‘Paranoussis would be willing to arrange something…see her taken care of, as I said. And a man like you—wealthy, industrious—would impress him suitably.’
Demos smiled. ‘You want me to marry her?’ His voice had a lilt of disbelief.
‘Do you plan ever to marry?’ Edward asked, and Demos considered the question.
‘Perhaps. Eventually,’ he said at last.
‘The party circuit grows old, my friend,’ Edward said, a weary world of experience in his voice, and Demos nodded in agreement.
He was already feeling it. But marriage…?
That was another proposition altogether—and not a very welcome one. Yet even as he dismissed it his mind turned over the possibility. He’d always supposed he would need to marry at some point. He pictured Althea in the role of his wife and found it surprisingly invigorating. She wouldn’t be an innocent, irritating little miss; she’d be fiery and spirited…in bed as well as out of it. His lips curved in a smile of imaginative appreciation.
‘I imagine Althea will be married off within the year,’ Edward continued with a shrug. ‘Or sooner, if she continues to push her father. He’s had enough.’
Demos’s gaze snapped back to Edward’s. ‘He can hardly force her—’
‘Can’t he?’ Edward arched one eyebrow, ever shrewd. ‘She could be cut off without a cent, or an opportunity to earn one.’
‘She’s educated—’
‘Actually, she isn’t. She was expelled from school at seventeen, for bad behaviour.’
Demos sat back, considering. Althea might not have an education, but she was surely intelligent. She would survive if her father actually did make good on his threat and cut her off.
Anyway, he dismissed with a little shrug, Paranoussis was most likely just threatening Althea in an attempt to curb her behaviour. It had nothing to do with him; all he wanted was to see her again.
And, he acknowledged, his lips curving wryly, a bit more than that…
He turned back to Edward, who was watching him with growing curiosity, and smiled blandly.
‘How about some more coffee?’ he asked, and Edward’s own smile widened as he poured.
Althea had taken the bus from her father’s house in Kifissia to an upscale boutique on Tsakalof Street in Kolonaki. Her father gave her very little pocket money, and she was careful with what she had.
Now she sat on a leather-cushioned bench as Iolanthe tried on pair after pair of high-heeled sandals. ‘Everyone has these now,’ she said, twisting her ankles to catch a better view of the sandals’ gaudy beading. ‘Don’t you want some, Althea?’
Althea shrugged and eyed the pointed heels. ‘They look like a deathtrap for the dance floor.’
‘And you are a good dancer.’ Iolanthe met Althea’s eyes in the mirror and winked. ‘I saw you and Angelos last night.’
Althea remembered Angelos’s hands pulling on her hips, pulling her towards him, and suppressed a grimace. She stretched her arms along the railing behind her and shrugged. ‘You and everyone else at the club.’
‘He was telling everyone you ditched that man you left with to be with him. Is that true?’
Damn him, Althea thought, but she shrugged again. ‘Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies.’
‘Who did you leave with? He looked…’ Iolanthe paused, her eyes flicking over her own appearance, the smooth, girlish curve of her cheek and shoulder, the sequined top and fringed skirt she wore. ‘Old,’ she finally said, and Althea laughed.
‘Oh, he’s old. At least thirty.’
‘Older than us,’ Iolanthe protested, andAlthea shrugged again.
Compared to Iolanthe, nineteen years old and determined to have fun, she felt old. Sometimes she felt ancient.
‘Anyway, you left him?’