‘Oh, no, sweetie. I have it on authority it would be a lost cause.’ Paula raked Katrina’s slender frame. ‘How does it feel to be an heiress, darling? You always were Daddy’s pride and joy. You even married the prince, only to discover he had feet of clay.’ Her smile held little warmth. ‘Interesting coincidence his mistress is back in town.’ Her eyes widened with false dismay. ‘Oh, dear, you didn’t know?’
She’d had a lifetime of experience in schooling her features. ‘I should thank you for the advance warning.’
‘My pleasure.’
Katrina didn’t attempt to qualify a reason to leave. ‘Bye, Paula.’
The practised pout didn’t quite cut it. ‘Just when we were beginning to catch up.’
Catching up with Paula was something Katrina preferred to avoid. A personality clash, Andrea had termed their animosity from the onset.
Friendship between the daughter of one partner and the daughter of another had never been an issue. Existing in superficial harmony required wit, wisdom, and an ever vigilant eye…for the barbed comment, the embellishment of truth, and the metaphorical stab in the back. It had been Paula’s mission in life to discredit Kevin’s ewe-lamb.
Andrea’s stint as Katrina’s stepmother hadn’t lasted long, and just when Katrina had thought it could only get better, along had come Chloe and Enrique.
And that had been worse, much worse.
Katrina spared her watch a glance, ignored the temptation to ring Siobhan, and retraced her steps to the car park. She’d visit one of the large cinema complexes, take in a movie, grab something to eat, then go home.
Except there were too many choices, and she indulged the whim to see two movies, almost back to back, with time for a snack and coffee in between each scheduled session.
It was after ten when she garaged the car and let herself quietly into the house.
Nicos emerged into the lobby from his study as she was about to ascend the stairs. Did he possess X-ray vision? Or had he added a camera to his state-of-the-art security system?
His casual attire of jeans and a polo shirt emphasised his breadth of shoulder, lean waist, and long legs.
‘Did you think to check your voice-mail?’
The silky query gave little indication of his mood, and she paused, meeting his level glance with equanimity.
‘Not since mid-afternoon. Why?’
‘Siobhan has rung twice. Enrique, ditto, stressing the need for an urgent response. And Harry, who assured you have his number.’ His expression remained enigmatic, but she detected a hint of dangerous steel just beneath the surface. ‘Each of whom revealed they’d tried and failed to reach you on your cellphone.’
‘You want I should apologise for inadvertently relegating you to message-taking?’
Nicos shifted slightly, a movement that seemed to bring him too close for comfort.
She kept her gaze steady, noticing the tiny lines fanning out from the corners of his eyes, before travelling down to encompass the set of his mouth, the firm line of his lips, the edge of his jaw.
He exuded an electric stillness that reminded her of a predator about to pounce. Go, a tiny voice prompted. Except she was primed to fight, and viewed escape as a negative option.
‘I don’t owe you an explanation,’ Katrina cautioned, and watched the subtle flex of sinew and muscle as he thrust one hand into his trouser pocket.
‘On that we differ.’
‘Go to hell.’ She turned to ascend the stairs, only to have Nicos spin her round to face him.
‘Don’t push it,’ he warned with deadly softness.
His grip on her arm was deceptive, and she knew it would tighten measurably if she attempted to wrench free of him.
Katrina looked pointedly at her arm, then shifted her gaze to meet his. ‘Forcible restraint, Nicos?’
‘You want all out war?’
Apprehension slithered down the length of her spine. ‘Polite harmony would be preferable.’
‘Then, I suggest you work towards it.’ His voice sounded like silk being rased by razor-sharp steel.
‘Same goes.’
He released her arm, and she moved quickly upstairs, aware that he watched her ascent. Her bedroom resembled a sanctuary, and she closed the door, then crossed to sink down onto the bed.
With deft ease she activated her cellphone, replayed the recorded messages, then she rang her mother.
Dear, sweet Harry, who was contracted to redecorate two adjoining townhouses she’d recently bought as an investment.
‘Colours, darling. We need to talk. You simply cannot have blue.’
So she’d ring him from the office, they’d argue, she’d relent and agree to his choice. Their token wrangling was viewed with the fondness of long friendship.
Enrique was something else. Arrogant, persistent, desperate. A dangerous combination, she perceived as she stripped off her clothes and made for the shower.
Later she lay in the darkness, staring at the ceiling. A few days down, with three hundred and sixty-two to go. How in heaven would she last the distance?
Katrina woke late with a headache, missed breakfast in her rush to get to the office on time, and from there on it was downhill all the way through the day.
Whatever could go wrong, did. She dealt with complaints in areas that usually ran smoothly, mediated and lost to a tyrannical subcontractor who bore an elephant-sized grudge, and was terse to the point of rudeness when Enrique insisted he take five minutes of her time.
Lunch was a non-event, and at two she sent out for sandwiches which she ate at her desk. At four o’clock she took a call from Kevin’s lawyer informing Enrique intended to contest the will on the grounds he was entitled to a share of the estate.
Enrique’s protest was merely a nuisance factor, but it was the lawyer’s duty to apprise her of the development.
The headache, for which she’d taken painkillers mid-morning and mid-afternoon, settled into a throbbing ache that left her feeling physically depleted.
It was almost six when she garaged her car and entered the house. All she wanted to do was indulge in a leisurely spa bath, take more painkillers, pull the shutters closed in her room, slip beneath the cool percale sheets, and shut out the rest of the world for as long as it took to lose the headache and regain her composure.
She almost made it. Would have, if she hadn’t had to go downstairs to search for more painkillers, as all she had left was an empty blister pack.
Nicos found her in the kitchen, looking a whiter shade of pale, her slender form wrapped in a towelling robe, and her hair tumbling down her back.
‘What in hell—?’
The words were barely audible, and quickly checked as he subjected her to an encompassing appraisal.
Katrina closed her eyes against the sight of him. The last thing she needed was a verbal inquisition.
‘Hell works for me,’ she said wearily. ‘Where do you keep your supply of painkillers?’
He crossed to an expanse of inbuilt cupboards, opened one, and extracted a packet, then he filled a glass with water and handed both to her.
‘Headache?’
‘Yes.’ She freed two tablets and swallowed them down with water.
She was hardly aware that he had moved to hook out a chair until he gently pushed her into it.
‘What