It had been a Saturday, just like today—or last night, she amended. Bea had been eight years of age, and her father had had visitors for the weekend: Mr Gregoris and his son. Having spent all day with adults, she’d been bored.
But at about seven o’clock in the evening she had slipped out of the gate at the bottom of the garden, something she was strictly forbidden to do. She had met two older boys from the village, Jack and Ned, and they had allowed her to play with them. Cowboys and Indians, and—wouldn’t you know!—as the girl she’d got to be the Indian, captured by the cowboys, and Jack had tied her to a tree.
It had been when Ned had withdrawn a knife from his trouser pocket, saying, ‘Now try some of your own medicine and see how you like it,’ and grabbed her long hair prior to scalping her, that she’d begun to scream. That was how Leon had found her.
At twenty-two he’d already been a man, dressed in shorts and singlet, obviously out for his evening run. He’d pulled the two boys apart, one in each hand, shaken them and sent them sprawling on their backsides. Then he’d untied Bea and lifted the terrified little girl into his arms.
She remembered clutching him around the neck, resting her head on his chest and between sobs and hiccups telling him he was wonderful for saving her. He’d been her hero, this big, dark man with a ponytail as long as hers. At least, she’d thought so for all of ten minutes, until he’d started lecturing her on how little girls should behave. But, worse, he’d actually told her father, and she’d been sent to her room without any supper.
Looking back, Bea could see that had been the start of the love-hate relationship she shared with Leon. She had not seen a lot of him after that; his father, her dad’s business partner, had been a frequent visitor, but Leon had come maybe two or three times a year, some years not even as much as that. When she had seen him he was always nice to her, though he could be a bit bossy. But then she’d thought of him as an adult friend, and most adults were bossy...
Old Mr Gregoris had died when Bea was eleven. She could remember her father going to Cyprus for the funeral, but she hadn’t gone. After that Leon had come on his own to visit her father, but as often as not they’d met in London.
Then, when she’d reached her teens and begun to read the more lurid tabloids that Aunty Lil was so fond of, she’d discovered Leon was quite notorious for his lady-friends. His procession of women was well documented, and once, as a fifteen-year-old, she had teased him about it. Leon had told her not to believe everything she read in the papers. He had for once lost his sense of humour and had appeared quite upset.
Bea suddenly realised that this had been the last time Leon had visited her home until the death of her own father. Leon had appeared at his graveside on a bleak January day and held her hand. He had been a tower of strength to a very sad and frightened seventeen-year-old. Having lost his own father earlier, he’d seemed to understand exactly how she felt.
Back at the house Leon had taken charge, explaining her inheritance, insisting she complete her final year at school, and making sure Lil and Bob would look after her—though there had never been any doubt. Leon had left after a week, due to pressure of business, but had promised to return at the Easter vacation. True to his word, he had. But it had been a different Leon...
Before Bea had seen him as a sort of jocular uncle—a friend but an adult male. Then suddenly he’d begun to treat her as a grown-up. When he had arrived she had greeted him with the usual peck on the cheek, and to her amazement he had grasped her around the waist.
‘Surely at nearly eighteen you can do better than that, Phoebe? I can see I’m going to have to educate you,’ he’d said, and covered her lips with his own.
From then on when he’d looked at her it had been with a blatant male appreciation for a desirable female. When he’d touched her his hands had lingered just a fraction too long, and when he’d kissed her her legs had turned to jelly.
Bea shivered and pulled the duvet tightly around her. She had been such a naive young fool, and had lapped it all up.
But Leon had played his part to perfection. He was a man whose devastating charm and sophistication could make the hardest-headed businesswoman feel gauche, and he had turned the full force of his dynamic personality upon the young Bea. She’d been in awe of him.
The public success of the company since Leon had taken over was well documented. From a small import-export firm, Stephen-Gregoris had now developed into a force to be reckoned with in the world market. Leon had made them both millionaires, as he had casually pointed out on the last day of his visit...
It was a lovely spring day. A car was arriving at noon to take Leon to the airport; he would fly back to London and then on to Athens. Seated opposite him at the table in the breakfast room, Bea was feeling sad at the thought of Leon’s departure; the past five days had been wonderful.
Last night he had taken her out to dinner at Twenty-One, an exclusive restaurant in Newcastle. On arriving home he had led her into the living room and pulled her down onto the couch beside him. She had snuggled up against his side with a sigh of pure contentment.
‘Happy, sweetheart?’ Leon had asked, and, not waiting for a reply, had turned her in his arms and kissed her. A long time later he’d raised his head and shifted slightly to look into her flushed, trusting face.
‘There’s something I want to ask you, Phoebe. I know...’ And that had been when Lil had walked in.
‘I heard you arrive so I’ve brought you coffee.’
Bea had not been pleased at the interruption. She’d had a sneaky suspicion that Lil was acting as a chaperone, and she’d been sure of it when the older woman had sat down and poured the coffee into three cups before asking about their evening out. An hour later Bea had gone to bed, still wondering...
Now, seated with Leon at the breakfast table, Bea sighed and drained her cup of coffee, her blue eyes resting wistfully on the top of his dark head. He was apparently oblivious to her presence, reading the morning paper. Whatever he had been going to ask her last night, he had obviously forgotten it this morning, she thought morosely. In a few hours he would be gone and it was back to studying for her, for her A level exams. A place at the University of Newcastle upon Tyne was waiting for her, providing she passed them.
‘Don’t look so sad. It might never happen.’ Leon’s deep voice cut into her morbid thoughts.
Glancing across at him, she almost said, It already has; you’re leaving. But, young as she was, she had the sense to keep her true feelings to herself, and instead said, ‘But it will... Exams start in six weeks’ time; it’s nose to the grindstone time for me. Whereas you will be flitting around the world, chatting up every beautiful woman you meet.’ She tried for a teasing smile but it did not quite come off.
Her innate common sense told her Leon had simply been flirting with her the past few days. There was no way a man like him could really be interested in her on a personal level. He was kind to her because of their fathers’ relationship, and because technically they were now business partners—though the reality was that Leon was her trustee, along with Mr Nicholson, her late father’s lawyer, until she was twenty-one.
‘Jealous, Phoebe?’ he teased back, and, putting the newspaper down on the table, he stood up. ‘There is no need.’
He was tall, well over six feet, and incredibly handsome; he had to be nearly thirty-two now. Far too old for her. But he looked so vitally male, so elegant in his immaculate, conservative three-piece suit, and yet subtly powerful and superbly healthy—which, given his lifestyle, was something of a miracle. If the papers were to be believed, he played as hard as he worked. Fascinated, Bea watched as he strolled around the table and reached out a hand to her.
‘Come on, sweet Phoebe, a walk before I leave. And hopefully we will escape your guardian angel Lil for a while.’
Bea put her hand in his and was pulled to her feet.