‘That’s the train Uncle Nikki is buying me!’ came a piping voice.
The younger woman beside him turned to smile. Ann saw her profile and gasped, her hand flying to her throat. Four years might have passed, but Ann recognised instantly the nanny who had taken Ari from her arms. The little boy beside her must be … must be …
She felt faint with shock, staring, transfixed. Even as emotion convulsed her, the nanny’s gaze shifted outwards slightly and caught hers. Ann could see her expression change as she recognised her. Then the older woman saw the nanny’s expression, and turned as well.
It was Ari’s grandmother. It had to be! For a moment the older woman, elegantly beautiful, but with a frail air about her, returned Ann’s stare with mild curiosity, and then her brow puckered questioningly. She murmured something to the nanny, who nodded slowly, assessingly, then walked across to Ann.
‘You will excuse me, please,’ she said in an accented voice, curious and a little hesitant, ‘but … is it possible …? Could you possibly be …? You have a look about you of my grandson.’
Ann swallowed, unable to move, her throat still tight as a leash. Then, into her eyeline came another figure. Much taller, male, clad in a black cashmere overcoat, striding towards the train display from the cash desk. Ann’s breath caught in her throat. Simultaneously the man’s head skewed round, his eyes searching for his mother, absent from his nephew, who was still absorbed in watching the trains scurrying round the track. They lighted on Ann and he stopped dead.
In a second she made her decision. She took half a step forward.
‘Yes, I am Ann Turner. Ari’s aunt,’ she announced.
After that it became a blur. The expression on Sophia Theakis’ face turned to pleasure, and she reached out her hands to take Ann’s and draw her forward. Immediately Nikos Theakis strode up, his face like thunder. But his attempt to intercept the greeting was too late.
Sophia Theakis held up one small but imperious hand to her son. ‘Nikki, this is quite extraordinary,’ she said, speaking English. ‘Look, this is little Ari’s aunt. I can scarcely believe it!’
Her son’s face might have been carved from stone. ‘Extraordinary indeed,’ he drawled, and the menace in his voice vibrated like a warning.
But Sophia Theakis did not hear it. Instead, she was drawing Ann towards where her grandson was still riveted by the train display. She laid a gentle arm on his shoulder, spoke something low in Greek and turned him around. For the first time in four long years Ann looked into the face of the little boy she had last seen as a tiny baby.
His face blurred as her eyes hazed with tears. She dropped down to a crouch and took his little hands.
‘Hello, Ari,’ she said quietly.
The child frowned slightly. ‘Ya-ya says you are my thia. But I haven’t got a thia, only a thios—Uncle Nikki. Are you married to Uncle Nikki? Then you would be my thia,’ he reasoned, with impeccable logic.
Ann shook her head slightly. His grandmother said something, again in Greek.
‘But I haven’t got a mummy any more. She and my Daddy live in heaven,’ said the little boy.
‘Your mummy had a sister, Ari,’ said Ann, her voice husky as she spoke. ‘That sister is me.’
‘Where have you been?’ demanded Ari. ‘Why have you not been to see me?’ He sounded indignant as well as confused.
‘I live very far away, Ari,’ said Ann, trying to give the child an explanation he could cope with.
‘Ari.’ Nikos Theakis’ deep voice cut curtly across hers. ‘We are keeping Ya-ya waiting and delaying your … aunt. She is a very busy woman. I will accompany her to her taxi.’
His voice was as grim as his face, and as he spoke Ann felt his hand clamp heavily around her forearm. Removing her from the scene of her crime was evidently his first concern. But he had reckoned without treachery from within.
‘Nikos!’ said his mother, surprise and disapproval in her soft voice. She spoke to him rapidly in Greek, with the expressive use of her hands. As she spoke Ann saw his face harden, grow even grimmer. He bit something back to her, and shot a glowering glance in Ann’s direction. His mother raised astonished eyebrows, then said something again in Greek to her son.
Nikos Theakis’ face set, then he gave a brief, curt nod. ‘As you wish,’ he said tightly, in English.
Sophia Theakis smiled, and then turned that smile on Ann. Graciously, she invited Ann to lunch, taking Ann’s hands in hers.
‘I have longed to meet you for many years, my dear child,’ she said in her warm voice. She tucked Ann’s hand in her arm. ‘Come,’ she said.
Ann was in a daze, scarcely able to believe what was happening. They left the store and were conveyed by chauffeured car to the hotel where the Theakis party were evidently staying—one of London’s premier hotels, overlooking Green Park.
Ann only had eyes for Ari who, realising he had a brand-new admirer, took full advantage, chattering away to her. Yet, despite her undivided attention to the little boy, Ann could not help but feel the dark, glowering presence of his uncle, his anger at her vibrating from every pore, condemning her for her temerity in daring to be there. She ignored it. What did she care if Nikos Theakis were wishing her to oblivion? She returned the compliment tenfold!
Her only concern was Ari.
Her heart clenched again as she took in the miraculous reality of seeing her nephew here, now, in the flesh—a little boy, no longer a baby, no longer only a wrenching memory….
Lunch passed in a daze as well. What she ate she had no idea. She had no idea of anything except the fact she was sitting at a table with Ari, asking him all the questions a child his age would be ready to answer—his favourite toys and stories and activities. He regaled her copiously, prompted sometimes by his nanny, Tina, and sometimes by his grandmother.
His uncle, however, spoke only when referred to by his nephew. This, however, was not seldom, and Ann could see that Nikos Theakis was regarded as a high authority and the fount of great wisdom by his nephew. What she also had to accept—and she knew she should be glad of it—was how patient and attentive he was to Ari, and how Ari showed no timidity or reticence with him. As for his grandmother—it was obvious to Ann that Ari was the apple of her eye.
Across the years, the ghost of her voice, so heartrending in the letter she had written for Ann, echoed in her head: He will be cherished and loved throughout his life.
Oh, Carla, thought Ann, her throat catching with emotion. You can be happy—you can be happy at how safe and loved your son is!
A small beringed hand was laid lightly on her wrist. It was Ari’s grandmother. ‘You are thinking of your sister?’ she said, her eyes kind.
Ann could only nod, unable to speak. The older woman smiled sadly.
‘We do not know why they were taken from us—your sister and my dear son—but we know they gave us a gift beyond price. And I am so pleased—so pleased, my dear—that you are here with us now, after far, far too long away from Ari.’
Again, Ann could not speak—but this time not because of the emotion of grief. What could she say to this kind, sympathetic woman of how cruel the separation had been for her? How cruel, too, her surviving son’s strictures on Carla and herself.
She looked away—and straight into dark, hard eyes. Time buckled, and it was if she were once more standing in front of Nikos Theakis in her dingy flat, with him looking at her as if she were a cockroach. Almost she dropped her eyes under that killing basilisk gaze, but then she rallied, her chin lifting slightly, her eyes