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coping.

      And then had come the letter from Alex Marcos’ solicitors, informing her that he was claiming custody of his brother’s child, and offering her payment in compensation.

      She had been stunned by the letter’s cruelty and insensitivity, and had dashed off an impetuous refusal of his terms by return of post.

      The next communication had been couched in slightly more conciliatory terms, but with no alteration in the basic demand. Nicky was to leave England and take up residence in Greece in his uncle’s charge, and she, Harriet, was to relinquish all claims to him. Her reply to this showed no lessening of her own determination. There had been a lengthy pause, and she had begun to hope, idiotically, that Alex Marcos had thought better of engaging in what the media called a ‘tug of love’ over a child who was a total stranger to him.

      He didn’t need Nicky, she had persuaded herself. He had so much else—wealth, property, business interests which took him all over the world, and if the gossip columns were to be believed, more female company than was decent.

      ‘We were born the wrong way round,’ Kostas had said once ruefully. ‘Alex is a wild man, a rover, a true pagan. That is the role of the young brother, ne? Whereas I—I am the tame, domesticated man. Very dull.’

      He had laughed and looked at Becca, and something in their eyes and intimate smiles had brought a lump to Harriet’s throat. There was nothing dull about their lives together, she’d thought.

      Led by her thoughts, aloud she said, ‘Judging by what one reads in the papers, I’d have said Alex Marcos is the last man in the world to want to saddle himself with a small child. Won’t it cramp his usual style?’

      Mr Philippides almost gaped at her, and she saw with satisfaction that a faint film of perspiration had broken out on his swarthy forehead.

      He said repressively, ‘That is hardly a subject for discussion. You forget, thespinis, that the child Nicos is his heir.’

      Harriet smiled. ‘And he forgets that Nicky is my heir too.’

      ‘Po, po, po,’ Mr Philippides gestured impatiently. ‘Let us speak seriously, Thespinis Masters, and practically too. What can you possibly hope to give the child in comparison to the Marcos family?’

      ‘I can give him love,’ Harriet said bravely. ‘Nicky isn’t a commodity, as Mr Marcos seems to think, judging by the insulting offer he made to me.’

      Mr Philippides avoided her gaze ‘That was perhaps—unfortunate.’

      ‘That is putting it extremely mildly,’ said Harriet.

      Mr Philippides leaned forward. ‘You must not mistake yourself, my dear young lady, that the child will not be cared for. As well as his uncle, his grandmother is also anxious to receive him.’

      ‘What a pity they weren’t equally anxious to receive my sister.’ Harriet’s tone held a note of steel.

      She could remember Kostas’ distress at the implacable silence which greeted his marriage. ‘Mama and Alex!’ he had raged. ‘All my life I have taken their orders—obeyed them dutifully. But all that is forgotten now. In their eyes I have transgressed—and neither of them will forgive or forget.’

      Harriet’s heart muscles contracted at the thought of little Nicky growing up in such an atmosphere.

      Mr Philippides sighed. ‘It could hardly be expected they would welcome such a match,’ he said, clearly making an effort to be placatory. ‘You do not fully understand, dear young lady, that in our country such matters are often still arranged. A bride had already been chosen for the late Mr Marcos. His marriage to your sister caused great offence—deep embarrassment.’

      ‘Then why didn’t Alex marry her himself, if it was so important?’ Harriet snapped. ‘As for Nicky being his heir, that’s a ridiculous argument. He’s bound to marry and have children himself one day—if he can find any woman fool enough to tie herself up to him—and where will Nicky be then?’ She thumped the desk with her clenched fist. ‘He has—everything, Mr Philippides— and I only have Nicky. I won’t give him up. If Mr Marcos wants him, he’ll have to fight for him!’

      ‘I hope that is not your final word, Thespinis Masters.’ As Harriet rose to her feet, Mr Philippides stood up too.

      ‘No,’ said Harriet. ‘My final word is—tyrant. A Greek word, I think. In England, we don’t believe in them.’

      She marched to the door without a backward glance.

      Her bravado had faded slightly when she reached the street. In fact she was shaking so much, she had to pause for a few moments in the doorway until she had regained her self-control

      The interview had not in fact taken as long as she had anticipated, and there was still nearly three-quarters of an hour left of her lunch break, although she had little appetite.

      It was a fine sunny day, and several of the pubs she passed on her way back to her own office had awnings out, and tables on the pavement. Reasoning that she couldn’t do a full afternoon’s work on an empty stomach, no matter how churned-up that stomach might be, Harriet sat down at one of the outside tables, ordering a tomato juice and a cheese sandwich.

      She might have promised Alex Marcos a fight, she thought sombrely, but Mr Philippides had been right when he said she could not win. He had everything going for him—money, power, resources. How could she hope to convince anyone, let alone a court of law, that she would be a more suitable guardian for a small child?

      She sighed, and tossed the remains of a crust to a hopefully strutting pigeon.

      Besides, couldn’t it be argued that by attempting to keep Nicky, she was actually being selfish? She did want Nicky to have all the advantages that the Marcos family could provide, but she could not. Had she any real justification for depriving him of them?

      She thought wistfully how lonely life would be without Nicky. At just over two and a half, he was beginning to talk quite fluently, and enjoy the nursery rhymes and stories she read to him. The thought of losing that close and loving relationship for ever—of abandoning him to people who were strangers, who even spoke an alien language—chilled her to the bone.

      If the relationship between Kostas and his brother had been a normal one, the situation could have been so different, she thought sadly. But the Marcos family had never even acknowledged Becca, and the feelings of her younger sister would have no significance at all in their reckonings. The fact that they had cynically offered her a sum of money to induce her to part with Nicky without a fuss proved how little they estimated her.

      Poor Kostas, she thought. He had always been reticent on the exact nature of the quarrel which had driven him to England, away from his family, but if it was to escape an unwanted marriage with a comparative stranger, then it was quite understandable.

      When he and Becca had met, it had been several months before he had even told her that he was related to the Marcos family. In fact their romance had nearly ended when Becca discovered the truth, because she felt almost overwhelmed by it. She was a gentle girl, and the jet-setting lifestyle of the man who was to be her brother-in-law repelled and frightened her. It took all the persuasion and all the assurances that Kostas was capable of to convince her that his was a very different personality.

      Harriet suspected that the unconcealed hostility of the Marcos family to the marriage had almost come as a relief to Becca. Kostas was working as an accountant and earning sufficient to provide for their needs, and that was all she wanted.

      Harriet sighed. If only Alex Marcos or his mother had seen them together, she thought passionately, had seen how much they loved each other, then they must have relented. But at the same time, a small cold voice deep inside her told her that she was being sentimental. A man as ruthlessly successful as Alex Marcos would regard any such change of heart as a sign of weakness.

      She got up, brushing a few stray crumbs from her navy pleated skirt, and began to walk along the street, not hurrying, looking into the windows

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