Pagan Adversary. Sara Craven

      TABLE OF CONTENTS

       COVER

       TITLE PAGE

       ABOUT THE AUTHOR

      CHAPTER ONE

      CHAPTER TWO

      CHAPTER THREE

      CHAPTER FOUR

      CHAPTER FIVE

       CHAPTER SIX

       CHAPTER SEVEN

       CHAPTER EIGHT

       CHAPTER NINE

       CHAPTER TEN

       CHAPTER ELEVEN

       ENDPAGE

       COPYRIGHT

       CHAPTER ONE

      ‘WHAT you’re saying is that there’s nothing I can do—that I can’t win.’ By a superhuman effort Harriet Masters kept her voice steady.

      The man sitting opposite her at the wide, polished desk gave a slight shrug. ‘You are mistaken if you regard this as a battle, Thespinis Masters. But if you insist on doing so, then I must tell you it is one you will find impossible to win. My client is prepared to carry his claim for custody of his nephew to any court either in this country or internationally. It would be a costly process, but one that he could afford. Whereas you—–’ he glanced down at some papers in front of him—‘You, I see, are a secretary.’

      ‘Nothing so important,’ Harriet said defiantly. ‘I’m a typist. I earn a reasonable salary, but I can’t fight the Marcos millions—I admit that. But my claim to Nicky is on moral grounds.’ She took a deep breath. ‘My sister was my only living relative. When she and Kostas married—when they had Nicky, they let me become part of their family. I—I even had a room in their house, and I was actually looking after Nicky when—when….’ She paused, struggling for composure.

      ‘I am aware of that, thespinis,’ Mr Philippides looked at her with a trace of compassion. ‘It was a great tragedy, a grievous shock for you. But surely you wish for the best for the boy.’

      Harriet returned his glance coolly. ‘Naturally. But I think we differ on how we would interpret what’s best for him.’

      Mr Philippides pursed his lips. ‘Come, thespinis.’ There was a trace of impatience in his voice. ‘In his uncle’s care, he will have every possible advantage.’

      ‘I’d find that easier to believe if that same uncle had taken the slightest interest in him when he was born, and during the time before Kostas and Becca were—killed,’ Harriet retorted, and was glad to see Mr Philippides look uncomfortable. In a detached way, she could almost feel sorry for him. He had a wretched job to do, and, one that was probably little to his taste. But on the other hand, she thought cynically, Alex Marcos was undoubtedly paying him well to persuade her to hand little Nicky over without a struggle.

      When she had arrived at the imposing suite of offices which housed the London branch of the Marcos corporation, she had been frankly terrified in case she had to face Alex Marcos himself. She had never met him, but Kostas naturally had spoken of him often, and although Harriet acknowledged that his view was coloured by the fact that there was little love lost between the brothers, there was no doubt that he sounded a formidable figure.

      She had found Mr Philippides with his grizzled hair and rotund person a distinct relief, although she did not underestimate him. Anyone Alex Marcos employed would have high professional skills, and would be expected to win any encounters they undertook on his behalf.

      But not this one, Harriet thought, her nails digging painfully into the palms of her hands. Not this one. I can’t let Nicky go. He’s all I have.

      She stole a swift glance at herself in the huge mirror which dominated one wall of the office, and was glad to see that apart from a telltale spot of colour in each cheek, she looked relatively calm. She was thankful that Mr Philippides could not know how near collapse she had been through sheer tension as the lift had borne her swiftly upwards to the penthouse.

      Alex Marcos’ arrogant claim to Nicky had come as a complete shock to her. He and Kostas had been on cool terms for several years, and relations between them had been totally severed when Kostas married Becca against his family’s wishes. From that moment on there had been no contact, either by letter or telephone, and Kostas had declared savagely that he would never go back to Greece again. Harriet could only be glad he had never known how tragically his prophecy would be fulfilled. He and Becca had been killed instantly on their way home from a friend’s house when a car driven by a drunk had careered into their own vehicle at some crossroads.

      From that moment, life had become a nightmare for Harriet, but she had coped with the inquest and the funeral because there was no one else to do it. And no one else to look after Nicky. The firm she worked for had allowed her several weeks leave with pay while she made what arrangements she could. The house had to be sold. It was on a mortgage, and she could not afford the payments. It was as much as she could do to pay the rent on the large bedsitter she had found. It was an airy room, but she had to share the kitchen and bathroom, and when Nicky grew older she would have to find something larger.

      But she had been prepared for that. Prepared for all the eventualities and sacrifices that would be necessary, because she loved Nicky.

      She had got him a place with a registered childminder, a girl only a few years older than herself with twins of Nicky’s age, and a pleasantly untidy house and garden. Manda Lane was a serene, unruffled personality and Harriet had taken to her immediately, and, what was more important, so had Nicky, who although too young to fully comprehend the rapid change in his