All That Glitters Page 2

  The phone started ringing just as she opened the door, but Jessica paused for a moment to check on Samantha before she answered it. The dog was still in her basket, looking particularly peaceful, and she wagged her tail in greeting but did not get up. "No pups yet?" asked Jessica as she reached for the phone. "At this rate, old girl, they'll be grown before they get here." Then she lifted the phone on the kitchen extension.' 'Mrs. Stanton speaking."

  "Mrs. Stanton, this is Nikolas Constantinos," said a deep voice, so deep that the bass notes almost growled at her, and to her surprise the accent was more American than Greek. She clutched the receiver as a spurt of warmth went through her. How silly, she chided herself, to melt at the sound of a faint American accent just because she was American herself! She loved England, she was content with her life here, but nevertheless, that brisk sound made her smile.

  "Yes, Mr. Constantinos?" she made herself say, then wondered if she sounded rude. But she would be lying if she said something trite like "How nice it is to hear from you" when it wasn't nice at all; in fact, it would probably be very nasty indeed.

  "I would like to arrange a meeting with you tomorrow, Mrs. Stanton," he said. "What time would be convenient for you?"

  Surprised, she reflected that Constantinos himself did not seem to be as arrogant as his secretary; at least he had asked what time would be convenient, rather than telling her what time to present herself. Aloud she said, "On Saturday, Mr. Constantinos?"

  "I realize it is the weekend, Mrs. Stanton," the deep voice replied, a hint of irritation evident in his tone. "However, I have work to do regardless of the day of the week."

  Now that sounded more like what she had expected. Smiling slightly, she said, "Then any time is convenient for me, Mr. Constantinos; I haven't any commitments for tomorrow."

  "Very well, let's say tomorrow afternoon, two o'clock." He paused, then said, "And, Mrs. Stanton, I don't like playing games. Why did you make an appointment with me this afternoon if you did not intend to keep it?"

  Stung, she retorted coldly, "I didn't make the appointment. Your secretary phoned me and told me what time to be there, then hung up before I could agree or disagree. It rushed me, but I made the effort and waited for as long as I could, but I had another appointment to keep. I apologize if my effort was not good enough!" Her tone of voice stated plainly that she didn't care what his opinion was, and she didn't stop to think if that was wise or not She was incensed that that cockroach of a secretary had dared to imply that she was at fault.

  "I see," he said after a moment. "Now it is my turn to apologize to you, Mrs. Stanton, and my apology is sincere. That will not happen again. Until tomorrow, then." The phone clicked as he hung up.

  Jessica slammed the phone down violently and stood for a minute tapping her foot in controlled temper, then her face cleared and she laughed aloud. He had certainly put her in her place! She began almost to look forward to this meeting with the notorious Nikolas Constantinos.

  When Jessica dressed for the meeting the next day, she began early and allowed herself plenty of time to change her mind about what she would wear. She tried on several things and finally chose a severely tailored dull-gold suit that made her look mature and serious, and this she teamed with a cream-colored silk shirt. The muted gold picked up the gold in her tawny hair and lightly tanned skin, and she didn't realize the picture she made or she would have changed immediately. As it was, she looked like a golden statue come to life, with gleaming green jewels for eyes.

  She was geared up for this meeting; when she walked into the outer office at two o'clock, her heart was pounding in anticipation, her eyes were sparkling, and her cheeks were flushed. At her entrance the secretary jumped to his feet with an alacrity that told her some stinging comments had been made concerning his conduct. Though his eyes were distinctly hostile, he escorted her into the inner office immediately.

  "Mrs. Stanton, sir," he said, and left the office, closing the doors behind him.

  Jessica moved across the office with her proud, graceful stride, and the man behind the desk rose slowly to his feet as she approached. He was tall, much taller than the average Greek, and his shoulders strained against the expensive cloth of his dark gray suit. He stood very still, watching her as she walked toward him, and his eyes narrowed to slits. She reached the desk and held out her hand; slowly her fingers were taken, but instead of the handshake she had invited, her hand was lifted and the black head bent over it. Warm lips were pressed briefly to her fingers, then her hand was released and the black head lifted.

  Almost bemused, Jessica stared into eyes as black as night beneath brows that slashed across his face in a straight line. An arrogant blade of nose, brutally hard cheekbones, a firm lip line, a squared and stubborn chin, completed the face that was ancient in its structure. Centuries of Greek heritage were evident in that face, the face of a Spartan warrior. Charles had been right; this man was utterly ruthless, but Jessica did not feel threatened. She felt exhilarated, as if she was in the room with a tiger that she could control if she was very careful. Her heartbeat increased and her eyes grew brighter, and to disguise her involuntary response, she smiled and mur-mured, "Are you trying to charm me into voting my shares the way you want before you resort to annihilation?"

  Amazingly, a smile appeared in response. "With a woman, I always try charm first," he said in the deep tones that seemed even deeper than they had last night over the phone.

  "Really?" she asked in mock wonder. "Does it usually work?"

  "Usually," he admitted, still smiling. "Why is it that I have the feeling, Mrs. Stanton, that you'll be an exception?"

  "Perhaps because you're an unusually astute man, Mr. Constantinos," she countered.

  He laughed aloud at that and indicated a chair set before his desk. "Please sit down, Mrs. Stanton. If we are to argue, let us at least be comfortable while we do it."

  Jessica sat down and said impulsively, "Your accent is American, isn't it? It makes me feel so much at home!"

  "I learned to speak English on a Texas oil field," he said. "I'm afraid that even Oxford couldn't erase the hint of Texas from my speech, though I believe it was thought by my instructors that my accent is Greek! Are you from Texas, Mrs. Stanton?"

  "No, but a Texas drawl is recognizable to any American! How long were you in Texas?"

  "For three years. How long have you been in England, Mrs. Stanton?"

  "Since shortly before I married, a little over five years."

  "Then you were little more than a child when you married," he said, an odd frown crossing his brow. "I'd assumed that you would be older, at least thirty, but I can see that's impossible."

  Lifting her dainty chin, Jessica said, "No, I was a precocious eighteen when I married." She began to tense, sensing an attack of the type that she had endured so many times in the past five years.

  "As I said, little more than a child. Though I suppose there are countless wives and mothers aged eighteen, it seems so much younger when the husband you chose was old enough to be your grandfather."

  Jessica drew back and said coldly, "I see no reason to discuss my marriage. I believe our business concerns stocks."

  He smiled again, but this time the smile was that of a predator, with nothing humorous in it. "You're certainly correct about that," he allowed. "However, that issue should be solved rather easily. When you sold your body and your youth to an old man of seventy-six, you established the fact that monetary gain ranks very high on your list of priorities. The only thing left to discuss is: how much?"

  * * *

  Chapter Two

  Years of experience had taught Jessica how to hide her pain behind a proud, aloof mask, and she used that mask now, revealing nothing of her thoughts and feelings as she faced him. "I'm sorry, Mr. Constantinos, but you seem to have misjudged the situation," she said distantly. "I didn't come here to accept a bribe."

  "Nor am I offering you a bribe, Mrs. Stanton," he said, his eyes gleaming. "I'm offering to buy you
r stock."

  "The shares aren't for sale."

  "Of course they are," he refuted her silkily. "I'm willing to pay more than market value in order to get those stocks out of your hands. Because you are a woman, I've given you certain allowances, but there is a limit to my good nature, Mrs. Stanton, and I'd advise you not to try to push the price any higher. You could find yourself completely out in the cold."

  Jessica stood and put her hands behind her back so he couldn't see how her nails were digging into her palms. "I'm not interested at any price, Mr. Constantinos; I don't even want to hear your offer. The shares aren't for sale, now or at any other time, and especially not to you. Good day, Mr. Constantinos."

  But this man was no tame secretary and he did not intend to let her leave until he had finished with his business. He moved with a lithe stride to stop her and she found her path blocked by a very solid set of shoulders. "Ah, no, Mrs. Stanton," he murmured softly. "I can't let you leave now, with nothing settled between us. I've left my island and flown all the way to England for the express purpose of meeting you and putting an end to your asinine notions, which are wreaking havoc with this company. Did you think that I'd be put off by your high-and-mighty airs?"

  "I don't know about my high-and-mighty airs, but your king-of-the-mountain complex is getting on my nerves," Jessica attacked, her voice sarcastic. "I own those shares, and I vote them as I think I should. The Dryden takeover was underhanded and stank to the heavens, and I voted against it. I would do it again if the issue arose. But a lot of other people voted against it as well, yet I notice that it's my stock you want to buy. Or am I only the first of the group to be brought into line?"

  "Sit down, Mrs. Stanton," he said grimly, "and I will attempt to explain to you the basics of finance and expansion."

  "I don't wish to sit down—"

  "I said sit!" he rasped, and abruptly his voice was harsh with menace. Automatically Jessica sat down, then despised herself for not facing him and refusing to be intimidated.

  "I am not one of your flunkies," she flared, but did not get up. She had the nasty feeling that he would push her down if she tried to leave.

  "I am aware of that, Mrs. Stanton; believe me, if you were one of my employees, you would have learned long ago how to behave yourself," he retorted with heavy irony.

  "I consider myself quite well-behaved!"

  He smiled grimly. "Well-behaved? Or merely cunning and manipulative? I don't imagine it was very difficult to seduce an old man and get him to marry you, and you were smart enough to select a man who would die shortly. That set you up very nicely, didn't it?"

  Jessica almost cried aloud with the shock of his words; only her years of training in self-control kept her still and silent, but she looked away from him. She could not let him see her eyes or he would realize how deeply vulnerable she was.

  He smiled at her silence. "Did you think that I didn't know your history, Mrs. Stanton? I assure you, I know quite a lot about you. Your marriage to Robert Stanton was quite a scandal to everyone who knew and admired the man. But until I saw you, I never quite understood just how you managed to trap him into marriage. It's all very clear now; any man, even an old one, would jump at the chance to have your lovely body in his bed, at his convenience."

  Jessica quivered at the insult and he noticed the movement that rippled over her skin. "Is the memory less than pleasing?" he inquired softly. "Did you find the payment more than you'd expected?"

  She struggled for the composure to lift her head, and after a moment she found it. "I'm sure my private life is no concern of yours," she heard herself say coolly, and felt a brief flare of pride that she had managed that so well.

  His black eyes narrowed as he looked down at her and he opened his mouth to say more, but the phone rang and he swore under his breath in Greek, then stepped away from her to lift the phone to his ear. He said something in harsh, rapid Greek, then paused. His eyes slid to Jessica.

  "I have an urgent call from France, Mrs. Stanton. I'll only be a moment."

  He punched a button on the phone and spoke a greeting, his language changing effortlessly to fluent French. Jessica watched him for a moment, still dazed with her inner pain, then she realized that he was occupied and she seized her chance. Without a word, she got to her feet and walked out.

  She managed to control herself until she was home again, but once she was safely enclosed by her own walls, she sat down on the sofa and began to sob softly. Was it never to end, the nasty comments and unanimous condemnations of her marriage to Robert? Why was it automatically assumed that she was little more than a prostitute? For five years she had borne the pain and never let it be known how it knifed into her insides, but now she felt as though she had no defenses left. Dear God, if only Robert hadn't died!

  Even after two years she could not get used to not sharing amusing thoughts with him, to not having his dry, sophisticated wisdom bolstering her. He had never doubted her love, no matter what had been said about their December-May marriage, and she had always felt the warmth of his support. Yes, he had given her financial security, and he had taught her how to care for the money he willed to her. But he had given her so much more than that! The material things he had bestowed on her were small in comparison to his other gifts: love, security, self-respect, self-confidence. He had encouraged her development as a woman of high intelligence; he had taught her of his world of stocks and bonds, to trust her own instinct when she was in doubt. Dear, wise Robert! Yet, for his marriage to her he had been laughed at and mocked, and she had been scorned. When a gentleman of seventy-six marries a gorgeous young girl of eighteen, gossips can credit it to only two things: greed on her part, and an effort to revive faded appetites on his.

  It hadn't been that way at all. Robert was the only man she had ever loved, and she had loved him deeply, but their relationship had been more that of father to daughter, or grandfather to granddaughter, than of husband to wife. Before their marriage Robert had even speculated on the advantages of adopting her, but in the end he'd decided that there would be fewer legal difficulties if he married her. He wanted her to have the security she'd always lacked, having grown up in an orphanage and been forced into hiding herself behind a prickly wall of sullen passivity. Robert was determined that never again would she have to fight for food or privacy or clothing; she would have the best, and the best way to secure that way of life for her was to take her as his wife.

  The scandal their marriage had caused had rocked London society; vicious items concerning her had appeared in the gossip columns, and Jessica had been shocked and horrified to read several accounts of men who had been "past lovers of the enterprising Mrs. S." Her reaction had been much the same as Robert's: to hold her head even higher and ignore the mudslingers. She and Robert knew the truth of the marriage, and Robert was the only person on earth whom she loved, the only person who had ever cared for her. Their gentle love endured, and she had remained a virgin throughout their marriage, not that Robert had ever given any indication that he wished the situation to be different. She was his only family, the daughter of his heart if not his flesh, and he schooled her and guided her and went about settling his financial affairs so they could never be wrested out of her control. And he trusted her implicitly.

  They had been, simply, two people who were alone in the world and had found each other. She was an orphan who had grown up with a shortage of any type of love; he was an old man whose first wife had died years before and who now found himself without family in his last years. He took in the wary young girl and gave her every comfort, every security, even marrying her in an effort to make certain she never wanted for anything again. Jessica, in turn, felt a flood of love for the gentle, elderly man who gave her so much and asked for so little in return. And he had loved her for bringing her youth and beauty and bright laughter into the fading years of his life, and had guided her maturity and her quick mind with all the loving indulgence of a father.

  While Robert had been alive
, their scarcity of friends had not really bothered her, though she had suffered under the cuts she had received. There were a few real friends, like Charles, and they had been sufficient But now Robert was gone and she lived alone, and the poisonous barbs she still received festered in her mind, making her ache and lie awake at night. Most women refused to speak to her and men acted as if she was fair game, and the fact that she kept quietly to herself was evidently not enough to change anyone's opinion of her. Thinking about it now, she acknowledged that, outside of Charles and Sallie, she had no friends. Even Sallie's Joel was a bit stiff with her, and she knew that he disapproved.

  It wasn't until the shadows of early evening had darkened the room that she roused from her dejected seat on the sofa and went slowly upstairs to stand under the shower. She felt deadened, and she stayed under the needlelike spray for a long time, until the hot water began to go, then she got out, dried off, and dressed in a pair of faded old jeans and a shirt. Listlessly she brushed her hair out and left it loose on her shoulders, as it usually was when she was at home. Only when she was going out did she feel the need for the more severe hairstyle, to give her an older look, and she would not be going anywhere tonight. Like an animal, she wanted only to find a dark corner and lick her wounds.

  When she went into the kitchen, she found Samantha moving about restlessly in her basket; as Jessica watched, frowning, the dog gave a sharp little whine of pain and lay down. Jessica went over and stroked the silky black head. "So, it looks like tonight is the night, my girl! Not before time, either. And if I remember correctly, it was on a Saturday that you ran away from me and got yourself in this fix, so I suppose it's poetic justice."

  Samantha didn't care about philosophy, though she licked the gentle hand that stroked her. Then she laid her head down and began that sharp whining again.