Chapter Five #2
He watched her mouth open then snap shut.
So it was true. Despite the certainty that had grown in the last few minutes, this woman’s silent confirmation rocked him.
He was a father.
He had a little girl. A daughter.
His chest hurt, swelling with pleasure-pain, until he realised he’d forgotten to breathe. No wonder his head swam.
All this time…!
‘Perhaps you’d better sit down, Mr Diamandis.’
The woman gestured to the room he’d just left but Panos shook his head. ‘I’ll wait here.’
It was only a few strides from the lounge room to the front door but he wasn’t leaving Dido any opportunity to slip out with this child. On the thought, he frowned and started down the hall.
‘The back garden’s enclosed. There’s no way out from there.’
Slowly he turned, meeting her assessing gaze. ‘Why should I believe you, Mrs Jones?’
Her eyes narrowed then, surprisingly, she inclined her head.
‘Ms Hadley. Flavia Hadley. My sister Minerva was Mrs Jones, Dido’s mother.
’ She paused, regarding him with the sort of unnerving stare his most fearsome nanny had perfected.
‘Given your background I’ll accept that you’re not used to taking people on trust. As for believing me, I don’t lie. Nor does my niece.’
Panos didn’t bother to smother his derisive snort. First at her temerity in thinking she knew anything about him. And second, for believing her protestation could carry any weight.
‘That’s patently untrue. Your precious niece has lied egregiously for years. A lie by omission is just as deceitful as any other untruth.’
The woman flinched, but she held his gaze, chin up. As if she were proud of her lie, despite knowing it was wrong.
‘Hiding a child from her father is inexcusable. You can’t think for a moment there won’t be consequences.’
That had her retreating a step, but Panos didn’t stay to gloat. He wasn’t interested in petty one-upmanship. All that mattered was his child.
His child. His little girl.
Theeny. What sort of name was that?
He shook his head as he strode down the passage, past a couple of closed doors, until he reached a back door with a glass pane in the top half. Through it he saw a small square of garden, thin grass half in shadow, bordered by low shrubs. And, in a patch of sunshine, a bright blue plastic sandpit.
He stopped, hand on the doorknob, heart slamming against his ribs as if he’d run a marathon.
He’d seen his daughter, met her eyes, heard her voice. Yet seeing this evidence of her life without him, imagining her playing in the sunshine with that jumble of discarded beakers, buckets and spades, winded him.
For over two years she’d been alive in this world and he’d had no idea! None at all. The enormity of it boggled his mind.
How much he’d missed out on.
If not for meeting Dido in Tahiti—and that had been the sheerest fluke—he’d never have known about his daughter.
It took everything Panos had to stop his knees buckling. How close he’d come to not finding out about his little girl!
Rage was there too, so strong it threatened to erupt, but far worse was the hurt, the sheer pain mingled with fear at the idea he might never have learned about her.
Unlocking the door, he flung it open and marched out. But Flavia Hadley was right. The space was enclosed, the walls too high to climb.
Spinning on his heel, he re-entered the flat. At the end of the hall he saw the buggy by the closed front door and relief slammed into him. Dido hadn’t sneaked out while his back was turned.
Nevertheless, his lungs remained cramped until he flung open the door to a bedroom and found her on her knees, pulling a fresh top over their daughter’s head.
Once again emotion punched him in the gut and he stood, fingers soldered to the doorknob, taking in the sturdy little body and wild, black curls of his daughter.
His blood. His legacy. His family.
How long had he hungered for a family?
Through all the lonely years, separated in the early days from any real intimacy by the size of his inherited fortune and the machinations of those who managed it.
Then later held apart by the mistrust that had become ingrained after a lifetime of being regarded either as “other” like some zoo exhibit, or as a target for fortune-hunters.
Yet here she was, this miracle. It was humbling and wonderful, almost incomprehensible to realise this was his own child.
‘What’s her name?’ The words were a soft growl, the best he could do through a constricted throat.
Two sets of eyes turned to him. He ignored the narrowed green ones and fixed his gaze on his daughter’s wide brown eyes. Even ready for it, the impact of meeting her gaze sent a shock wave sizzling through him.
His heart expanded, warmth filling him.
Carefully he moved forwards and hunkered down before the child, close but not too close.
‘Athena.’
That explained Theeny, at least. He turned to meet Dido’s glare. ‘I like it.’
Greek goddess of wisdom. Panos felt a strange twist in his belly, appreciation that she’d acknowledged her daughter’s Greek heritage.
‘Athena Jones.’ Dido’s mouth tightened and her eyes flashed, signalling she didn’t care what he liked. ‘My family has a tradition of naming girls after strong women.’
As if repudiating any relevance to him.
Panos mentally ticked off the names. Minerva the Roman equivalent of Athena, goddess of wisdom. Flavia, linked to a line of powerful Roman emperors. And Dido, Queen of Carthage. Naturally he liked Athena best. But when it came to Jones…
That would be rectified.
He smiled at the little girl. ‘Hello, Athena.’ He held out his hand.
‘She’s too young to go to a stranger.’
Was she? The child’s round eyes seemed to reinforce it. But Panos was patient, not letting his smile slip or his hand drop. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m your baba. Your daddy.’
Dido made a choking sound which he ignored, watching his daughter’s head tilt with interest. ‘Dadda?’
His smile became a grin so broad his muscles stretched tight. ‘That’s right, Theeny. I’m your daddy.’
From the mists of his memory came a snatch of an old nursery song.
Had he heard it in his cot, or just pretended he had in the long, lonely childhood years, comforting himself with the illusion one of his dead parents had once taken time to sing to him?
It was a commonplace tune, but every time he heard it, his throat thickened.
He whispered it to his daughter now, starting slow and gruff, gradually finding the rhythm and his voice.
When he finished she still surveyed him silently then, eluding her mother’s grasp, the child walked towards him. ‘Dadda!’
Small fingers closed around his hand, gripping tight as she peered at him, bottom lip protruding as if in concentration.
Panos had never known anything that compared with the feel of his daughter’s grip on his hand. He was astonished at her strength, and moved by her clear interest.
A darting sideways glance confirmed that Dido was horrified.
Her face was pale and her mouth twisted as if in pain.
But somewhere, somehow his little girl had learned the concept of a daddy or at least knew the word.
Clearly she was intrigued. Or perhaps it was just that she was surrounded by women and any man was fascinating.
Assuming there was no man living here. The idea dimmed his elation.
One thing at a time.
Her small hands patted his thighs as if testing he was real. Panos shifted to sit on the floor, the child between his outstretched legs.
‘Theeny…’
But Athena’s attention was on him. Was it possible she recognised her own eyes in his?
Panos brushed aside the notion as wishful thinking. Yet he couldn’t help being elated at her willingness to approach him. It seemed his daughter had a mind of her own. He applauded that.
Two little hands planted on his thigh. ‘Up, peeze.’ It took him a second to understand her command and when he didn’t immediately respond she frowned, her tone turning imperious. ‘Up!’
Gingerly he wrapped his hands around her middle, simultaneously amazed by her solid body and how little she weighed. He held her so she stood balanced on his thigh. Instantly she lunged towards him, curious and fearless.
Something that felt like pride stirred.
‘Dadda!’
Gravely, Panos inclined his head. ‘That’s right, kouklitsa mou.’ His little girl. ‘I’m your daddy.’
He had no idea how well she understood the word, if at all, but assured himself that would come with time.
For now it was enough that she was happy and curious.
One small hand batted his shoulder and another landed on his chin.
She frowned, making him realise he probably needed a shave. Was his skin too abrasive for her?
She gave a gurgle of laughter that turned his heart inside out and batted his chin with both hands as if she’d discovered some hilarious treat.
How long they stayed like that, Panos didn’t know. It could have been a minute or an hour. Then suddenly Athena was wriggling out of his hold. ‘Go sanpee. Pay sanpee.’
He frowned and for the first time sought clarification from Dido. ‘She wants the toilet?’
‘No.’ Dido rose, her movements stiff as if she’d sat too long or aged suddenly. ‘She wants to play in the sandpit. Come on, Theeny.’
Athena turned her head as Dido held out her arms, but instead of moving towards her, the child stuck out her bottom lip. ‘Wan dadda.’
That Panos understood. He needed no second urging. He scooped his daughter up as he rose, revelling in another of her throaty little laughs.
Her delight might be just the novelty of having a stranger pay her attention, but he’d take that. It was a start.
He looked at Dido, reading the stress around her eyes and mouth and in the way she held her hands clasped tight. She was worried what he’d do now he’d learned he had a daughter.
Serve her right.
‘Shall we?’ He led the way, carrying his daughter out of the room and towards the back door, knowing Dido would follow.
Let her stew. His priority right now was Athena, not dealing with her deceitful mother.