Chapter Fourteen
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Grace had learned how to mop the floors mindfully —which apparently involved using as many muscles as possible and thinking about nothing more than how shiny the tiles were becoming under her rhymical ministrations.
Because it was easier to think about her daily domestic chores than allow herself to be dragged back down into a whirlpool of misery.
Outside the rain was bashing against the windows as it seemed to have been doing ever since she’d arrived back in England, and the relentless downpour seemed to echo her mood.
She’d left the island of Kosmima on a high of indignation and hurt, but it had all been downhill from there.
She shook her head, impatient with herself.
Had she honestly thought she’d be able to wave a magic wand and magically drive Odysseus from her mind?
Had she imagined that a man like him would be so easy to forget?
Fourteen days into her new life and the aching in her heart seemed to be getting worse instead of better.
But time healed, apparently. It was the one thing on which everyone was agreed.
Straightening up from her bucket, she pushed a fist into the small of her back and gave it a little rub, relieved that her long shift would soon be over and she’d be able to put her feet up.
Working as a cleaner at the old folks’ home was physically much harder than anything she’d ever done at the Contarini house but it was way more rewarding.
And, of course, she got to see Nana as often as she wanted.
‘Grace?’
She turned round to see the duty manager, who was smiling at her.
The kindly, middle-aged woman who had insisted on giving Grace a job when she’d stumbled in one rainy morning, feeling like an alien who had landed from outer space.
Who had offered her a job as a domestic cleaner and somehow managed to include a tiny room as part of the package.
She’d been so gentle when Grace had been trying hard not to cry and that flicker of kindness had seemed like the single tiny light shining at the end of a long, dark tunnel.
‘Yes, Mrs MacCormack?’ Grace squeezed out her mop and straightened up. ‘I hope everything’s to your satisfaction?’
‘It certainly is. Sure, and couldn’t you see your face in those tiles?’ But after her initial burst of enthusiasm, the Irishwoman’s smile faded. ‘You have a visitor.’
This should have been the moment when Grace blinked in surprise, asking who it was.
But she knew who it was, because there was only one person it could be.
None of her friends from Venice would have just turned up without warning and she hadn’t had the chance to make any friends in England yet.
Hadn’t wanted to, if the truth were known, because she suspected she’d be rotten company at the moment.
And though not a day had gone by when she hadn’t fantasised about exactly this scenario, now that the moment was here, Grace was filled with an overwhelming sense of trepidation—mostly because of her own reaction, which was one of excitement and, yes, joy.
But that was plain stupid. It was probably something to do with the divorce settlement, because what other reason would he have for coming here?
Maybe his lawyers had managed to find a loophole in the prenup and he was about to tell her that he wasn’t prepared to be as generous as he’d originally stated.
No.
Grace might find it possible to entertain any number of bleak thoughts about her estranged husband, but on some gut level she knew he would never cheat her. ‘What did you tell him?’ She glanced at her watch. ‘I finish in half an hour.’
‘Put your bucket away, dear, and you can knock off early. He’s waiting in the lobby and he doesn’t look like the kind of man who is used to being kept waiting.’ Mrs MacCormack hesitated. ‘Or would you like me to send him away altogether?’
Yes, thought Grace. Send him as far away as possible, so that I don’t have to look at his beautiful face and have my heart broken all over again.
But she wasn’t a coward and anyway, something told her that if Odysseus Diamides wanted to see her, then nothing would stand in his way until that mission had been accomplished.
She shivered.
Why the hell should she make it easy for him?
‘I’ll work until the end of my shift,’ she said doggedly and was rewarded with a nod of approval from the older woman. ‘Tell him he’ll have to wait.’
As it was, she took even longer than she’d planned, washing out her mop with extra care and not even bothering to change out of her polyester uniform.
Keeping her severe hairstyle in place, she glanced in the mirror, wondering if she was shooting herself in the foot by presenting him with such a drab appearance.
But what did she think was going to happen?
That if she let her hair down and dabbed on a bit of lip gloss, Odysseus would fall to her feet in a swoon and tell her he couldn’t live without her?
She gave a bitter laugh as she made her way towards the main entrance.
No. She was through with having unrealistic expectations.
Yet the crashing of her heart was deafening as she walked into the reception hall and somehow it seemed incongruous to see Odysseus Diamides standing there.
Against the cosy backdrop of squashy armchairs and fake houseplants, his masculinity had never seemed more defined.
No beautifully cut charcoal suit could possibly disguise the musculature of his powerful body and, despite the lash of rain outside, he was completely dry.
Of course he was. His driver would have leapt from the car as soon as it stopped, unfolding a giant umbrella to keep the billionaire protected from the elements.
Because that was the sort of life he lived—in his precious bubble of wealth—protected from all the hardship and feelings which normal folk encountered every day of their lives.
She searched his face for disappointment when he registered her mundane appearance but she saw no such thing, only the glint of something in his sapphire eyes as if someone had suddenly shone a light at them.
But as she grew closer she could see there were dark shadows beneath the inky lashes and she realised that his raven-dark hair was a tad too long, curling ever so slightly over the collar of his silk shirt.
And wasn’t it insane that she was having to quell her stupid instinct, which was to rush over to him and ask if he was okay?
‘Odysseus,’ she said, giving him a polite nod. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be in Tuloranka?’
‘I told the King I was no longer available.’
‘You told him… what ?’
‘That I was prepared to send one of my associates to do the work, but I could no longer commit to staying indefinitely in his country.’
‘Good heavens. How did he take it?’
He shrugged. ‘He wasn’t best pleased, but I haven’t come here to talk about King Kaliman, Grace!’
‘No,’ she said slowly, trying not to think about the implications of such an uncharacteristic gesture on the part of her workaholic husband and concentrating instead on something else. ‘How did you know where to find me?’
‘I made a few enquiries.’
‘So you do have spies!’ Politeness now forgotten, she shot him an accusing look. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?’
‘Because I thought you might absent yourself.’
‘Yeah.’
Sapphire eyes bored into her. ‘So you would have done?’
Grace shrugged, until she forced herself to be straight with him. She might have been very foolish in the past where Odysseus Diamides was concerned, but she had always been honest and there was no reason to change that now. ‘No.’
He nodded, as if storing away this small concession before drawing in a deep breath. ‘Could we go somewhere more private to talk?’
It was that moment that Grace spotted one of the residents ambling past on her Zimmer frame, before coming to a halt to stare in awe at Odysseus. But then, that was the effect he had on women. Even ninety-year-olds, it seemed. ‘Like where?’
‘Don’t you have a room here?’
‘I’m not sure I’d call it that. Presumably your spies aren’t providing a gold-standard service, or they would have told you that I’m living in the equivalent of a shoebox.’
He gave a hollow laugh. ‘Ah, but I’m used to those, remember?’
And yes, she did remember but wished she didn’t.
Inwardly, Grace cursed because she didn’t want to think of him as broken and lonely and abandoned.
It was much easier if she concentrated on his arrogance and control.
She thought about her alternatives. She could take him to the café in the nearby village but it was still tipping down with rain and no way was she going to set a foot inside his limousine. This had to be on her territory.
‘Very well,’ she said woodenly. ‘You’d better follow me.’
Odysseus did as she asked, only vaguely aware of a series of brightly lit corridors and plenty of oversized chairs with footrests, because his attention was solely concentrated on the petite woman who marched before him, her head held high.
Her hair was drawn back into the most restrictive style he’d ever seen and yet all he noticed was the fiery hint in the chestnut depths.
Just like that ugly and rather voluminous uniform, which was managing to brush enticingly against her neat frame and do dangerous things to his blood pressure.
Eventually, they reached a rather gloomy corridor, along which were a row of similar doors, and as she drew a small bunch of keys from her pocket and unlocked one, he couldn’t help noticing that her hand was trembling.
‘Come in,’ she said peremptorily.