Penniless and Purchased (6 page)

Wordlessly, Nikos set about the task of making Georgias sufficiently conscious to get out of the cab. He could feel the thrum of the humming engine of the car as it hovered under the portico of the Park Lane hotel.

‘Out,’ he said brusquely to Georgias, thrusting him on to the concourse, where he stood swaying and blinking. He turned to climb out himself, then paused, looking one last
time at Sophie as she sat there hunched, still shivering. One final question seared through his brain. His eyes bored into her as he leant towards her.

‘Why? Give me one good reason
why
? Whatever the hell you are—hooker, escort, good-time girl, whatever—why go anywhere near this…this
sleaze
? Take a good, hard look at yourself when you get home—a good, hard look, Sophie—and think about whether you like what you see. Ask yourself why you’re doing what you’re doing.’

His voice was low, audible only to her. Her eyes flashed up, and for a second, just a second, Nikos felt himself reeling as if she had physically struck him.

‘Why do you
think
?’ she bit out, hissing, like Medusa’s snakes. ‘I need the bloody money!’

Her face was contorted, her eyes like daggers, ringed with black mascara, like black hollows, and in that instant Nikos recoiled, as if seeing a death’s head. Then his face set and he hurled himself from the cab, slamming the door, pausing only to extract his wallet and, with grim, tight face, thrust a fifty-pound note at the cabbie.

‘Take her wherever she wants,’ he said. Then he seized Georgias by the arm and marched him into the hotel.

Inside the taxi, Sophie stared after him for one long, last moment, until he had disappeared. Then she started to get out of the cab.

‘Oi, luv, your fare’s covered,’ said the cabbie, sliding open his partition.

‘I need an Underground station,’ she said, in a low, strained voice.

The cabbie looked concerned. ‘Luv, he’s right. You can’t go on a train all wet the way you are. You’ll get attacked. Mugged. Or worse. Look…’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘It’s
not my business, but I’d be happier taking you somewhere. I don’t want to read about you in the paper tomorrow, OK?’

He didn’t wait for an answer, just started the cab moving again. Sophie went on sitting there, shivering. But it wasn’t just the cold that was making her tremble.

The cabbie went on talking, half turning his head to do so. ‘Listen, luv, I’ve got a daughter your age. I wouldn’t like to see her—well, in the state you are. And I’d tell her straight what I’m going to tell you.’ He took a breath. ‘Blokes like that—’ he nodded his head back in the direction of the hotel ‘—they’re bad news for girls. All flash and cash and that’s your lot. Stay clear of them. That’s what I say—and it’s what any dad would say. And if you ain’t got a dad…well, I’ll say it for him—OK? A dad wants to be proud of his daughter—and to know she’s safe.’

Sophie heard the words, heard them from very far away. From a life that had gone for ever. That could never come back. Never.

And the bitter, bitter irony of what the cabbie had said made her want to burst into savage, hysterical laughter.

Or into tears that would drown her in their bottomless depths.

Nikos stood by the plate-glass window of his hotel lounge, looking out over the darkness of Hyde Park beyond. His tie was undone, his jacket discarded. One hand was splayed against the chill pane, the other cradling a glass of whisky from the drinks cabinet. His face was dark. Blank. Eyes unseeing.

But he was seeing, all right. Except not what was real. Not what existed any more.

But it never did exist—it never did! The past never was what I thought it was, and it took the narrowest damn escape of my life to realise that!

And thank God he
had
escaped!

He felt an old familiar emotion convulse him. One he had not felt now for a long, long time. He had forcibly banned it from existing, though it had taken all his strength to do so. He knew why it had struck again—knew it was inevitable.

Why had he had to see her again? What malign twist of fate had made it happen?

He took a brooding mouthful of the whisky, feeling its fire burn down his throat. He wanted to numb everything inside him. Wanted the alcohol to shut down all sensation, all thought. All memory.

But it wouldn’t work. The memory was still alive, writhing like a pit of snakes in his belly.

And it wasn’t just memory inside him. There was something more dangerous, more powerful…

No! I will not allow it! I will not let myself go there! Never
,
ever again! I cauterised it four years ago—and I will not let it back in! I will not!

His mind slammed into action, exerting every gram of self-discipline.

I will control this! It will not control me!

The mantra gritted through his head, repeating as his fingers pressed tighter still around the curve of the glass. It was vital, essential, to keep control. Because if he failed—

The snakes writhed inside him again, and he slugged back another mouthful of whisky. He wanted to sleep, craved oblivion, but he knew with a thick anger that if he slept it would be worse, far worse, than staying awake. If he slept—he would dream.

Memories he could control. But dreams…

He pushed himself away abruptly from the window, and
ranged restlessly around the room. How the hell had Sophie Granton come to end up working as an escort? His glass stilled even as he started to lift it again to his mouth. The image of her face as she’d flung her stinging answer at him seared in his mind.

‘I need the bloody money!’

He’d recoiled—the venom in her voice had been virulent.

Again, his brows snapped together. Why was she so strapped for cash?

What had happened to Sophie Granton since he had discovered what she was really after? Granton plc had gone under. He’d known that—known it was inevitable the moment he’d pulled Kazandros Corp out of the negotiations and gone back to Athens to report that the risks were too great.

And so they had been—but not to Kazandros Corp. Only to himself.

But I cut my losses—I got out in time! I saved my own skin!

But Edward Granton had not been able to save his. The end had come swiftly, his company imploding under the weight of debts, of unrepayable loans, of foreclosures and inevitable financial collapse.

Nikos had been back in Athens then, and what had happened to Edward Granton after his company had gone under had not been Nikos’s concern.

Let alone what had happened to his daughter.

So what did happen to her?

Impatiently, he brushed the question aside. Sure, Edward Granton would have had to cut back, would doubtless have taken some face-saving action like opting for early retirement, probably somewhere like Spain. But he was no financial fool, despite having over-extended his company during the recession. He’d have had assets protected from the corporate balance
sheet, assets that he could adequately live on, even though it would have meant retrenching.

But maybe Sophie—cosseted as she was by her doting father—hadn’t wanted to retrench. Maybe she’d gone on spending money they just didn’t have. And maybe now the credit card bills had arrived she thought she’d come up with an easy way to make money to pay them off.

Perhaps she’d really thought that all she had to do was keep a rich man company for the evening and he’d pay for the privilege, not expect anything else in return! A derisive snort broke from Nikos. Well, she’d found out tonight that there was no such thing as easy money! Not that it should have taken more than five minutes with Cosmo to suss that he was in the market for sex, and anything else was just an appetiser. His eyes alone, never mind his wandering hands, should have told her that Cosmo had fully intended her to end up horizontal…

But it was a mistake to let that thought even have house room. Immediately, disastrously, Nikos saw an image from the past flare in his mind…

Sophie, her beauty revealed to him in all its incandescent perfection! Her pearled skin, hair like silk, spread on the pillow like a banner as he took her in his aching arms…

No! With savage rage, he forced the memory out of his head. Tearing it from him as he had once torn Sophie’s pleading hands.

His face hardened. Sophie had wanted only one thing from him then, disguise it as she might. The same as she wanted now.

Money. Nothing but money.

Roughly knocking back the last of his whisky, he snapped the glass down on the cabinet.

Enough! He had done with Sophie Granton—she was nothing to him, not any more. And that was all he had to remember!

Face set, he headed for the
en suite
bathroom, and bed.

S
OPHIE
fumbled with the capsule contained in its silver foil, and managed to extract it. Then with shaking hands, she got it into her mouth and rinsed it down with water from a cracked mug. She wanted the painkiller to work instantly, but knew she would have to wait before the tight, hot pounding in her head would ease and bring relief. If only it could bring a cessation of memory! If only it could erase everything from the night before—
everything
!

Her face contorted. Dear God, how could last night have happened? What vicious twist of fate had heaped that upon her? Four years—
four years
—since her life had been destroyed, and now Nikos Kazandros had reappeared, like some hideous, malign demon, to mock and taunt her in her very hour of desperate self-abasement!

God almighty, did he think she’d
wanted
to take that hideous job? Dressing up like a tart and meeting a complete stranger for the evening? She’d had to force herself to do it! Force herself to let everyone see her in that vulgar, exposing dress, to smile, and make fatuous, feeble conversation to a man who made her flesh crawl, made her feel even dirtier than she felt already.

Hasn’t life done enough to me?

The cry came from the depths—the depths where she lived now, to which she had sunk remorselessly, pitilessly.

She stared around her. The tiny, shabby bedsit was hardly big enough for a bed, let alone an alcove with a sink, and a cracked dresser with a hot ring and kettle on it. But it was all she could afford—all she dared afford. She bowed her head, crushed beneath a weight she could not bear.

But she must.

On top of the narrow chest of drawers was the latest letter. Beneath the polite phrase was the harsh, brutal truth.

We regret to inform you that unless the fees are paid in full, in advance, by the end of the month, we shall have no option but to insist that you make immediate alternative arrangements—

She sheered her mind away, as she always did. Had to. Because to do anything else was unbearable.

I have to get the money! I have to!

It didn’t matter how—it couldn’t matter. She had to pay that bill—just
had
to!

Fear gnawed at her as she stared at the letter, at the stark, pitiless words in it.

As stark and pitiless as the world. She knew that now. The world was a vile place, without mercy or kindness or goodness in it. Hadn’t she learnt that? Hadn’t the last four punishing, terrifying years taught her that?

Into her eyes a hardness came, glazing them over. What use were feelings, sensibilities, moral revulsion? Where did they get you? Nowhere. The end of the road.

But for her the road stretched on. Endlessly. And, whatever
anyone thought of her, whatever she thought of herself, the money had to be found.
Had
to be!

In her head she heard the scornful, condemning words of Nikos Kazandros pouring over her, cruel and vicious, like acid into an unstanched wound.

‘Take a good hard look at yourself when you get home—a good hard look, Sophie—and think about whether you like what you see. Ask yourself why you’re doing what you’re doing.’

Anger filled her. What did he know?

Well,
she
knew! She knew, all right! She could hate it all she liked, but nothing would let her off the hook—nothing could spare her.

Ahead of her another day loomed, another struggle.

And no end in sight.

And Nikos Kazandros, and all her memories of him, could take their sneers and contempt and drain away, back into the poisoned, bitter past where they belonged. And go to hell!

Nikos sat motionless in the leather chair at the head of an oval table around which half a dozen men were seated. They were discussing a forthcoming property deal, but Nikos wasn’t paying attention. He had two people of his own in the discussion, whose judgement he trusted, and his presence was only as a figurehead for Kazandros Corp. Since his father had retired, two years previously, Nikos now had the entire running of the company to himself. After leaving London four years ago, he’d immersed himself without pause in learning every string there was to the business, cutting more and more deals on his own account until he’d earned his father’s complete trust. He’d come a long way in four years…

And he’d never looked back. Not once. He had not permitted
himself to do so. He had pushed Sophie Granton out of his head, never to return.

But return she had.

Damn her!

In the darkness of the night he’d been determined to push her back out of his head again. But this morning, with the bright sunshine streaming into the meeting room of his UK lawyers, she had come invading again.

He kept seeing her everywhere, all the time.

But not the way she’d been, draped on Cosmo Dimistris’s arm. And not the way he’d known her four bitter years ago. Neither of those images burned in his skull.

It was the last image of her, when she’d sat hunched in the taxi, shivering, bedraggled, sodden.

Something moved in him—something he did not want to feel. He resented it. Why should he feel it? Sophie Granton was nothing to him! He knew what she was—what she was prepared to do to get what she wanted. If she’d got herself into a mess, it was none of his making! If she’d thought the world owed her an easy living and was now finding it did not, that was not his problem! It hadn’t been four years ago, and it damn well wasn’t now!

Deliberately, he pushed the image out of his head again. Pulled another one into its place. The one of her in the tarty evening gown, selling her company to Cosmo.

And who else…?

His eyes darkened suddenly. She’d got a scare last night, and he hadn’t minced his words in laying it on the line for her just exactly what she was doing, but did that mean she was going to mend her ways? Or did she still think that she could get away with it? Getting men to pay for her company and nothing more?

And what if they didn’t like her saying no to them…? What if next time she wasn’t able to get out and get away? A man like Cosmo Dimistris wouldn’t have any qualms about helping himself, and there were plenty of slimeballs in the world with the same views about women! She’d got lucky last night because Cosmo had simply helped himself to one of the other, more willing girls at the party. But another time she might not be so lucky. Another time she might find herself in serious danger…

Beneath his breath, an expletive formed. Damn the girl! Damn her!

Abruptly, he straightened in his seat. He got to his feet.

‘Gentlemen, my apologies. Please conclude without me.’ He nodded at his team, then turned and walked out of the room.

He needed to make a phone call.

‘I’ll just go and check if we have that in your size, madam,’ Sophie said, keeping her voice rigorously polite, even though the woman she was serving had not thought it necessary to speak to her with even the minimum of courtesy. But difficult and demanding customers were something Sophie had had to learn how to handle, however obnoxious they were. Or however tired or dispirited she was.

Or desperate.

Because desperate was what she was. Eating like acid into her brain, the words of the letter kept going round and round in her head…

Unless the fees are paid in full…

She wanted to laugh hysterically. Scream. Dig her nails into her palms until they drew blood. Fighting down her panic, she found the shoe box and hefted it down. Then, surreptitiously looking around her, because the shop manageress
was draconian about personal calls for staff, she slipped her mobile out of her pocket and checked for messages.

Yes! There was one! Fumblingly, she clicked it open and read, and as she did so her stomach plunged in a churning mix of emotions. It was another booking from the agency. The escort agency.

That’s what it is—to me! I won’t let it be anything else, I won’t! It’s just an escort agency…

She felt a spurt of anger. Nikos had mocked her for calling it an introduction service—but that was exactly what it called itself, she argued defensively. Its upmarket website proclaimed ‘elite introductions for elite businessmen seeking elite companions’. She’d taken that at face value—but was she being pathetically naïve, blinding herself deliberately to what was beneath the respectable veneer? Well, it wouldn’t be the first time she’d been fooled by a respectable-sounding organisation…

The familiar flush of shame and bitterness flared through her. Dear God, where did naïvety end and criminal stupidity begin?

The hollow inside her hardened, and she lifted her chin. Tough.
Tough.
No point whatsoever in repining the past and the appalling, criminally stupid mistakes she’d made! Because it was too late—she’d made them. And now she had to take the consequences. And the consequences were that she had no choice—no
choice
but to do what she was doing now.

Whatever it takes, however sordid the job, I have to do it. I have to make whatever money I can, however I can—I just have to.

And if that meant doing what was loathsome to her, if that meant reading this text message from the agency and being grateful—dear God,
grateful!
—for the fact that she was being booked again for tonight, then that was what she had to be. Inside her head, a nugget of fear reared its head. What
if the man she was to meet tonight was just the same as Cosmo Dimistris? What if he thought he was booking a lot more than a companion for the evening? With an effort that cost her, she forced down the fear, the incipient panic. Well, she would just have to deal with it if it happened. Just as she’d had to deal with everything that had happened since her world had fallen apart…

‘Your customer’s getting shirty—better hurry up.’

The voice of one of the other sales assistants roused Sophie from her troubled thoughts. Hastily, she grabbed the requisite shoe box and hurried out. She could feel her stomach rumble, but ignored it. She never ate lunch any more, it was a waste of money. Every penny she could save went to a far, far better cause than herself. She never spent money on anything other than the barest minimum. She ate as little as possible, as cheaply as possible, endured a freezing cold bedsit to avoid heating costs, walked everywhere she possibly could.

As for clothes—apart from the repellent outfit she’d had to buy for her escort work, which she’d got in a charity shop anyway, she’d bought nothing for longer than she could remember.

For a moment—brief, poignant—a memory flashed in her head, vivid and piercing.

The evening dress I wore to the Covent Garden gala that first
,
magical night with Nikos! That beautiful, beautiful dress…

Her mouth thinned. Well, that was gone—along with every other designer dress she’d owned.

Along with everything else. Including the life she had once lived.

She swallowed. Sentiment was pointless. Worse than pointless. Unaffordable.

‘You took your time!’ The petulant tones of her customer penetrated.

‘I’m so sorry…’

Forcing an apologetic smile to her lips, Sophie got on with her job.

Nikos sat at a table in the bar of the West End hotel, one he never frequented himself. His expression was grim. It had been ever since he’d phoned the escort agency Cosmo had booked Sophie through. Getting the number had meant an unpleasant phone conversation with Cosmo, who had not missed the opportunity both to complain about Sophie running out on him and to jibe at Nikos’s sudden interest in girls of her kind.

But his expression had got even grimmer after he’d phoned the agency, and now, as he glanced at his watch impatiently, it was black. His eyes flicked to the hotel entrance again. She should be here any minute.

And then she was there, walking into the bar, her gait stiff, her posture tense. Nikos felt emotion kick in him, intense, hard.

It should have been anger. Anger that despite all his dire warnings to her about the true nature of what she was doing she had clearly ignored him. But, though anger was there, it was not the predominant emotion.

What emotion it was precisely he didn’t know, didn’t care. Knew only that it came with a leap in his veins that was like a tongue of scorching wind on a forest fire. Her presence instantly, immediately filled the space—filled his consciousness.

She was wearing the same outfit she’d worn the evening before, advertising her wares to the whole world. Yet she seemed oblivious to the fact. She was walking blindly, tautly, across the empty space from the hotel foyer into the bar. He
watched her walking, waiting for the moment when she realised just who she was walking towards.

He saw when it happened. Saw her eyes widen abruptly, starkly, her face bleach, her stride falter. Saw the blankness in her face shatter like broken glass. As if she herself were shattering…

Then it was gone. The blankness was back. A rigid, frozen mask immobilising her face. He got up from his chair, confronting her. Her eyes darted sideways, searching past him. Nikos’s mouth pulled into a caustic line. She was looking urgently for someone else. Anyone else. Just not him.

‘Wrong call, Sophie,’ he told her, and there was an edge in his voice like a blade. Her eyes whipped back to him, stared. Disbelieving. And somewhere deep in her eyes he saw something that he could not fail to recognise.

Panic. Dismay.

But beneath them was something else. Something that made the emotion slicing through him quicken, though he fought against it.

She was staring at him. The shock—disbelief—flaring in her eyes. No, this couldn’t be. No. Not him. Not
him.
Not Nikos…

The denial was flighting through her, urgent, vehement. Oh, God, how could this be? How could it
be
? She fought for coherence, comprehension.

This can’t be happening. It can’t, it can’t!

She couldn’t be seeing Nikos again, not after it had taken all her strength to cope with what had happened the night before. How could she endure seeing him again? Denial screamed in her mind, but it was like a bird smashing itself against an iron cage. It was Nikos—there, waiting for her. Taunting her. Mocking her.