At The Greek Tycoon's Bidding

To start with Beth had been overjoyed at her friend’s sudden run of good luck. To be asked to do something as undemanding as looking after a house that would be very clean most of the time anyway, considering its owner wasn’t often there, at a salary that was way over the going rate, sure beat the hell out of working in Tom’s rowdy pub till all hours of the morning. Giving up the assistant teaching job would be a wrench, but, heck, she would be able to complete her course and then get started on the career ladder.

As far as Beth was concerned, a woman was defined by her career. She herself had wanted to be a lawyer from the age of five, if she was to be believed, and had got on with turning her dream into reality without ever deviating from her route.

Heather deeply admired her friend’s ambitious streak. So much so that she had tried very hard in the beginning not to let on that her real reason for accepting Theo’s generous offer was her own inarticulated need to be near him. But, not being secretive by nature, she had soon lapsed into easy confidences, and ever since had had to endure her friend’s occasionally withering remarks about being used.

‘I mean,’ Beth said, leaning forward with the concerned frown of one friend trying to impart to another friend what should have been self-evident, ‘now that your course has finished, are you going to move out and get a job with that publishing company? The one you sent your application off to? You did send that application off, didn’t you?’

Heather wilted in the face of this direct line of questioning and mumbled something about needing to add a few finishing touches to it. In truth, the envelope had been lying in her bag for a fortnight while she fought off the sickening prospect of leaving behind a situation that was going nowhere but happened to be working very nicely for her.

While she continued to fan the flames of her infatuation, Theo was as far removed from being interested in her sexually as he ever had been. Theirs was an evolving situation. She had evolved into emotional dependency and he had evolved into having the perfect housekeeper. Indeed, her housekeeping duties were now virtually non-existent. She did some light cleaning, mostly in her own wing, some even lighter cooking to accommodate him when he happened to be in for supper, but mostly she had become a curious mixture of out-of-hours secretary and general do-it-all.

He talked to her about work issues, no longer reminding her that everything he told her was always in the strictest confidence. She’d used to laugh at his frowning secrecy, gently informing him that she personally didn’t know a single person who would have been remotely interested in offshore deals involving companies they had never heard of. He would watch her as she pottered around his kitchen, chatting about her friends and what they got up to.

He found her relaxing and amusing and, more importantly, undemanding. Unlike the women he continued to wine and dine, she showed none of the clinginess that some of them displayed, and she had never nurtured ambitions beyond her reach. In his eyes, they had the perfect relationship. He paid her handsomely, and had increased her already generous salary every three months in direct proportion to the level of duties she took on. In return she helped him in ways far beyond what he would have expected his own secretary at work to do.

She never minded running through e-mails with him, or typing up letters that had to be done late at night after he had left the office. Nor did she balk at buying expensive jewellery for girlfriends, or even ordering the customary bunch of red roses he would have delivered when a relationship was nearing the end of its natural life span.

On a couple of occasions, when he had been out of the country and way too busy to shop, she had even purchased gifts for his mother, which she’d had couriered over to Greece. She could be relied upon to choose just the right thing. He should know. He had seen the reactions of the recipients.

There was nothing Beth could tell her that Heather didn’t already know. This time, though, it was different. She had finished her illustration course and had come top of her class. She no longer needed to save madly. In fact Theo’s generous salary, and the fact that she paid no rent—at his insistence—meant that she had managed to foot the bill for the course, buy all her coursework material, even take herself off on various excursions to exhibitions of interest, and still have money in the bank. Not enough to put down for buying her own place, but more than enough to rent somewhere on her own.

Every word Beth was telling her now made sense. Confronted by too much of the truth to be palatable, Heather took refuge in vague answers.

‘I actually know of an apartment…’ Beth casually announced, glancing at her watch because her lunch hour had extended well beyond its time limit. ‘It’s in my block. It’s not as big as mine, just the one bedroom, but you’ll love it, and you wouldn’t have someone knocking on your door in the late hours of the night, expecting you to fling on a dressing gown and follow him so that you can transcribe some letter that he could easily get his secretary to do the next day…’

But I never mind doing that, Heather wanted to say. She knew better, though. So she nodded distantly and tried to look enthusiastic. ‘I could have a look…’ she compromised.

Beth took that for a definite yes and stood up and reached for her briefcase. ‘Good. Let me know when you’re free and I’ll sort out an appointment for you. But I’m telling you now that you won’t be able to sit around and think about things, because it’ll be snapped up in no time at all.’ As if aware of the preaching tone of her voice, she grinned sheepishly and gave Heather a friendly hug. ‘I care about you,’ she said.

‘I know.’

‘And I hate to think of you languishing in that man’s house, desperately waiting for him to notice you while you busy yourself doing his dirty errands.’

‘I don’t—’

‘Of course you do!’ Beth cut short the protest briskly. Heather, she had decided long ago, had an amazing knack for justifying Theo’s bad behaviour and her responses to it. She had met him a few times in the past and knew, realistically, that hell would freeze over before he looked at Heather in any way aside from that of one lucky employer who had a doting employee at his beck and call. He liked his women tall, thin and vacant. Heather resoundingly didn’t fit into any of those categories, and as far as Beth was concerned she let herself down by feeding the illusion that one day he might see her with different eyes.

‘I’m off now, darling. You take care—and phone me. Okay?’

‘Okay,’ Heather agreed readily, not quite dismissing the option of moving out, but not giving it much importance either.

Fate had brought her together with Theo, in a manner of speaking, and fate wasn’t quite ready to take her away.

But the application in her handbag, the possibility of a flat and Beth’s stern little talk did have her thinking as she made her way back to Theo’s place.

On the way back she stopped off and bought a few things from the delicatessen at the corner—things she knew he would like. He would be away for the weekend, but tonight he would be in. She would make him some spaghetti Bolognese, to which he was very partial.

As she approached the apartment block she tried not to think of his weekend activities. He was seeing yet another of his impossibly beautiful brunettes. This one was called Venetia, and she suited the name. She was almost as tall as he was in heels, only wore designer clothes, and on the one occasion she had met Heather had treated her with the slightly disdainful superiority of someone very beautiful in the presence of a troll.

That Heather was jealous was something she would never have revealed to Theo.

But, on top of everything else, it filtered into her system now like poison.

It was no longer enough to content herself with the silly delusion that enjoying him was enough. Yes, she found him endlessly fascinating, with his endearing arrogance, his sharp wit and his moments of real thoughtfulness. But was it really enough?