Read Online Securing the Greek's Legacy by Julia James - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Julia James
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was hungry. He hadn’t eaten on the flight, and it was lunchtime. First he needed a shower, a change of clothes and to check his e-mails, and then he would take Lyn and Georgy for lunch.
And after lunch, he resolved, he would take them shopping. Toys for Georgy—new clothes for Lyn.
Everyone would be happy. Including him.
An hour later they were ready to set off. Lyn was not enthusiastic about the expedition, Anatole could tell, but she had acquiesced docilely enough. She’d changed her clothes, though the brown skirt and pale cream blouse were not a great improvement, to his mind. The skirt was overlong and the blouse too baggy. But that didn’t matter—after lunch she would be getting a whole new wardrobe.
Over lunch, his sense of resolve strengthened. He would start getting to know her. There must be no awkwardness between them. Georgy united them, and that meant they could not remain strangers. Little by little he had to win her over, get her to relax in his company.
Get her to trust him.
But she was clearly feeling awkward and totally unrelaxed—that much was obvious to him as they made their way into the restaurant he’d selected. A few diners cast disapproving glances at Georgy in his carrier as they took their seats, but since he was looking both angelic and deeply slumberous no one said anything.
Lyn sat down on the plush banquette, feeling acutely uncomfortable. Her dull, chainstore clothes were completely out of place in such an expensive locale, but there was nothing she could do about it. Since she didn’t look like the kind of woman a man like Anatole Telonidis would socialise with, there was no point making an idiot of herself by trying to and failing.
Anatole took charge, ordering drinks and food. Lyn stared around her uneasily, unused to such expensive surroundings. She jumped as the wine waiter reappeared and opened a bottle of champagne with a soft pop.
The effervescent liquid was poured out, and as the waiter departed with a bow Anatole lifted his glass. ‘Let us drink to Georgy’s future,’ he said.
He was trying to be encouraging, she could see. Gingerly, Lyn raised her glass and took a nervous sip. It tasted very dry, and the bubbles burst on her tongue with a slightly acerbic texture. She set the glass down.
‘You don’t care for it?’ Anatole’s voice sounded surprised. It was an excellent vintage.
‘Sorry, the only fizzy wine I’ve ever had before has been very sweet,’ Lyn apologised.
‘This is not “fizzy wine”,’ said Anatole severely. ‘This is champagne.’
Lyn flushed. ‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled again.
‘There is absolutely no need for apology,’ he said promptly.
He started on an explanation of what constituted champagne, and Lyn found herself listening attentively. It wasn’t a subject that had ever crossed her path before. As she listened she took some more little sips of the crisp, sparkling liquid, and as she sipped she started to feel that taut wire of tension running down her spine lessening almost imperceptibly.
Their first course arrived—little rondelles of salmon pâté lightened with a lemon jus —and Lyn found them delicious.
From champagne, Anatole broadened out into discussing wine in general. It seemed a pretty safe topic, in the circumstances.
‘Even here in the UK you are starting to produce some very acceptable white wines,’ he commented.
‘It was the Romans, I think, who first planted vines in Britain,’ Lyn ventured. She had to make some kind of effort with conversation. She owed it to Anatole to make this intensely awkward meal less awkward. ‘The climate was warmer then—the Roman Warm Period that ended around 400 AD .’
Anatole’s expression registered surprise. ‘That’s very detailed historical knowledge for someone studying accountancy,’ he said.
‘I really wanted to study history,’ Lyn explained diffidently. ‘But it’s not the best subject for post-graduate employment—especially not since I
And after lunch, he resolved, he would take them shopping. Toys for Georgy—new clothes for Lyn.
Everyone would be happy. Including him.
An hour later they were ready to set off. Lyn was not enthusiastic about the expedition, Anatole could tell, but she had acquiesced docilely enough. She’d changed her clothes, though the brown skirt and pale cream blouse were not a great improvement, to his mind. The skirt was overlong and the blouse too baggy. But that didn’t matter—after lunch she would be getting a whole new wardrobe.
Over lunch, his sense of resolve strengthened. He would start getting to know her. There must be no awkwardness between them. Georgy united them, and that meant they could not remain strangers. Little by little he had to win her over, get her to relax in his company.
Get her to trust him.
But she was clearly feeling awkward and totally unrelaxed—that much was obvious to him as they made their way into the restaurant he’d selected. A few diners cast disapproving glances at Georgy in his carrier as they took their seats, but since he was looking both angelic and deeply slumberous no one said anything.
Lyn sat down on the plush banquette, feeling acutely uncomfortable. Her dull, chainstore clothes were completely out of place in such an expensive locale, but there was nothing she could do about it. Since she didn’t look like the kind of woman a man like Anatole Telonidis would socialise with, there was no point making an idiot of herself by trying to and failing.
Anatole took charge, ordering drinks and food. Lyn stared around her uneasily, unused to such expensive surroundings. She jumped as the wine waiter reappeared and opened a bottle of champagne with a soft pop.
The effervescent liquid was poured out, and as the waiter departed with a bow Anatole lifted his glass. ‘Let us drink to Georgy’s future,’ he said.
He was trying to be encouraging, she could see. Gingerly, Lyn raised her glass and took a nervous sip. It tasted very dry, and the bubbles burst on her tongue with a slightly acerbic texture. She set the glass down.
‘You don’t care for it?’ Anatole’s voice sounded surprised. It was an excellent vintage.
‘Sorry, the only fizzy wine I’ve ever had before has been very sweet,’ Lyn apologised.
‘This is not “fizzy wine”,’ said Anatole severely. ‘This is champagne.’
Lyn flushed. ‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled again.
‘There is absolutely no need for apology,’ he said promptly.
He started on an explanation of what constituted champagne, and Lyn found herself listening attentively. It wasn’t a subject that had ever crossed her path before. As she listened she took some more little sips of the crisp, sparkling liquid, and as she sipped she started to feel that taut wire of tension running down her spine lessening almost imperceptibly.
Their first course arrived—little rondelles of salmon pâté lightened with a lemon jus —and Lyn found them delicious.
From champagne, Anatole broadened out into discussing wine in general. It seemed a pretty safe topic, in the circumstances.
‘Even here in the UK you are starting to produce some very acceptable white wines,’ he commented.
‘It was the Romans, I think, who first planted vines in Britain,’ Lyn ventured. She had to make some kind of effort with conversation. She owed it to Anatole to make this intensely awkward meal less awkward. ‘The climate was warmer then—the Roman Warm Period that ended around 400 AD .’
Anatole’s expression registered surprise. ‘That’s very detailed historical knowledge for someone studying accountancy,’ he said.
‘I really wanted to study history,’ Lyn explained diffidently. ‘But it’s not the best subject for post-graduate employment—especially not since I
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