The Secret Heiress (5 page)

He looked directly at her, and Ariadne held his gaze. His dark eyes sparkled with interest and humor, she thought, and his sensuous lips spread in a smile. “Following you?” he parroted.

“Yes,” she said, her voice rising slightly. “I keep seeing you everywhere I go, and you’re always staring at me.”

He shook his head, and his dark, slightly long and curly hair shook with it. “I haven’t been following you,” he said, “but I have stared at you.” He smiled again.

What? So he admitted it.
Ariadne was momentarily speechless. “But . . . but why?”

“Because you’re beautiful,” he said. “I’m sorry if I’ve scared you, but I’m only doing what any red-blooded male would do.” He shifted on the bench, and Ariadne sensed that beneath his clothing he was extremely well built. He was tall with broad shoulders and an impressive chest that tapered to a slim waist. She could see now that he was as she’d thought: very good-looking but in a ruggedly handsome way with dark hair and eyes. He wasn’t perfectly groomed, nor did he appear to be a buffed, spray-tanned gym rat like so many of the big men about campus. No, the color in his face was more the result of spending a lot of time in the outdoors.

The man stuck out a hand. “My name’s Matt,” he said congenially. “Please accept my apology.”

Ariadne looked down at the proffered hand, then up at him. His expression was so genuinely warm and inviting. She took his hand. “I’m Ariadne,” she said. “I didn’t mean to be rude, but I’m not used to being stared at. And I
have
seen you around a lot.”

“I really am sorry,” he said. He glanced about the room. “I guess part of it is that we have some of the same interests. I come to the museum a lot, and I’ve seen you here. Are you an art major?”

Ariadne shook her head. “Oh, no,” she replied. “I’m studying economics.”

He nodded. “But you like the museum?”

“Yes. It’s soothing and peaceful, and a lot of the art is beautiful.” She paused, then said, “What about you? Why do you come here? Are you an art major?”

He shook his head again. “Not exactly. I’m sort of a dabbler. I paint and sculpt. Sculpt mostly.”

“You paint and sculpt, but you’re not an art major?”

“No. I work part-time at the Clark Institute. I do a little restoration work.”

“Oh, I go there a lot, too,” she said, becoming enthusiastic. “I’ve seen the restoration center, but you’re the first person I’ve met who works there.”
He doesn’t look like the type I imagined worked at a place like that,
she thought. Then she realized that she had no idea what that sort of person might look like. She’d never met an art restorer before. “It’s funny,” she said. “You look outdoorsy. Not like the type who stays cooped up doing whatever it is restorers do.”

He laughed softly. “A lot of my work is probably not what you’d expect. I do spend time indoors. I clean paintings and analyze pigments and fill in the gaps where paint is missing. That kind of thing. But most of my time is spent welding and sanding and polishing. There’s a lot of heavy lifting and dirty work with acetylene torches and chemicals.”

A small group of women began circling the room, pointing at the paintings and speaking in self-important voices.

“That’s interesting,” Ariadne said as she watched the women discuss a provocative Paul Cadmus canvas. “I never gave much thought to that kind of work before.”

“Well, why should you? You’re in business. But enough about me. Tell me about yourself. Where’re you from?”

“Would you like the short version or the long?” she asked.

“The long for sure,” he replied, grinning.

“I was born in Greece and lived there awhile,” Ariadne said, “but I grew up in Connecticut.”

“Wow, Greece,” he responded. “You’re a long way from home.”

“I only remember snippets,” she said.

“Your parents moved to the States?”

Ariadne shook her head. “I lived with foster parents in Greece, then was brought to live with different foster parents here.”

“That’s unusual,” he said. “Where in Connecticut?”

“A tiny place I’m sure you’ve never heard of,” Ariadne said. “Roxbury.”

“You’re right,” he said with a laugh. “I’ve never heard of it.”

“Where’re you from?”

“Oh . . . here and there,” he replied—evasively, she thought. When he saw the puzzled expression on her face, he went on. “What I mean is, I’ve traveled quite a bit, but I grew up here in Massachusetts.”

“Did your family move around a lot?”

“Not really, but work took me away.”

“Oh? What kind of work?”

“Government.”

What’s that supposed to mean?
she wondered, but before she could satisfy her curiosity, he grinned and said, “You’ve turned the tables on me. I was trying to find out about you.”

A lady with salt-and-pepper hair gelled into spikes strolled past them, her long earrings jangling as she passed. She did a very quick sweep around the room and left as if there was nothing of interest to her.

After she was gone, Ariadne shrugged and said, “There’s not much to know.”

“That can’t be true,” he said, shifting on the bench slightly and gazing into her eyes.

He had moved only a mere three or four inches closer to Ariadne, but she felt a violation of personal space. She didn’t move, however. She felt oddly at ease with this man—Matt, she reminded herself—but at the same time, he stirred feelings in her that were unfamiliar and unsettling. “I . . . I don’t know what to say,” she finally replied. “I’m just a simple girl from Connecticut.”

“How do you like Williamstown?” he asked, apparently trying to make her feel comfortable.

“I like it. It’s fun after being out in the sticks for so long. After Roxbury and boarding school, Williamstown seems almost like a city to me, and there’re a lot of really nice people.”

“I bet you’ve learned a lot,” he said.

“I’ve still got a lot to learn,” she said with a laugh. “I haven’t had much exposure to the world. Most of the girls I went to school with were much more experienced and sophisticated than I am. They came from families with money, and they’d traveled and had great clothes and the latest
everything.
”

“So you didn’t come from a lot of money but went to a fancy boarding school?”

Ariadne nodded. “I was on a scholarship. I am here, too. My parents are comfortable enough, but didn’t have enough money. Dad’s a teacher, and my mom stayed at home.”

“What does he teach?”

“Math and science. I guess that’s what got me interested in business. He was always pushing me number-wise, if you know what I mean.”

Matt nodded.

“But I think I took to math naturally,” she added. “I guess it seemed like something I could control, even if I couldn’t control anything else around me. I . . .” She paused and looked at him. “I’m rattling on like an idiot, aren’t I? You must think—”

Matt touched her shoulder. “I think you’re great.”

Ariadne glimpsed the hand on her shoulder. It was long but wide and looked very powerful. His expression was one of intense interest. “You don’t even really know me,” she said in a low voice.

“No, but I’d like to get to know you better,” Matt replied.

And I would like to get to know you better, too,
Ariadne thought but refrained from saying. She found that she was very attracted to him—there was no mistaking that—but she didn’t want to let him think she was desperate, either. “Why?” she asked.

“You’re being disingenuous,” he said. “You know very well.”

“Maybe,” she said teasingly.

They heard the loud thwack of sneakers on the floor, then an even louder squeak as someone came to an abrupt halt near the bench. Turning in unison with Matt to look at the intruder, Ariadne felt her face burn with embarrassment.

“Kurt,” she said, quickly putting on a smile.

He shifted his gaze to Matt, looking at him with undisguised displeasure. He wrinkled his nose as if he smelled something particularly foul before looking back at Ariadne. “We’re supposed to go to the movies, remember?” Long, muscular arms akimbo, his feet spread in a wide stance, Kurt looked every inch the threatening jock bully.

“Of course I remember,” she replied, rising to her feet. “I just didn’t realize what time it is.”

“You were supposed to meet me out front five minutes ago,” Kurt accused.

“I’m sorry,” Ariadne said. She looked down at Matt. “It was nice to talk to you.”

He nodded, a tight smile on his lips. “You, too,” he replied.

“See you later.”

Kurt sized up Matt again, then took Ariadne’s hand in his, and they walked out of the room.

Matt watched them, Kurt’s sneakers thwacking the floor as before. He was in sweats and a jacket, carrying a gym bag, and his blond hair was still damp from the shower. “Who’s the . . . ?” Matt heard him begin before his voice faded as they went through the arched doorway.

What’s she doing with a jerk like him?
he wondered.
She deserves better than that.
He sat lost in thought for a few moments, then reconsidered. The guy was good-looking. No doubt about that. He was probably very smart, or he wouldn’t have gotten into Williams. He was obviously an athlete of some kind.
Still,
he decided before getting up to leave,
the guy’s an asshole, and Ariadne can do a lot better for herself.

T
he stone castle crowned a rocky outcrop in Ayrshire, a massive gray testament to man’s ability to conquer savage nature. It had endured for centuries both inclement weather and the many onslaughts of rival clansmen, as well as the repeated efforts by generations of owners to put their personal stamp on it. As old as it was, the ancient structure had been thoroughly updated by the present laird, who lived in a much more recent mansion on the estate. The castle was now the luxurious site of important international meetings, offering fishing and hunting in addition to the amenities necessary for conducting high-level business on its thousands of acres.

In a large conference room four senior executives of Papadaki Private Holdings Limited sat in leather-upholstered chairs around a long oak table. The walls that surrounded them were hung with the deer heads and antlers ubiquitous in such castles, interspersed with tapestries and hunting paintings. On the table were two large silver trays. On one of them several bottles of water, one sparkling, had been placed, along with an ice bucket and tongs, and crystal goblets. The other tray held a silver pot of fresh-brewed coffee, a bowl with sugar, and a creamer.

The presence of the four executives at the castle was unknown to anyone else within the company. Each of them had scheduled a trip elsewhere, then made a detour to this remote location, so as to meet in complete privacy. All four had been handpicked for their positions by Nikos Papadaki, their deceased leader. He had been a cynical man who trusted no one, but he had left these four individuals in charge.

Adrian Single sat at the head of the table, facing the three others. Adrian had been Nikos Papadaki’s most trusted and highly valued executive. He was CEO and represented the North and South American holdings of PPHL. His handsome appearance often led opponents to underestimate his steely-minded negotiating abilities.

On his left sat Yves Carre, in charge of holdings in Africa, Western Europe, and Australia. French by birth, he spoke several languages. Tall, thin, and silver-haired, he was quiet, polite, and capable of great charm. He had an air about him of the continental art dealer or diplomat, but he could be as ruthless in the boardroom as any corporate-takeover shark.

Seated to Adrian’s right were the two others. Angelo Coveri was now sixty-six years old and white-haired, his once-muscular frame bulked out with fat. He gave the appearance of a pugnacious dog, and he could be when the need arose. He was in charge of operations in Eastern Europe, including Russia and the various countries that had once comprised the former Soviet Union, and Asia.

Next to Coveri sat the sole woman, Cynthia Rosebury, known universally as Sugar. She was a formidable woman of middle age, who had broken the glass ceiling to become the chief financial officer of PPHL. She dressed fashionably, though not outrageously, forgoing women’s boring business suits for feminine suits and dresses.

“Now, we’ve got the same problems in Indonesia that we’ve had in Belarus,” Angelo Coveri was saying. “The steel mills are outdated and dangerous.”

“Yes, Angelo,” Sugar interjected, “but you have to remember that Nikoletta got them for nothing and the sellers are holding all their old debt. Nikos used to do that. It was one of his favorite tricks.”

“That’s true,” Adrian pointed out, “but Nikos would never have neglected those mills, Sugar. She’s created a dangerous brew of problems that threaten to tarnish the corporation.”

“What’s worse,” Coveri said, “is this latest venture of hers.”