Page 18 of Penniless Cinderella for the Greek
‘I don’t know. My studio is at the top of the house, and I’ll miss the space and light in the attic room. Finding a new place where I can work is my priority. Various friends have said I can sleep on their sofa.’
Dimitris turned his head when a door opened and a woman in a wheelchair appeared. Illness and worry had aged Savannah’s mother and she looked frail.
‘Mum, I thought you had gone to bed.’ Savannah leaned down to kiss her mother. ‘I had trouble with my car and Dimitris drove me home.’ She looked at him. ‘This is my mother, Evelyn.’
Dimitris stepped forwards. ‘I’m pleased to meet you. When my family lived in London my sister went to some of your art classes at the rehabilitation unit.’
‘I remember Eleni, of course. And I hear that you are an acclaimed chef now, Dimitris. Your parents would be proud of you.’ Evelyn smiled gently. ‘The accident when they lost their lives was a terrible tragedy.’
‘Yes,’ he said brusquely. It would never have happened if he hadn’t behaved like a brat.
A woman who was evidently Evelyn’s nurse came and helped her into another room. Savannah led the way to the kitchen and filled the kettle. ‘There’s only instant coffee. I can’t afford to buy the proper stuff.’
‘Instant is fine.’ Dimitris prowled around the kitchen, unnerved by the grief that had hit him hard when Savannah’s mother had spoken of his parents. He pictured his mother’s proud smile when he’d grown so tall that he’d towered over her the last summer they had been a family. He remembered watching his father makingtsoureki, a traditional Greek bread eaten at Easter. The dough was divided into three pieces and shaped into a braid to symbolise the Holy Trinity.
‘The secret is to keep the braid tight to stop the dough expanding sideways while it bakes,’his father had told him.
Dimitris always remembered that golden rule when he madetsourekievery Easter.
His memories shifted to ten years ago, when he had been here at Pond House with Savannah while her parents were delayed abroad. Every evening, after the restaurant had closed, he’d ridden his motorbike at breakneck speed to be with her. For eleven nights they had slept together in her bed and made love endlessly. He’d cooked meals for them in this kitchen, and he had felt closer to her than to any other woman before or since.
But he had known it couldn’t last. Nothing good ever did. Her parents had returned, and the same night her father had been waiting for him in the alley behind the restaurant when Dimitris had taken the rubbish out. It had been a fitting setting for the filthy deal he’d been forced to make with Richard O’Neal, he brooded. Richard had bluntly told him that his plans for Savannah did not include her getting involved with a nobody with nothing who was going nowhere. Dimitris had never forgotten Richard’s opinion of him, and he’d been spurred to prove the other man wrong.
Ultimately, Savannah and her mother were victims of Richard’s criminality as much as the people and organisations he had defrauded. Savannah had admitted that she was practically penniless and soon to be homeless. She was desperate to help her mother, just as Dimitris had been desperate to help his grandparents return to Greece.
There was no reason for him to get involved with Savannah’s problems, he reminded himself. The disturbing effect she had on him was a very good reason to walk away. But he did not want to abandon her again. He’d felt bad that he’d hurt her even though he’d acted with the best intentions. He could never come to terms with his guilt about his parents, but at least he could help Savannah and her mother.
‘I have a proposition I want to discuss with you,’ he said abruptly.
‘What kind of proposition?’ She looked at him warily and his conscience pricked that the way he’d treated her years ago had made her untrusting.
‘I need a photographer to work on my next cookery book. I’m offering you a job, Savannah.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘NO.IMEAN, thanks for the offer. It would be a great opportunity, but...’ Savannah flushed when Dimitris gave her an enigmatic look.
‘But what? You told me that you are trying to build your reputation as a food photographer. Working on my book will give you valuable exposure.’
It was true. Dimitris’s cookery books sold millions of copies. He was one of the most successful non-fiction authors in England and North America and it would be a huge boost to her career to work with him. Common sense said she should accept his job offer, but her instinct for self-preservation warned Savannah of the potential pitfalls.
When she’d left him asleep six weeks ago and driven home she’d felt confident that she’d got him out of her system. Dimitris was a skilful lover and he’d taken her body to heights of pleasure she’d never experienced before. But it had just been great sex without emotional involvement.
Since then she had been busy sorting out her father’s affairs and organising a nursing home for her mum, and she’d barely given Dimitris a thought during the days at least. Annoyingly, he had invaded her dreams every night. But this evening when she’d spotted him at the party her pulse had accelerated, and she’d avoided him while she’d sought to regain the composure that Dimitris had the power to destroy with one of his sexy smiles. She was dismayed by the effect he had on her and couldn’t risk working with him while she was still in the process of relegating him to her past.
‘Why do you need a photographer? I know that the acclaimed food photographer Ian Clarke took the photos for your previous books.’ Savannah always looked on the back page of cookery books to see who had taken the pictures of the food.
‘Ian retired after the last book we worked on together. My publisher agreed that I can choose a photographer who I believe will best showcase my food. Your photos are fun and a little bit quirky, like my recipes. When we worked together on the Philpot’s shoot you seemed to instinctively know what I was trying to achieve.’
Dimitris drank his coffee and grimaced. ‘I can promise you decent coffee. But seriously, you’ll be paid an upfront amount for the commission, and a percentage of the royalties when the cookery book goes on sale. I’m planning a big book with over two hundred recipes and photographs. I’ve scheduled six weeks to capture all the images, and you will stay at my villa in Rhodes for the duration of the shoot.’
Savannah knew it was unusual for a food photographer to receive royalties. Her potential future earnings would be huge, and she would not have to worry about finding the fees for her mum’s nursing home. Dimitris was offering her the chance of a lifetime, but she hesitated.
‘I assumed the shoot would be at your studio in Richmond.’
‘I like the photos to be taken in natural light, but the daylight will fade earlier in England as the days shorten in the autumn. The clarity of light in Rhodes will give the effect I want of lazy summer days and relaxed living. After all, the title for the cookery book isA Mediterranean Love Affair with Dimitris.’ He looked amused by her startled expression.
Savannah bit her lip. ‘I can’t leave Mum and go to Greece.’
