Page 6 of Penniless Cinderella for the Greek
‘Is Mum awake? How did she sleep?’
Cathy nodded. ‘She had a fairly good night. I’m going to make Evelyn a cup of tea. Would you like one?’ It had become a morning ritual for Savannah to spend time with her mum before she went to work.
‘I can’t hang about this morning. I’ve got to dash.’ Savannah stepped into the room and felt a surge of love and concern when she noted how frail her mum looked, propped against the pillows.
The traumas of the past few years had taken a toll on Evelyn’s health and mental wellbeing and her MS symptoms had worsened. It was hardly surprising after she’d had to cope with her husband’s arrest and trial, his shocking death, and the dramatic change to her financial circumstances. Savannah tried to keep the truth of how broke they were from her mum. She had prioritised paying Cathy’s wages because Evelyn needed the help of a carer as her health deteriorated, but finding the money was a struggle.
She walked over to the bed and leaned down to kiss her mother’s cheek. ‘I’ve got an early start this morning, Mum.’
‘Oh, yes, today is the photoshoot for Philpot’s, isn’t it? Do you know which celebrity chef you’ll be working with?’
Savannah tried to sound casual. ‘I’m not supposed to tell a soul. He’s Dimitris Kyriakou.’
Evelyn wasn’t fooled. ‘Be careful, darling. He upset you badly when you were younger.’
‘I admit I fancied him like crazy for a while. I doubt he’ll remember me, and all I’m going to do is take pictures of his food.’ Except that she wasn’t, Savannah thought after she’d left her mum. The assignment had been given to another photographer, but if she could persuade Dimitris to look at her portfolio and endorse her work, Philpot’s might employ her for their future campaigns.
Richmond upon Thames was renowned for being an affluent area of south-west London, where millionaires were drawn to the leafy suburb close to the capital. Recently, an interview with Dimitris and photographs of him at his London home had been published in the magazine supplement of a Sunday newspaper. Savannah had bought the paper because it featured an article about photography that she’d wanted to read, or so she’d told herself. Admittedly she had been curious about Dimitris, and it was lucky she had studied the pictures in the magazine so intently because when she arrived in Richmond and drove past exclusive properties that backed onto the river she recognised his house, River Retreat.
She parked her car in the road and, out of habit, took her camera bag with her. Savannah hadn’t made a plan of what she would do next. There was a good chance that Dimitris would refuse to speak to her. The gates were unlocked. Tension made her heart thud as she walked up the driveway to the front door and rang the bell.
A woman who seemed to be the housekeeper opened the door and glanced at her camera bag. ‘You’re here for the photoshoot,’ she said before Savannah could introduce herself. ‘Mr Kyriakou’s kitchen studio is in the garden. Follow the path round to the back of the house and the studio is at the bottom of the lawn, next to the river.’
So far so easy. Savannah let out a soft sigh as she came round the corner of the house and took in the view of the sweeping green lawn bordered by flower beds filled with colourful blooms. Everywhere was immaculate and even the most determined weed would not dare poke through a gap in the patio stones, due no doubt to the vigilance of a full-time gardener.
She thought of the garden at Pond House that had been her mother’s pride and joy. Evelyn no longer had the energy for gardening and the shrubs had gone wild. Savannah hoped that when the house was sold and she’d paid her father’s creditors, there would be enough money left to buy an adapted bungalow for Evelyn and her carer to live in. But she would still need to earn a good income so that she could provide for her mum.
If word got around that the famous chef Dimitris Kyriakou had refused to work with her, people would think he was unimpressed with her photography, and it could have serious implications for her career. It was ironic that she and Dimitris had experienced a dramatic reversal of fortunes, Savannah thought. She had been brought up accustomed to wealth and privilege and it was deeply shocking to discover that her father had made his money from corrupt business dealings.
Her mother had been completely unaware of her husband’s criminal activities. Growing up, Savannah’s relationship with her father had been difficult and she’d tried to live up to his impossibly high standards. Since his trial, when she’d learned the truth about him, she’d felt as though the very fabric of her life and identity had been ripped away.
When she’d first met Dimitris he had lived in a small flat above his family’s restaurant with his grandparents and sister. Several years earlier, their parents had been killed in a car accident and Eleni had sustained serious injuries that meant she used a wheelchair. Eleni had said she did not remember anything of the accident. Savannah had asked Dimitris what had happened, but he’d refused to talk about the tragedy. He hadn’t told her anything really about himself. His emotions had been a closed book, but she was so wrapped up in being in love with him she had convinced herself that he felt the same way about her.
A trip down memory lane was not helpful right now, Savannah told herself as she continued along the path towards the timber and glass building that she recognised from Dimitris’s cooking shows as his kitchen studio. His biography online stated that he had first been taught to cook by his grandfather, a Greek immigrant who had settled in London and opened a restaurant that he’d named Hestia’s after his wife.
Dimitris had gone to college and trained as a professional chef. He’d helped run the restaurant before he and his grandparents and sister had suddenly moved to Greece. In Rhodes he had been sous chef at a top hotel. Later he’d moved to Paris, where he had become the chef de cuisine at one of the city’s most prestigious restaurants. He had taken part in a cooking competition to find the best chef in Europe. The final had been broadcast live on television in England, and Dimitris had won and caught the attention of a TV producer who had given him his own televised cooking series.
An Adonis in the Kitchenhad launched Dimitris’s career as a celebrity chef and sex symbol in Europe and America, where he was hugely popular. Other series had followed.Cooking with the Greek,Dinner with DimitrisandA Date with Dimitrisshowcased his enthusiasm for cooking while his disarming personality and blatant sex appeal had earned him the nickname the Hot Chef.
Dimitris’s impressive London house was proof that his single-minded determination to succeed had paid dividends. Savannah stood and watched the stately River Thames, so wide and blue and sparkling in the sunshine of what promised to be another glorious summer’s day. A sleek motor cruiser moored next to the private jetty added to the sense of unobtrusive luxury.
‘What are you doing trespassing on my property, Savannah?’
The gravelly voice from behind her made Savannah’s heart lurch. She turned slowly, trying to prepare herself for the impact of seeing Dimitris again. But it was hopeless, and her breath rushed from her lungs as she met his sapphirine gaze.
CHAPTER THREE
THESTUDIO’SBI-FOLDdoors were open, and Savannah wondered how long Dimitris had been standing there. He looked divine in faded jeans that hugged his lean hips and a white jersey top clinging to the defined ridges of his muscular torso.
‘You shouldn’t be here,’ he said curtly. ‘Someone at Philpot’s was supposed to tell the agency to send a different photographer.’
‘I wanted to talk to you...’ She found herself talking to Dimitris’s back when he swung round and strode across the studio.
Savannah followed him inside. The kitchen studio was a large, light-filled space with a glass roof and furnished with pale wood units against the bare brick walls. An island with a hob stood in the middle of the room and behind it were professional ovens, sinks and more worktops.
The heavenly smell of freshly baked bread filled the air. Her stomach grumbled when she saw rolls cooling on a rack. She hadn’t had time for breakfast and had barely eaten anything when she’d been at the hotel with Matt. Her cheeks burned at the memory of the humiliating events of the previous evening.
‘I’ll call Philpot’s to find out why my instructions were not followed.’
